Chapter 4: Life and Death

I flew to Africa and met her at her hotel in Lusaka. My idea was to set her up with an apartment and make her feel ok before going back home. We’d talk to lawyers and figure shit out. She was listed as a partner in the childcare business, I’d made sure her name was on the house deed too. I’d done for her what I could, so she’d be secure financially at least.

And then I saw her.

We’d lived together for over 2 years, the last one was platonic. She’d been with other guys, I’d been with other women, we’d both moved on.

Yet when we met in that hotel in Africa, far from home, both of us uncertain about our future, a current seemed to pass between us; and I knew the gorgeous 18 year old was mine if I wanted her. And man, I did want her. We hugged, she was my height now, her tits were big and firm, her waist narrow, and her ass just a little bit bigger than before. Her curly black hair was tied behind her head, and fanned out down her back.

“No one believes we’re really married.” She lamented, “We don’t even believe it ourselves. You’re going to leave me here, aren’t you?”

She was right. I would take her home again if I could, but there was no way. So what could I do? I couldn’t just stay there in Africa.

I really didn’t know what to do. Break my own rule and get back into bed with her? My dick said yes, my heart said yes, my brain said no. I was too old for that, for her, for everything. I needed to get back to the states, to my house, my business, my bike, my dog, my life.

We rented an apartment in Lusaka; I thought I’d get her settled, and if I could just keep my dick in my pants maybe she’d find a local guy and I’d be free of her.

The business was going ok back home, I’d left my two employees in charge. I could still keep an eye on things at the house on the web cameras; most of the time, the kids were fine on their own without adult interference. Maryam had the idea to hire some Zambian girls to watch the monitors during the whole US day (Which began in the middle of the African night). Wages were so low here that it cost very little, we could keep a finger on things, and my US employees only had to be alerted to intervene when necessary.

We walked around the city together; the noise, the color, the smells assaulted the senses. It was weird to be (almost) the only white man on a street. I was expecting it to be scorching hot, actually the temperature wasn’t bad at all, due to the high elevation. The sun was incredibly powerful though, like a death ray at mid day. I soon learned to avoid direct sunlight.

“I could hire more people.” Maryam suggested, “We could offer the virtual child monitoring to other day care places. If it works, there is no growth limit.”

“We’d need some way to ensure the locals keep watching the monitors. If they space out and miss something, it would all unravel.”

“That’s true.” She conceded, “We can think about it though.”

Things moved slowly; just finding her birth certificate from the rural town where she’d been born took weeks. We decided to go there and do it ourselves. I bought a motorcycle, a 1982 Harley in great condition for just a few thousand dollars. Maryam climbed onto the back, and we cruised out of the city into the African countryside.

I knew right away that this was a mistake. She held me tight, as she used to do. Her young body against my back, her face on my neck because we weren’t wearing helmets. The roads were good, but crowded with all manner of traffic; animals, carts, bicycles, pedestrians, cars, trucks, motorbikes. We weaved through, rode up mountains, through jungles, and huge expanses of lush farmland. We stopped for lunch at a shack restaurant next to a waterfall. I looked into her dark eyes, her beautiful dark face, and I was in love again. Or still.

The adventure was a blast; a ride with a beautiful young woman, a destination, a mission. We shared a hotel room, in separate beds. I wanted her so badly, I could taste her in my mouth. There she was, her young black frame in the bed just a few feet from mine, all I had to do was sit my ass next to her, touch her face, kiss her again.

I was 68, she was 18. I was still in good shape, but that could end at any moment. If I really loved her, I shouldn’t fuck her. I should get her settled, legally and financially secure. Then she would be free, and that was the most important thing.

“Everyone thinks we’re fucking and unmarried, when in reality we’re not fucking and married.” She noted as a priest scowled at us on the street the next morning. We found the office, got the precious paper, and rode back to the capital the next day.

Over the next few weeks, we met lawyers to straighten up Maryam’s paperwork and to form a corporation, we rented a room in an office building that had fiber and the bandwidth we’d need. I wasn’t very optimistic, it didn’t cost much though so it seemed worth a try.

The bank and building owner wanted on my name on things, Not Maryam’s. At my insistence though, her name was just underneath. 50-50 on everything, and I had a private document made that I’d sold my half to her.

