FINIS AFRICAE

All good things come to a head, as well as to an end, and this is both, in a way. Just as in sex, in real life you can’t keep some things up for ever.

You’re probably going to hate me by the time you’ve finished this, but try not to. I really do like to be loved, and I really will be hurt if you do, wherever I am, just as you’ll have understood from reading this blog. But I’ll come clean, now.

I’d better admit to you now, some stories have been embellished, some events didn’t happen to me at all, some not in the way I’ve written them up. Some have been devised to make a point. But there is a core of truth under all of it.

But if you were to meet me, or go to bed with me, instead of with “Camerawhore” that is, and of course, by now it’s not impossible that one or two of you have, you might be disappointed. In reality I’m not quite the carefree kind of boy you may have come to think of me as. Nor am I as much a ‘boy’ even, as I’ve allowed you to think.

I’ve left a few clues to the real me in what I’ve written, some of them unintentional, as often happens, and that’s why this farewell is called ‘Finis Africae’ of course. I’ve known how it would end from the beginning, as you might have guessed now. It was only the ‘when’ I couldn’t be sure about. Other circumstances were going to dictate rhat, and now it’s time.

It won’t be deleted it for a little while, so you can go back over it and try to reconstruct the real me, if you like. But you won’t see the links to other blogs any more, or readers’ comments, or be able to contact me. That wouldn’t be fair, now.

I hope you don’t feel cheated. And I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it, or will re-reading it, anyway. You couldn’t have known, at least I trust you didn’t suspect, that writing it and knowing a few of you liked reading it, has helped take my mind off a great deal of physical pain while it’s been going on, so thank you.

Bye-bye.

A Different angle on Things

I’ve seen some weird things . . .and a few of them I’ve seen on webcam. I have this profile pic I use when I’m feeling randy, and it seems a few guys think it’s sexy. Good job, really, that’s the impression it was supposed to give, after all . . .

The trouble is, sometimes, guys send me a videomail saying they like it. That’d be fine—I like compliments—but they will send a pic of themselves along with it . . .I haven’t worked this out yet, but I think they must want me to return the compliment.

A lot of the time, I can’t, though. I’m a properly brought up boy, and I can’t really lie. Not even in an email. I don’t lie here, even; I just don’t tell all the truth sometimes. But let me give you an example.

Most of these guys just send me a pic of their erection; a few send one of most of them, well, most of them from the thighs up, anyway. And they’re usually just lying back in an office chair with their legs apart. I don’t know about you, but I don’t call that even vaguely erotic, let alone sexy.

This one really put me off. It wasn’t that I could see he must have been, well, sixty going on forty . . .You could grasp that from the fact he had a paunch, wrinkly thighs and flabby tits, even though he was straining to lie back to sort of tighten all that up.

Going on forty, because he had shoe-polish black hair. Looked like a wig, but he was an American, and so many of their haircuts look like wigs—toupees?—anyway I can’t be absolutely sure about that. Could have been dyed; either way it wasn’t exactly going to deceive anybody, because he had a grey beard as well . . .Isn’t that a bit odd? Kind of a bit of a giveaway? Can’t you get beard dye? Or why not just shave it off?

Anyway, what was really odd was what was between his thighs. The last time I saw a scrotum anywhere near that abnormally big was when I was training to be a nurse. (No jokes, please, about sex changes. There are male nurses. And not that many are gay, either, so you can forget about that kind of crack, too.) You couldn’t have held it even in both palms of even his pretty big hands. The only time I’ve seen one that size was in a medical textbook.

And then his dick . . .well, it can’t have been more than a couple of centimetres long. I hope. If it was any longer, then those balls are heading for a double-page full-colour spread in the medical textbooks to awed gasps from medical students, I can tell you.

I must say I shuddered at the sight. Then I thought, well, wide-angle lenses on video cams can do funny things, so I looked again. Now I’m sure that guy ought to see a doctor. But I’m not going to tell him. What struck me as really strange was that he must either be proud of this aberration to want to show it off to people like me, or have a very peculiar self-image if he thinks it’s normal. A bit psychologically dodgy either way, I’d say.

And I can speak with a little authority here, because, you see, I was training as a psychiatric nurse . . . Thank god it was only in cyberspace he fancied me, and thank god I would never have got anywhere near a bed with him even in real space. He was way too heavy for me.

As I told you, I made a vow a while back I’d never go to bed with anybody who weighed more than about three kilos more than me. It’s been getting a bit tricky of late to get to bed with anybody, though, ’cos I’ve noticed a lot of boys are getting, well, a good bit heavier, what with the beer and the McDonalds.

I only weigh 62 kilos you see ((for my American readers, that’s about 145 pounds, I think) now I’ve given up the cream buns for a bit and I’ve been drinking more wine than beer over the summer. Told you I’m not a big boy. Looked like that guy weighed at least half as much again as that without the balls. . .

God, and you should have seen one guy who came on to me in the club once. You could have got all of me into one leg of his jeans with plenty of room left for me to turn round and use both hands to have a wank with. And they were saggies for fuck’s sake. It was disgusting. Jesus, have some men no idea of how they look? Oh. No. Obviously not. That was where I came in, wasn’t it?

Just teasing. . .