Chapter 5: The Porter's Loads

Thirty six hours later found us groggily awakening from a soporific slumber. I'll relate the adventures of the previous evening at some later part of the narrative, suffice it to say that it was an evening about 130 Congolese gentlemen will not soon forget.

After hosing the hide off down the hall at the shared bath, we pulled on clothing most suitable for the trek we were about to begin. I donned the trusty khaki trews, a stout pair of safari boots, and a rather jaunty looking pith helmet, if I may say. Of course, I couldn't forget my trusty .450 Nitro Express, just in case we encountered a raging beast intent on devouring us for a light snack.

Tess, on the other hand, believed in traveling light – her safari kit would perhaps have been more appropriate for the center pole at Scores, but she insisted that she preferred freedom of movement and hated being restricted by the usually cumbersome expedition garb. It was little more than a short safari jacket that ended just below the lower slope of her buttocks, very short walking shorts, and a pair of fishnet stockings held up by garter straps that she'd sown into the lining of her shorts. Knee-high suede boots completed the outfit.

As the sun rose over the grimy pollution of Brazzaville, we made our way downstairs, and while I settled up with the innkeeper Tess and Mariana went out to gather up Mbuto and the porters. As I feared, when I got outside, the air was stifling already, and the humidity seemed to hang in the air. It had a particularly fetid order as I stood beneath the balcony and I remarked on it's loathsomeness to no one in particular.

"Silly ass, no wonder – there's a great big man on the second floor peeing out his window on you!" Tess laughed. I started, and began to look up where her finger pointed, but instantly regretted it.

Wiping the visage with the back of my sleeve, I coughed and sputtered, "Well, you could have at least warned me!" I sought out a dryer section of sidewalk, and within a few moments old Mbuto showed up.

"Hullo hullo great mornings to you sahib missy and missy. Bestest mornings in all of Africa to us as we get goings on to the journey of my lifetimes. We meet porters at edge of town, yes, I thought it bestest to get them going earliest possible." He chattered on like a capuchin monkey on crack, but at least we were able to understand his lingo.

We took off after him. Winding our way through the hovels and slums of the town, I was not looking forwards to having to navigate our way into the poor section once we left our familiar surroundings. However, we made our way successfully, and at length, found ourselves coming upon a large clearing whereupon were sitting our assembled masses. They stood up as we came in to view, and I must say I was more than a little surprised by Mbuto's success. Not a one of the beggars was under two meters tall, and they all seemed to weigh twenty stone if they weighed a dram. Clad in native gear of loin cloth and sandals, they presented a picturesque, if not slightly unnerving sight. However I swallowed my trepidation (Tess isn't the only swallower in this tale) and gathered them around me. With Mbuto's help, we marked and distributed each man's load, making sure that the strongest and tallest got the heavier ones. I appointed a laundry wallah and gun bearer, and called out for the start.

Single file, we trekked out of the clearing, I consulted my map, and within 15 minutes we were out of sight of the city. Mbuto led the way, I followed, then Tess, Mariana, and the bearers. Entranced by the savage beauty of the veldt, nothing much was said by any of us in front for the better part of an hour. I heard the porters singing in their footsteps behind us, the rhythmic chanting echoing off down the trail behind us.

After a while, I let Tess move up in front of me, and I delighted in watching her pert bottom sway back and forth as she strode along. The bottom hems of her shorts ended a few inches above he tops of her gartered stockings, and I found the white of her thighs entrancing. Mbuto of course, seemed to be glancing backwards nearly more than he looked ahead, and at least one time I had to shout at him to pay attention lest he trip over a fallen log or whatnot.

We'd gone perhaps five or six kilometers into the bush when suddenly there arose an excited hue and cry from back among the porters. We stopped in our tracks and quickly gathered back to the group of them.

One porter was laying on his back by the side of the trail, and half a dozen of the others were gathered around him clucking like somebody's great aunt. The rest of the porters were just sitting or standing around in a bored stupor. Since my Swahili was a bit rusty, I motioned for Mbuto to find out what the problem was.

