The Secret Life of Cowboy

To drive day blow into something means to make something last until sunrise.

It is an expression of the feeling of having turned over a whole night of partying, the beauty of the sun rise, the ambiance change between dark and light at a party. It is a point of recognition of the last remaining hard core party animals that have not yet retired.

The origin of 'blow' in the expression is ambiguous. It could have originated from desert rave parties, where the warming sun caused wind to pick up. It could also express the feeling of sunrise blowing one's mind after the preceding morning hours are typically filled with zombie like stupor from the proceeding hours.

We drove day blow into the song. (We partied all night, until the sunrise made the song at the moment really stand out.)

We drove day blow into the camp fire. (We kept partying around a campfire until the sun came up.)

Let's drive day blow into this set.

I have met many business men proud that they could do a hundred things at the same time. The sad truth is that they only completed one task, if they were lucky. I’d rather be the man who does only one thing at a time and completes a hundred.

I have met many workers proud to achieve a hundred tasks. Sadly, they never even realized that they never won the war. I’d rather be the man, who does only one task, the one that wins the war.

In spring of 1298 AD, the Abbey of Saint Gall rose to power of the village St.Gallen. The monastery with its church, dorm, and library rested at the head of the valley. A lovely stream passed the monastery on its way to the village of little houses. The houses were in all different shapes and periods facing every which way the builder had deemed best at the moment. The forest at the boundary of the village and meadows reached up into the high Alpine mountains. The bare rocky mountain tips were the furthest the inhabitants could see.

Bernard was in his monk cell. The walls and floor were large granite rock rectangles. The only things in the cell were a straw cot and a rough hewn blanket. Bernard was kneeling on the night-cold stone floor. Both of his hands were holding a wooden board. He smashed the wooden board against his forehead: “Extra Ecclesiam nulla salus (Outside the Church there is no salvation).” He looked at the wooden board. A fresh drop of red blood was there. The old blood had dried in different shades. The borders of the blood blotches were darker.

He repeated the rite once more. Then, he lay down the wooden board and laid himself down in his cot. He wrapped his body tightly into the rough brown blanket. The endorphins, the body’s natural painkillers, were rushing in. The body temperature dropped as the body responded to the pain of the rite. He shivered and began sweating. The shivering provided a cool release of the tension in his life. He felt nurtured by the warm blanket. A cozy, peaceful sleep came over him.

The mighty church tower rang the five in the morning bells. Five bell rings vibrated throughout the monastery and the near village. Bernard rose from his bed. He was still wearing his monk robe, a brown sack with a hood and white hip cord. He folded his hands into the sleeves of the opposite arm to keep them warm. The only room heated in the monastery was the heating room and the infirmary.

He left his cell. He walked down the spiral stair case. The walls were heavy granite rocks. They were cold and pulled all warmth out of the air. Even his footsteps were soft, the echo of the flap-flap echoed through the walls. The darkness of the night made him see everything in weak shades of gray. Yet, he knew is way around the familiar monastery. He stopped in front of dean Philippe’s door. A faint candle light flickered its light through the keyhole and gap at the bottom of the door. Bernard knocked.

“The one who knocks shall be received,” said dean Philippe inside the room. Bernard opened the door. The candle on Philippe’s desk painted the room orange and cave like. Philippe’s hands were holding a book. A bed with linen sheets was in the corner. A plate with a white chocolate cake rested on the desk next to the pen. Bernard kneeled in the door frame with his head bowed down until Philippe expressed mercy and allowed full entrance and the comfort of a simple wooden chair.

“I see on your forehead that you have been working on your piety. The wounds will heal soon. But tell me, do you still feel the pain?”

“Yes, father, it still hurts.”

“Do you remember the story of Jesus walking on Lake Genezareth? He told his disciple to follow him. Yet, the disciple looked at himself and sank. When he looked at Jesus, he could walk on the water again. It is the same with you, dear Bernard. As long as you look at yourself, you will feel the pain. When you can look completely on Jesus, you will feel no pain. Until then, you live in sin without faith. You must repent before death can take you away. To show your sincerity, I want you to think of a way to repent.”

“Yes, father. I shall only eat from the scraps leftover of other monks for the next month to vow my freedom of earthly ties.”

“So, shall it be.”

“Dean Philippe, you have always advocated open discourse. May, I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Bernard.”

“Last week, you had a monk whipped for three hours, because of his indulgence of sprinkling cinnamon on his oatmeal. I see that you have a chocolate frosted cake on your desk. I do not understand?”

“Bernard, when you have a solid as a faith as mine, no temptation can touch you anymore. So, you have to bring the devil into your very cell to give you the most precious temptations. Only that can challenge your faith. Only challenge lets you strengthen your faith. I will eat this cake and the evil one will tempt me to denounce my vow of poverty. Yet, I will rise above it and eat the cake without giving into the desire to indulge. Bernard, it is time to hasten to the chapel for the Prime (6 am service).”

“Thank you, father.”

They walked down the hallway into the medicinal herb garden. The fresh scent of rosemary crossed their noses. The high mountains above the monastery had their tips already lighted by the coming sunrise. A couple birds were roused to chirp by the monk. More monks joined them at the door to the chapel. Their walk had slowed to shuffling steps in the mass of brown hooded man. Once inside the church, the mass of people dissipated as monks were leaving the central aisle to enter the black hard benches.

The lector began reciting the Latin mass. He was inside a white tower with a little roof at the front of the church. Sculptures of golden angels were flying above him. The stained colored tall baroque windows recounted a scene of the dead Christ stabbed into the side with a spear, a scene of Jonas being spewed out by the whale, and a scene of Moses receiving the ten Commandments. The pit of the church was lined by seats with tall wooden dividers between them. The highest religious leaders of the monastery would sit up front. Their bodies were completely hidden by the dividers. Only their knees and feet protruded to be visible. Even these limbs were covered by the same brown sack clothes as all the others, making them anonymous.

Bernard abruptly raised his head. He realized that his head had slowly lowered itself as he nodded off. The sleep was heavy on his eyes. The blood had drained his head from sitting. His finger nails scratched over the palm of the opposite hand. They left a white line in his pink flesh. He pinched his finger tips. The pinches did little to dispel the sleepy air out of him. For this problem, he had a small knife with him. He cut short quarter inch lines into the back of his hand to stay awake. Older cuts had healed into skinny white scars.

The monk next to Bernard opened his prayer book. He flipped to page eighty three. There was a slip of loose paper with a sketch in it. It was the primitive outline of a woman. A circle was the head. The hair was a curved line on both sides of her head. Notably, two circles on her chest stood for the breast. A cross hatched triangle at the bottom of the torso marked her sex. The monk reached his hand under his robe into his crotch.

Bernard tried to look away and focus on the lector. Yet, his eyes involuntarily peaked down at the drawing. They had to know. Was this girl like the girl that he remembered growing up in the village? Was this by rare chance the girl that had warmly hugged him after he had stumbled in school and bruised his knees? Was this the girl that had the purest blue eyes? Would that girl from school have breasts like these under her clothes as well? Bernard felt an erection despite the cold air. The stick figure naked woman and the memories of his school affection had aroused him.

When the sun had completely risen and flooded the chapel with light, the lector left his podium. The monks rose silently and shuffled to their morning chores. Bernard felt guilty. The mere thought of desire of a woman was adultery. This morning, he had adultered and perverted that innocent girl from his school. He felt horrible about hurting her. So, he took the path of penance.

The path of penance started at the back of the chapel. It was a trail that leads into the forest. The steep slope quickly gained altitude. Bernard looked back down at the abbey and the village. He felt like he had a good overview and was more in control of his life by seeing the big picture. The pine trees were large and towering around him. The wind whispered through the tips of them in an eerie woohoo. The dirt and rocks under his feet made a grinding sound as his weight pressed down on them.

