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Ex cleric, businessman, psychologist and newspaper editor. Resident in South Africa and presently writing poetry and novels.
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MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS:
- Finished first novel (423 pages) of fiction and working on second book (Non fiction)
- Finished first poetry book (working on second)
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MY FAVORITE LINKS:
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MY RESIDENCE INFO:
City: Nelspruit
State/Country: South Africa
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BOOKS PUBLISHED:
Scavenger Road
From Chapter 4
Leftovers for Leviathan
The young black maiden was blissfully unaware of the four hungry eyes that were watching her as she began to undress for her bath. For two very different reasons her young body was the focus of intense concentration. From just above the waterline, the black slits in the yellow-green eyes took in the edible being about to enter the domain of the hungry river dweller. From the undergrowth some ten yards behind her, another pair of lust-filled pupils focused on the ripe young female shape that was being stripped for a bath.
Van Dijk moved quietly for such a big man. As he crept closer, his groin was pleasantly stirred at the sight of the fully developed, youthful breasts on the slender girl and his breathing came in short, raspy gusts as he eyed the long, smooth, hairless legs and the cheeky pert buttocks. She was a maiden on the threshold of womanhood. ‘Ripe for the picking’, he mused to himself.
The years in Africa had provided him with an insatiable appetite for what he callously called “juvenile indigenous flesh”. He prided himself too in the fact that he had always made sure that there was no one to incriminate him for his cruel deeds once he was through with them. Many a maiden, similar to this one, had passed through the hands of the giant foreigner. None had lived to tell of his crimes of passion and weird perversion. He had been meticulously careful to ‘clean up’ and dispose of any evidence whenever he had had his fill. He controlled his euphoric breathing and edged closer.
From Chapter 6
Guide to disaster
“They must be hiding in a hole like rabbits!” Sipho yelled at the top of his voice. “Search till you find them! You’re all dead if they get away!” His frustration was mounting steadily as he watched his men proceed to flush every bush, gully and rock in both directions. “Find them, you useless women!” he ranted when they returned empty handed for the second time. He was insane with rage at being deprived yet again of making his fantasy come true. When the white woman’s horse had pounded past him on the trail below he had stared in unbelief at the immaculate proportions of her body and only afterwards recalled the angelic face that had glanced at him as she flashed past. Never in his entire life had an erection sprang so quickly into full bloom between his legs and he was still surprised at the effect that the short sighting had on his anatomy. ‘I must have this one!’
“But Sipho, have a heart! They’ve gone! They’re not here! You can see for yourself that they’ve disappeared into thin air!” a middle aged warrior said in defence of the tired men.
One of the younger lads was looking up at the cliff shadows and with the whites of his eyes showing prominently, he was whispering: “Tokoloshe!….Tokoloshe!” (mystical bogeyman).
It was dawning on them all at that moment that the dreaded phantom must have been responsible for spiriting the whites away. Where else could they be? Where else could they have gone? They could not just disappear into thin air.
Sipho felt the cool breeze blowing from the lower regions and squinted across to where the last rays of the setting sun had disappeared behind the opposite mountain. The twilight was setting in rapidly and the eerie silence made the hardiest of them shiver in the gathering gloom. They unconsciously gravitated closer together, muttering softly, certain now that the disappearance of the whites was the doing of the Tokoloshe and that it was a sure omen that dreadful evil was about to befall them all.
Meanwhile, unbeknown to them, another extraordinary drama was beginning to unfold high up on the ledge above their heads. Peter’s arm and shoulder had grown numb and he was flexing his fingers to bring the circulation back into them. At that moment he lifted his head and saw a hairy hand sliding off his wife’s hip, revealing another equally hairy hand protruding from under her, where the thick thumb and forefinger were teasing the enormous nipple into a state of swollen erection through the flimsy material. He choked at seeing her back arched and her behind straining against the hardness of the man behind her. His beautiful wife was quivering like a reed in another man’s arms - and the latter was fondling her without a word of protest from her lips!
He was not to know that the mortal danger of the moment and the warmth and aroma of the shapely woman in his grasp were driving the big man close to insanity with excitement. In fact, he was not to know that this particular man was not at all like other men and that he was slowly in the process of losing his mind due to the thing that was eating away at the matter within his cranium.
As with the black girl whom he had fed to the crocodile a few days earlier, Van Dijk was again experiencing the thrill of conquest in the face of certain death. He shuddered with the exhilaration of possessing something unattainable against all odds. It again brought with it that new sensation that he was fast becoming addicted to - that feeling of invincible greatness! It thrilled him beyond description to defy capture, danger and even death with this incredible woman in his power. Her voluptuous curves and the unyielding hardness of the mammoth nipple were driving him to the very brink of no return. He had to consciously control his lust to keep himself from ravishing her there and then.
