Written by Artsmart
01 Apr 2016
Windhoek to Cape Town without a scratch or another wet patch
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My two lady travelling companions pulled their hired car up along the roadside just outside of Windhoek. “You’ll be okay from here, Mr. South Africa?”, said Lorraine. “We’ll see you at your place two weeks from now?”. “Right on,” I replied, “like I said, all that I need now is some maniac to take me in ‘low flying’ mode to Cape Town”. “Careful of what you ask for”, laughed Lorraine while giving me a sly little wink.
I got out the car and went round the back to heave my bag out the boot. It was kind of heavy. I’d been travelling in Zim for the past month, having met these two Canadian ladies who had asked me to accompany them on a road trip from Zim to Cape Town, via Namibia. I was bok for the jol, even if I knew I couldn’t afford it. I really was on a shoe string. Anyways, this was not going to slow me down. I just let things unfold in their own interesting way. But by the time we got to Windhoek there really was no way for me to split the costs on a hired vehicle. I had to hit the road, on my own, the idea being to meet up with them, later, at my place in Cape Town. So there I was, not knowing what the hell would happen next.
So, ja, I got that bag out the boot just in time to hear a whizzing roar of a motor coming up in the distance. It came past at such a freeking speed the wind took my kahki cap right off my head, blowing my locks wildly into Lorraine’s face. My body responded to that roar like clockwork and I had my thumb out the moment he came past. Like hell he saw anything, I thought. “Are you mad,” said Lorraine, “that car was travelling so fast, it would never see you”. Well, guys. As the roar faded into the distance it also changed its tone. The car was slowing down. Probably three kays down the drag, I could just make it out doing a bout turn and heading back toward us. “Here’s my lift, ladies” I shouted. My two friends just stared …totally gob smacked. The red BM rolled up, did another u-ie and glided over next to us. I did notice that there were no headlamps on it. I was a bit dubious to say the least, but hey, here was the lift…the one I had asked for, nogal, and there were no other cars in sight.
There was a middle aged white man behind the wheel, an electrician by trade, he later told me, who was doing wiring jobs in Nam as a way to dodge the whatchamacallit. There were no headlamps because he travelled too fast for them to stay on long enough, anyway with no speed cops around he could hammer the car to it’s max, taking the German to his limit, as he liked to put it.
I climbed into the black leather bucket seat next to him. “you may want to use a seat belt” he said, but at the speed I travel, there’s not much chance of that helping if we come short”, “I’ve never come short, so I don’t wear one”. I gulped twice. Should I stay or should I go. I felt like fucking Shakespeare for a moment. To be or not to be. “Ja…you look a bit scared oke”, he said. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to and just to clear things up I’m also not a moffie who’s going to grope you on the way,” he laughed, his black Charles Bronson moustache bobbing up and down in the process.
“I’m fine”, I said “just can’t believe my luck”, “Thought you’d never stop”. “Neither did I”, he laughed, “neither did I”. He dropped the clutch and we popped a wheelie at 140. “New tires”, he chuckled “free flow exhaust”, “she sucks though…but then that’s what women do, huh!”..”wah ha ha ha , he laughed. At this point the landscape around us was getting rather blurry. I glanced over to the speedo. 220. “That’s nothing”, he said, “we’ve got to get up to over 280 to get anywhere.” “See that curve coming up”, he pointed, “that, my friend, is maklik at 120…designed for 120…now see what happens at 280.” Hectic !!!!!!!
“There’s no need to hold on” he said, “this baby handles”. We took the curve. Hugging the inside lane (opposite side of the road) and ended up with the outer wheels on the gravel. We swerved a little and then came right, at 280. Maniac. He said nothing. I looked out of my side of the window. It was my lucky day, I reminded myself.
On nearing Keetmanshoop ,my experience with Charles Bronson’s moustache came to an end. He dropped me off on the turn off to Rietfontein. I thanked him and he sped off, leaving me to savor desert air mixed with the smell of burnt rubber.
I stood there for hours, with only one little white bakkie coming past. The driver pretending to look in the other direction. I know,… he was looking for chicks.
After three hours, I decided to trap it out. Thirty kays later and around 9:30pm I was still walking. I had to find a pozzi. Somewhere safe to sleep. Ten minutes later I came to a low bridge. The moon was still full so I could kind of make out my surroundings. I had a flashlight, but did not want to use it in-case there was a Hyena out there that would see the light and come over for some company. There was absolutely no one and nothing in site, apart from the odd scorpion I’d seen creeping around near the roadside. Far¬-king awesome.
