Rob is in the Solomon Islands, where he meets a well-muscled stud, Hadisi Mae. Before Rob knows it, he’s on his knees servicing this magnificent Melanesian alpha! Can he please Hadisi?
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Rob watched the musicians play. The air was humid and even in the limited clothes he wore, he was already hot and sweaty. He thought he should change into the traditional garb of a Solomon Islander man, but he already thought the locals were making fun of his appearance and he didn’t want to worsen that problem — a dozen children had gathered to laugh at him and shout at him in their language (probably Kwara’ae, but Rob couldn’t be sure). It wasn’t meant to be mean on their part, but Rob still didn’t like looking like an outsider. Among other reasons, it meant he was less likely to get the kind of open, frank conversations he needed with the locals.
The village was beautiful, and was worth the trip. Rob had never seen anything like it, not even in all his voyages around the Pacific and abroad. He stood underneath a house — all of the homes here were on elevated stilts — as the music began.
It was very nice music, in its own way. Rob wasn’t about to throw away his Violent Femmes albums and listen to nothing else, but it was appealing in its way. It was called “bamboo music” in English: it was created by slapping bamboo tubes with an object, or slamming the bamboo tubes down on an object, usually a rock but sometimes a sandal or whatever else was at hand. It produced an oddly compelling percussive tune that Rob enjoyed. There was a pleasant fluteiness to the music’s breathy tenor, like a panpipe with a rhythmic drum-like sound or perhaps more like another percussive idiophone, a mbira or a Jew’s harp.
But the music wasn’t really why Rob was here. It was the purpose of the trip, but it wasn’t why Rob had made the trip — he worked for a world music company, looking for new styles to record. He could have declined this voyage, however. There was a new woman working for the company who was Papuan — not the same as a Solomon Islander, but still, it gave her a racial and cultural link that Rob simply didn’t have. He could have begged off the trip and given it to her. He was busy with the liner notes for a Hawaiian album, and Hawaiian music was where the money was. Releasing records of Solomon Islander music was only commercially viable because they weren’t going to spend much on it and it made the company look better to have a wide variety of styles available. As far as Pacific Islander music went, people only really bought Hawaiian ukulele-pop versions of well-known songs. Slap a handsome Hawaiian dancer on the cover, and you got yourself a top one hundred world music hit. They had a Hawaiian model right now who had dimples that could make any album fly off the shelves of suburban Starbucks the world over.
There he was. Hadisi was his name.
He was a popular local singer and bamboo player. Hadisi was tall, a bit lanky but well-muscled, with a smattering of kinky yellow-white hairs on his chest. He had wild hair and a beard too, both jutting out in every direction as though bits of his head were trying to escape. He was, like many Solomon Islanders, blond despite having dark skin and very curly black hairs. The gene that causes blond hair among Melanesians is completely unrelated to the gene that causes blond hair among those of European descent, so Hadisi’s hair was yellow-blond but different than blond white people’s hair, and even different than African black people with blond hair — it was yellower, like the color of a sun-drenched hay field. It was common for children here to be blond, but most of them outgrew it and developed black hair by the time they were adults. Hadisi was an exception.
He was also ungodly handsome, which was why Rob’s company wanted to sign him and his village band. If anyone were going to make this album a success, it’d be Hadisi and his jawline, his toned muscles and his deep-dimpled smile. No one was going to buy it because they loved bamboo music, so the only audience would come from dilettantes, collectors and middle-aged ladies at Starbucks who thought the exotic guy on the cover was hot.
When the concert was over — or at least, when most of the musicians had gotten tired, and the children lost interest, leaving only a small cadre of performers and listeners behind — Rob went to talk to Hadisi. He lived in a small house with his parents, his brothers, his siblings and a few hangers-on of unclear relationship to Hadisi.
