South Africa - Johannesburg #2
Part 46

The last time I arrived in Johannesburg, I had to make my own way to Fingers' place by thumbing a ride. Mark had made no effort to meet me. Hey, he thought I was an asshole, so it wasn't surprising. Then, when I turned up at his front door, I was greeted by a fucking slap across the chops. So what would happen this time?

I can't begin to tell you how fucking cool it was to see Mark's smiling, handsome face waiting for me at the airport. He had a relaxed, friendly air about him, which made me feel more than welcome. You have to understand something about Mark's face, G. He's capable of making you feel lower than shark shit, but he's also capable of making you feel like a million bux. In this case, it was the latter. I was feeling ten feet tall, and beaming from ear to ear. It was just so damn good to see him.

"How's it been going in Cape Town?" he asked after we'd shaken hands, then headed to where he'd parked his Bug.

"Pretty cool. Got a lotta catching up to do at school, though. Fucked up the first term. Been surfing a lot with Winger."

"You really like that kid."

"Yeah. He reminds me of Cody in so many ways."

"How are Cody's folks?"

"Doing OK. They're spending more time together now. Y'know... going out to dinner, spending weekends away together, and that kinda thing. They were always close, but I guess they realize how important being together is now that Cody's gone. Every moment is just so fucking precious now."

"They're wonderful people... always treated me like a son."

On the drive back to the house, Mark told me that Fingers was away for the week, which meant that Mark and I would be sharing the house on our own... a chance to get to know each other again. I had the feeling that Mark and I were friendly but not actual friends, if you get my drift. He had a way of keeping himself at an arm's length. Not the easiest guy to get to know on an intimate or personal level.

Mark knew that I was totally fucking hopeless in the kitchen, so he did all the cooking. Hey, he even had me in there helping out; showing me what to do, how to cook, and all sorts of shit. He was like a mother. :) And that was another fascinating aspect of Mark's character. He could be as tough as fucking nails one minute, yet look after you like you were family the next.

"Where did you learn all this stuff?" I asked as I peeled a carrot.

"I had no choice. It was just me and my mom after my dad split. I had to learn how to cook, wash, iron, clean, and all that other fucking crap. But it comes in handy. You should learn too, bro."

"No need. We've got a housekeeper and staff."

"So the staff are smarter than the boss?"

"Never thought of it that way."

Maybe it was the vibe that he was sending out, but we never spoke about sex at all. Even when we discussed Cody, sex didn't enter into the convo. The vibe was comfortable, though, and the absence of the subject of sex from the convos didn't hassle me at all. OK, so I'd crack a boner everytime I saw Mark in his briefs or boxers, but I'd sort it out later in the shower. You gotta believe me, G, when I say that Mark is a god. That dude is just awesome.

The black guys at the barn where the yacht was being built were also all rows of sparkling pearlies to see me again. Beaming big time. No way a white guy could ever smile like a black guy. Those dudes shook my hand 'til I thought it was gonna fall off. But it was great to be welcomed back with such cheerful enthusiasm and affection.

Thankfully, there was no sanding of the fibreglass happening during the first couple of days, so I was able to work in my boxers on the yacht without fear of getting fibreglass dust in the pores of my skin. I just sanded away at the woodwork. What I hadn't realized at the time, though, was that getting that fine wood dust in your pubes and under your foreskin was something fucking else. That's what I discovered when I'd get under the shower and see the little bits of mud around my cockhead. Not a good look hahahahaha.

Fingers phoned the second night that I was at the house, and spoke to me for fucking ages about how cool it was to have me there, and that he couldn't wait to get home to see me. Hey, I couldn't wait to see him either.

The following night, Mark made it plain that he was itching to be with his girlfriend, so he left me home alone with the TV remote and a fridge full of beer. Hello? No fucking way I wanted to sit around watching fucking telly, so I took a walk into town, where I found a pub. It seemed inviting enough, so I wandered in, ordered a beer, and noticed a chick sitting all by herself. She was around her mid twenties, and latched on to me right away. What can I say? I was wearing my Levis and an open shirt over a black T, which hugged my bod.