Since meeting up with the Dutchman, Peter had grudgingly put up with the attentions his wife was getting from the big man, simply because he did not want to upset her without reason or to cause an unnecessary scene. He had restrained his temper together with the feelings of disapproval because he trusted her and because he had long since learned that he could not object and fly off the handle every time a man flirted with her (which was all the time) because then he would be spending half his life fighting them all off. However, in this particular instance, due to the way the man had literally taken over the care and companionship of his wife, his fury had been mounting up all day long like a volcano ready to blow - and this was finally the trigger! The top was coming off! Deep inside him something snapped!
With an earth-shattering yell that released all the pent-up hatred and humiliation inside him he bounded to his feet in an uncontrollable rage, bellowing thunderous profanities at the startled Dutchman who had his submissive wife trembling in his arms.
From below, the already frightened and highly superstitious Xhosas took one fleeting look at the eerie white apparition - suspended, in what appeared to be mid-air - and then fled in a haphazard tangle of arms, legs, spears and shields. They screamed and howled in abject terror, clawing frantically to get past and over one another and away from the ferocious Tokoloshe which had taken so many of their countrymen through the years. In their folklore there was not a creature that was feared more than the terrible Tokoloshe!
The human stampede lasted for less then five seconds and then the clearing was empty. In the darkened bush below their cries receded in the distance and then there was silence.
From Chapter 15
Blonde Revenge
The midget looked ridiculous in comparison as he escorted the giant to the door of the cage and then closed and locked it when the latter was through. He put the key into his pocket and turned back to where Helen was still swaying her luscious body in the centre of the bizarre arena.
Outside, the cheering crowd was going wild at the sight of the shapely woman dancing for their benefit. They were clapping in unison and shouting for her to strip at the tops of their voices.
With her arms held aloft she swayed her hips provocatively from side to side and clicked her fingers to the music that was sounding loudly in her head.
Then the stunted black figure took up a cheeky stance right in front of the towering white woman and started undressing to the delirious hoots and shouts of the agitated onlookers.
There was a deafening roar of approval when the runt’s pants fell to the floor revealing the huge throbbing monstrosity pointed directly up at the tall woman’s knees. The fully gorged anatomical wonder would have done a bull rhinoceros proud. Although it was far larger than the average man’s, it seemed to take on even greater proportions on the under-developed frame of the little man - almost like a third leg standing majestically erect in front of him. To get her attention, he waved his arm and shouted at the tall woman, obviously keen for her to see the straining flesh he was proudly exhibiting as he waved it from side to side with his tiny twisted hand.
She ignored him and continued to dance with her eyes shut and her tongue languidly caressing her full lips.
Mad at her lack of response, the frustrated dwarf finally waddled up to her in anger, reached up and slapped her sharply on her rounded thigh.
She looked disdainfully down at him as if he were a pesky fly and when she saw the mammoth penis, she raised her eyebrows in sudden interest. She nodded her head, closed her eyes again and without losing rhythm, started loosening the buttons of her blouse. Her long fingers worked slowly as she continued to dance. The howling mob around the cage on the other hand was baying impatiently for her to get it off and for the action to start. One of them was so worked up that he lost control and tried to climb over the bars only to be removed forcefully by one of the bodyguards.
When all the buttons were finally undone, Helen jerked the blouse open with both hands, causing an abrupt, stunned silence. The out of breath spectators choked in disbelief at the perfection and sheer beauty of the immense orbs. These wobbled enticingly as the woman arched her back, extended her chest and shook her shoulders gently while she held the blouse in both hands behind her back. The massive swollen breasts with the huge thrusting nipples instantaneously had the panting men’s mouths watering in naked craving. Her ripe, near nude figure totally enthralled the ravenous sea-weary sailors.
With a mocking sneer, she suddenly twirled the blouse around the head of the wide-eyed, gaping midget and then her fingers went for the buttons of her short skirt.
From Chapter 20
Boomerang for Jailors
“Hey!…what’s wrong?” Handan’s voice took a plunge towards a tone of misgiving, probably at the sight of the other man’s expression. “What! You lost our money!” he bellowed. “How much, you son of a stinking camel! How much!!”
There was a loud scuffle as the furious Handan went for the petrified Honzi who in turn clambered over furniture to get out of the way of the fuming fat man. He had the not-so-rare tendency to dislike being stomped on. In the cell the prisoners smiled, trying to picture it in their mind’s eye.
“You stealing rat! I’ll tear your arms off! Come here!”
“Wait Handan! Wait! Wait damn it! No! Please don’t…I’ve got the money back!”
“What?” The furniture fell silent for the moment.
“Well, I mean I got most of it back…”
“How much?” The furniture started up again - not quite as loudly this time.
“Only fifty, Handan! Only fifty!”
“You little shit! I’m gonna…”
“No! Handan, listen to me man! I mean…I…we only lost fifty…”
Relative silence in the furniture department. Only the heavy breathing of an out of shape Handan.
“Handan, you’ll never believe it, man! The locals lost their shirts and so did Kamil’s men…the bloody bastards!” The sound of the furniture being restored. Handan was still wheezing loudly, but had managed to control his volatile temper.
