1. Gay Interracial


    Date: 10/9/2016, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Author: RBBL91, Rating: 50, Source: sexstories.com

    grass. We slept in camps under the open skies with other groups of tourists, traveling to every park in Kenya and Tanzania. We got to meet people from all over the world. Vehicles from different safaris would pull into a campsite, and the visitors from different parks and savannas would mix together. Every night there were stories in many languages around the campfire, we'd sit there beneath the stars and talk about the animals we'd seen, and we'd laugh about the style of our drivers. People everywhere were drawn to this place. There were overdressed Japanese that kept to themselves; travel-jaded Australians that spent all their time talking about other places they'd been, and were planning to go. But mostly Europeans, drawn because of the closeness of Africa. Europe had been stripped of its wild forests a millennia ago, but people everywhere are fascinated by brute, roaring nature, and so they came here. After a few nights, some of these people began asking about Anthony and me. I found it almost refreshing to find people that weren't inhibited by correctness, people that just asked directly: "How do you come to have a black son?" I knew these were passing friends, people I'd never see again, and so I answered honestly -- I said that my wife likes black men. I'd answer the question, and a sort of hush would fall over the campfire. Other conversations would pause as their groups heard what I said. There were a few people that glanced at each other in amazement, and some, ...
    as a few more details came out, drifted off to their tents shaking their heads in puzzlement. But many were untroubled -- Europeans especially pride themselves on their sophisticated, adult views about sex, and so I had some very interested listeners. There was a general turnover of people around the campsites each night as different safaris followed their own routes. But there were many people that I saw almost every night. And after a few nights, in a sort of selection process, there was a small group of French and Germans that I noticed always sat near Anthony and I, hoping to hear more about us. Anthony would say goodnight to me around 11, and a few minutes after he left for the tent someone new would ask about him. Once I answered, the Europeans that sat around me always followed up with new questions, seeking to learn more about what Lori and I did than they learned the night before. Michelle and Claude, a French couple, were part of our safari, I saw them almost every night, and they seemed very interested indeed. Claude was a college professor from Orleans. He was a thin, balding middle aged man with bright eyes that reflected the campfire despite a pair of small but thick wire framed glassed. He listened intently, and when he asked a question he did so in slow, careful English. Questions like: "Which of you . . . chooses the men?" He had an obvious pride in his young wife. Michelle lay in his arms each night. She said little, her English was poor, she just lay there ...
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