Incomplete Without My Brother, Adonis by Kaizer Mabhilidi Nyatsumba

Author:Kaizer Mabhilidi Nyatsumba
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Strategic Book Publishing and Rights Co.

One thing quickly led to another and we ended up on her bed, with our clothes off. Intense love-making followed, during which neither of us said much. One thing was clear: there was a voracious hunger or a phenomenal appetite on both our parts, and on and on we continued until we reached a giant climax around the same time. Although it was cold outside and we were on top of the bed rather than between the sheets, by then we were feeling hot and were drenched in sweat.

As we sat on the bed, panting, with Anney in my arms, she turned to look at me—with a big smile on her face.

“So,” she said, “was that your first time with a white woman? And how was it?”

Yes, I told her, it was my first time with a white woman. Had what had just transpired between us taken place in South Africa, she and I would have broken one of the country’s laws and would be liable for arrest and prosecution. It felt good to enjoy in America what was denied to us back home—and, yes, I had enjoyed her very much.

“That’s great,” said Anney. “I have enjoyed you very much, too. Of course, it is not my first time with a black man. Actually, I prefer black men, especially African men,” she said.

That much I had already figured. The “friend” that she had met at American University, whose letter she had asked me to mail in Johannesburg, was also a black South African. I was part of her sexual fantasy, or part of the on-going realization of that fantasy—and I did not mind one jot. She had also given me a taste of what President PW Botha and his ilk back home considered forbidden fruit for me and all black men in South Africa, something of which we were considered unworthy.

That was despite the fact that some white men in the self-same South Africa were known not only to lust after black women, but also occasionally to whisk them off to neighbouring countries like Swaziland for sexual trysts with them—or even to abuse their domestic workers at home, behind their wives’ backs.

As I got to spend more time with Anney and to know her better, I got to realize that white women were just that: women. They were no different at all from black women. Like their black sisters, they also wanted to be liked, to be appreciated, to be loved, to be made to smile and laugh from time to time and to be made to feel special. They also wanted to be hugged, touched, kissed, made love to and told that they are beautiful. There was nothing more to them than there was to black women. It all came down to personal preferences, really.

In fact, a number of them were curious about how it would be to be to sleep with a black man, even if they might not countenance the possibility of being married to one. In

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