Kirstie stepped tentatively into the bar. She had arrived that evening from New York, but was too excited to catch up on her sleep. At last, she was here!
In Africa, on a safari holiday!
She had flown in with a group of Americans and had been met at the airport by the safari firm, where she had met the other people who would be on the tour with her.
Some of them were in the bar, but they did not seem to have noticed her. They were a mixed bag. Two couples, two families with their kids, and one other single woman travelling alone. Her name was Ruth, she was about 25, and she did not seem very friendly. Not apparently wanting Kirstie as a holiday friend. This had disconcerted Kirstie. Only in her late teens, this was her first holiday alone. Her rich parents thought she was staying with Susan, and her family, at their cabin in the mountains.
She stepped deeper into the crowded bar. The reality was beyond anything she had imagined. She was shocked by the teeming mass of black people. The smell in the bar was of humanity at its most pungent. Most of the crowd in the bar were black African men, with a few tourists among them. Obviously, the local Africans used this bar as well as the hotel guests.
She could have gone into the rooftop bar but meeting black men had been one of her teenage fantasies. There were a few black women in the bar. They did not look particularly respectable. She suspected they were whores looking to make money from the white tourists. They were certainly very aggressive in chatting up the white men, even when their wives were present.
She had never seen so many black people in one place before. It shouldn't have, but it still came as a surprise to her to being in a country where nearly everyone was black. African, she corrected herself. She must be careful not to offend.
As she headed for the bar, the crowds parted. It was as if she was walking through the sea, and the water was parting for her. She was surrounded by sea of smiling black faces. She jumped as a hand cupped her bottom in a quick squeeze then darted between her legs from behind. She whirled in fury that someone would have dared to touch her. She glared at the laughing African men behind her. They were much older than her. She tried to decide which one had been the groper, but their laughing eyes and smiling faces defeated her.
They took no offence at her belligerent scowl that would have scared off her college suitors. They pressed forward trying to talk to her, offering her their drink. Cheeky grins prominent.
She realized that she had nothing to fear from these smiling faces. Only warmth and laughter was in their eyes.
Nevertheless, she backed away from this group of rather forward men. She dodged through a gap in the crown and reached the crowded bar. Surprised that almost by magic a gap had opened for her. Even the barman seemed to be awaiting her arrival. "Coke, please," she asked the barman who grinned and fetched a Coke, as she watched he stopped and put some Bacardi in it.
"No, no just Coke," she protested. He grinned. "On the house, madam." His grin was infectious, and Kirstie couldn't help but smile. She took the drink, looking nervously at it. She had not had many alcoholic drinks. In America, she would not even be allowed in a bar, never mind given alcohol. This was another first for her.
Someone else had groped her!
A hand on her leg, up underneath her lightweight skirt!
She whirled around, to be met by more laughing eyes, and grinning faces. She scowled, but who to scowl to?
"On holiday, miss?" "Have you been here before, miss?" "Do you have any friends as pretty as you?" Laughter all around, Kirstie could not help but smile. "You'll see lots of animals. Lots of birds."
"Will I see dangerous animals?"
"We are all around you, miss!" They roared with laughter.
"Come and sit down, miss." "Over here." "No, over here." "Next to me." Kirstie was confused. There seemed to be such an eager, cheerful crowd of men. She had never been the centre of so much attention of so many men so much older than herself. She was used to the boys at school. As the daughter of one of the town's prominent businessmen, she was used to being treated with a certain respect.
She looked around for people from her group. What few there were in the bar where equally besieged. She tried to head for one of them. The crush of Africans was thick. She could feel them pressing against her. Hands seemed everywhere. She tried to avoid them but whenever she turned hands seemed to accidentally touch, or not so accidentally touch.
To brush her bottom, her waist, her breasts, her bare legs, even! She pushed hard, but it was no good, the press was too thick. She turned back to the bar, resting her drink and gathered herself.