“Do you know Bob Marley?” Hadisi asked when Rob finished explaining his sales pitch. The company was going to pay Hadisi’s village ten grand in US dollars for the rights to the recording. The wantok system of mutual support meant the benefits of the money would be spread out among Hadisi’s family and neighbors. Rob had made sure to specify that he needed some photographs for the album cover, and that Hadisi needed to be in them. But Hadisi didn’t seem to notice that part, and his family didn’t see past the top-line number. Hadisi gave no indication he heard any of it, he was just waiting for an opportunity to ask about Bob Marley.
“Uh, no… Bob Marley died forty years ago,” Rob said with a smile.
Hadisi looked disappointed. He argued in his own language with his family — from the body language, it sounded like people had been telling Hadisi his idol was dead for a long time. Hadisi sniffled but shrugged it off. He went into a backroom and picked up an old beat-up improvised guitar. It was a crudely carved wooden box with strings stretched over it. The neck was irregular and inconsistent, and it sounded out of tune (or more likely, was not capable of being tuned).
“I can play Bob Marley, we play that on bamboo all the time,” Hadisi said. His lilting, singsong accent was smooth like melted butter. He was well-educated in English, more than most of his fellow villagers, whom Rob found impossible to understand. Most Solomon Islanders spoke a pidgin language they called Pijin, which was recognizable enough to hear a few English words, but not enough to communicate in. The villagers here mostly didn’t even know Pijin — they only spoke the local language — much less standard English. Hadisi, however, had left the Solomon Islands to work in New Zealand for a time, so he had learned English well enough to communicate.
Hadisi plugged out a recognizable version of “No Woman, No Cry”, which Rob enjoyed even if he was also annoyed — the one constant as a scout for a world music record label is that even in the most remote, uncontacted areas, everyone wanted to record a cover of a Bob Marley song. At least, Rob thought, it’s not “Redemption Song”.
He clapped politely when Hadisi was done. He hadn’t known the lyrics aside from the chorus, but still, Rob had heard worse versions of “No Woman, No Cry”. He was mesmerized by Hadisi’s body anyway, his muscles gleaming and flexing in the dim light of his house. A man who looked like that could sing all the Bob Marley songs he wanted, even “Redemption Song”.
“That was so good, Hadisi, I would love to put it on the album,” he said with a smile. “But I’m not sure we can. We’d have to get permission from the Marley family. That will cost a lot of money.” He paused. “Do you know ‘Sugar, Sugar’? That’s a Bob Marley song, we might be able to do a cover of that. It’s not written by Bob Marley, so it’s cheaper.”
“I do not know ‘Sugar, Sugar’,” Hadisi said. It didn’t sound like he had ever heard it. It was definitely one of the more obscure Marley tracks, so Rob wasn’t surprised. That was why he had brought it up.
“Ah, well, that’s too bad. Honestly my boss is going to want more traditional bamboo music than that. If it is a success, we’ll consider doing it again with covers of popular songs,” Rob said. “Come along, Hadisi, can you show me some places we could take pictures at?”
Hadisi nodded and led him out of the stilted house. Rob was glad to get away from crowded house and the children who poked and prodded at Rob’s straight hair. Hadisi was visibly calmer once he was away from them as well. He ran his fingers through his dense, wild afro of yellow-blond hair.
“My father is stupid,” Hadisi said. He held Rob’s hand as he led him through the village and out into the rainforest. “He does not think you will pay. I know about American music business though. I know the man who works in the music store here in the Solomons. He knows everything about it. He tells me that you will pay. You are a real record company, like Island Records.”
“Yes, I promise we will pay,” Rob said. He felt like a giddy child getting excited about holding hands with Hadisi. In the Solomon Islands, public displays of affection between men and women were not appreciated, not even holding hands. But same-gender friends frequently held hands. Rob loved the feel of Hadisi’s work-coarsened hands, and he enjoyed being close to the man’s powerful body. Rob cleared his throat. “That’s what we do. I’ve recorded albums all over the world. We always pay, I promise.”
“You are a good man, I am thinking that.”
“Oh. Good. Cool-“
“You can be send money to my father?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yes, the ten thousand American dollars. They can be sent to my father, yes?”