After locating some scorpion free gravel sloping away from the road down toward the dried up river bed bellow, I laid out my sleeping bag. I still had some energy bars to chomp on and a bit of Liqui-fruit left over from the day before. Having grown up as a plot-rot myself, I had often spent time roughing it. I lay back and looked up at the stars. All my favorites were out there tonight. Jamming it up in their mythological outfits. Mr. South Africa, I thought. Well, ha fucking HA!
I must’ve dropped off to sleep because I did not hear the truck drive up and park some fifty meters away from me. I had woken up from the sound of someone pissing near me against the fence. A distinct sound in that still desert silence. Needless to say, I froze. Peering into the darkness ahead, trying to make out the large dark silhouette that was giving a long and overdue watering to the fence pole. Then I saw the truck. An 18 wheeler. The light was on inside the cab and there was a big chubby lady sitting there. The truck driver, a large slow moving hulk, sauntered back to his truck making his way around to the back. I heard him open the door. But I didn’t hear him closing it again. So what, there was no one around anyway. He came back with some things in his hands. Obviously he had no idea that I was where I was. But I was watching live theatre unfold in front of me.
He swung himself up into the cab and plumped himself down next to chubby. She promptly got up, turning her back to me and pulled her dress up. She had rolls for Africa. She was one of those Venus Goddess types one sees on documentary flieks about archeology digs on the Greek Isles. She proceeded to pull a teeny tiny string down that had been hiding out somewhere among her folds of time. Her butt had to come right up and push against the windscreen for that little numba to come off. She moved over and I saw the drivers rod. Jesus effing Christ!…say no more. I was about to see a live pomp show in the middle of the Namibian desert. I had no choice, really, because by now the music was so loud and their talking too, so catching any sleep would’ve been a problem anyway. Why did I have to make excuses. One has to be careful spending time in the desert alone as the mind can begin to sound like Gollum if you’re not watching it…if you know what I mean. So, ja I just got up and came right over to that ‘big screen’ and watched the show.
Everyone in the neighborhood watched that show. Me, the stars and all the ancestors in town. She would wiggle and he would giggle. Then he mounted her like a horse and pumped his Torjan hard. Every now and again, he’d pull it out and she would squirt against the windscreen. After a while of this frolicking even the steering wheel was dripping wet. They just went on and on. Eventually the cab got so steamed up the window had to come down, the smell of sex filling the crisp desert air. Their car-foef-a-ling was going on a bit long by now, I thought. But you know how it is, there are different strokes for different folks. But at some point conscience begins to wonder. I craned my now tired neck. Sheez, I was getting worn out just watching them!. Wait a second… he was gagging her with his hand!. Her face was getting a rather blue and had swollen look to it. She was trying to make him stop, but he would not. This was not fun anymore. Some okes get so carried away with the energy, that they go bonkers. It was time to intervene. I’m not a Captain Jack Sparrow kind of a guy, but when I hear the call then I have to move. And move I did.
I stepped back, letting my instinct take over. Headed around to the back of the truck, took out my flashlight, switched it on and threw it inside. Then I banged the open door open and closed a few times. I left the door standing open when I heard their yelling stop. I heard the driver’s door open . My throat was in my mouth. Shit!. I was hiding behind a bush next to the fence. I could smell the still intact acidic smell of the drivers piss he’d left at the base of the drenched fence pole. And, fuck, I had stepped into it too. I strained my eyes to see when he would round the back of the truck. He came into view, crowbar in hand. Peering into the back, I knew that all he would see was my flashlight shining in some weird angle. He might not even have expected anyone to be about, because hardly anyone traveled the B1 at that time of the year anyway.
He yelled into the darkness before him. Silence. At that point, by sheer luck, my flashlight must’ve rolled off something and I saw the flashlights beam flash once and then go out. In the silence I heard it roll to the back of the truck. The driver jumped up and into the back of his truck, waving his crowbar like warrior. I, came in for the deal. Grabbed the truck door, swung it hard and bolted it shut. Angry shouting met my action. Cunt!, I thought.
I made my way round to the cab in front. Chubby was still inside, rubbing her bruised throat and whimpering. I knocked on the window. She got such a fright, her eyes bejeweled with tears of anguish, staring at my white face in the window. I beckoned to her. “Siesie, lets go!” I whispered loudly, “he”, and I pointed to the back “toe gesluit”. Her eyes lit up. She had gotten the message. Grabbing her gear, she came over and opened the door.
We left the truck that night. A dark silhouette looming against a bright full moon sky. The driver shouting and banging on the locked door in the back. I knew he would not be using the crowbar, because it was not his truck.