“Why?” She asked.

“So you’re dependent on no one. So that you’re free.” I said. “Besides, half of nothing is nothing.”

“I’m a teenage African girl, I can’t be free.” She grumbled. “You just want to leave me here.”

“I don’t!” I objected, “I’d take you home if I could.”

“I have no home now.” She said darkly. “I’m not American, I’m not Zambian either.”

It’s difficult to view the world through someone else’s reality. I spent my life shitting on my white American privilege, only because I had it to shit on. Maryam was clever, young and beautiful; yet doors were closed to her that opened to me, despite the fact I was a dried up old biker who’d never achieved a thing in my life.

I got a haircut and shaved, then worked on building the first customer base, taking meetings online. Maryam said we should offer a cheap introductory period, and after calling 60 child care businesses, I managed to get 3 to sign up.

Maryam hired 8 college girls, and the business was off the ground. And it worked; nothing dramatic, the girls watched the kids at play and sent an alert if anyone needed attention. These were bigger outfits than ours, with 80 or more children, a dozen rooms, and a playground.

Maryam talked, listened, watched, and then we pretended I was making the decisions.

We scored a top notch IT guy who would work for profit share, and rented two more rooms on the same floor. A few more customers, and Maryam would have an income to sustain her; I thought the way to sell in the age of spam and cold calls was in person, walk up and knock on real doors.

I was about to make my return flight reservation, when one of the girls at the house back home called with the worst possible news.

Zeke, my beloved old dog, had died.

I was surprised at how hard the news hit me; he was an old dog, he’d lived a good life. But he’d died alone, I’d abandoned him when he needed me. He’d been faithful, I had not.

I wallowed in the pain for a while; I had a terrible urge to get drunk, and I would have if Maryam wasn’t there with me. I’m no good when I’m drunk, I become a much worse asshole than normal. She’d never seen me that way, and I couldn’t let her see me that way. Even after the death of my pal Zeke.

She was hurting too; we cried like kids about that old mutt.

“Let’s go for a ride.” She suggested.

We rode for hours, only the drumming of the big V-twin and an open road could ease my pain. The hot wind blew the tears out of my eyes so I could pretend they weren’t real. I had no plan, and just took a random road to a random town somewhere. It was too late to ride back, so we stopped at a hotel for the night. The receptionist said something to Maryam and she replied scathingly. She’d picked up some of her forgotten language.

“What did he say?” I asked her when we were alone.

“He asked how much you pay me, and replied that if I told my HUSBAND what he’d said, you’d gut him.”

“I will.” I said, standing up, “You want to watch?”

“Relax, we’re not even married, really.” She sighed.

She cuddled against me in the bed, and I knew she wanted more. I would have too, if it weren’t for the agony in my heart over the dog.

She rolled away from me. “You and your stupid rule.” She muttered in the darkness.

I woke at dawn. Maryam was asleep next to me, her gorgeous dark body covered by a light blanket, her curly black hair spilling across the pillow. I just watched her for a while, thinking of her future, her past, her lovely young titties and her tight juicy pussy.

I’d seen her flirting with our IT guy. He was smart, really smart. If he’d been born in the US or EU, we’d never be able to afford him. Anyway, he was young, tall, good looking. He’d be a good match for my girl.

The country was full of young men, some were clever, some were decent. She was a very attractive young woman, in all sorts of ways. The business we were building was her idea, I was just helping out. I intentionally didn’t inject myself except when she asked me to. I was a salesman and figurehead, Maryam made the decisions, hired, fired, and all that. The business was growing fast, and it was her work, her ideas, and her profits.

I didn’t need to worry about her, she’d be just fine. I could go home; I had my pension, my house, and my bike.

And then she opened her eyes, and saw me looking at her. And she smiled, because she liked me looking at her.

And she was so fucking beautiful, so sexy, that an old pervert like me couldn’t resist. My hand reached out, slid under her blanket, and touched her warm smooth young skin for the first time in more than a year.

She shuffled towards me, I knew she would reach for my rod, and if she did that we were going to fuck. Damn, I wanted to. I loved her, she was gorgeous, we were married and alone in a bed.