“Uh… Well, our protocol is to send it to the chieftain or mayor. That was the older gentleman, right? We-“
“No. It can be sent to my father,” Hadisi said. He didn’t make eye contact with Rob. He bit his lip. “He is stupid and foolish and he does not know about reggae music. He has not been gone to New Zealand.”
“I won’t hold that against him.”
“But he is smart about money. He is good with money.”
“Okay… Hadisi, I can’t do that. It’s not up to me where the money goes. My company has a policy. I think it’s agreed upon with your government. We don’t have any way of proving who performed on the recording and even if we did, we have no way of paying them separately,” Rob said. “The money has to be sent to your leader. He’ll divide it up, according to whatever process you folks have for that. Do you need money?”
Hadisi nodded. He stopped walking at a copse of trees. He gestured for Rob to continue. There was a sharp embankment, and then a wetland valley beneath it on the other side, where a dizzying array of flowers stretched as far as Rob could see. There must have been a hundred thousand varieties, no two plants even looking like the same species. Rob gasped.
“Wow, what is this place?”
“It is flowers. It is where we go for… Uh… I do not remember the polite English word. Kissing girls. It is where we kiss girls, and sometimes marry them,” Hadisi said with a grin. He had deep dimples. Rob blushed as he felt a surge of desire again, like a boy watching his idol. Hadisi was ungodly handsome, he thought, he probably brought every girl in the village here to “kiss”, or whatever verb Hadisi had been trying to think of. “It is good place to take photograph, yes?”
“Oh, yeah, good idea, Hadisi, this’d be perfect,” Rob said. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Hadisi nodded. “That is why I am needing money. You can send it to my father. He will make sure I am able to marry her. I must pay for the wedding. We are already bush-married, but my father says it must be made official in a church. That means I must pay for my bride-“
“Oh! It’s like a dowry?”
Hadisi nodded again, but he was hesitant like he didn’t really know the word dowry. “It is must to be paid for, or I can not marry her. It is bride price.”
“Oh, sorry, Hadisi, you must love her?”
“Yes, I love her very much. I want to bring her here and do kissing with her,” he said. Once again, it was clear kissing was not what he was actually thinking of.
“Hmm, interesting,” Rob said. He cleared his throat. “Would you ever… let a man touch your dick?”
Hadisi shook his head virulently no. “What? I am bush-married, I have woman for that.”
“I see-“
“When I did not have a girl, there is a weak man who would come to visit, but I did not need him often,” he said. He stood up and bristled a bit, like he felt challenged. He jogged on his feet and flexed his chest. Rob felt a shudder of arousal, and his dick twitched in his pants. Hadisi’s nervous smile showed off his dimples, which made Rob desire him even more.
Hadisi went on to tell a long and involved story, the bulk of which was about an unscrupulous trader (the “weak man”) who purchased fish from the village. He often underpaid or tried to trick them into accepting less money than they were due, and Hadisi had many, probably untrue, stories where he used his wit to protect his people. “He distracts the men with his mouth!” Hadisi said over and over. Rob had trouble getting a word in edge-wise — Hadisi was very upset, though he said he had never personally been fooled. “I am very wise, and my father knows about matters of money,” Hadisi said. “I do not lose money to him. Or my manhood.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Interesting… So he does…? You said he sometimes does things with you? With his mouth?”
“Not me, I have a girl. I do not need that.”
“Excellent, good, I know you love her,” Rob said. “Would you let me do those things to you? I’ll pay you. You can pay for your marriage with it-“
“You want to do those things? You mean the mouth, right? Not cheating my family out of fish?”
“That’s right, not the scamming,” Rob said.
“You will pay me for it?”
“Yes,” Rob said. “I’ve got the money right here. You never even have to tell your father how you got it. You can tell him we gambled or something.”
Hadisi’s eyes lit up. “Like Texas Holden poker card game?”
Rob chuckled. “Yeah. Like that. Do you people play poker here?”