The first stop was a shrine to Saint Abbo Fleury, who had written a passion about the martyrdom of Saint Edmund. Bernard kneeled on the sharp pebbles in front of the shrine. He prayed for forgiveness for his carnal desires earlier in mess. He tried to remedy the ill that he had done to Katherine, the school girl, by praying for her health. May, your arms be blessed with health. May, your legs be blessed with health. As he blessed her legs, he remembered an incident.

Katherine had been excited to fetch a certain wild flower for the teacher. The teacher was teaching botany and needed a specimen for demonstration. It was a dandelion. The teacher wanted to show us the little seeds. Katherine had jumped up from her chair. As she jumped out of the classroom, she had miscalculated the steps outside of it. She fell flat on her face. Her dress had risen up and over her, so that the bottom of it was resting on her back. As she lay face down, her whole legs were bare to the students looking out. She was exposed up to her panties. Those young, tender white legs had a bit of baby fat. The butt cheeks were firm under the panties. He had often thought about running kisses up and down the legs and feeling her butt cheeks with his lips through the panties.

Bernard rose. He walked to the next shrine. The shrine was hammered into a two man high outcropping of rock. This shrine belonged to Edmund the Martyr, who had been killed by Vikings. Bernard prayed for forgiveness of his earlier memory of Katherine’s legs. He repented by praying for Katherine’s life to be filled with joy and happiness. He remembered the time that he saw her at her happiest. She had been gleaming with joy that she had seen him naked. She had uttered the devious and forbidden word with a gushing passion: “I saw your penis.”

Before school, Bernard had taken a bath at the creek a little outside the village. His clothes had been resting on a rock safely away from the sprinkling of the creek as it splashed over the rocks. He was sitting naked in the creek splashing water over his head, when he thought that he had heard giggling. Then, he had discounted his hearing. After she had told him, she imagined her hiding behind a tree. He imagined her watching his naked body. He imagined her watching his butt cheeks, inspecting the clef between his butt cheeks, as he jumped head first into a swimming hole. He imagined her telling the other girls in class about the white stout shaft of his penis and the shriveled up scrotum from the cold water. He imagined the girls visualizing their interpretations of his penis as they looked at him during class break.

Bernard tore himself away from the shrine and his rampant fantasy. He walked as fast as he could so that the pang in his lungs may stop the sinful thoughts. The shrine for Saint Gratus of Aosta quickly appeared at the edge of an idyllic clearing in the forest. The grass grew freely in the clearing with wildflowers dotting the green. A couple of deer were grassing on the far side. Bernard fell to his knees and silently cried for mercy from the temptations. He blessed Katherine with safety from the dangers of war and thugs. He remembered the night that the village was ransacked by a warring neighboring village. The formation of the Swiss federation was filled with battles for political power. All the children were huddled in the only school room. Katherine had fallen asleep leaning on his shoulder.

Her hair had fallen into his face. The long strands of hair were wafting the smell of female and youth into his nose. She smelled like nothing else he had smelled before. The hair tickled his face a bit, yet he surrendered to that feeling. Her chest pushed against his arm gently as she inhaled. He felt the warmth of her body creeping into his skin and warming his heart. His mind started feeling drowsy, yet happy about feeling her. Once she shifted a bit and her ragdoll hand fell into his lap. Her hand squarely landed on his pants covering his penis. He did not dare moving.

Outside, weapons were making sounds hitting each other. Men were yelling taunts and orders. Inside, he felt her soft little hand resting on his penis through his pant fabric. He felt so much tender love that his penis grew hard. Katherine was innocently sleeping, while he was flushed with lust. All his limps felt alive and vibrating sensuously.

The door barged open. An out of breath man in armor with a sword announced that the attackers were running. We were safe. Katherine roused. She felt his erection with her hand. He blushed with deep embarrassment. She looked tenderly into his eyes. He looked back into her blue eyes. They were clear. He could see the dark blotches in her iris. He felt the tenderness and love that his parents never gave him. A tear ran down his face. Katherine’s face reacted with deep empathy for Bernard’s hard life as a boy, who had to be tough. All the while, her hand was still resting on his erect penis.

Bernard rose up from the shrine. He had a raging erection under his monk robe. He stepped behind a large tree trunk. He reached his penis. He imagined that it were Katherine’s hand. He dreamed what her soft warm touch on his sex would feel like. He could almost see her blue eyes and mischievous smile hovering in front of his face, as she would jack him off. He had looked at those red pinkish lips often enough to remember their shape, how they were evenly thin, how the crooks of the lips would move around for her different faces. He furiously rubbed his penis behind the tree. Desire had completely overtaken him. He could feel that Katherine’s happy, cheerful, and innocent spirit overtook all of his guilt, inadequacy, and struggling.

His penis spurted white gobs of semen that fell onto the brown forest soil with sullen thumps. He looked at his gelatinous white semen on the ground. There was a last drop at the tip of his penis. He squeezed the urethra of the penis to push out additional drops of semen. He wiped them against the rough, crumbling tree bark leaving his mark of sin. He was now overcome with immense guilt. He rushed back to the monastery.

As Bernard descended the path of penance, the monastery was busy in the morning light. Monks were chopping wood. Monks were carrying books to the famous library. Monks labored in the kitchen. Bernard found his way to a quiet patch of the medicinal herb garden. The supervising monk pointed out the section that he had to take care off. The neat beds were surrounded by stone slabs that were pushed into the ground. The stone slabs kept the weed away. Tanacetum patheniums were growing. The first crop of flowers has opened. The yellow flowers with white petals were thickly clustered. The dried flowers were medicine to reduce fewer, cure headaches, and ease arthritis.

Bernard enjoyed clipping the flower heads of the butt. The cheery flower and the tactile feeling of the plant provided a serene oasis in the austere monastery. He dropped the flowers into one cup. Occasionally, he would separate the lush stalks of the plant to pick a weed that had started to grow in the ground. The weed would be dropped on the tile next to him. One of the monks began a hymn to praise the good fortune of a beautiful day, surviving the rough winter, and the blessings of the lord. Bernard merrily joined the happy singing. The supervising monk merrily smiled at the good progress they were making to maintain the medicinal herb garden.

Dean Philippe stepped towering next to Bernard: “Come with me.” Another gardening monk silently moved to take Bernard’s cup with flowers and the weeds. Philippe’s robe was fluttering in the draft of his rapid steps. Bernard followed slightly ducking. As the passed the walkways of the abbey, the monks averted their gaze and stopping any momentarily pause to take an inhale. Philippe pushed open a heavy lumber door with sturdy iron hinges. The storage shed had a circle of monks surrounding two monks. One of the monks was red in the face with rapid twitchy movements. The other looked sullen and slouched.

“As the Dean, I shall speak justice. Brother Marcus you accuse Brother Dmitri of masturbation. That is a grave accusation for masturbation by clergy is worse than murder. We all know that the virgins are the wives of the one in heaven. Thus, to think of touching them in ones mind is like adultery against god. There can only be a harsh penalty. For the mercy of a harsh penalty may wipe clean the sin and allow passage to heaven. Brother Dmitir, do you admit your guilt?”

“Sir, Dean Philippe, I understand Brother Marcus’ suspicion. Though, I merely applied an herbal cream for my urinary infection. It may…”

“Well, enough, Brother Dmitri. We have an impasse. One of you is a liar. You all remember the story of Moses praying with his arms held up. He prayed all day. By nightfall his arms started sinking. An angel descended to lift up his arms, so he may continue until the grace of the one smiled on him.”

“(Continued) You two stand next to each other. Raise your arms parallel to the ground. Keep them there. Whoever benefits of the help of an angel to keep the arms up longer will be proven true.”

“Sir, Dean Philippe, Brother Marcus is much stronger than I am. He does a lot of physical labor.”

“Quiet, Brother Dmitri. Do you believe a man can be stronger than an angel? Of course not, if you are truly innocent, what do you worry? The angel will keep your arms up with no effort on your part.”