“I want to.” I told her, “It’s just, I’m so wrong for you, Maryam. I’m on borrowed time and you have your best years just beginning. I love you too much to use you like that.”

“Use me?” she asked, sitting up so her gorgeous black tits rolled down and pointed at me, “Is that what you think you did?”

Bright African dawn sun came through the hotel window and hit the opposite wall, the sounds of people in the street filtered in over the rattling of the air-conditioner as another day began in this random town ten thousand miles from the world we knew.

“Here’s how I remember it, Chuck.” She began.

Maryam’s story;

I was 15 when I met my first love; he was hairy, old, and ignored me at first. My dad was crazy, a religious zealot, and forbad the relationship. But after a while, Zeke warmed to me, and let me give him a good little rub when we met. There was a woman named Sherry who lived at the house where the dog lived, and we talked.

No one talked to me while I wore the hijab. Anyway, she was 30 years old and lived with Chuck. She told me despite his rough look, hard talk, and tattoos, he was good to her. Still, she was going to have to leave him soon.

“Why?” I asked, “Because he’s so old?”

“Partly.” She answered, “I want kids, and he doesn’t. Children are expensive, they take time and money, more than I have. I need to find a man who wants what I want. I had a great time with Chuck, it’s ok to spend a few years with an older man while you’re young and have plenty of time. But then you have to move on.”

“What about Zeke?” I asked, rubbing the little dog’s ear.

“Yeah, I’ll miss Zeke too.” she said. “I love Chuck, we have fun together.”

“What about, um, in bed?” I asked, because Sherry was a woman who might actually tell me about that.

“Yeah well, Chuck is a horny old bastard.” She told me, “He’s a gentle and considerate lover, I guess that’s all a girl can hope for.”

“You hope for more?” I asked.

“It gets old with an old man after a while.” She said. “And when the sex fades, it’s because the body knows it’s time to move on.”

My dad saw me with Zeke one day, and beat me for being unclean. I hated him. My mother was useless too, she never spoke up for me. They both doted on my little brother, I was merely a nuisance. Every fiber of my being screamed for freedom.

Sherry moved away, I rarely saw Zeke because he’d be in the house when Chuck was out during the day. I used to listen for the sound of the motorcycle, and then go look to see if the dog was free.

One hot summer night, I heard the loud rumble of the big engine arrive. I hoped Zeke would be let out, and I went out my window to look for him. He was with his master who was grilling pork in the yard behind the house.

Talking to a man, eating pork, stroking a dog, all forbidden. I felt like I could breath as I defied everything I was brought up to believe.

I knew what the grizzly old biker wanted. I also knew he’d never use his strength to take it. He just talked to me, listened to me, and told jokes to make me laugh. His face used to light up when I laughed.

He made me feel like a human; that I had some worth. Of course I knew what he wanted, that was a given.

These simple acts of defiance were not simple for me though. I was risking serious consequences. My father would beat me up for this and might literally murder me if I had sex before marriage.

When Chuck touched me for the first time, just a hand on my knee, I was shocked at the sensation. No one touched me. Ever.

I looked into his eyes, he looked back, kind, friendly, lustful. I felt strange, short of breath, and hot in my face and belly. He wasn’t ugly anymore; I’d gotten used to his face, he was my friend, he gave me food and attention and humor.

I liked the feeling of his hand on me.

At home, I was ignored. At school, I might as well have been a ghost. Only that weatherbeaten old biker paid me any notice at all.

My father beat me for some minor infraction, and I hated him, hated my life, hated my mother and even my brother. I wanted to die; not as a virgin though. No, I would let that old white man have my virtue, and when my father found out, he’d kill me. And he’d rot in jail for that. And I’d have my revenge on them all!

I left notes in my school locker. Then I started going to the neighbor’s house every night. He took so long about it, I almost gave up. And then, finally, he kissed me.

TV and computers were forbidden at home. I’d seen some kids kiss each other behind the school. I was surprised and thrilled when he hugged me, squeezed my young body against himself, and planted his mouth on my mouth.

I felt like a balloon that was being squeezed at one end, my head seemed to have all my blood pushed into it. The feeling was exhilarating, terrifying. And that was just a 3 second kiss. It was so crazy, dangerous, forbidden, and it made me wet between my legs every time.