My African Adventure – Part 4 – Monday – I Learn Miss T’s Secrets

The fourth day (Part 3 here) of my erotic African adventure. I learn the personal secrets of my friend’s lovely companion and we continue to a quiet and sensuous day.

So I had come from a frigid Toronto winter to sunny Capetown, visiting my photographer friend Hanz. Then the erotic surprises began and they just didn’t stop. I met his girl, who we called T, I got a frisky companion Anna, and the delights and sex were practically non-stop. Now it was Monday and a revelation was to come.

MY AFRICAN ADVENTURE – PART 4 – MONDAY – I LEARN MISS T’S SECRETS

Monday was a relatively quiet day with less to report. But it began with a revelation and ended with calm sweetness.

Friends who do a lot of world travelling tell me that just ’cause you slept well your first night after a long flight doesn’t mean jet lag won’t bite you; they warned it’s the second or third night’s sleep that will be difficult, and Sunday night was when it hit me; early Monday morning, as I continued to toss and turn, I learned it was true. Here I was eight thousand miles and seven time zones from Ontario and jet lag was biting me on the bottom.

I left in bed sweet sexy Anna, who was nice enough to be my companion over the weekend and now had arranged her work schedule to let me enjoy her charms for the whole time I’m here in South Africa. I got up thinking I’d watch some TV or smoke a little to get sleepy again.

But to my surprise my host Hanz was up and working at his computer, polishing a photo assignment. He said to me “you guys with a job and a paycheck get time off; a free-lancer like me works all the time. When you’re self-employed you have a slave driver for a boss.”

We shared strong cups of coffee and he began to tell me about his live-in girl friend, T.

He said he would let T tell me the remarkable story of her parents and siblings and how she was conceived, an amazing tale in itself, a story she was proud to tell. But her own story, with its dark and light sides, she didn’t like to openly relate to new friends, but Hanz thought I should know it. It wasn’t anything T didn’t want friends to know, it was just something better told to me by Hanz.

He went on to tell me T’s story and how, in a manner of speaking, he had saved her life.

T is constantly filled with desire. Strong sex, which she needed at least three times a day, would make her satisfied and fulfilled, the way most people wanted sex a few times a week. But even then there was still the itch, itching at her, which explained her constantly playing with herself. Why she always had her hand in her pussy. It wasn’t even deliberate, Hanz explained, it was just an unconscious thing she did, like you or I might unconsciously scratch at an insect bite. At least she only did it when she had her clothes off, which was most of the time at home. She was constantly rubbing her clit and massaging her vagina.

As a child, once she hit puberty – which was early for her, naturally enough – the trouble began. Well, it was pleasure for her, but troubling to the adults around her. She just couldn’t keep her hands away from her crotch, which bothered the grown ups, and she was very pleased about it, which bothered the grown ups even more.

Fortunately T’s sexual energy was entirely focused on herself. If she’d been a school girl who would lay for any boy or target girls (in homophobic Africa) that would have been real trouble. But fortunately as a youngster she just wanted to get herself off, not have sex with others; that came later.

When she was in school, he went on to explain, the authorities thought she might be what they called a sex addict and sent her to therapy. But the therapists said no, sex addicts are deeply unhappy with sex. Not T; T was deeply happy with sex. Thrilled with it, loving it, wanting it with every breath. T was just very horny and loved sex. Loved it too much, they thought. They taught her to manage her desires and to avoid embarrassing herself in public. The therapists declared her to be – that condescending phrase – “well adjusted” and – a beautiful phrase – “rich in desire”.

Rich in desire! What a gift from the gods. Lucky girl, I thought.

Back at home in Canada we’d just say she was over sexed. I think you say that in the US too. But that was a good thing as long as she was happy, it didn’t disrupt her life, and she didn’t leave human wreckage in her wake.

Hanz went on to say that T’s mother, he understood, was rather the same. Again, that mother-daughter thing. T had told him that the mother had a wild and roaming sex life. Not a problem in the family. T’s mother was very fertile: she had six brothers and sisters, all healthy and real. It wasn’t uncommon in Africa to value fertility over faithfulness, I’d been told. Single mothers were quite marriageable; they weren’t considered damaged goods as they would have been in the time of our grandparents in the US and Canada; they were considered proven child bearers. A woman known to be fertile was a desirable partner indeed.