“Not in this village. They do it in the village along the river that way. They have a man who lived in California,” he gestured vaguely to the north. “You would like it there. The men all do… that. They are all weak, and stupid. Their women are loose. That is why they kiss with each other instead.” He dropped his pants and waved his dick in Rob’s direction. “They are not good at bamboo music though, do not pay them for music.” He stroked his dick as he peered into Rob’s eyes. “You swallow on it, yes? And in the buttocks?”
“Yes, definitely, both,” Rob said. He kneeled in the moist soil of the flowered valley, surrounded by multicolored blossoms. He reached into his wallet to pull out a wad of cash, which he handed over.
Hadisi counted the money. He didn’t even seem to notice when Rob got a taste of his cock. Rob’s tongue snaked out and planted right on the tip. Rob peered up to test Hadisi’s reaction, but he was intensely focused on counting the money.
So Rob swallowed his fat cock, which was nice and thick but not so big it was difficult to suck. It perked up almost right away in Rob’s mouth, and he used both hands to keep it stimulated. He slathered spit up and down the shaft.
“Ah, you are good at this,” Hadisi said. He leaned against a tree and closed his eyes.
One of Rob’s hands snaked up to his chest. Sometimes men didn’t like it when he touched their bodies like this, but Hadisi didn’t seem to mind. When Rob’s fingers closed around his nipple, Hadisi even shuddered and let out a moan like he liked it.
He deep-throated Hadisi down to the root, his nose nestling in the man’s kinky pubic hairs. A few drops of precum escaped down his gullet. Rob guzzled down all of it, savoring the flavor and the creamy texture.
The taste was different than he was used to — that wasn’t a surprise. Rob had been traveling long enough to know that cum tasted differently in different parts of the world. He assumed it was due to diet. Indeed, Hadisi tasted a bit like the tropical fruit he ate, but with a savory note to it, he tasted like the local fruits after they had been cooked into a savory stew, he tasted like the fresh, crisp air of this blossomed valley and a bit of the salty, astringent tasted of unadulterated male musk.
His mouth was moist and loud, because Rob knew that’s how men liked it. He choked up so much spit it soaked Hadisi’s crotch, and it made Hadisi grunt and groan. Hadisi bit his lip.
“I hope my wife is like you,” Hadisi said. It sounded like he was not hopeful that would be the case.
Rob licked a trail up Hadisi’s crotch to his chest. He wanted to keep going and maybe even get to kiss Hadisi. Rob licked until it was clear Hadisi was in the former category, he was visibly uncomfortable with it when Rob’s tongue got to his neck, so Rob stuck with the man’s ropy-muscled chest.
The layer of thick blond hairs on his torso tasted a bit coppery like any man’s body hair, but there was an underlying note of sweetness that Rob enjoyed. He ran his tongue through the thick fur, lapping up every drop of sweat. Hadisi ignored it at first, seemingly just happy that Rob wasn’t trying to kiss him on the neck or lips, but then he laughed like he was ticklish. Rob’s hands caressed Hadisi’s plump asscheeks and trunk-like thighs.
Rob spat into his palm and used it to lube up his ass, since there obviously was no lube here. He had taken enough cock in exotic locations that he didn’t think it would hurt too much, even if Hadisi did have an exceptionally large member. Rob knew how to take it.
“Are you okay, Hadisi?”
“Yes!” He was nervous, but, it seemed, enthusiastic. He blushed and looked down. “I am ready to do buttocks.” He smacked Rob’s left asscheek and watched it ripple.
That made Rob smile — it was funny how some alpha male behaviors were universal. He backed his ass up to Hadisi’s crotch until he felt that hot slab of meat pulsating in his crack. It stayed there, wedged between his cheeks. Hadisi humped it up and down at first, teasing Rob, the throbbing of his shaft sending tendrils of pleasure up Rob’s spine from his ass.
