[Reader: if you are sexually active, please use healthy precautions, be regular about medical check-ups, and only act with consent. Actions in this fantasy story do not carry consequences like they do in real life.]
Tkan Returns
I’m Jack Williams. I live in California. Least ways, I have been for the last few years. Before that I was seven years in New Guinea. I was a missionary there. But, things happened. Things happened to me. I changed. Since leaving the Pacific, I’ve been doing odd jobs here and there. I can’t really seem to hold anything down.
I’m gay. Didn’t used to be. That’s part of what happened to me. It’s a long story. Here in San Francisco, I fit in fine as far as that goes. Haven’t had anyone steady, no partner or anything. I like the scene okay. On prep. Stay in touch with the doc.
I’m just so listless. Something’s missing. Is it the religious faith I used to have? Don’t think so. I really do think I know what it is – but I’m kinda afraid to act on it.
The last half year that I was in the Pacific, I lived naked in the bush with a tribe of natives. It was not the usual tribe. It was all men . . . and they worshiped a phallus god. During that time, I lost faith in any god – theirs included.
Toward the end of my time with them, I decided to willingly join in their habits and rituals. I enjoyed it. I really, really did. So – why did I leave? Good question. At the time, I couldn’t see staying with such a totally other life than anything like my own past had been. It just seemed off. I was out of place.
Lately, I’m not so sure. It’s like it grabbed a hold of me deep down. I dream about the bush at night now. I dream about the orgies in the ritual phallus clearing with the huge fire blazing. I wake up and think back to all the naked tribesmen . . . all of us masturbating ourselves and each other . . . sucking and fucking each other . . . being lost in the zone. I can still taste the cocks in my mouth and feel the ones in my ass. I can taste the cum and smell the pubic bushes and feel my own cock in their asses. I wake up in the middle of the night drooling and wet with my cum, my prick hard as a rock.
A friend I met there gave me something that had been his. He was a powerful member of the tribe. But, he wasn’t an ordinary bushman. He was a white man who’d gone native. We had trained together as missionaries. He gave me the gourd sheath that he wore over his cock. I still have it. Sometimes when I wake up at night with these dreams, I get it out of the closet and put it on my cock. Naked, I look at myself in the full length mirror. The sheath has a drawing of a spring coming out of a rock painted at its base. The man who gave it to me was seen by the tribe as having seed that was a source giving them strength. Receiving his seed in my mouth and in my hole came to be a source of encouragement to me. I guess that counts as being a source of strength.
It’s strange. When I wake up like that, and I’m drawn to put it on, the whole cock sheath feels warm . . . and it feels wet inside. That doesn’t seem natural.
Ever since I realized what I’m wanting, I’ve been putting money aside from my work gigs. I’m saving up to go back to the Pacific. Back to the jungle bush. I’m getting close to having enough for a one-way ticket. I plan to sell what little stuff I’ve acquired these last few years. Even clothes other than the few I’ll need before I arrive there. I looked hard to find a cheaper than most freighter passage out of Oakland to get there.
I’m letting my hair grow and not shaving . . . and going a lot to the nude beach to get back a deep all over tan. My Mediterranean heritage helps with that. Once I get into the real jungle, all I’ll need is that sheath for my cock. And, a leather pouch on a cord to put round my neck to carry my map once I’m in the jungle with a guide, plus sandals. My feet have definitely grown more tender even though I have been going barefoot a lot lately in preparation.
The day’s finally come. I’m boarding the freighter and not even looking over my shoulder at what I’m leaving. It’s where I’m going – where I’m returning – that counts. I feel nervous, almost giddy. This is a big decision. I wonder if things will still be the same in the jungle and with the tribe. I hope that they’ll still want me. My friend, Ndu, did say I should visit. But, what I want is not to visit. It’s to stay. Just like he really became Ndo, the bushman . . . instead of Mark, I want to become Tkan instead of Jack. That’s the name they gave me during those six months I was with them.
