Promenade

On my six-weekly visits to Cape Town, I mostly stayed at a beautiful, old-worldly hotel in Sea Point, on a beautiful promenade. Let me explain the word, ‘mostly.’ Please bear in mind that Cape Town is in the southern hemisphere and therefore, the global seasons are the opposite of the north.

With the summer season approaching after September, the hotel got very busy, attracting mostly a Germanic clientele. Understandably, most of the management and reception staff were proficient in German. After May, however, business tapered off, and for our winter season, prices at the hotel substantially reduced for obvious economic reasons. This is when, on the budget of the company that I worked for, I could afford to stay at the hotel.

With its Mediterranean climate, although winter is the rainy season in Cape Town, the weather is intermittently superb from May until September. Apart from the hotel’s sumptuous accommodation, their breakfasts and meals, in general, were incredible. Best of all, I knew the head chef at the hotel. Subsequently, in the winter months, I got a great room. We did occasionally have sex, but it was the exception rather than the rule. Large as he was, Gunther was a bottom, which did not honestly work for me. Nonetheless, I always did my very best. Thankfully, my above-average cock stood me in good stead. 

What I loved most, was the terrace area in front of the hotel, which offered the most delectable pub grub, and splendid draft beer. Apart from that, watching the late western setting sun over the ocean was a remarkable sight. In addition, there was always an abundance of talent partaking in one or another activity, on the large lawn opposite the hotel, between the hotel and paved walkway of the promenade.

As one would imagine, after dark there was a fair amount of cruising on the promenade. Although I enjoyed a few memorable engagements over the years that I stayed at the hotel, which for this story I will not mention, regrettably, there was also, an abundance of riffraff that one had to be wary about. Luckily, with Cape Town being known as the pink city, the bars and sauna offered far less of a challenge.

One evening, after I had enjoyed a draft of beer or two, I decided to take a walk before ordering a meal, to build up an appetite. A customer had invited me to lunch that day and was not particularly hungry.

As I went on my extensive walk, I saw numerous solicitous eyes observing me. Warily, as always, I did not engage their inquiring glances. Upon my return to the hotel, I finally felt, prepared for a light dinner, before heading off to bed. It had been a busy day, and with numerous appointments for the following day, an early night beckoned me. I could do my bar and sauna whoring the following evening.

Before veering off the paved promenade, to my hotel, however, the most stunning young man approached from the opposite direction. Stopped in my tracks, I moved to the sturdy retaining wall, bordering the promenade from the beach below, to do an impression of gazing at the ocean.

To my overwhelming joy, he took up station next to me.

“Hi, I hope I’m not bothering you… My name is Wikus,” he said introducing himself with a heavy Afrikaans accent.

To anybody unfamiliar with white Afrikaans culture, to start speaking to anyone, without first introducing yourself, is the height of rudeness. Raised in fifty-fifty, English and Afrikaans- speaking families I was familiar with this practice.  

“I’m Gary," I answered.

Wikus then went on to tell me that he was from up north, and with the new dispensation in South Africa, jobs were scarce for white men like him. His tone was not bitter but manifested a rueful acquiescence that things are what they are. He had come to Cape Town to find a better living for himself.

As I listened, I was awaiting the outstretched begging hand that I surmised would follow. To my amazement, however, he opened the backpack he was carrying and asked if he could interest me in the products that he was trying to sell.

As I peered into the bag, I saw a collection of the gaudiest-looking bottles of cheap male cologne.

‘Oh, fuck, I have to extricate myself from this,’ I thought.

“Listen, boet, (bro in Afrikaans), is jy honger?” (Are you hungry?) I rhetorically inquired.

“Fok, ja, baie,” (Fuck, yes, very), he answered.

“Kom saam met my,” (accompany me), I replied.

As we sat on the terrace, I ordered a large glass of draft for him. When it arrived, his eyes lit up.

“Waarvoor is jy lus om te eet?” (What would you like to eat?), I asked.

As he looked at the menu, I could see his confusion because of the customary French references. Negating his discomfort, I inquired, “Hou jy van hamburgers?” (Do you like hamburgers?)

“Ja, dankie, meneer,” (Yes, thank you, mister), he replied, almost gulping with salivation.

I knew that their premier burger was a showstopper, and unreservedly ordered one for him.

When it arrived with the onion rings and potato wedges, his eyes were spinning in his head.

 “Geniet,” (enjoy), I instantly invited him.

This beautiful boy was ravenous, and he ate like a starving man who had not had a decent meal in days.

Once he finished every morsel, I could help myself before asking, “Is jy lus vir nagereg?” (Would you like dessert?)

“Sjoe, ek weet nie of ek plek het nie,” (Whew, I do not know if I have space left), Wikus replied with a smile.

Overawed by this beautiful boy, I could not resist ordering a Crème Brûlée for him.

“Jesus, dis fokken lekker (Jesus, this is fuckin’ delicious), he exclaimed as he scoffed it down.

“Waar bly jy vanaand? (Where are you staying tonight), I then asked.

“Ek het nog n bietjie geld, so hoopelik sal ek slaapplek by n backpacker’s plek kan kry.” (I still have a bit of money, so hopefully I will find accommodation in a backpackers place) he wistfully exclaimed.

“Wel, vanaand kan jy my kamer met my deel,” (Well, tonight you can share my room) I announced before adding, “Maar, ek vertrek more,” (But I leave tomorrow) I quickly added, making sure that there was no misunderstanding.