Then Hadisi gripped Rob by the back of the neck. He squeezed tightly to hold him in place. Hadisi sucked in breath and gritted his teeth. Rob nearly slipped in the moist ground, and he dropped to all fours. Hadisi went with him, both of them ensconced in the flowers that blanketed the forest floor here.
A jolt of pain hit Rob, who bit his lip. Hadisi’s cock slipped in, and the pain melted away into a wave of pre-orgasmic bliss. The pressure was intense since Hadisi had a thick manhood, but Rob took a deep breath and relaxed himself.
Hadisi worked it in inch by inch, with workmanlike precision. He didn’t even appear to be enjoying it at this point, looking at his dick disappear inside Rob like a carpenter watching his project come together. But once he was done, and his cock fit entirely within Rob, Hadisi let his passion flow through him. He kept one hand on Rob’s neck, while his other caressed Rob’s smooth back.
He began to flex his hips, gently at first. He worked his dick in, then almost all the way out, then back in again. Once he got into the swing of it, Hadisi closed his eyes once more.
“Ah, yes…” Hadisi continued to speak in low, crooning tones, but he spoke in his own language. Rob didn’t need a translation to know he was speaking like he would with a girl, saying things that, in English, might be called sweet nothings. Since Rob didn’t speak the language, they were even nothinger to him right now, and he moaned with desire. Hadisi ramrodded Rob like he was Hadisi’s beloved. He made love to Rob’s ass, grinding and rubbing himself over every inch of Rob’s body.
An orgasm erupted within Rob, who jacked himself off onto the flower-strewn forest floor. He moaned and squirmed, writhing atop the massive cock he was impaled on. He clenched and grunted.
“Oh god, Hadisi, ram it in me…”
Rob lifted his head up and leaned his body back against Hadisi, who leaned against a tree. The motion and the tightening of Rob’s ass sent Hadisi over the edge, just in time for Rob to feel the orgasm flowing through his muscles. His blond chest hairs and black skin trembled behind Rob’s body.
A burst of hot cum sprayed within him, followed by more, copious jets of creamy goodness filling him up inside. It kept coming, Hadisi’s body heat and his sticky juices seeping to every corner of Rob’s body. Rob shuddered as the cum coated his prostate, keeping his own orgasm going while Hadisi grunted in his ear.
His hot, tropical breath condensed on Rob’s cheek. Hadisi wrapped both of his ropy-muscled arms around Rob’s body and kissed him on the back of the neck. His tongue teased Rob’s earlobe.
“Ah, yes… You can come back, you know,” Hadisi said breathlessly, even before his orgasm was complete. His voice broke and his muscles flexed against Rob’s back. “Just do not tell my girl why. Once we are married…”
“Hmm…” Rob knew he wouldn’t be back. “If I can, yeah…” Unless by some freak coincidence this bamboo-music album became a platinum best-seller, there was no way his company would release another album of it anytime soon.
“That is good,” Hadisi said. “Thank you.” He pulled his dick out and chuckled when it finally plopped out limply. He wiped it off with a leaf. “If you come back, will you bring me a new Bob Marley cassette? Mine is old and it will not be working for much longer.”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “Sure.” He planned on mailing the cassette, assuming he could find one. If the locals saw him delivering Bob Marley recordings, they’d never play traditional music for him again. He breathed deeply as his ass recovered, sweet relief flooding him. Hadisi stood over him, cock dangling between his legs while he recounted the money.
“Stay here,” Hadisi said. “I will get the village together so you can take the photo here. Do you want me naked?”
“Oh… Well… Yeah,” Rob said. They’d have to put a black bar over his cock, but they could arrange it so it still showed off his six-pack abs, muscled chest and handsome face. That would be a great way to attract the horny housewives in Starbucks. “If that’s cool… Yeah, naked would be great.” But Hadisi was already gone.
Rob pulled out his camera to get ready. He needed to decide where to take the picture. This trip to the Solomon Islands was going better than he had hoped. He wasn’t sure how well the album would actually sell, but at least he had it made and he had even gotten his first-ever taste of Melanesian meat.
