“How many men have you fucked?” Brian asked me. We were laying on our backs, naked, in a luxurious bed in a room in the Stanley Hotel in Nairobi, Kenya.

“That’s a personal question, you impertinent twerp,” I answered tartly, but with a smile on my face.

“I’m interested in the sex life of a MILF.” He kissed me on my cheek. He continued after a pause. “I’ve told you about all five women I have had. What do I know about you? I know you live in a small town in Kansas, which is somewhere in the vast United States.” Brian was British.

“I have to be careful. I’m married and have two children in college, and in my real life I am a dutiful preacher’s wife.”

“I don’t know much about you and I’m interested in your life and what you feel and what you’ve done. This is a romance. You’re not just a fuck buddy.” With exhaled breath he continued. “I love you.”

I choked up with emotion. He had never said that before. I put an arm around his neck and pulled him to me and we exchanged quick kisses. “Let’s not talk about love. I’m going home tomorrow and we’ll never see each other again.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me. I just want to be in love with you -- even if it’s for one day. Can we do that?”

I digested that question. “Yes, we can be in love. For today and in Africa.” I thought for a long moment. “The answer to your question is thirteen. Counting you.”

“Thirteen men? A quick response. You didn’t need to count on your fingers.”

“I’m an accountant. I like numbers. You were twelve. Mark was thirteen.” Mark and his girl friend, Faye, were our best friends and occasional sexual partners in the refugee camp where we all worked.

‘Oh, you are evil,” Brian answered with a laugh. He pulled me to to him and our bodies locked. “Now, I want to fuck you again.”

“Only if I can just lie here. You’ve worn me out.”

He rolled over on top of me and probed with his penis and slipped it inside my vagina. “This is my birthday present to you.” I had just turned forty. Brian was twenty-five.

“It’s better than a box of chocolates,” I said as they began to move our bodies in unison. “It’s also the anniversary of our first night together. Four months now.”

He joked, “It seems like we’ve been together forever.” He paused. “Back to the subject at hand. Who was your first man? And how old were you?”

I mused as he pulled his penis out of me and lowered his head to kiss my breasts. “I was eighteen and just out of high school and my boy friend stuck his cock in me. I panicked and made him take it out. I was a prude in those days and terrified that I would get pregnant and ruin my pure, Christian reputation.”

“Why worried about pregnancy? Did he cum in you?”

“Maybe. He cummed while I was pulling away from his cock.” I paused. “If I count him, the number would be fourteen.” I laughed. “My first real sex partner was my husband when I was nineteen. He was a preacher and six years older than me. It was my wedding night. Nine months later I had a daughter.” Brian’s penis was hardening between my bare legs.

Brian moved his head from my breasts downward to my crotch and flicked his tongue against my clitoris. I gasped. “Does that hurt?” he asked.

“No, but be careful. I’m a little tender. You’ve fucked me three times last night.”

“Always counting, aren’t you? I want to give you a proper send-off. I’m going to miss you. Really miss you.” He moved his head up to my breasts. I caressed his hair.

“Faye will take care of you,” I answered. “She has more sexual endurance than I do.” That was true and I had been apprehensive about Brian preferring her to me. Once overcoming my initial jealousy and insecurity, I had learned to value both her and Mark as friends and lovers.

“I like Faye. I love you.”

I sat up and his head fell down to my lap. I picked up the telephone on the table beside the bed. “Sweetie, let’s postpone sex for a while. I need some food. Let’s order food from room service. And a bottle of wine. Maybe after that I will be more responsive.”

“Order something we can eat in bed. Pasta Alfredo?” He spread my legs wider and tickled my clitoris with his tongue.

I gave the order over the telephone to the kitchen. “How about a shower while we’re waiting for the food? We smell like sex.” I sniffed the air. “This room smells like sex. I guess there’s nothing we can do about that.”

“The perfume of true love.”

“I love you, too,” I said with a catch in my throat. “I’ll miss you. I can’t imagine what it will be like without you around.” I fought back the tears and followed that declaration with a weak joke that strangled in my throat. “Even though I’m a surrogate for your mother.” I raised his head from my crotch and pulled him to me and kissed him on the lips.

“Honestly, I’ve never had a desire to fuck my mother. My sister? Maybe.” He laughed.

“You Brits are twisted perverts.” I got out of the bed and to my feet. I extended a hand to him. “Come on. Take a shower with me. This is the first decent bathroom I’ve seen since I got to Kenya.”

He followed me into the bathroom. I turned on the water and adjusted the heat and the two of us stepped into the shower. We kissed standing up, my hand around his penis, his hand running up and down my buttocks.

“I want to fuck. Right now.” He put his hands under my hips and sought my vagina with his penis.

“No,” I said. “We have to get dressed. The food will be here in a minute.” I pushed him gently away.

Brian picked up a bar of soap. “I’ll scrub your vagina and that wonderful butt.” His soapy hand found my crotch and ran up the crack in my buttocks.

“Enough, please. I’m not going to greet the waiter naked.”

Brian complied. He rinsed the soap off me and we both got out of the shower. He toweled me off from head to foot, stopping to spread the lips of my labia and plant a kiss on my clitoris. “I’ll get dressed to greet the waiter. You get in bed. Just like you are now. Naked. I want him to know, I want everyone to know, that we are lovers.”

“I hope that he doesn’t think that I’m your mother.” I couldn’t resist trying levity to cover up that I was bleeding inside. “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” came to mind.

“I’m proud of you. Proud that people know I am fucking you. I want to show you off. I love you.”

I didn’t answer, but sat down on the bed with pillows behind my back and pulled up a sheet to cover my breasts. Brian put on a pair of trousers and a shirt and paced, waiting impatiently for the room service waiter. Shortly, he arrived, pushing a stainless steel cart with two plates on it, an unopened bottle of wine, glasses, and silverware.

“Serve the lady in bed,” Brian told the waiter. I struggled to keep my breasts covered as I accepted a plate of Pasta Alfredo and a napkin wrapped around silverware from the waiter. The waiter uncorked the wine bottle and poured me a glass and set it on the table beside the king-side bed. He put another glass of wine on Brian’s side of the bed. Brian tipped the waiter extravagantly as he left.

“Did you deliberately flash that waiter a side boob?” asked Brian as he took off his clothes and sat down beside me on the bed and got under the sheet beside me. I dropped the sheet from my breasts.

“I most certainly did not!” We sat side by side companionably, eating pasta and drinking wine. My romance with Brian had been gloriously happy, but my happiness was always tinged with sadness. Tomorrow, I would be returning home. My African adventure was coming to an end. I hated to end it – but duty called. Back to Kansas, back to being the respectable wife of a preacher. I hoped God would forgive this break I had taken from duty.

“Thirteen men,” Brian mused. “Or fourteen – if you count that accidental cock in you. What happened to your high school boy friend?”

“Maybe I should count him as a sex partner. I’ve tried to forget about him. I was so traumatized that I broke up with him. We had vowed not to have sex until we were married and he violated our vow. I couldn’t forgive him.”