The two monks stood with their arms reached out at their side. Marcus was broad shoulder from working timber. He had a confident smile on his face. Dmitri was a timid library worker. His back was bent forward from copying books many hours of the day. His arms were shaking the moment that he had lifted them. A tear rolled down his face. The circle of monks assumed him guilty, because he clearly did not expect an angel to rescue him.

The last minute, Dmitri fought hard against his sagging arms. When his arms were inches away from touching the side of his hips, he gave up dejectedly. His clothes were stripped from him. He stood naked in the half light of the dark storage shed. His body was lean, so that his muscles were clearly defined. He may not be strong, yet his body clearly showed the six bulges of his abdominal muscles. His legs were sturdy and firm. His arms were slender and pleasant. His sex hang exposed from his crotch.

“Dmitri, tell us, whom did you fantasize about when you masturbated?”

“Nobody!”

Dean Philippe took a coiled single tail whip from a wall hanger. His strong hand gripped the single tail. The other hand uncoiled and smoothed the tip. He reached over his head and behind. Then, he flicked the single tail whip through the air. The loud bang of the whip snapping rattled the thin metal pots in the shed and the ears of the monk. The tip precisely landed on Dmitri’s right upper back. The skin split on impact leaving a red fluid mark. Dmitri cowered and turned away, while protecting his head with his hands.

“Who was in your fantasy?”

“Helen, Helen from the village!”

A smile swished over Dean Philippe’s face. He handed the whip to another monk and instructed five lashes as punishment. Dmitri would run into the corner away from the strikes. Yet, the monk followed him without mercy. Dmitri was naked like an animal with his bare bottoms, the manly bulges, showing to the monks. Eventually, he rolled up in the corner of the shed to receive the last lash that cracked his skin. Six straight flush-red lines were on his back and butt with a few drops of blood running out.

An anti-masturbation device was taken out of a drawer. It was a phallic leather pouch with spikes on it, which made it impossible to grasp the penis. Dean Philippe moved the torso of the hunched over Dmitri away. Dmitri lethargically yielded. Dean Philippe rustled through Dmitri’s pubic hair to pull out the fleshy, pale penis. He pulled the leather pouch over it. A leather string was run around the penis twice and tied to keep it in place. An opening at the tip of the pouch would allow urine to come out.

Dmitri was to fast for ten years to atone. Dean Philippe lead the congregation of monks out of the storage shed to join the Sext, the mess recited at the sixth hour of daylight, noon. Dmitri hurried to pull over his robe and follow the pious monks. The chapel was warm from the daylight. The cold harsh winter climate waned finally. The trees outside the chapel threw shadow patterns on the stained windows, making their colorful play with light even more engaging. Occasionally, a patch of sunlight moved onto Bernard’s hand. The bright light was tingling his skin in a wonderful way. The sun patches would leave and Bernard would wait for them to return, while the lector continued his Latin recitation.

The following lunch filled the refectory with monks, who were eager to eat their simple meal. To follow their vow of poverty, the food was grain based with a little meat, unless one was fasting. Today a porridge of oatmeal served as their sole nutrition. Thick serving spoonful loads were shaken on the plates of the monks. With enough chewing, the starches break down into sweet sugars.

Bernard did not have a plate today. He patiently waited for a monk to finish his meal. He would humbly ask, if he could clear his plate. Then, he’d rapidly scratch his fork back and force on the plate to recover any oatmeal slurry that had stuck to the plate. When another monk generously left over a spoonful of oatmeal, he would insist that the monk finish his meal, because accepting their generosity would invalidate his penance. Dmitri was standing in the corner, as he was unable to sit with the fresh skin cuts.

When the kitchen monks collected the dishes to wash them, Dean Philippe collected the monks from the earlier punishment. He prepared them to leave for the village. Bernard walked ahead of Dean Philippe holding up the banner of the abbey. The banner was hanging down from a large and heavy wooden stick. The coat of arms for the Abbey of Saint Gall was a walking black bear with a red tongue on a yellow background. The other monks followed.

There was a little wooden bridge over the creek to cross from the abbey land to the land of the village. Technically, the village was property of the abbey, yet the local villagers’ resistance often left them extra leeway. The word quickly spread that Dean Philippe was walking into the village. He was feared by the villagers. They knew his history.

Dean Philippe was the second son to a noble man. As the second son, he would inherit nothing. Only the first born son would become the next lord. Even before the transfer of power, when his father was still alive, he had to be removed from the court. His tyrannical escapades caused a great deal of commotion. His father bought Philippe the position of dean at the distant abbey to ensure his well being and distance. At the time, many leadership positions in the church were filled by extra children of noble people. In the wildest and most feverish dreams, a regular peasant could not expect to work his way from a lowly monk to become the pope.

The village had two story tall buildings that were finished and painted with much pride. The low angle roofs accumulated much snow in winter. The layer of snow would serve as further isolation from the cold. Brown-green wood shingles covered the roofs. White painted facades with wood porches lined the street, until the path became narrower towards the center of the village. Near the village center, the houses stood side by side with no more space for little gardens and porches.

Dean Philippe stopped in front of the house of the black smith. The wall was missing in front of the metal working place, so that the intense heat of the fire could more freely escape outside. A band of villagers lead by the mayor faced the monastery congregation. The mayor had a red ribbon sideways over his shoulder to signify his high office. The young lads and older gray hairs behind the mayor were holding sticks in their hands. Their faces were grim.

“Dean Philippe, what brings you into the village?”

“It is a matter of the Church. Do not dare interfering. Helen has been poisoned by an evil spirit. Make her come out and surrender to the Church’s exorcism.”

“She looked fine to me earlier today. What is your evidence?”

“Fine, we shall hold a court of justice. Let my monks bring her out.”

The monks except for Philippe, who firmly faced the mayor, and Bernard, who held the wavering church banner, stormed into the building. They pushed away the scared father. The noise of a table moving over the wood floor was heard in the building. A young woman screaming for help was heard. A minute later, the first monk appeared out of the blacksmith’s house with Helen. His hand grabbed her neck and pushed her in front of him. The young girl was in her early twenties. Curly blond hair fell over her shoulders. Her bosom was ripe as a pregnant hog’s. She was barefoot.

“The method of justice is this peace of bread and this peace of cheese. A monk will write the holy prayer on the piece of bread. Then, Helen has to swallow the bread and cheese whole. If an evil spirit possesses her, the spirit will make her choke. The spirit will try to fight against taking in the bread with the holy inscription.”

A monk drew the holy prayer on the piece of bread with an ink quill. The bread was wrapped around the lump of cheese. A cross was placed under her right foot. Her father was allowed to hold another cross over her head. Then, two monks held the helpless Helen. Another monk forced open her jaw and stuffed the food inside of her. He put the palm of his hand over her mouth to keep the food inside. Helen slowly chewed with her face hidden under the hand of the monk, except for her wide open eyes with fear.

The villagers were silent. Dean Philippe told the monk to pinch Helen’s nose, so that she was forced to swallow. Helen kept chewing a few times without her breath to liquefy the lump of food in her mouth. Yet, her face ran pale and she had to swallow. She attempted and the large lump made her choke. The fear had dried up her spit.

The villagers were tense. They were considering standing up for their own, yet afraid of the power of the church. Dean Philippe seized the moment, grabbed Helen and swiftly turned around. The monks followed him. The villagers followed the monk. One of the villagers threw a hunk of bread at Dean Philippe’s head. He turned around shortly, yet realized that making out the culprit in the crowd was impossible. The villagers stopped at the bridge, the boundary of the village. All they could see was the congregation disappearing with Helen into the dormitory of the abbey.

Dean Philippe took Helen into his room. The monks were ordered to stand guard outside. Bernard heard physical struggle inside of the room. Helen’s screams and begging alternated. Skin hitting skin was heard. Bernard assumed that the evil spirit was fighting against the dean. When silence settled in, Bernard assumed the exorcism to be over soon.