“That big black nigger took me…took them…no, took all of us…”
“Show me the money! Give me the bag!” Handan snatched it from the smaller man. He was not going to believe anything the little ‘shit’ ever told him again. They heard the coins jingling together as he counted in some Arabic dialect. When he was finished he grunted and slammed the bag down on the table.
“Sixty, you lying jackal! You lost sixty! Now this bag stays with me!” he stated resolutely.
The cork popped out of a bottle.
“Want some?” Honzi asked. He sounded relieved as he poured and then sat down. “He was this tall…” The sound of a chair as he climbed on to it to indicate. “About seven feet tall…at least!”
“Bullshit man!” the fat man upbraided him. “First sixty becomes fifty and now six feet becomes seven bloody foot. Bullshit, I tell you!”
“You don’t believe me?” Honzi choked in unbelief. “You don’t believe me hey! Ask Gabal then! He says Turk weighs over five hundred pounds, but this African was much taller…and you should have seen those arms! Gabal says about three hundred pounds, and he should know! He buys cattle and goats and eyes their weight before he buys. You know yourself that he never makes a mistake – always within a pound or two. He says three hundred pounds! You can keep my share of the money if I’m lying…honest!”
“He says three hundred pounds?” Handan was starting to become a believer, only because the little ‘shit’ had put his share of the money on the line. “That still leaves him two hundred shy of Turk…”
“Yes, but no fat, Handan! Not one ounce of fat, I tell you! Honest man! You’ve never seen anything like it in your whole life! His arms were this thick! No fat…just muscle!”
Handan grunted and then they both slurped their liquor.
“Handan…”
Grunt.
“I bet all the money on Turk before the bloke got up and took off his shirt…”
“You did what!” Handan choked and immediately grabbed the bag and started counting the money again in the light of the latest confession – just in case he had made a mistake.
“It’s all there, man! Only fifty gone!” Honzi said, clicking his tongue in annoyance.
“Sixty you mean!” Handan corrected him as he finished counting. “If you lost it, then where does this come from?”
“I lifted off his little white friend…that’s where!”
Every already curious ear in the cell was wrenched to attention by this latest confession.
Could it be?
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In heart to heart with God
Reflections of a beggar
Have you ever been lonely
Have you wondered why
The world is so empty
And you just want to cry
Alone on a park bench
With the pigeons for friends
Not seeing the fashions
Or the passing of trends
The world seems to slip by
And the years creep along
No taste for the laughter
No ear for the song
A weight of emotion
A mighty big load
You somewhere back yonder
Missed the fork in the road
The wild ones
As a child in the home for unwanted kids
I learned all the ‘offers’ and I learned all the ‘bids’
All the “whys” and the “wherefores”, the “do’s” and the “don’ts”
How the “wills” will come, instead of the “won’ts”
To survive each day is the name of the game
And the rules for the small and the big are the same
Grow up with hatred and grow used to lies
While in your souls something slowly dies
There is no one bothered when the sad ones sigh
And no one listens when the toddlers cry
The weak and the young are the prey of the strong
And soon they forget why it’s all so wrong
That’s the way of life for the homeless child
That grows up rugged and that grows up wild
Where instinct triggers the deeds of grief
And remorse and shame are extremely brief
The world outside never understand
How the kids from there share the same foul brand
They were never wanted and seldom loved
They were kicked and beaten and used and shoved
No one’s asking for your home or a cent
‘Cause you just won’t give it in any event
But a prayer for the orphan is what I ask
Is that then such a disagreeable task?
A whisper.. and then gone…
The silence of the streets at night
Are echoes of the past
When all the crowds have left for home
Peace descends at last
Deserted pavements, lonely shops
A distant hooter blast
A paper driven by the wind
And a vagrant shuffles past
But in the alley deep between
The buildings tall and gray
Lies a woman in the labour throws
She cannot wish away
She writhes in pain with every cramp
That wracks her fragile frame
And thinks of how her world has changed
From suburbia to the drain
On the far side of the tracks that night
High up on the hill
Another scene is unfolding
In a bedroom warm and still
The cutest angel by her bed
In her slippers and her gown
Is praying for “God’s blessing on
Those poor tramps down in town”
Her parents stand there hand in hand
And witness how sincere
She prays for every “down and out”
To have some Christmas cheer
She has no clue that the woman there
Giving birth in the alley dim
Was snubbed by her own dad today
When she asked for help from him
Nor does she know when he tucks her in
That he missed the Lord today
By not giving one cent to Him
When he turned that woman away
They will not entertain the thought
Their child could one day find
Herself like that one in the dark
Forgotten by her kind
They kiss her gently, dim the light
Back to the time they’ve planned
The finest shows that they could find
With that remote in hand
While this pastor and his wife relax
The angels wing their way
Into the alley where she died
To take her soul away
One fleeting moment it may take
Or a fraction of one’s pay
To help the helpless in their plight
Before they’re snatched away
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