Women were banned from the village for the festival and Mum had to go with the other women of the tribe to a second small encampment the tribe kept for such times, she'd be sleeping for one night out in the jungle without a tent but inside a fenced enclosure. She'd be safe and fires would burn all night around her to ward of the jaguars and other animals of the jungle.

And Papa and I walked into the village proper (our camp was a short distance from the village though separate from it), and the men of the village were dancing in a circle. The boys were dancing in a separate circle, and Papa and I joined their circles, me mimicking the other dancers the best I could. Nobody griped when I messed up, though, and the attitude was very much one of happiness. The difference was that we boys danced around a fire, while the men danced in a circle with nothing in the middle. I knew the fire represented the future, the empty circle represented the past, not truly empty, for the men were the holders of the flame of the past.

The circle of the men opened up and formed a line that moved out to encircle the boys. After a time, I saw that all the fathers were being careful to stay up with their sons in the circle. And Papa was dancing right beside me in a larger circle and our two circles had become one, past and future, joined in the present, making the universe whole. Just outside these circles we were dancing in were places for people to sit, logs and such. Beyond that were the older boys and young unmarried men or men without sons yet, of the village, only the youngest sons of each man were dancing.

The dance ended and the chieftain of the tribe had timed it with his son so that he was at his throne (a simple but ornate chair imported from England and made its way to this remote village by who-knew-what route), and he took his son's hand and led him over as he took his seat. There was some minor ritual and my father and the other men of the village did the same, leading us over to the seats and he settled down on a log. One end of it, that is, the other end was taken by the father of Messissimi and the other side was the father of Tayunbitti. This was not an accident, we had planned our entrance into the circle to be in the middle of these men who were my father's sponsors and their sons, my own sponsors, of the tribe, for we would watch them for what to do in the ritual to come.

I looked around, the boys were all about my age, the youngest maybe five years old and the oldest about twelve. Older than that and the father and son would join the outside circle, and those men had their own ritual in the springtime.

There was a ritual for us young boys and our fathers now, the Festival of Fatherhood. It started when we boys stripped our fathers of their loin-cords which I did with a bit of savage glee. Papa was the biggest and strongest man in the circle, and he was mine, all mine! And I saw to my further delight that when I pulled it down, my Papa grunted and his cock began to swell up and harden. I was staring at it when there came a call from the chieftain and I looked around.

The chief's son had grabbed hold of the chieftain's cock and was pumping on it. Just like I'd done with my mates back in England and with the boys of the tribe in those warm afternoons. Looked around and saw all the other boys were doing the same to their fathers.

And back at Papa. "Papa?"

"This is the Festival of Fathers." he said to me. "We are members of the tribe now. Do not worry about what is right and wrong in England, this is right, here among our people."

"Okay, Papa." I said and reached out with trembling fingers to grasp my father's manhood. I knew how the dicks of my friends felt, small but warm. But Papa's cock wasn't small, it was huge and it wasn't just warm, it was very warm. I moved my hand up and down in tentative, timid movements and Papa gave a quiet, approving moan, which encouraged me and I sped up on it. Papa's prong was so very warm and my small hand had to move up and down quite a bit to make it move the right way, but Papa was happy and his dong got even warmer and a clear liquid poured out of the slit on top. I knew this stuff, the older boys I played with would leak this fluid, it was their "starter man juice" they explained, and when they were fully grown, it would be thick and white and lots would spurt out when they ejaculated.

I looked over at Messissimi and saw he was using his mouth on his father's cock now. His father was grunting and moaning. I looked over at Tayunbitti and he had knelt down and was about to do the same to his father, who was watching him with wide, eager eyes.

I looked at Papa and he had the same expression on his face, and when I knelt between his strong, muscular thighs and my face approached his dong, he began to groan like I was pumping him hard and fast with my hand. And as I sank down onto him, the groan grew into an ecstatic moan of appreciation. "Oh, oh, my boy, my son. My own little Trebannari, your father loves you so very much, my son, my smiling sun of light and life."