The door flew open. The naked Helen ran out of the room. Her boobs were heaving. Her butt cheeks were squeezing tight alternately as she ran down the hall. She spat out a wad of white that was too large and sticky for spit. Two monks ran after her. Before she could reach the stairway, the first monk wrapped his arms around her and fell on top of her naked body. The second monk flung himself on top of the pile. Only her bare foot was visible under the brown robes. The foot twisted and moved around to indicate her struggle against the two male monks.

The monks took their waist bands off to tie them around her wrists and ankles. Then, they heaved her onto their shoulders and carried her back into the Dean Philippe’s room. Dean Philippe only appeared shortly in the door frame to receive the bound Helen back. He left his room punctually for the Nones, the three o’clock mess. Barnard could quickly peak into the room and saw the naked Helen lying on the bed with the linen sheets. Philippe said to let her go, she had repented.

The chapel was filled with monks that were tired from beginning work early. A heavy mood hung in the group. The monotone Latin liturgy was pierced by flashing images of the naked Helen running down the hallway. Memories of the way her hips swayed penetrated Bernard’s thoughts. He struggled to repress the memories of the juicy calves. The worst was his fantasy about what it felt to be the two monks that had tackled her. He imagined her naked body, boobs, hips, back, hands, and arms rubbing against the monks. He imagined their hips, penises, and faces rubbing against her body. He imagined the deep animal like connection the souls had in their struggle. He felt turned on. He felt deeply sick about himself getting turned on at all, let alone a poor helpless woman that is abused. Deep guilt settled into Bernard’s heart. He wanted to have his body disappear. The more he tried pushing away those thoughts, the thicker they grew in his head.

By the end of the mess, Bernard was tormenting with guilt and desire. He impatiently endured the slow shuffle of the monks leaving the chapel. Near the exit, he picked up a flogger from the desk that had implements of penance. He began walking towards his cell. The tails of the flogger were folded over the handle. He held them in his hand stiffly as he kept walking. Some of the monks took notice of the sign of sin. Other monks were used to the common self punishment in the abbey.

In his cell of bare rock walls, he took his robe off. He wrapped it around his waste, so that his back was exposed. He kneeled on the hard cold floor. He closed his eyes. His hands were resting with the flogger in his lap. In front of him was the bible. He recited the Latin scripture. A flash of Helen’s pink nipple flashed into his mind. It was the moment that she had opened the Philippe’s door and froze for a second to seize up the hallway in front of her. Bernard had clearly seen her rosy right nipple. Now, he flogged himself hard on the back. The back muscle spasmed tight from the sharp pain. A moment later, Bernard relaxed and resumed an upright position. He focused on reciting the scripture again.

His reading arrived at a dull listing of family lineage. A whole page of names described the off spring and grand children. Bernard’s mind wandered to Helen’s spit filled with a white wad. He had looked at it on the floor closer. It was cum. Had Dean Philippe put his penis into his mouth? Or, had the masturbatory cum of Dmitri actually manifested in Helen? He thought of his own cum in the morning. He wondered if Katherine had mystically received the wad of his cum in her mouth. He wondered if Katherine would have spat his cum wad out or recognized him and swallowed. Swoosh, swoosh, he flogged himself until the image of Katherine and Helen vanished.

The point of a flogger was to be relatively mild and avoid drawing blood, at least at first. As the sunlight started waning, the blood was tripping from the flogger as he retrieved it from the blows. He succumbed to the exhaustion and fell unconscious. When the daylight had completely disappeared, the noise and commotion outside roused him. He carefully cleaned the flogger to avoid infecting the next monk, who would use it. He returned the scripture book. Then, he walked out to the front of the chapel.

The monks were in disarray pacing amongst each other. A raucous mob from the village was screaming for them on the other side of the bridge. As far as Bernard could tell, a man and a woman were held captive at the front of the mob. Dean Philippe was at the edge of the monks. He faced a way to hide the fear tearing across his face. Dean Philippe gripped the bible firmer that he was holding and turned around to sternly face the monks. Without saying a word, he walked through the middle of them towards the mob of villagers. The monks tentatively followed him falling into organized rows of two.

From the monastery side of the bridge, he boomed at the crowd to tell him about the raucous. The disorganized screams of the villagers painted the picture that they had caught the man and the woman committing adultery. Neither of them was married. They had been sneaking into a shed together. Yet, the crowd was unsure, if he had managed to penetrate the girl. He was guilty for sure. Yet, if the girl was untouched by the rape, she would be innocent. However, if he had soiled her virginity, she was to be punished equally.

Dean Philippe’s judgment was quick. The man was to be tortured and killed by exposure. He was to be buried up to his neck in front of the monastery. Thus, he would be exposed to the elements, rain, sun, animals until he would eventually die of dehydration and starvation. However, the girl needed to be tried. She would be tied and thrown into a deep swimming hole in the creek. If she floated, she was guilty. If she sank like a normal person, her innocence would be proved.

The crowd calmed down with the plan established. The monks relaxed knowing that the village was not out to lynch them. The man and the woman were pushed across the bridge into the strong arms of the monks. A group of five monks took the man to dig a hole for him. Dean Philippe took the woman and led her in front of the monks up the creek. The villagers followed on the other side of the creek. Their lanterns lighted up the night. The monks walked unaided through the darkness.

The side of the creek entered the forest. The path beaten by common usage grew increasingly rockier. Large smooth boulders made the two groups walk like a snake towards their goal. A pale grey sheer rock wall showed the entrance of the gorge. The monks were climbing along narrow rock shelves about twenty feet above the water. The village mob climbed the top of the other side to about fifty feet. The groups moved slowly as each member had to individually find good footing and steady themselves with hands in cracks off the wall.

They came to the bend of the gorge. Here the creek was loudly gurgling beneath them. The bend made the water go in a little circle. The circle had carved a deep hole into the granite rock. Young teenagers would climb the wall here and jump down into the depth. The monks were standing in a long line along the rocky ledge. The villagers were high above them carefully observing the procession. The steep walls of the gorge kept the light of the night sky out.

Dean Philippe tied the woman, who was too scared to move for she may slip and fall onto the rocks beneath and die instantly. He used two waist bands from monks behind him to tie her hands behind her back and her ankles. He’d wrap a few loops of waist band around the wrist. Then, he’d wrap waistband across the rope loops in between the hands to tighten the grip of the rope. The woman looked at the villagers above and the dark monk figures behind her. That moment, Bernard could see the face of the woman. It was Katherine!

After a short prayer, Dean Philippe single handedly tossed Katherine down into the gorge. He threw her spot in the middle of the gorge, where the water was deepest to avoid hitting the bottom. As the water closed over her body, splashes flew high into the air. Rings of waves rang against the waves of the current. There was nothing for a second or two. Katherine’s body reappeared at the surface as she was struggling for her live and gulp of air. The water was raging in tumult around her, as she could only wiggle her body violently. Shortly, her head disappeared under the pitch black surface.

The men started discussing, how long they had to wait for her body to be under. Some men worried that it may be a ruse and she was swimming under to full them. They suggested waiting until her strength waned, because she may float back up. Others were concerned about letting an innocent young woman die. Yet, others suggested that should she drown innocently, she would be richly rewarded in heaven. Thus, saving her would deprive her of the bounty.

In a lapse of reason, Bernard jumped after her. He had been one of those young lads spending the summer to find the best rocks to dive from. He had perfected making his body large to slow his speed even in shallow water. The cold water awakened him. He reached the stand still point of the dive. It was a moment of peace under water. Then, he pushed up to the surface. He paddled hard to Katherine’s last spot and submerged looking for her.

The crowd was divided among supporters cheering for Katherine’s rescue and justice vigilante’s demanding Bernard’s death. Another monk jumped after Bernard, yet he resurfaced violently screaming about a fracture leg. An enraged villager threw a rock down to the water. The rock hit wall before hitting the water. The clunk of the rock echoed through the gorge.

