It was a dark and stormy night and the power had gone out in downtown Asmara, an exotic, dirty, dangerous city in a little piece of God's joke called "the third world".
Then again, maybe it wasn't dark and stormy. Maybe the power was out because that's just what the fucking power did in Asmara on a semi-regular basis. What better time then for a gerry-cart race from the front gate to Mama Kathy's to get your pipes cleaned and, for me, the rite of manhood, Asmara style. Yes, it was to be my first trip to this woman I'd heard so much about. And who better to open this world of sexual wonder to me than Mama's self proclaimed number one son; Al Johnson.
My physical condition? Drunk naturally, thanks to the previous two or three hours at the Oasis Club tossing tequila and sucking lemons. I might catch a dose of the clap, but thanks to those lemons, I'll be damned if I was going to catch a cold. A guy had to be careful. After all, we had Commies to fight after the break was over. Had to stay healthy to work those dials and staple those burn bags.

But I digress.

Back to that night and, yes, my first ever blow job. (I grew up in an Italian/Catholic town and if you were lucky enough to get laid, it was strictly by the book; no creativity when it came to sex).
And so, four of us piled into two carts and the race is on. Looking back on it now, it may have been one of the times getting killed was not out of the question. As far as I was concerned then, I was twenty years old and damn near indestructible.
Down to the bottom of the hill. I seem to recall a sharp left with the horses steel shoes acting like a pair of CCM's who's blades hadn't been sharpened since last season. The horses made the turn like two fat women trying to avoid crashing into the boards. Why was I standing up? What a fucking idiot? Oh yea, I forgot. I was twenty years old and, as stated before, indestructible. The Jose Cuervo force field was also protecting me of course. Finally the horses slowed and we came to a stop in what appeared to me a fairly nice neighborhood by Asmara standards. I followed Al up to what looked like a closed storefront. He told me Mama ran a wine shop during the day, and was a well-respected local businessperson. We walked down a short path along the left side of the building. I seem to remember a trellis with vines and flowers. I can't remember my exact position in line, but it must have been second or third. As I remember I got at least one critique by one of the guys before me and Al was going last as he intended not to return with us, but stay the night with his special lady. I remember thinking what a nice guy he was to share his girlfriend with his buddies. The power was still out, but the moon cast shadows along that pleasant semi-tropical little spot. Times were good and I was next.

Walking in, I found I was in a room right behind the wine shop. It was probably about 9'X12' with a bed in the middle and a sink on the far wall. A single candle provided illumination. A woman in a robe, who could have been my Sicilian grandmother came up and gave me a kiss of welcome, telling me I was about to become one of "Mama's sons" and told me very kindly to get undressed and lie on the bed.

Now, although I was about to become one of Mama K's "sons"! As I am sure most of you will remember (except maybe you wimps who had an aversion to sticking your dick in a middle-aged woman's mouth). Mama actually had a biological son who seemed to dovetail nicely into the excitement and danger of experiencing this legendary East-African purveyor of blowjobs.
Reportedly he worked as a bouncer in one of the bars downtown, The Blue Nile I seem to think. Obviously one might think a bouncer at an Asmara bar could create a problem for an Army Security Agency trained killer. It only got worse. Those in the know would always say he was packing heat and for some reason beyond most of us, he took exception to his mother sucking red, white and blue American penis and vowed to shoot any he caught.
So as my jockey shorts are coming down to my ankles, Mama whispers, "Shhh, we must be quiet. No electric so my son might come home early. Shhh." As I laid back on that bed, still warm from her last client, Mama crawls up over me and begins to rub those great, coffee colored, pendulous boobs down my chest, over my stomach and around my dick and balls. I'm laying there thinking I'm about to die shortly and I'm not even in Saigon. At that moment I got the worst case of blue-balls I'd had to that time or even to this day. However, Mama being the expert she was saw the problem and got to work overcoming it. I don't know if it was the boobs, that brillo-pad bush of hers or, as I strongly suspect, that expert mouth, but my case of b-b was soon forgotten and my hard-on could have filled Mammoth Cave, or at least it felt that way.
As I erupted, I knew I had joined a special brotherhood and knew I'd be back. I was also very impressed on how neat she was. There was not a drop on the sheets that I could see. As I rose from the bed, Mama provided me with a clean towel and gently guided me to the small hand sink, which I now suspect was installed at perfect, average dick height, and clucked over me to make sure I cleaned up well. After dressing, the necessary monetary obligations were settled and she saw me to the door. She affectionately bade me farewell and knowingly said she'd see me soon I walked outside to note the streetlights were now back on. I had attained the "satisfaction" which Mick and the boys couldn't "get", and more importantly, I was still alive and thinking to myself, maybe eighteen months isn't going to be so long after all.