Malawi! – Aptly dubbed as the warm heart of Africa.
We’ve already met so many legends; our first fellow Aussie – the lovely Red Breast, two Israeli sweethearts, and the entire expat community of Kande.
Kande is home to the farm stay ‘Kande Horse,’ literally a mystical forest cottage filled with farm animals featuring horses imported from Zambia. We made a fast bond with the pixie-ex manager who proposed a wild idea to us: let’s get naked and go bareback riding in the forest. Fuck yeah. We made flower crowns, plaited the horses’ tails, and trotted off into the rain. Once we were alone we preformed the acrobatic feat of removing all wet garments whilst on horse. Seriously try it. All the while Mamma Africa snapped a trillion outrageously fantastic pics of us before we returned to the stables and checked our vaginas for ticks.
Whilst in Kande we met a 60-something year old South African man named Bob. Bob was driving an over lander, solo from Tanzania to South Africa. We got talking and it turned out Bob was keen for company and we wanted a lift.
Our first hitchhiking adventure began.
Not long into our first day on the road it became apparent that our gal trio and Bob had some preferred travel style differences. Bob liked to drive flat out, with zero stops until reaching the destination in order to enjoy the evenings. We liked to eat.
Well, it was Bob’s truck, so we obediently starved for the first five hours of day one, until hanger took over and we demanded to be let out of the truck to buy roadside chips, fried in a sink.
On arriving to our first destination, Salima, we decided our transport payment for Bob would be cooking. We prepared a vegan meal and enjoyed our quaint hostel, Cool Runnings. We lacked one vital thing, other humans. Us and our 60-something year old pal were the only people there.
The next day, still alone, I began writing a new tale, when much to our surprise a bajaji (also known as tuk tuk in others parts of the world), that was bedazzled with flowers and lights, pulled into the carpark. Now, a bajaji in our remote location was a rare enough sight, but rarer still was what dismounted: two strapping young lads.
I practically slapped my iPad shut and jumped up to greet them.
Mamma Africa and Zimbabawia weren’t as keen on their company as my hungry self. I ran off to slip on a sassy bikini and joined them on the beach. They hailed from Switzerland and had been driving said bajaji around Africa for three months, and were headed to the capital of Malawi, Lilongwe, where they would sell it! Epic. I was the first mzungu they’d seen in about five days, while telling me this I detected some excitement in the eyes of the Bieber look alike.
Could this Swiss Bieber be my ‘Baby’?
Our private beach chats soon turned into about 20 local kids gathering around us and dancing to our music. We ultimately ended up having a beach dance with them, and Swiss Bieber’s sweetness with the youngins got another tick of approval.
After dinner, the Swiss boys invited us to cruise the bajaji into town. Zimbabawia and Swiss Bieber sat with me in the back and Biebs gave my leg a quick tight grasp, AKA he gave me the pending hookup confirmation, also found in such gestures as the eyebrow raise, the crooked smile, the head tilted towards bedroom, and so on. We drove the bajaji around aimlessly finding nothing more than 10 people gathered in halfway bars before deciding to return to our own dinghy hostel. On the road back Zimbabawia took over the handles and whilst gleefully dodging potholes swore that the boys would not be taking it to Lilongwe but instead should sell it to us.
Back at the hostel, best wing woman ever – Zimbabawia, took Swiss #2 down to the beach whilst I accompanied Swiss Justin back to their room. Once alone, he nervously kissed me, it didn’t go down too smoothly and our teeth did the dreaded clang. No bother I thought, whilst sitting myself on the bed, just a rocky start. We kept making out but it was all junty and teethy, and just frickin awkward. Realising that the awkwardness was coming from his nervousness, I mounted him and began grinding in an attempt to relax him, when a mere two thrusts in he abruptly stopped.
Just so you know, I haven’t errrrr done this in a while. Um done what? Sex. Oh yeah, how long? Like three years. Okay, how old are you? 19. Ahhhhhhhhhhh I see.
Well I thought, I don’t know if I believe the ‘sex three years ago’ tale, but he’s a sweet guy and I’m into it, so I told him that didn’t phase me. With the new knowledge that my Swiss Bieber wasn’t as experienced as I, I decided to take on the role of teacher. I grabbed his hand and put it in my knickers; move like this, that feels good, faster, slower, circular, deeper. All the instructions were ticking my ‘boxes’ so assuming it was doing the same for him, I went into his pants to see the ‘size’ of the response and… nothing.
Not a peek out of the pecker. I was wondering if maybe I should feel offended when again he seized all activity and exclaimed, with utter shame on his face, that he just couldn’t do it.
Well, that is absolutely fine I replied cheerily!
Because truly I was delighted at someone speaking their mind in a sexual situation, to be perfectly honest, when I was his age I got myself into a lot of situations that I didn’t know how to get myself out of. I hadn’t yet found my voice in the bedroom and did things I probably would more easily say no to now.
Upon reflecting, him saying he didn’t want to continue made me feel ashamed that I hadn’t asked throughout the session if he was okay. As much as I LOVE the act of sex, what I love most is the CONSENT and the feeling of SAFETY between two, three, or ten sexual partners.
I got dressed, gave him a peck goodbye, told him he’s a beautiful being and not to feel bad in anyway about what had/hadn’t happened, and left the room with my head held high.