The ship’s captain is at the head of the boarding plank. He tells me I’m the only passenger. It’ll be just the crew and me. He seems pretty business like, but not unfriendly. From what I found out looking for this cheap freighter, the crew is usually made up of about twenty men. Maybe some of them will want some action with the passenger. The trip will take about three weeks.
I’m only a week into the sailing and the days are already dragging. There are some books in a library here, but I can’t get into them. My mind is too concentrated on what’s ahead of me.
There is something that has gotten into me, though. Cock. The days may be dragging, but not the nights. I made it clear that I was willing the first time I got a look. Several of the crew have knocked on my door. I’ve enjoyed sucking the crewmen’s dicks and offering them my ass.
One of them in particular has come back three nights already. He’s a big black dude from the Deep South. Alabama. Name is Jimmy. His cock must be about a nine-incher and thick, uncut. When he fucks he goes real slow, backing almost out and then back in. He’s an expert with caressing his bottom’s g-spot with his big mushroom cock head. Just thinking about the way he fucks me gets me hard.
I am a long way from that missionary-boy I was the first time I crossed the Pacific in that air plane about ten years ago. That’s for sure.
Some of the crew offered to pay me. I told them no – that I’m not a prostitute, I won’t need the money where I’m headed – and that I’m happy to share a good time with them. Most of them are tops, but a few of them wanted me to top them, or to suck my cock. I’m versatile.
Even Captain Welsh has come by for enjoyment. I did ask him a favor before he left. Since everyone on board knows about me, I asked him if I could stay nude all the time except in the mess hall. He thought about it a bit. Then he smiled and said, “You’re a pretty good specimen. O.K. But, I’m lettin’ the crew know that during their shifts there’s not to be so much as a touch to your body.”
Needless to say, I’m greeted on the decks during the days with a lot of smiles and winks. In the mess hall, I’m welcomed at any table, too. They tell me that most passengers aren’t anything like the "good fit” that I am! Even though they know my name’s Jack, they decided to call me Dick.
I have been leaving the door to my little cabin open when I don’t have any visitor. That way, any of the crew who want to visit the naked guy inside can see that he’s not “busy”. It works. The open invite that that gives lets ‘em know they’re welcomed.
Two of the crew members have come together on at least three occasions. One of them is from the States and the other’s a Samoan. They spit roast me. The Samoan is an ass man. The Texan likes his cock sucked. They’re not in any rush. They play with my cock, balls, and nipples. I fondle their equipment. After a lot of nipple twisting and sucking while we grope crotches, the pace picks up. The Samoan gets me lying down on my back on the bunk. He tells me to put my heels over his shoulders and to lift my ass up so he can spit in my hole. He opens it some with the fingers of one hand while he’s masturbating his really huge cock with the other. When he’s ready, he smiles at me and starts to enter me real slow. Feels great! Once the Samoan’s started his slow rhythm, the Texan straddles my chest and puts his hands on the wall at the head of the bunk. He tells me to play with his cock and suck his big balls. Then, he drops his member into my mouth and I start making him moan.
The three of us just go on this way for maybe half an hour. We’re moaning our pleasure. I’m drooling heavy and leaking pre-cum heavy, too. Most nights when we do this, the Samoan cums first and pulls out. Then he takes my cock and bates it till the Texan cums down my throat. Then, the two of them play with my cock and balls till I shoot. I’m real happy when I see them come to my door!
The days have been much better since I can be naked up on deck and keep working on making my skin’s melonin do its best. Only a few days left till the boat will get to the port in Lae.
Finally! We’re in the port. It’s just past dawn. I’ve thanked the captain and the crew for their camaraderie. I’m wearing my sandals, and all I’m carrying is a canvas cover that was made for a fishing pole. It has my cock sheath in it. Its called a koteka. I gave my shoes and the changes of clothes I had on board to one of the crewmen who was my size.