Me and Siesie Chub headed south on the B1 at 1.30am…on foot. Me in my leather sandals and she barefoot because her heels were not for walking. She shuffling next to me and me striding next to her. We had to go slow. Her thighs saw to that.
“Dankie Mineer” she said and me, “en wa die fok is jy vandaan, sissy?”. “Vannie Kaap af”. Me,”Eish!” “soo ver”. She “Ja Mineer, ik kom kuir my broer een mal a week, dan fat ekka lift”. Me,”En daaie man?”. She, “Nee, a vrou moet mos werk”, and she chuckled.
We walked on in silence. “As Minee wil, dans ek biskikbaar”. Me, “nee wat, eks plat sak”. “Jammer , Mineer.”
By the time that the sun rose over the desert planes, we had covered a substantial distance. I was still hesitating on the phone call to Keetmanshoop to report the ‘abandoned’ truck parked somewhere south on the B1. I eventually did report it but not until we were out of the country.
My thoughts were broken, when I heard a the sound of a light aircraft over head. I waved at it. Gliding up there in the still morning light like a bird. The plane dipped to the left and began to circle us. I checked the markings. No need for concern, this was a private plane. It came over us real low, and I could actually see the pilot looking at us intensely. I waved again. He waved back. The plane was now behind us. I walked on. Then I had an intuition to look back. The plane was landing on the road from behind us!. Holy Fuck! I grabbed Chubby in my arms and pulled her over with me, both of us tumbling into the brush on the side of the road. Fortunately she did not fall on top of me, or this story would not be told today.
The plane taxied and stopped near to where we lay in the scrub. I remember her smell of sex. To me she was not sexually attractive at all, but her smell was so potent that it was making me high. Or maybe all that oxygen in the desert air, the few intense wild herbs around... Gollum. Whatever it was, by the time that pilot got out the plane I had a bone of note. I only noticed it when I got up and made my way over to greet the pilot. I could hardly walk. What had this goddess done to my loins? I will never know. All I could do was to hide it with my khaki cap.
“Dirk” he said, shaking my hand, “Artsmart”, I said, shaking his hand, “and this is my lady friend, Siesie”. “Hullo, Siesie”, Dirk said. “Gooie more” Siesie said. This was going to be interesting.
“Ah wun’t ask wer u cum from,” said Dirk, “baatt ah wuld laak to know tu wer u arr gaing?”. “Cape Town” we both said at the same time, looking at each other and giggling.
“Raatt, …Aam heading four duh vliegveld in Vrkfontein, its on your way, dunt warry”, said Dirk, “May Ah be so kaand as to offher u a raad on my Wit Voel?” I could not help myself laughing. A white guy with a Wit Voel in the middle of the Namib?. An irresistible offer.
I looked over at Siesie, a nod meant yes and we climbed on board. Dirk suggested we all squeeze in the front with him, because the two seats at the back were full of I can’t remember what.
We taxied out along the B1 that glorious and sexually intoxicating morning. Took off and flew, as the crow flies, in direction Vrkfontein dunt warry!
“Thuz is da joystick, Siesie” Dirk chuckled. “U dunt wanna tooche it now, okay” “Only Ah know how too play wuff it” and he laughed at his own joke. Siesie was min gepla. And me, I just lolled from side to side, squashed up against Siesie, high on her sex potion.
At a certain point I fell asleep, lolled by Dirks Wit Voel working its magic in the air. Siesie, next to me, staying awake and keeping a watchful eye on Dirks Joystick. In a brief moment I slipped into dream land. There was Siesie standing starkers underneath a waterfall. I beckoned to her and she dived into a deep pool between myself and her and swam over. I noticed how elegantly she moved. She swam right up to me. I was squatting on a rock when she came up, water droplets bouncing off her big lips and chubby cheeks. She moved like a siren and reminded me of my swollen bone. Gingerly, she took it and slipped it into her wet mouth like a fish. I came immediately. I saw her big eyes looking at me while orgasmic waves shook my body. I woke up with a start, to find everything as I had left it, Dirk flying his Wit Voel and Siesie next to him keeping a watchful eye on his joystick. Only difference was that my undies were all slimy and wet inside.
Dirk was an expert pilot, hours at that joystick had given him years of pleasure. It was only him and his Wit Voel, he had said. No, there was no other woman in his life. He was a fulltime Vet, loved his job and above all, loved his joystick.
Needless to say that, we all got back to Cape Town without a scratch or another wet patch.