"The problem with good looking guys like you is that you're always so damn full of shit."

"How do you know?"

"Been there, done that... more times than I care to remember."

"Me, too. But for me it's the other way around. I've met more bitches than you've had breakfasts, and they're all fucking useless."

"Sounds to me like we're both still looking for the right person to come along," she smiled.

We started to laugh at the sound of our own sarcastic comments, and after downing about four beers, her fingers managed to claw their way under my T and play with my pecs.

"What are you looking for?"

"A real man. I like what's under your shirt, Steve."

"I've got some other stuff I can show you. But it's not under my T."

"Oh?"

It was an offer she couldn't refuse, so we left the pub and headed back to Fingers' house. Almost as soon as we went through the front door, it became a fuckfest, which made me realize just how fucking desperate I'd become for wild sex.

"Forget about the condom."

"Sorry, babe. Can't do that," I told her as I fought with my cock, trying to roll the condom down its length. Besides, I didn't wanna take a chance with a chick who was that easy to pick up.

Then the shit happened. She reached into her bag and produced the coke. By then I was way past refusing, so we cut a few lines. In between lines, the sex kinda happened, and now I can't remember if I wore a condom the second time around.

Mark arrived home while the girl and I were snorting again. He glared at us, but didn't say a fucking word to me. Then he looked at the chick and told her to fuck off out of there. She and I walked a way down the road before we stopped behind some bushes where she gave me a blow job. Hey, go figure. There was a girl I'd never see again in my entire life, and she had my dick half way down her throat.

I was totally pissed off with Mark for the way he'd handled the whole thing, and also because I was still fucking raging for another fuck. The front of my jeans had telltale cum dribbling down the fly as I walked back into the house.

"Listen, Mark...." But that's as far as I got before Mark pushed his angry finger almost into my fucking nose.

"Don't!" He growled in his deep, masculine voice. "Don't say a fucking word. I'm not interested. You're pissed, and you're fucked."

"Woohoo!" I laughed, trying to ease the tension. "You can say fucked again! Hahahaha!"

The next thing I knew, it was morning. I was still dressed in the clothes I'd worn the previous night. I'd obviously passed out, and slept on the floor where I'd collapsed. When I checked Mark, he was asleep in his bed.

After showering, I pulled on a clean pair of briefs, then went into the kitchen and made us some coffee, which I brought back to the den. I shook Mark's shoulder to wake him, and he opened his eyes right away. He wasn't a happy boy.

Not a word was spoken until after he'd made himself some breakfast in the kitchen... all the while treating me as if I didn't exist.

"I want to see you in the garage."

"My name's Steve in case you've fucking forgotten."

"Just be in the fucking garage. You've got one minute." Then he disappeared through the door.

It was way too early in the trip to have fucked up so badly, so I made up my mind to speak to him, and to say that I was sorry. But when I entered the garage, he was waiting for me, and tossed a pair of boxing gloves in my direction.

"Let's see how fucking useless you are."

I began to put on the gloves, and asked him, "Are you going to show me a few tips?"

"I'm going to give you a fucking beating, and I expect you to hit back. After I'm finished, you can take the next plane back to Cape Town. I'll get you to the airport." Just as I was convinced that I'd gotten my final fucking marching orders, he added, "Or you can stay. If you stay and get high again, I'll put you in a fucking transit hospital before your flight."

