Chapter 5

Love; it’s just another addiction. The primal addiction, the biological reason that our brains are made to become addicted. To bind ourselves together, form a couple, reproduce and survive.

We’re not living in caves anymore. I’m too old and jaded to fall for that crap.

No! we can’t go backwards, I told myself. Don’t do it!

I was barely holding my emotions under control, and I knew if I slid my old rod back into that tight body of hers, and shared an orgasm looking into her gorgeous face and deep dark eyes, I’d be trapped. Lost in Africa, eaten alive, my heart would be consumed by the dark continent.

I reminded myself that I was a man with iron discipline; I’d stopped smoking and drinking just by deciding to. I’d kept my weight down too. If I could do those things, well then I could taste some teenage pussy without getting hooked. She wanted some, I wanted some, she was an adult now.

So black, so beautiful; she lay on the bed, naked, waiting, long smooth tapered legs spread, big firm tits, that perfect face, big eyes staring into my soul as she waited for me to do what we both wanted done.

My rules were shredded, my mind warped with desire, I had to have her, I had to care for her, she was my girl!

My tight pussy horny black African girl.

The first time I’d fucked her, she was a virgin. I seduced her, used my experience and wiles to get her where I wanted her. To open her vulnerable mind and then her young legs.

This time was different; she’d been with other men, and boys. She was no longer naïve. She knew me, knew what she was getting, she knew what her alternatives were too. There were millions of men available to her, literally millions. Some were rich, clever, attractive, and young.

Was she just using me? Maybe she just wanted to fuck me one last time, then leave me. She no longer needed me, I’d made sure of that.

When we went to meetings, I let her do all the talking. I got us in the door with my old white face, then made it clear that she was the one in the driver’s seat. My name was on things because it had to be to make the gears turn, I’d made sure she had majority ownership though. I didn’t need or want a business in Zambia; she did. And if I could help her, I would.

Because I loved her. As a girl, as a woman, as a person. I just loved her; and I wouldn’t be around for much longer.

There was no point in resistance. If I died tomorrow, or in a year, or ten years, I’d regret it if I didn’t do this. I was married and in love with a gorgeous young woman who wanted me.

I climbed onto the bed, on my hands and knees above her. For a long moment we looked into each others eyes, and then I slowly let my weight settle against her hot strong sexy body. We kissed as lovers again as she held my stiff rod in her hand, throbbing with lust. Endorphins were popping like firecrackers in my head, the pleasure of feeling her against myself.

I would have just stayed that way. The anticipation so sweet, the feeling of her body against me, her mouth, her breath, her scent so wonderful. Our parts found themselves in contact, and I had to push it in.

Her smile opened and her cunt closed. Her legs went around my ass, her hands gripped my back, and she moaned in pleasure.

Her face, her mouth, her eyes looking at me as I fucked her, my old dick inside her tight young pussy. That wasn’t it though; I could hire a dozen African teenagers, or travel to Thailand, Vietnam, or Laos where young whores were very affordable if that was all it was about.

This smart beautiful young woman who was actually my wife, was staring up at me with love in her eyes. Maybe it was just a pity fuck, or she was a horny slut who liked to fuck and I was fooling myself ... was I just a stupid old white man, imagining that a hot young black women could possibly truly want me?

I fucked her harder, and she held me tight, she moaned, we kissed, she started to come.

I could control my balls with Susan the hot stripper, with Dorothy the gorgeous blond. But when my true love Maryam came in my arms, I had to blow.

We came in a great simultaneous orgasm that rocked my mind, the building, maybe the world.

I held her face between my hands, staring at her; I’d give her everything, everything I had. If I had anything that is. What I gave her that bright morning was a massive flood of come, deep inside her writhing climax.

“God damn, girl.” I grumbled, “I love you, I fucking just love you.”

“I love you too, Chuck.” She answered, “It was always best with you.”

I laughed; “Thanks for that, baby.”

“I mean it.” She said defensively, “The boys were all sweet and eager, they could fuck like men but they were children, with no comprehension about the real world. And Anders; well, he’s got the big dick and he’s all good looking, but when I was in trouble where was he? At home in his parent’s house in Switzerland. I called him you know; he was so so sorry, nothing he could do he said. That was a lie! He has money and a passport, he could have come, he didn’t. You Chuck, you came; I said I needed you, and you got on a fucking plane. You didn’t even hesitate, you came.”

“Yeah baby. I always come for you.” I agreed.

“And when you make love with me, there’s no one else. No one loves me like you do, I don’t believe anyone ever will.”

I felt I should argue about that; she would be young and sexy for decades after I was gone. I was lying on top of her, my dick was shrinking in her, and I kissed her because I couldn’t talk.

The next morning we rode back to Lusaka. We were getting ready to check out of the hotel and move into an apartment, when we were told there was a man in the lobby waiting for us. It was Maryam’s father.

He was less hostile now, maybe because he wanted Maryam to sign something; there was a large piece of land in the hills along the Zambezi river that belonged to the family, he wanted to sell it. Maryam would get a quarter share, around $20,000.

We decided to go look at the property; it was several hours ride into the mountains. The roads were terrible for the last hour, rutted dirt tracks that the heavy road bike didn’t do well on. We rode into a fog bank, and I pulled over to the side to let a tractor get by; It looked like grass, it turned out to be deep mud. We sunk in to our knees. A small crowd seemed to appear from nowhere as we scrambled out of the hole, both of us coated in stinking slime as my motorcycle fell over so just one handgrip projected above the mire. Then an Indian guy came along walking a dog; he soon organized a digger from a construction site to come over and dig out the motorcycle.

“Goddamn.” Maryam said, “Hog in a bog saved by a wog with a dog.”

Rajesh was just 30, and had a coffee plantation there. He also had a litter of puppies. We stayed at his house for a few days; he had a (very attractive) older white partner, Claire, who was in her 50’s. It was odd to find this age gap interracial couple living on a mountain in Zambia. She was from neighboring Zimbabwe, he was Indian, they’d met in Saudi Arabia 15 years before where he’d been going to school with Claire’s son. Their story is called “Mother’s eyes”. Yeah, when he was a teenager, Rajesh had done it with his best friend’s mom.