I am just a messenger, so my name is not important. It is the message that counts. The basis for this started many years ago in the later nineteenth century and comes from a leather-bound journal that I found in my late grandparents’ things. How it got to them I cannot tell. The journal was written by a man named Joshua. The last name is unreadable. I have read it several times and worked with the changes in the English language since it was written so am presenting its contents to you in the form of a narrative rather than the sometimes-terse original entries. It tells the story much better when taken as a whole.

Trained as an evangelistic preacher in the American South, Joshua looked for a way to serve his Lord. Regular congregations such as he had been raised in were not what he sought. Surely there were other souls in greater need of redemption than the ones already giving their allegiance and money to an established denomination.

The article by an anthropologist about the many small islands in the Pacific with their own cultures got his attention. Surely there were some who hadn’t had the word of the Lord brought to them. He began a search for money to make the long journey to save their souls, finally speaking with a group whose goal was supporting missionaries all over the world. They had many in Africa and Asia but few in the place he was interested in.

One of the resources they supplied was assisting the missionary in learning the language of the indigenous people so he could effectively communicate the Good Word. Located in a big East Coast city the organization was finally able to find an older woman from one of these islands who served as a representative of her people in a multinational organization. Her English was reasonable and she was delighted to meet someone who was interested in her native land and language. She received a small stipend for helping Joshua.

He had an affinity for languages, having rather quickly absorbed Latin and classical Greek in seminary and did well. His tutor, Haeata, didn’t learn what was behind his interest until near the end of his training. She was concerned because she’d heard tales of other such people arriving at to her islands and the problems they sometimes caused. She made him solemnly promise that he would observe and follow the local customs to build the peoples’ confidence in him before attempting to change them.

Taking the train across the entire width of America was an experience in itself and got him to a steamer on the Pacific. He struggled with some bouts of seasickness but found it interesting to converse with fellow passengers about why they were travelling to the western Pacific. His first destination was Samoa.

Arriving there he received his first bit of culture shock. The port city was a real mix of island and western. White people were covered from neck to ankle while the brown ones wore little in the warm climate, being much more practical. Men and women often wore a wrap-around skirt garment and nothing above the waist. Being so accustomed to corseted female shapes, he hadn’t realized how unencumbered breasts looked in their variety. He felt a stirring in his groin and began reciting Bible passages in his head while failing to keep his eyes locked on his guide as they walked through the teeming streets to the organization’s office. Bumping up against native women’s bodies when the street got congested made it worse.

His North American clothes were exchanged for ones that were much looser and lighter weight, more suitable for the climate. He’d get the others back when he departed. Some local orientation was planned for the next few days and he was assigned a cot in the sleeping room upstairs. He pleaded fatigue and laid down on it. Hearing some noise in the room caused him to open his eyes and his field of vision was filled with brown breasts. It was an older woman with a full, sagging, and swinging bosom who was cleaning the floor with a dry mop right next to him. His erection returned with a vengeance and his guilt skyrocketed too. Fortunately she finished in a few minutes and he could stop mentally reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

There was only one other occupant of that room and he came in late and didn’t speak. It was a restless night with the sounds of the city so different than home. He was just beginning to really realize this was a whole different world than the urban US even though Heata and the people in his supporting organization had told him so.

After two days of orientation he boarded a small boat for the voyage to his destination island. The skipper spoke only broken English so there was little to do but avoid getting seasick. It wasn’t so bad this time. Four hours later he could see the dot on the horizon get larger and larger, finally approaching a sandy beach with people waiting.

The boat couldn’t go up on the beach so Joshua took off his shoes and rolled up his pant legs to wade the rest of the way in. The boat crew, clad in loincloths, had no such issues as they unloaded his things and the supplies the islanders needed. They would take back the few things that could be made there in exchange.

As he approached the islanders, Joshua wasn’t surprised that they were topless. But they were bottomless too! The entire small group were females wearing only some flower crowns as well as necklaces and other decorations made from wood, shells, and coral. None of those covered much of their bodies.

A younger woman stepped forward, her breasts moving as she walked and strongly tempting his gaze. He was thankful that pubic hair concealed their crotch parts. When he spoke their language in welcome, she smiled, pleased that she did not have to be an interpreter. He was led to the oldest woman of the group and introduced to her as the equivalent of a governor chief. The others were the council from all the villages on the island that helped her govern. He did understand that from his organization. He bowed to Liliha and she welcomed him. Visitors, and especially white ones, were rare and a good reason for a celebration.

A woman named Ahere had been assigned to be his guide to the island and he followed her nicely padded and quite mobile rear end as she led him on the trail to the village. They passed men who were on their way to bring the things offloaded from the boat. Once in the village they were surrounded by naked children full of curiosity. Ahere scolded them for getting in the way as she took Joshua to a hut and said this was his to use. It was dark inside but as his eyes acclimated he saw a sleeping pallet on either side and little else. He put down the bag he’d been carrying.

He wasn’t sure that he understood what Ahere meant when she spoke to him. She knew he had travelled far and was asking if he needed to rest. She would join him and relieve any tensions that had accumulated. “What tensions?” he wondered, then noticed his penis was half-filled and she was looking at it. He replied that he appreciated the offer but he would just lie down. She nodded and went to the other pallet.

He was drowsing off when he heard someone enter the hut. It was a man who whispered in Ahere’s ear. She nodded and rolled to her back, spreading her legs. The man got between them, his erection visible until it disappeared between her thighs. His ass moved up and down for a while and then he withdrew, a whitish cream dripping from the softening member. Joshua, a virgin, saw all of this through barely opened eyelids and was thankful that his painful erection was hidden in the pants he still wore. He did finally sleep.

When he awoke, Ahere noticed and asked again if she could be of help. He knew for sure what “help” was and wondered about these people’s morality. His question, “Did you ‘help’ that other man?” got a reply that he was her “bonded one” which in the West was called a husband. His curiosity piqued, he pursued this issue, “But you offered me ‘help’ too. Wouldn’t your bonded one be angry?”

Ahere smiled, “Putting bodies together is a natural thing like sharing a meal. I am bonded to him because we work on life goals together, not for sex.”