As we entered my bedroom, Wikus’s eyes lit up once more, as he saw the sumptuous bathroom with the spa bath.

“Wil jy bad, Wikus?” (Do you want to bathe?) I asked.

“Fok, ja, as jy my sal toelaat,” (Fuck, yes, if you will allow me) he enthusiastically uttered.

Once the tub was full and the jets were doing their thing, I eagerly watched him undress. Wikus had the most exquisite naturally proportioned body. In keeping with all his other perfection, his uncut dick was big and beautiful. In a turn of events, now, my mouth was watering.

“Fok, my, maar jy het n groot piel, (Fuck, me, but you have a big cock) I exclaimed.

With a shy smile, he answered, “Ja… did maak altyd die meisies lekker laat kerm.” (Yes, it always makes girls groan nicely)

Shortly, Wikus was relishing in the glorious bubbles in the tub. As I stood watching him, he asked, “Gaan jy nie saam bad nie?” (Are you not joining me in the bath?)

In an instant, my clothes flew off my body and I did as he requested.

“Geniet jy dit?” (Are you enjoying this?) I asked with a smile as I settled in.

“Fok… As ek eendag ryk is, sal ek definitief so a bad koop,” (Fuck… If I am rich one day, I will definitely buy bath like this) he assured me.

As we sat there luxuriating, Wikus sniggered, “Die bad het my n stywe piel gegee.”(This tub has given me a hard-on)

“Regtig?” (Really?) I innocently inquired.

“Ja… Laat ek jou wys,” (Yes… Let me show you) he uttered before standing up.

“Here… Maar jou piel is nie net groot nie, maar ook fokken dik,” (Lord, but your cock is not only huge, but also fuckin’ thick) I gasped.

Like a naughty child, Wikus now proudly commenced flapping his dick about. Much as I had not taken for granted that I was going to have my way with him, impulsively, I stretched my arm out and took hold of his knob.

“Ek hoop nie jy gee om nie… Maar ek moes dit voel,” (I hope you do not mind, but I had to feel it) I stammered. 

“Nee, dis bakgat,” (Not at all, it's fine) Wikus replied.

As I look up into his permissive eyes, my mouth edged closer to the beckoning snout awaiting me, before I commenced sucking on his knob.

After a few minutes, he said, “Passop… ek het lank laas gekom,” Be careful… I have not unloaded in a while) he stated as his body trembled.

The explosion from his cock was extraordinary. My entire head, and mouth, experienced the most spectacular deluge of jizz I had ever encountered. It was unbelievable!

Much as I enjoyed the experience, I wondered if this had been a simple thank you gesture, for my kindness. Even if nothing else was to follow, however, I was happy with the spunk explosion I had just received.

As I rinsed myself off in the shower, I invited him to indulge in the tub for as long as he liked. After I dried myself off, I got into the cozy bed and relaxed to the splashing sounds from the bathroom.

When Wikus finally entered the bedroom, he quickly slid into the bed next to me. After I switched off the bedside lamp, he moved closer to me, before he started kissing me. It was the most sensual kissing I could remember in a long while.

As the smooching intensified, Wikus moved his lips to my ear and asked, “Wil jy hê ek moet jou naai?” (Do you want me to fuck you?)

“Ja, asseblief,” (Yes, please) I lustfully answered.

There was no hurry as he once more resumed leisurely kissing me.

Ultimately, he lifted his head and said, “Draai, ek gaan nou naai,” (Turn over, now I am going to fuck you) I giggled inwardly at his coarse erotic rhyming.

As I turned over, it became clear that he wanted me to spread my legs open as wide as possible as his knees dictated his intentions. “Maak wyd oop, ek wil my piel diep in steek,” (Open wide, I want to stick my cock in deep) he lustfully mumbled.

How I did not bite a chunk out of my pillow, I will never know. I had enjoyed a few big dicks in my life, but Wikus was taking me to the next level. After a few minutes of discomfort, however, I started getting the greatest pummelling of my life.

As Wikus rhythmically plundered my arse, his mouth traversed my shoulders, neck, ears, and face, sensually.

Wikus’s variation of pace and the lusty groans from him were heavenly. He was an exquisite modulator of pace, and his languid and sustained prodding was awesome. In short, Wikus was the ultimate fuck machine and unhurriedly and sensually practiced his breathtaking skill.

After an age in paradise, Wikus finally announced, “Ek is nou baie moeg,” (Now I am really, exhausted)    

After a last lusty foray, he finally let out a roar as he unloaded frenziedly.

Upon moving off me and lying on his back for a short while, I could hear him drifting off to sleep.

As I contentedly lay next to him, I formulated a plan that I would institute the following morning.

After we awoke, Wikus headed to the bathroom for his morning constitutional. As he closed the door, I immediately phoned Gunther, the head chef.

Keeping my voice low, I waxed lyrically about Wikus and the incredible night I had enjoyed.

Although Gunther was above making breakfasts, being the perfectionist he was, I knew that he always paid a brief visit in the mornings, just to see that everything was up to scratch.

When Gunther arrived at my room, as planned, I was not surprised that his eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw Wikus.

To cut a long story short, after Gunther had made a brief visit to the breakfast area, Gunther collected Wikus from my room and took him home.

At eleven that day, I got a WhatsApp from Gunther simply stating, ‘Ongelooflik.’(Remarkable)

I am pleased to report that Wikus got a job at the hotel, in the maintenance division, as well as moving in with Gunther.

Fortunately, on future visits to the hotel, I frequently did get to enjoy the company of Wikus.