So the young T adjusted to her lusty nature. Combining that with her striking good looks and men flocked around her which, as she grew older, became a problem.

I think all of us in the lifestyle are all to aware that women – or men – who are too driven by their sexuality end up in difficult circumstances. Women especially can find themselves in exploitive situations which do them great harm. I’ve seen it in Canada and I suspect most of our readers here have seen it in the US. That could have been the trajectory that T was headed for.

Once T was out of school she could have been in a downward spiral. But meeting Hanz saved her life, so to speak. Here was a solid guy who could provide her with a stable relationship that also accommodated her exceptional sexual needs and gave her a solid and safe relationship. She could live a good and sane life with Hanz as a home base.

That old chestnut about people who grow up poor long for “three squares a day” – square meals, that is – applied to T in her own special way. Her special needs meant that her needed her own kind of three squares every day, plus plenty of snacks, and Hanz was a man who could provide them, in a healthy way. Along with the vitamin supplements of their activities in the lifestyle.

And so it went.

(There was a fly in this ointment, as you may realize. Hanz, as a photographer with an international practice, was often away on assignment. After all, I met him when he was working in Canada. What kept T sane when he was away? A mystery I never learned the answer to.)

Hanz went on to say that T comes from a very unusual family with exceptional parents and six siblings like no others. But he’d leave that story for T to tell me herself (which in due course she did, two days later, over dinner, on Wednesday night at the legendary Mount Nelson Hotel). Hanz said T’s rather beautiful, right? I agreed. And rather lusty, right? Again I agreed. Well, he said, T is her mother’s daughter, and you could say her father’s daughter as well. The mother, Mrs T, an quite beautiful woman. She attracts men like flies. And she’s quite lusty too; not as much as her daughter, but more than nearly any woman you might meet. (That too I learned about later.)

It had been about an hour while Hanz had told me that story, so it was now maybe four in the morning. Though we’d been drinking strong coffee, I finally felt sleepy again and, not wanting to disturb my lovely Anna, I fell asleep on the living room couch.

I slept for a few hours on the couch only to be kicked – kicked! – awake in mock anger by Anna. She’d woken up to find me gone from her bed. She was dressed for her morning power ride and then found me dozing on the couch. Pretending to be angry at me she wrestled me awake and then went off for her ride. I went back to sleep.

Hours later I got up, bleary eyed and the four of us had breakfast. All agreed that what I needed was some vigorous exercise and so we decided on a group bike ride. Anna got me a loaner bike and off we went.

It was a lovely biking tour of the Cape with only one thing worthy of comment: with every opportunity for a rest room, T called a time out for a bathroom break.

When our ride was done and we were chilling back home I privately asked Anna what was up with T having to pee every other minute. Anna burst out laughing and called me a fool. T hadn’t been peeing on those stops, she’d been masturbating! The saddle on her bike had been rubbing her clit just the right way to get her too excited and she’d needed to rub one off to keep from going crazy during our bike.

What a fool I was!

The rest of our day was much like the other’s I’ve described; splashing in the pool, Hanz and T having a vigorous midday fuck, my Anna and T having their own sex together, lunch, napping, dinner, early to bed since I was exhausted.

For Anna and I, in bed, this night was different. Instead of just having sex together, we explored each other’s bodies, touching and touching, relishing the skin, delighting in feeling each other.

Anna was amused that I kept myself hairless. She, on the other hand, kept her love triangle’s hair in a delightful way. She kept herself trimmed short, maybe around three or five millimeters (a quarter inch to you Yanks). Normally that would make the patch wiry and scratchy but she used some hair-care stuff that kept her pubic hair soft and delightful to touch or rub your face into. Like petting a favorite cat. Petting my pet? Let me touch you!

And so we drifted off to sleep. This was the first night that I didn’t awake to Anna kissing me with T’s pussy on her breath. Not that I minded it; I found it both sweet and erotic. Whenever I smelled T on Anna's breath I immediately got an erection. But it was somehow special to have Anna all to myself for a full night. Just caressing each other every time we awoke.

That ended the fourth day of my African adventure. The next day, my fifth of My African Adventure, or rather the next night, would be explosive.