Bernard reached his hands around in the dark cold water. He could see nothing. It seemed almost futile. He kept reaching. His lungs emptied. He believed in another second and reached somewhere else. He fought for another second and dived a little lower. He didn’t want to live unless he would feel Katherine. He dived a little left and reached. His hand found a piece of wet fabric. He pulled on it until there was more fabric to pull on. The next time he reached for a grab of fabric, his hand collided with Katherine’s soft body. He wrapped his arms around her belly and pulled her up to the air.

She did not breathe. So, he pulled her body against his body and swam backward to the shallow. Some villagers had returned to the mouth of the gorge and were now scrambling up the bottom of the gorge to reach him. Once Bernard’s feet got hold of the sandy floor, she stood up. He pulled her face close to his. His shivering cold lips wrapped around her mouth. The water made her face wet and smooth, as if Katherine were ten years younger. He blew air into her. She awoke in his arms. He removed her bonds.

They ran further up the gorge. The villagers from the mouth of the gorge pursued them hard. Their foot steps and calls echoed up the gorge. Katherine’s long wet dress made climbing over the rocks hard. Big boulders filled the gorge with the creek gushing in and around them. Bernard knew that ahead was a birch tree with long roots that reached down to the floor of the gorge. The roots were perfect handholds to escape it. Only a few of the teenagers knew about it, because only the daring scrambled this far into the gorge during their summer frolicking.

Katherine and Bernard were panting hard. They were hot from the physical work and shivering from the cold wet clothes. Adrenaline was running through their blood. They inhaled strong and clear. The gnarled root of the birch tree was next to them. Bernard sent Katherine to climb first. That way, he could move her feet from one foot hold into the next. If one knew all the little hidden crooks, it was rather easy to climb up the sheer granite wall.

They were half-way up, when the villagers appeared with their lanterns. The crowd was mad from the hardship of scrambling over the rocks at night. They had all bumped their feet and scratched their hands. They wanted revenge for their little pains. They scrambled straight past the two. The two were holding onto the birch tree root. Bernard held Katherine’s calf. Water dripped down from their clothes. Their muscles were shaking from holding their weight on the same foot without moving. The fear and mild hypothermia stole away their thoughts as they waited for the villagers to appear further away.

Once they stood on even ground next to the birch tree, Bernard coyly suggested taking off the clothes. The cold night would surely drain all their warmth through the wet clothes. Being naked, they would have a better chance of surviving until they found shelter. He quickly and gladly threw the monk robe off. She coyly removed her dress. She held her arms across her plumb breast. He saw the triangle of her pubic hair. It was like in the stick figure drawing in the morning. She squeezed water out of her hair. He saw her nipples. He saw the moonlight reflected on her wet belly. She saw her eyes looking into the distance of the land of darkness, as if she were knowing.

Bernard silently took her hand and led her onward. A faint trail guided them higher into the mountains. After an hour of thick forest, they arrived at a steep rocky slope. The trail cut across with a steep drop off to the side. Now, they could see down at the village and monastery for the first time. The bulk of lights had withdrawn to the village center. Speckles of light combed the forest for the fugitives, yet all at much lower elevation.

Outside of the tree cover, the moon light shone onto Katherine and Bernard’s naked bodies. He had a thin yet stout and tall body. She was on the tall side. Her breasts were now freely hanging in the milky moon light. He saw her firm thighs. Her body was so much smaller than the fluffy dresses had always made him belief. She seemed like a bundle of joy to him that he would have wanted to pick up and carry away. He did not dare touching her. As he glanced over the nakedness of her body, he could feel his penis moving. He was afraid that she would catch him with an erection. He told her to move on ahead of him.

She walked on across the rocky slope. He looked at his feet to avoid the uneven rocks. He glanced up at her naked butt to avoid walking too fast and bumping into her. Her butt cheeks went flabby and taught alternating with each step. He got mesmerized for a dozen steps. Because he felt the blood in his penis, he averted his eyes down. He looked at her strong thighs. He had never seen naked female thighs with all the details of their strength and how fleshy they seem. His penis was fully erect. It pointed ahead of him. His sex was exposed as he was walking naked. The temptation of her naked body would not go away like his thoughts. And, he could not avert his eyes, because he would stumble.

His heart was pounding in his ears, as he was embarrassed about Katherine turning around and seeing his large erection. Katherine paused for a moment. He told her to move on, before she could turn around. The path returned into the cover of the forest again. Bernard hoped that it would be too dark for Katherine to recognize his erection. As the nervosity left him, the erection eased his penis back down.

By dawn, they reached the edge of the forest high on the mountain. Trees stopped growing at this altitude. Meadows with grazing cows took over the landscape here. The villagers would bring the cows up to the high meadows in spring and take them back down in fall. Across the meadow was the cabin with the steward, who milked the cow and cultured cheese. Milk perished quickly. Cheese lasted long and could be delivered down to the village on a weekly schedule. The cabin was quiet without lights. Apparently, none of the searching villagers had come up here. They walked across the meadow side by side.

The breaking morning light showed the wooden door into the cabin. It was large cabin with a hay floor on top. The windows were well maintained. A row of flowers was in mini seed beds next to the house. Everything was quiet. Perhaps, the steward had not left the village yet and was waiting for warmer days. He pushed the door open. Being respectful, Bernard looked for the stairs to the hay floor to sleep in the hay rather than the steward’s bed. The stairs were a few wood boards nailed into the wall. They squeaked under the weight of their hands and feet.

A scream rang. The scream was coming again from the floor below. Bernard called back that they were not thieves and simply needed a place to stay. Only a grunt responded. Bernard told the naked Katherine to wait on the hay floor. Bernard slowly climbed down to the ground floor. He warned the steward that he had no clothes and was naked. He opened the door to the bedroom.

The steward was sitting on the bed. Both feet were hovering over the ground. The steward was in tremendous pain. His feet were red and swollen. He complained that he was stuck on his bed like this for two days already, unable to walk. Bernard inspected the feet. Only getting his hand close to touching the feet, had the steward scream in agony. Bernard explained that the man had gout. Upon questioning, the steward confirmed that he was eating all the left over cheese scrapes. Bernard suggested, if he’d stop doing that the pain would go away. Drinking plenty water might break up the gout crystals sooner. The steward sent Bernard to fetch him a mug of water.

The steward allowed them to stay for a while. He also gave Bernard two pants and two shirts and apologized for not having spare shoes to share. The steward returned to lie in his bed. Bernard climbed up to the naked Katherine, who was hiding behind a hay ball squatting with her heels at her naked butt cheeks. He handed her pants and a shirt. She dressed herself like a man. They made a pile of hay and went to sleep.

Bernard was exhausted and slept for a long time. Katherine woke up first. She lifted his head on her lap. She stared caressing the hair around his face. Bernard gently woke up from the cradling. He felt loved and comforted by her gentle touch. He worryingly looked at her. She told him that everything would be okay. His face strained as he told her that he had had erotic feelings for her. She told him to hush. She reminded him that she had seen him naked as well. Everything would be okay. He felt safe. He cried. Tears were running down his face. The emotional discharge of his lifetime of standing up to harsh men and perfect purity standards exhausted him. He sobbingly fell back into a slumber and surrendered himself into Katherine’s care.

He awoke again in the late afternoon. Katherine had caressed his hair and face for an hour. She grew endeared with the features of his face. The steward called up to them to ask them to milk the cows. Katherine took Bernard’s hand as she led him to climb down to the ground floor. They walked over the meadow. The grass grew liberally. The surface was uneven and covered with many rocks. They came to a steeper slope with a smooth run of grass. Katherine asked, if Bernard had ever rolled down a grass hill. He said ‘no.’

She laughed out loud as she swung the empty milk can threw the air. She grabbed her pants. Her mouth was wide open with a free and youthful laugh. She let herself fall to the floor like a ragdoll with her arms raised up as if they were following her. Then, she let herself roll down the grass sideways. After five rotations, she stopped and giggled. She insisted that Bernard follow her.