Africans were all around her. Is this not what she had wanted? Some were whispering to her, but she could not hear from the noise in the hotel bar. It was all so overpowering. Another drink appeared in front of her. One of the Africans was holding it out to her. She turned to look at him.
He was big!
I mean REALLY big.
There was laughter in his eyes, which seemed to be laughing and admiring at the same time. He pushed the drink towards her and she took it. She smiled back at him, nervously. He leaned forward to try and hear what he was saying. That was when the hand touched her again, high on her thigh. inside again, beneath her skirt.
Smiling faces in all directions. The crowd was so tight around her she was unable to tell whose hand it was! It moved, stroking gently. Kirstie felt like a prisoner, trapped in a sea of men. It was as though the press of men had conspired to pin her in position giving her groper a free rein. She couldn't believe this was happening. Who would dare?
The hand was gentle, soft, warm. It stroked in circles. Her nipples stiffened. Kirstie cursed her body for betraying her. She shouldn't be aroused by a stranger's hand. It was so weird to be standing in a bar, with a man's hand under her skirt and not even know whose it was! She wriggled her hips to throw it off, and there was giggling around her. She realized these men could see her nipples had beome erect though her tight T-shirt. It was embarrassing.
She turned to the gentleman who had offered her a drink. He smiled and she edged closer. He was big. He would keep the others off, she reasoned.
She twitched as his hand slid around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. The other hands slid away.
To her surprise, she realized she missed the warm touch of that caressing hand. What on earth was the matter with her? Her rescuer, for that was how she considered him now, was whispering in her ear. She could not hear him, but he was gesturing to an alcove where there was some seating. She nodded, and allowed him to lead her there.
She would be able to sit down and she would be safe there, sheltered from the crowd. She moved forward, and his hand slid around her waist. He was so strong, she realized. She could feel his muscles ripple across his arm.
The alcove she found was crowded suddenly, as African men poured in to the alcove behind them. She was pressed and crowded by laughing, grinning faces.
"You like to party?" Kirstie nodded. The Africans roared their approval. "You party girl, yes?" Kirstie grinned. Parties she understood. "I like parties!" "Yeah!" they roared and Kirstie smiled.
The Africans were talking rapidly among themselves, and Kirstie could not understand them. She looked at her rescuer. His eyes met hers and she shivered. It was a strange, tingling shiver. She felt herself moisten and was shocked. No man had ever made her react like this. He was a big male animal and he wanted her. Just like all these other men wanted her, she realized. She would have to be very careful. This was not America. This was not a game. This was the real world, with real men.
The surrounding crowd of African men did little to hide their admiration. Bantering, joking, laughing smiling eyes that fondled in much the same way that hand had stroked. Her "friend" nodded at her. "You'll be safe with me." His hand rested on her bare thigh. She nodded. Another drink appeared in front of her.
"Do you like dancing?" she asked the Africans around her. They looked at her. "Yes, we like dancing. Too crowded here. You come with us and we take you dancing. We party!" More laughter. Kirstie nodded.
"Is there a club nearby? A nightclub?"
"We have our own club!"
Laughter, and giggling greeted those words. The hand on her thigh stroked and Kirstie relaxed. It felt nice. She was feeling woozy. Nice, but woozy. The hand was hot, stroking, sliding on her bare flesh. It was too hot to wear stockings. She looked at the hand.
It was black, so black on her white flesh. She shivered again. Her nipples were really hard. She looked at the Africans who were talking to her. She could see their eyes on her hard nipples. They knew! She flushed, and they laughed. She flushed again.
Inside, she was glowing. A strange warm glow centred in her loins. She must be careful, she realized. Only one more drink, and then she must sleep. But the drinks kept coming. She found herself excited at the eager African eyes.
It was as though they were making love to her with their eyes. Caressing her, fondling her. Stripping her. Instead of being shocked or afraid, she found herself even more aroused. Wet between her legs! Her panties were soaked.
She stood up, and wobbled lightly, to more laughter. Hands supported her.
"No, I must sleep now." African eyes grinned at her.
.... There is more of this story ...