I'd only just gotten my arms into position when he began to treat me like his boxing bag. First in the gut, then in the ribs. One punch was almost too low. The more he hit me, the madder he got, like his mission was to reduce me to the status of a rag doll. But I was getting madder, too. I decided right there and then to show him that I could handle any shit he dealt me, and then give him some of his own medicine. I tried to lash out at him, but he just blocked my wild punch, saw the opening, and hit me again. Wham! It was like a repeat of me and my dad in the gym. Eventually, I screamed at him to stop. Yeah, right. He roundhoused me on my cheek and I saw fucking stars. My knees did their own thing and buckled, and I ended up flat on the deck. I was waiting for him to kick me, but the boot never arrived. After a moment or two, his hand reached down and pulled me to my feet. When I checked my bod, I saw that I had scratches along my rib cage and abs. Yeah, I'd been keeping pretty fit and I actually had some abs that you could see now. :)

"I'm sorry I fucked up last night, OK?"

"So how many times are you going to say that, Steve?"

"I didn't know she had the shit [coke] when I met her, and it just got out of hand."

"You're like a fucking pig. There's a used condom lying in the den, and the place is a fucking mess. You don't even realize how fucking bad you can be when you're out of control."

"Do me a favor, OK? Please don't stay mad at me forever... not like last time."

"Me? Mad? I'm gonna enjoy having you here as a punchbag."

I thought the boxing match was over. But no. He began to show me what he knew about boxing. Jab, jab, jab. I could feel the pain, and he knew it. But I wasn't gonna give in, so I bit my lip and took all the punishment. I didn't want him to enjoy his superiority too much by making my suffering too obvious.

By the time he'd finished with me, I was totally fucked. But I'd learned something valuable. He had been showing me how to stand and how to use my bodyweight to put power behind my punches. One time he'd dropped his guard momentarily, and I took immediate advantage, sending a shot right into his gut. Haha! But the dude never fucking flinched. Punching his stomach was like hitting an iron grid. Mine wasn't all that fucking bad, but there was no way that I could have absorbed what he was throwing at me, especially when he wound all his power into it.

For the next couple of days, our activities became almost routine. Mark and I would be up at sparrow's, running for about an hour, boxing for another hour, then we'd take a shower. But not shower for an hour hahahaha! Our friendship was improving a stack as it went along. He even confided in me about how he used to get fucked up by his stepdad, and that that was the reason he took up boxing. He was determined never to be fucked around by anyone ever again.

"Cody saw it one time. He was at my place, and he saw shitforbrains about to beat me with his rubber hose. I told Cody to fuck off outa there."

"Why the fuck did you let shitforbrains treat you like that?"

"My mom loves him. Don't ask any more questions."

After our morning ritual of running and boxing, we'd both be too fucked to eat breakfast, so we'd have something to eat at the boatshed after we'd been delivered there by his ever faithful Bug across the bumpy fields. Actually, it was cool cos we'd get to eat with the black guys. Fucking hell, old scarface gave me some of his traditional meal and it was totally fucked up. I figured it was something like cow stomach smothered in a wild fucking gravy. YUCK! YECH! PUKE!

The black guys just laughed at the expression on my face as I spat out the remaining taste. How the fuck could they eat that awful stuff?

When the black guys found out that Mark had been teaching me boxing techniques, scarface challenged me to a sparring session during one of our breaks. No gloves.

"No gloves?"

"No gloves," he smiled, flashing a blinding row of pearlies.

Hey, G, you need to know that the black guys are great followers of boxing, so with or without training they know a fucking lot about the sport. So, SMACK! Right into my ribs. I thought I heard something crack, but maybe it was just my brain making shutdown noises like crackling electricity. You'd better believe that bare fists against bare ribs hurt like fuck. Even so, I managed to stay on my feet, and somehow landed a few punches on his gut. But I might as well have been a fly for all the fucking damage I did. He didn't feel a thing. His muscles were made of steel.

Eventually, I had to call a halt to our fisticuffs. We'd gotten into a tight clinch and I felt my cock harden against his bulging crotch. I just couldn't help it. We had our arms wrapped around each other, and I could feel the power of his black, sweaty, muscular bod. He obviously could feel my hardon as well cos he moved his leg up against it. So I pushed him away. But he just smiled, and resumed his boxing stance. "No more, bro," I said, and the fucker knew why. There would be another time.

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 Steve Part 47