Bernard tentatively laid himself down. Then, he let himself roll a bit. The feeling was dizzying. The ground touched him in so many places. The world twisted around him. After the third roll, he could not tell up and down anymore. He started laughing as a feeling of joy came over him. He sat up next to Katherine to digest the emotions that were running through him.

Katherine pulled Bernard up with her hand. She told him to fly like a bird. Off she went running with her arms stretched out. She went left and right like a bird of prey soaring around. The dazed Bernard followed her. He reached out his large manly wings. He ran. He followed the cheery inner child of Katherine. He played. Yes, he played. He loved following the hair of Katherine flying through the draft wind in front of him. He wanted to get another whiff of her hair like back, when they thought shelter in the school room.

They swiftly arrived at the milking shed. The cows with bulging udders had already waited for a day to receive relieve of the pressure by milking. The cows stood silently, as Katherine and Bernard shot streams of milk into the same milk can. The happy cows walked off to their favorite pasture. The next cow eager for relieve would push herself in between them. Grunting moos were all around them. Some of the cow butts were filthy with cow excrement. One generally had to be careful to avoid stepping into the flat liquid cow manure pancakes that the cows left behind.

They returned to the cabin. The steward was sitting happily on a bench in front of the cabin to welcome them back. He had gray hair. He wore a traditional leather pant with suspenders. He had a full beard with the beard hair above his lip twisted at the ends. He wore a felt hat. He graciously thanked them. With sorrow creases on his forehead, he added that he had found out about their plight. A young boy had come to check on him. The young boy would tell the village. The next morning, the village mob would be at the high meadows to lynch them.

He was deeply sorry that there was no way of escaping. Farther up was a glacier with eternal snow that was treacherous even with special equipment and warm clothes. To the sides were sheer granite walls that could not be climbed. The cabin was in a funnel. The choke point to the cabin was already guarded. He thanked Bernard again about educating him about gout.

Katherine and Bernard climbed up to the hay floor. They sat next to each other solemn. “I don’t care,” said Katherine. “For so long have I dreamed about you, shy boy. If I am going to be condemned, I may as well romp you like a rabbit. I want to feel your throbbing penis inside my belly.” Her blue eyes looked wild into his face. He gazed back at her with fear.

She flung her body onto his. She devoured his mouth with hers. Her tongue flicked in between his teeth like fire taunting the teeth, his lips, and his tongue. Feeling her tongue inside of him ignited his passion. His arms roused as he grabbed her body and pulled her tight. His loins pushed against hers. He felt the round shapes of her boobs pressing against his chest. He felt her body feverishly clinging onto his. Feeling her passion made him wild.

He pulled is pants over his stiff erection. She eagerly kicked of her pants. They left the shirts on, not caring in heat to get completely naked. He sank his member into her moist waiting sex. The smoothness of the entry and the tightness of her vagina awakened the animal in him that wrested control from his conscious guilty monk mind. She wanted him. She pushed her butt up and down against his sex.

After they came, their appetite was only half sated. “Do you want to try a forbidden position?” said the Bernard awakened to live daringly. All positions but missionary were strictly prohibited by the church. He flipped Katherine over on her hands and knees. He thrust into her from behind like a dog. Amazing, how the lips of her vagina reached back between her thighs, so that he could access them from behind. Unsatisfied with the depth of penetration, he grabbed her thighs like a wheel barrow and lifted her hind up. Now with her thighs in her hand, he penetrated her deeply touching her cervix.

After another lighting and thunder inside their hot sexes, Katherine collapsed forward and Bernard on top of her sweaty body. They dozed for a bit in the luscious afterglow of fornication. Then, Katherine pulled herself out from under Bernard. She jumped into the air. She said, let’s thump the church even more and dance. She threw of her shirt. She jumped from one leg to the next. Bernard threw of his shirt as well. He clutched her body. He spun both of them around as he had heard frivolous people dance Viennese Waltz. They intoxicated each other with dizziness. They tried to stand still on their own yet fell on top of each other.

As the dizziness waned, Bernard started kissing Katherine’s naked body. He carefully placed a kiss on each inch of skin. He worked his way from her neck down to her nipples. Katherine moaned as he reached her nipples. Then, he pushed his nose into her hair to smell her hair roots. She said that she had always loved him. She said how often she had wished that he would take her onto a secret tryst into the forest. She said how hard broken she was, when he joined the monastery. But now, they were both free again.

The morning came swiftly in the timeless world of the two lovers. An angry mob of villagers led by Dean Philippe arrived. They decided to torch the whole building as it had been cursed by the two. The flames flew high into the sky as the fire went into full roar. The steward silently cried about his home being burned down to the foundation. Dean Philippe felt justly accomplished. The steward was forced to feed the mob for free with fresh milk.

The tale of the two made its way to Geneva, the big city. The rumor was told that the two lovers silently snuck out of the hay floor by removing panels from the roof. Thus, the steward, who held guard, did not notice them slipping out. Then, they had hidden in a cave until the villagers had left. From their, they had stolen themselves across the country to Geneva, where they had started a secret Venus cult. The cult would hold wild orgies in private houses of the city. The church denied the existence of the cult. Yet, others said that they fiercely persecuted the Venus cult.

Jarrik’s last memories of Boston were neatness and politeness. The stainless steel tweezers to turn the needle for the suture were sparkling. The boundaries of the surgery site were formed by straight lines of medical tape. Skin was inside the rectangle. Outside the rectangle was a blue sheet with the fold marks from storage. The anesthetist was sitting on a swiveling chair amid monitors and electronically controlled injection tubes. The anesthetist gave him the thumbs up that he let the patient come out of general anesthesia. The nurse to Jarrik’s side held the straw of an organic apple juice with re-balanced electrolytes in front of his face mask. She politely moved the straw under his mask for rehydration.

The first impression on the African airplane was the bright sunlight inside of the cabin. The airplane was a standard Boeing. Yet, the sunlight closer to the equator was a lot stronger, twice or thrice by his estimation. The more jarring impression was that things were basic, maybe shoddy. The wax coated paper cup in his hand was plain white. The seams were clearly evident and peeling. The paper cup contained water. Cola was reserved for first class. The flight attendant that explained it to him was wearing a boxy stiff uniform. Her uniform was a solid blue with a few pieces of solid white. A white plane, white stripes on her shoulder, and a white mini apron identified her.

People on the plane seemed taller, scrawnier, and less confident. For example, the pilot stepping out of the cockpit was rather tall. His uniform sleeves were too short. The pant ended way above the ankles. The jacket cuffs were somewhere around the middle of his forearms. He lacked the dignity, weight, and slowness of an American pilot. He looked like a shifty corner vendor stuffed into a children’s pilot costume. He was fumbling with a rubber band to tie the cockpit door open. His feet were closed. His butt stuck out more than it needed to do. His elbows looked boxy. His fumbling seemed aimless.

The traveler next to Jarrik was managing director of a dairy plant in the capital. He was attempting to solve a Sudoku puzzle in the back of the flight magazine. Jarrik glanced at the paper. The man had only two numbers filled out. A quarter hour later, the man had only progressed to fill in one more number. Jarrik picked an easy square that had all numbers, except for one filled in. Jarrik offered the other traveler the solution. He happily accepted with a cheer and head bobbing. On a second look, Jarrik noticed that one of the earlier numbers was evidently wrong. The managing director had written a nine right next to another nine. Jarrik seized up the man with his thick plastic glasses and the white tape to hold them together.

Jarrik glanced out into the cabin at the arms, wrists, and scalps that lurked over the seats in front of him. Another hard bump of a turbulence shook the overhead compartments. The pilot came running from the back of the plane. The rubber band had snapped. The cockpit door was swinging closed. The door engaged the terrorist safety lock automatically upon closing. The pilot stood in front of the blue painted door with the bare metal frame. The little black pinhole starred back at the pilot. The pilot rattled the door with the weak click-click of the door handle. An African woman on the other side of the plane screamed hysterically.