It’ll be a long public van trip to the Central Range area. At least 18 hours with stops, maybe more. That’s okay. After all the time getting here, a long van ride is not a problem.
I’m at customs. I’ve been asked if I’m disembarking here or continuing on the boat. I tell that I’m not continuing. The officer has just opened my “luggage”, and he’s looking at me really funny. “Where is your other luggage?” he asks. “It’s waiting for me at my destination,” I lie to him. He asks, “Where is that?” I knew this question would be asked, so I’m ready with the address of the mission center that I worked out of as a missionary. Before I left the States, I checked to make sure it was still the same. Made it! I’m cleared to be in the country.
I can’t believe I’m back. I’m feeling that giddiness just like I did when I boarded the freighter in Oakland. Don’t think I’ll ever see the side of this ocean that I came from again.
The van is full. Lotta stops. People getting off and getting on. It’s like a milk run. After 24 hours, a second driver at the half-way point, and a few relief stops at places where some food and drink can be had, I’m at Mt. Hagen. This is where I get off and start my trek into the tribal areas. I’m eating and getting some food and drink to take with me.
I am SO anxious to shed these clothes and get naked. First, I have to make it a little farther into the territory, though – a little bit farther from the more populated areas.
I slept – if you can call it that – off and on during the long van ride. My excitement right now is keeping me keyed up, though. I’ve walked for around four hours, and I see a village. A REAL village. Most of the people are naked. The men are wearing kotekas. This feels so right.
I stop and try to talk to a few of them. I can remember words from some of the languages I learned, so I’m trying them out. I add in some Pidgin. We’re making a little headway. I tell them where I want to go. I’ve made a map that’s been folded up in a plastic bag in my pocket so I show them. I want to know if there’s someone who can guide me as far as the border of the next tribal area. They tell me they know someone named Iven who could do that. I’ll have to wait till he comes back to the village later in the day.
While I’m waiting for Iven, it’s time for me start fitting in better. I ask who cuts hair in the village. Pretty quick a village man is brought to where we’re waiting for Iven. He looks at his customer with a pretty doubting expression. There’s probably never been a white man ask him for his services. He shakes his head no. I get it. He doesn’t do white men’s cuts. I laugh. I point to the heads of the men who’ve gathered around this stranger. I put a hand on the head of the man nearest me.
His head looks like a bowl was used to cut around the back and sides. In the front, it’s combed forward over his forehead and cut off straight across about an inch above his eyebrows. I point to his haircut. I point to my head. I shake my head yes. I tell him with words that might or might not be right, “That. That is what I want. I want to look like you!”
The barber lights up. He actually starts to laugh. But, he’s shaking his head yes now. He walks up to me and starts cutting. When he’s finished, he shows me in a pocket mirror he has in a pouch tied to the cord around his waist what it looks like. I smile. I tell him that it’s exactly right. I take out some money to pay him. He holds up his hand and shakes his head no. Then he looks at my head and the tribe members’ heads and laughs again, pointing at my new haircut. I feel one step closer to my goal.
I’m staying in the village tonight. The tribe people are very hospitable, especially if they have a good feeling about someone. I qualify.
It’s dawn and time to get up. Iven came in from whatever his tasks were last evening and consented to take me quite far toward my destination. He speaks a lot of Pidgin, so we can communicate fine. This morning I think it’s time for me to leave behind the last trappings of my old culture. I am looping the cord at the base of my cock sheath behind my balls and covering my cock with it. I tie a leather cord around my waist with the sheath upright beneath it to hold it in place. It’s longer than most kotekas and goes up higher than my shoulder. I put on the sandals for my not yet tough enough feet. Finally, I put the cord of the leather pouch over my head. Last night I put the map in it.
As I step out of the hut and some of the people of the village see me, they stop in their tracks. They clearly can’t believe their eyes. Iven is among them. He was heading to where I was to make sure I was up and would be ready to go early. He laughs.
