Charles Kamulu knew what to do. Paul Gradner had given him exact instructions.
The Negro slipped into the underbrush, coming out in a small stretch of grass that bordered the top of the cliff. Below him stretched the African night, punctuated here and there with occasional lights that eventually sunburst into the illuminated port of Mambala harbor.
Charles Spread out a blanket on the grass in a position that gave anyone on the blanket an uninterrupted view of the harbor. He then began to undress. Charles Kamulu had a hard-on. He’d had it for most of the evening. Most of the day, really. His cock was so hard in his pants that it actually hurt where it was forced into its cramped confinement between Charles’ thigh and his trouser leg. The area was really insufficient to properly contain Charles…