A tall African passenger stood up in the front row. He helped the pilot ram the door with their shoulders. An Englishman asked the flight attendant with British accent: “Should I start worrying now?” The flight attendant ensured the passenger: “Oh, the pilot is dumb in head. He always make nonsense.” The pilot attempted to balance now on one leg. His black sneakers, white soaks, brown skin, and high running pants gave him only a shaky support. His other leg was raised hip high into the air with a bent knee. He kicked the door with tremendous effect to his balance, yet none to the door.

Most passengers were now looking at the pilot as he was retreating from the door. Jarrik had a joke flashing across his mind. In the joke, a pilot ran to the back of the plane with a parachute. He told the passengers not to worry, because he was going to come back with help. The pilot on this plane found a fire axe in the emergency overhead bin. He chopped into the door only making dents. The pilot’s face was torn with anxiety as he ran to the back of the plane. There he started screaming hoo-hoo-hoo and ran forward with the fire axe over his right shoulder. It eluded the pilot that the long distance rather tired him out then allowed him to gain more speed. The fire axe bit into the door. A clear line of white sun light broke through the door from inside the cockpit.

A few more of those long range attacks and the pilot made it back into the cockpit. The applause of the passengers had him smile smittenly. The plane landed in the capital. The airport was as to be expected. It was bare concrete. A few soldiers with skinny machine guns stood around. Crowds of people in multi-colored clothes with the weirdest old luggage and plastic bags shuffled in long lines. Jarrik mistook the hand pressed against his chest as that of a pickpocket and grabbed it firmly. The hand contained a pack of Marlboro. The man was apparently a petty thief selling duty free cigarettes. Jarrik let go of him to find a taxi.

The taxi was a white diesel Mercedes from three decades ago. The backseat was worn thin making Jarrik sit lower and appreciate the added head room. The diesel engine vibrated the whole car. Every few seconds, the engine would rattle up higher and make the whole car jump twice before settling down again. The black driver wore a simple dress shirt and brown pants. The driver adjusted the beautiful, dried flowers on the dashboard, while asking Jarrik for the destination. Jarrik told him to go to the Doctors Without Borders hospital. The driver high-fived another cabbie through the open window, as the car slowly pulled out of the line up of waiting cars at the terminal.

The drive had all the sights that Jarrik had been looking for, while he completed his tropical medicine course to qualify for the mission. There were the palm trees with their skinny logs and bushy top. They stood on dried out dirt patches in the center median of the road. Perhaps, it was intended as a presidential road at some point in the past. There were the white washed square houses with stairs on the outside. People had their bedrooms on top of the house to enjoy the cool night temperatures as a respite from the daytime heat. Poor, suffering people were in throngs along the road. He looked forward to alleviating their suffering by offering his medical services for free.

At the MSF (Medecins Sans Frontieres – French for Doctors without Borders) building, Jarrik meet a short, stout, slightly overweight blond man. The man wore beige shorts and a white short sleeve shirt. Hiking sandals covered his feet. His face was round and filled with a big smile: “My name’s Kyden, mate.” Kyden lead Jarrik to the back of the building. A small concrete court yard with a few cracks was there. The place looked like it had been a very small motel before. All the signs were gone, yet the architecture of many small rooms was evident. Kyden turned the round golden door knob to the first door. It was a door with many small glass windows: “Here’s your little cubby house.”

Jarrik left his luggage in the room and followed Kyden back to the court yard. The next door had Kyden’s room. Kyden plopped down into a low camping chair. The plastic bands of his seat stretched almost down to the tiles on the floor. Next to him was a plastic ice chest. Kyden got a beer out of it and handed it to Jarrik: “Those planes are as dry as a nun’s nasty.” Jarrik sat down on another camping chair. He sipped on the beer. The room was bare: One ice chest, two camping chairs, one cupboard broken into its individual wood boards, another cupboard probably contained Kyden’s clothes. The bed was large and puffy. It promised to be overly soft and sagging. The walls were white washed, clean, and simple.

“You are not the one for ear bashing.”
“Oh, I am sorry. The long travel must have dulled my mind.”
“No drama, mate. I have to close down the clinic for the day anyway.”

Kyden slapped Jarrik on the thigh and left. Jarrik went back to his own room to get darker sun glasses, a hat, and sun screen. Curious to see the African continent, he stepped out into the street. The street was quieter, because they were in a suburb. A resemblance of a sidewalk was hard to make out. Yet, there were only very few cars going by. A black woman with a pink fabric wrapped around her hair was selling fruits on the other side of the street. Jarrik crossed the street to take a look through the glass window into the cart.

The tall woman with slender hands pointed out the fresh pawpaw fruit that she had gotten. They looked yellow and similar to a papaya. Next to it were a few tangerines threaded on a string and tied in a circle. The peeled mango on a wooden stick seemed most appealing to Jarrik. The woman noticed Jarrik’s attention to the mangos.

“Half price for doctor!”
“How did you know that I was a doctor?”
“You walked out of the clinic and are a white man. My name is Namazzi. It means water.”
“Hi, my name is Jarrik. I have no clue, what it means.”

Jarrik felt Namazzi’s hand. The touch was soft as a woman. Her fingers and skin was a bit hard. He looked into her eyes and saw her warmly looking back at him. After the long raucous journey, he felt her female energy. It made him feel at home. Her breasts were on the small side for her tall size. Yet, he looked at them anyway. He held her hand a moment to long. She broke into a giggle as she pulled her hand back.

“My brother better not see white man flirting with me. Here is your mango. It is a gift for a kind man.”

Jarrik walked back to his room. The shower stall was simply a shower head. There was no basin for the water. Next to the Western toilet was a drain in the bathroom. The wood board under the mirror over the sink was too narrow for more than a tooth paste. Jarrik had to put his toiletries on the water tank of the toilet. The mango stone was lying on the floor near the entrance inside a napkin. There was no trash can to be found. Ants were already on the Mango, when he finished his shower. The ants were laying down scent to build a solid ant street. Jarrik politely placed the Mango leftover in front of his door into the court yard and went to sleep.

Kyden woke Jarrik up with a “G’day.” Kyden rattled the spoon inside of a plastic glass. He placed the plastic glass, a box of cereal, and rice milk next to the bed. Jarrik hat a good feeling about the day. There was something more solid about this place than Boston. Boston was such a rush and full of nervous people. This place had a solid feel. Perhaps, the simple nature of the place let the mind settle. Or, the backward nature of things gave the mind a little rest from catching up on the latest innovation.

“Bog in. We don’t have real milk only long shelf life rice milk. As you noticed, there is no trash can in any rooms, because they ants come in through the holes. All the trash has to go into the dumpster. The dumpster lid is open, so that you can throw the trash from your door step.”

Kyden pushed open the door to the clinic. Jarrik’s room was a square white room. The exam table was a stainless steel metal table taken from a restaurant. Kyden showed, how to spray down the table and wipe it after each patient. A swivel chair with a round seat cushion and no backrest was his new office chair. Previous doctor volunteers had covered the once green seat cushion with stickers: a little heart, a skull of a metal band, a skate boarding logo, a BMW log, a snappy sticker saying ‘mean people.’ The supplies were still in ten by ten by ten inch white boxes. Some boxes were already opened. Others were still closed. Some boxes had complete manifests of the content. Others were missing the manifest and someone had scribbled with a sharpie gauzes, blades, antibiotics, pox immunization and so on. An oversized box of torn Nitrile gloves lay in the corner.

The tour continued into the waiting room. Grass mats around the edge of the room allowed people to sit or lie, while waiting. A few people were already sitting there, swatting flies off their faces and bobbing little once on their knees. “The morning brings a lot of ankle biters. They burn themselves on the night stoves,” said Kyden. Kyden smiled at a little three year old boy, who was holding his hold weight on Kyden’s two fingers. The boy’s face was gruffy and a large pink sore covered the entire shin on the black body. He wore only a white fabric wrapped around his hips.