I ask him if anyone in the village might want my boots, jeans, and the few shirts and underwear that I won’t be needing. He tells me he can find someone who could use them.
He says to me in Pidgin that he has never seen this before. He tells me that he has seen white men try on a koteka just to see what it feels like or to take a photo. He has never seen a white man respect his people’s ways enough to permanently put aside all their clothes and belongings and to appear to the world like they do. He surprises me by saying that he thanks me.
In this village, money is of some use. Deeper in the bush, this is much less so. I ask Iven where I can buy a spear and some things that I could use to trade in the jungle. I’ll use the last of my money for these, after what I pay him to be my guide. He tells me that he has a spear that he would like to give me in return for my respect for his culture. Then, Iven takes me to a man who has some roots and grasses that I can use for trade. I pay the man with the last of the money. I put them in my pouch, and we start walking.
We’ve stopped to eat. I ask Iven to build a small fire. I take the passport from my pouch and put it in the fire.
Another many hours of walking has brought us to nightfall. After we’ve eaten again and rested a bit, I ask Iven if I can suck his cock. He smiles and removes the penis gourd he’s wearing. He moves from squatting on the ground to a big rock and spreads his legs. I kneel and take his large, dark dick in my hands and begin to masturbate him. He leans back on his outstretched hands still in a half sitting position. He is leaking pre-cum. I move back his foreskin and I lick up and down his shaft and all round his knob. He is moaning. I am drooling a lot and I am taking more and more of his long cock with each downward sucking move. Finally, I feel him in my throat. I start to hum . . . and he feels my vocal cords moving around his glans. He begins to buck. He’s fucking my face, fast. He’s lost conscious control. He makes a final, strong thrust and shoots his cum right down my throat. As he softens, I lick him clean.
When he recovers, he says that this has been the second thing that he has experienced for the first time since meeting me. A white man has never taken his penis in his mouth before. He tells me, “You are not like any other white man.”
I tell him that I know of at least one other. I give him the name of the tribe and ask him if he’s ever heard of a warrior named Ndu. He says he knows of the tribe, but he has not heard that name. I say to him, “I have a tribal name there. It is Tkan.”
We walk for two more days. In the early evening of the second of them, I again offer my mouth to service Iven’s dick. Iven says, “I want your ass.” He tells me he wants me to suck him hard and slick his penis so that he can enter me easily. I am very willing to do his bidding. He has me kneeling on all fours. He is not gentle. He moves fast and hard into my hole, his pubic air against my ass in his first thrust. Now, he is pumping. He is moving in and out of me really, really fast. It hurt the first few thrusts, but now it’s just what I want. As he was when I sucked him, he’s lost in fucking my ass, not really thinking. I do not mind. When he’s finished, he lies on the ground on his back in the moonlight. I turn and crawl to his crotch and clean his cock with my tongue. I am Tkan. That means tongue.
Iven tells me that today he will hand me off to a man he knows in a village we will reach in an hour. He believes that he will be willing to take me the week’s walking needed to reach the last area on the map I’ve drawn.
Iven was successful in finding the guide he wanted for me. He doesn’t speak nearly as much Pidgin as Iven and very little of “my” tribe’s language. I’ve been a week with him, and today we will reach my tribe’s territory. He tells me that he is fearful to actually go into it. The tribe is known to be fierce. I think that he is trying to convince me not to go there, either. It is midday. We have arrived at the border. I pay my guide with the agreed upon amount of herbs and grass from my pouch. He turns back.
My memory and my map tell me that the river beside me has a smaller one that flows into it about a day’s walk upstream. By following that other one, I’ll arrive in a few days at Ndu’s village. I hope that the chief will take me as more than a visitor. I’ve staked everything on this.
As the night comes, I gather grasses and leaves to make a place to sleep. Instead of feeling fearful, I am feeling secure. I feel like I’ve come home.
To Be Continued
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