Mbuto and two or three of them chatted away for a few moments, and I noticed that one of them, at a point in the conversation, grabbed at his crotch in a decidedly Michael Jackson-like way.

Finally, Mbuto broke away and came over to me.

"Very badness, bwana, very badness. He has been bitten by a snake, the Okalaki bushmaster. It is a very bad snake, very bad. He will soon be expiring..." he shook his head in resignation.

"What the devil are you talking about, the Okalaki bushmaster? I've never heard of such a thing. And what on earth do you mean by expiring?" I was incredulous. I thought I was fairly familiar with most of the various flora and fauna of this part of the Dark Continent but I'd never heard of this particular reptile.

"Oh very bad snake ... very bad. Very rare here too there are not very many because villagers kill them when ever they find them. They kill very many people hereabouts and roundabouts..." he excitedly kept on chattering for a few minutes before I dismissed his discourse with a jaunty wave of the hand.

"Quite enough, my good man, quite enough. Less of the natural history lesson is required. What I want to know is just what is wrong with that poor bugger, and what do we need to do to get him back on his feet?"

The little man leaned in close to me and began whispering in my ear. After a few moments, I managed to contain my incredulity a bit, and digested what he said. It was not good. Things didn't look too rosy for the fellow.

I straightened up, and turned to Tess.

"Love of my life and partner o' mine, I have a feeling your services are needed."

One eyebrow arched.

I took her arm and walked her a bit out of the circle of still-goggling natives.

"It seems the unfortunate fellow has been bitten by some sort of viper or something. It's a very rare reptile but I'm told the bite is painful and, unfortunately, often fatal. It produces a huge swelling in the area that is bitten, and there is only one remedy to reduce the swelling..."

" ... Go on... " she smiled

"Well, it seems the lad was bitten square in the middle of his scrotum, and already his testes are swollen to the size of..." I cast about for a suitable simile... "to the size of those guava melons over there", pointing to a nearby bush with several large fruits laden on its low branches.

"And you need me to reduce the swelling somehow, am I correct, my lovebird and protector?"

"In words of one syllable, yes."

"What do you recommend, oh dear one?"

"Well, it would seem that the quickest way to extract the venom would be to have the poor bugger reach an orgasm as quickly as possible. Mbuto tells me the natives around here find that procedure to be the only operation with a modicum of success, as it were. When the venom is mixed in with the seminal fluid, it apparently negates it's rather unhealthy qualities, except that if it touches the exposed skin of someone, it can still cause a rather nasty burn of some sort. So it must be extracted and nullified by..."

"By?..."

"By saliva and stomach acids, so it seems."

"Ah..." she smiled. "So I'm to make sure the glans penis of this rather large gentleman – " she nodded to the sore native. "- is fully engulfed in my esophagus when his orgasm occurs, and ensure that the ejaculate is drained fully into my tummy? Is that what you're asking me?" she grinned with a twinkling eye. Her nipples had become engorged and swollen, not unlike what they might have done had she herself been stung by the serpent in question. It was a sure sign that she found the prospect enticing.

"Well, you've hit the nail on the head, my lovely rose petal. What say you?"

She just winked at me and strolled back to the assemblage. The afflicted fellow was seated on a large rock, or boulder of some type, leaning back on his elbows. We could all see the swelling beneath his loin cloth, and the agony on his face was almost unbearable. Tess motioned to one of the men for a blanket, which she folded neatly and placed on the ground before him. Kneeling, she put one hand on each of the fellow's knees and moved them apart to give her room to operate. He groaned almost soundlessly with the effort but his Nubian thighs parted enough for her to move in closer. Reaching out with a delicate hand, she lifted the hem of his loin cloth and moved it up and out of the way. His appendage, now visible to the naked eye, was indeed in advanced stages of turgidity as had been predicted. Tess placed one delicate hand around the shaft about half-way up its length (I noted that there was room between her fingertips) and lifted the stalk until it pointed like an asp at her own open mouth. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her face, opening her lips to allow the distended glans to enter. I watched entranced as she continued the descent, until at least several inches of the inflamed organ had disappeared.