The mother and boy followed Jarrik into his office. Jarrik washed his hands in the sink in the corner with industrial bar of soap. He snapped on his gloves. He swiveled his sticker chair to take a look at his first patient, who sat observantly on the restaurant table holding his leg up. The job was straight forward: Wash the debris out. Pick the fabric and other embedded material with tweezers. Cover with a burn lotion. Wrap with sterile gauze. Teach the mother to use a handful of single use burn lotion packets. The challenge was finding all the little things in the boxes. He started to move the boxes from stacks against the wall into a field of boxes spread out on the ground. He started grouping them by adding an inch space between the boundaries of different types of boxes.

By mid morning, he paid less attention to things and could blindly reach for the most common boxes, while still looking at the patient. The beginning of routine gave Jarrik the chance to look outside the window. Namazzi had returned with her fruit stand. She had waved him a warm hello. Jarrik had smiled back feeling happy to already recognize someone familiar in his new environment. The dark brown skin of Namazzi had a nice shine in the sunlight. Jarrik was curious to touch it and feel, if there were any difference to his white skin. The brightly colored fabric looked good against her dark skin. The hands and feet of Namazzi had a strange fascination, because they were light colored. All black people are like that, yet it made the soles of the hand and feet stand out so much more. He wondered, what it would feel like to hold these feet that seemed more like a tool for long walking then the fetish model like feet of his fellow Bostonites in luxury shoes.

The almost last patient of the morning shift was a thirteen year old boy with thick Shea nut paste rubbed on his chest. He had curly short hair. The peculiar boy had a deep cut. Kyden quickly pushed the boy into Kyden’s office.

“You don’t treat any diggers of the Lord’s Resistance Army. That shea butter is their mystical bullet proof vest. They have a kangaroo loose in the top paddock.”

So, Jarrik took an early lunch break. He walked over to Namazzi. She smiled at him with a sparkle in her eyes. Her nose seemed extra clean today. Jarrik did not understand how that nose-clean effect exactly happened. Today, he was curious to try to the Jackfruit and insisted on paying. She asked him about his hobbies. He said that he was an avid hiker. She told him that not having a bicycle, she had to walk a lot. Yet, there was this beautiful road up a mountain near the capital. The view from the other side of the mountain would show a vast plain. There the high grass and waterholes nurtured a rich animal life. In the far distance was her home village, where her father still lived.

He asked her, if she would take him. She burst for a second with excitement before she could her composure again. During that second, she kicked up the sandal behind her and raised her flat hand into the air, while her large, even white ivory teeth chirped ‘ke-ke-ke.’ Kyden yelled at them to come for lunch. Jarrik invited Namazzi. Namazzi followed pulling her fruit stand behind her.

A white pickup truck was parked on the other side. The driver was wearing a turban and looked shifty, while revving the engine every once in a while. Jarrik was unsure, if the driver was preventing an impending engine stall or rushing the man on the truck bed. The men on the truck bed gave Kyden two stuffed paper bags in exchange for colorful paper money. Kyden took the paper bags into the courtyard. Next to the dumpster was the single tree of the court yard. The white canopy stretched out thickly providing comfortable shade. A few large bricks were placed in a circle. Kyden shifted the bricks onto their narrow sides to have taller bricks to sit on.

The bags contained McDonald’s burgers, fries, cola, and chicken McNuggets. To celebrate Jarrik’s first day, he had sent a driver across town to the only McDonald’s of the country. He figured a little familiar from back home would be welcome. Jarrik was not sure, if he should give into the good feeling of comfort food or insist on getting the most exotic experience out of his trip.

Jarrik thought the better of complaining to his host. Instead, he complimented Namazzi on her delicate and price tattoo. Namazzi had rolled up her sleeves all the way over her shoulder in the heat. The middle of her shoulder had a tree and a moon shining over it. She explained that it was a mystical power symbol of her village. Her father still was the leader of the village. He had twin daughters and no boys. So, he marked one daughter as the queen of the day and the other as the queen of the night. The tree symbolized the gathering place, where he ruled. The night symbolized that she would have the power to rule the village at night. Been queen of the night was mostly pointless, because the villagers followed the rhythm of the sun and slept at night. However, the celebrations were held at night. So, she would lead the ceremonies, when she went back home.

As Namazzi was talking, she grabbed Jarrik’s forearm to make a point of how beautiful her ceremonial dress was. Jarrik felt goose bumps spreading over his body. As he became more aware of his body, he noticed that Namazzi’s sandal food was resting on his shoes. He quietly enjoyed the feeling of body contact and secretly inhaled with each breath the energy of Namazzi. Namazzi’s face glowed as she described her struggle leading an antelope bull in front of a procession. Jarrik was entranced looking at her face, waiting for the occasional touch from her. The touch would set off a sparkle of sensation waving through his body. He soaked up every facial expression and gesturing tick that she had.

Kyden seemed to have a sneerful attitude. Every time Kyden glanced at the tattoo on Namazzi’s shoulder, a bitter twitch ran across the corners of his lips. The expressive Namazzi eventually realized the heavy tension between Kyden seizing her up and Jarrik eying Kyden for not being friendlier to the guest. She excused herself that her customers would soon finish lunch and were looking for a fruit dessert. Leaned forward and kissed Jarrik on the cheek. He felt her moist lips, moist enough to feel wet. The sensation stayed with him the whole afternoon like a tattoo. During the humdrum of bandaging and vaccinating, he played the memory of that kiss over and over. He wondered what her lips would taste like, those red lips behind the dark brown face. He wanted to lick her teeth and gum to taste her.

As the room got darker from the setting sun, Kyden knocked on the door of Jarrik’s office:
“Mate, I am sorry about lunch today. I know you like the girl. Let me make it up to you. Why don’t you chuck a sickie tomorrow and go with her on that guy up the mountain. I already paid her boss twenty bucks to make up for the lost revenue of her taking off tomorrow.”
“Kyden, wow, I really appreciate your care. I hope that I can re-pay it some day. Though, is it okay to take a sick day on my second day already?”
“Jarrik, we all need a bit time to adjust to the jetlag. A bloke once spent the whole first week sleeping like a rat in cockayne.”

The next morning, Jarrik stood at the entrance of the hospital at attention. He had his sneakers on. He wore a clean t-shirt and shorts. The backpack had three plastic bottles of water and two military MRE packs. The pickup truck from yesterday was idling again. Kyden gave the driver instructions. Namazzi was already sitting high on the truck bed. Her hair was braided back in little strings today. She wore jeans shorts that fully showed her long legs. Her top was an oversized t-shirt. In the back of it was a knot that took up excess fabric. Because the t-shirt was so large, the neck opening kept sliding over her shoulder to lazily hang there. Her brown feet were rapidly and alternating tapping on the truck bed to show her excitement.

Jarrik jumped on the truck bed next to Namazzi. He put the back pack down in front of him. The driver let the clutch drop in two hard. Namazzi brushed her hand on his thigh to steady herself. She turned over to yell into his ear, “Please, hold me. I am afraid to fall out.” As she yelled into his ear, the jerky truck made her lips touch his ear once. He put her arm around her. He could feel her side touching his. He felt her height and strength. She was unlike the short girls back home, whom he had to bend down to. With Namazzi, he could be the tall man he is and stand up. The hand of the arm behind her back was touching her tummy through the t-shirt.

Occasionally, she would turn to Jarrik’s direction to look at something that they passed. She’d comment that they had passed the fruit market or that a large civil war battle had happened there. Sometimes, when she turned, the side of her boob would touch Jarrik’s chest. The firm, malleable pouch aroused him. The erection in his pants grew. At first, it was awkward. The penis had faced down the leg and was now evidently poking a tent. During another jerk of the truck, he pulled his pant. The penis snapped up. Now the erection was behind the zipper of the fly, much less visible. From then, Jarrik enjoyed the arm sexual erection in his pants. He soaked up Namazzi’s energy. She was a bit tart with her tallness and hard rough fingers and feet. Yet, she was very beautiful as well with her laughter. Her small boobs and little female curves made her a bit asexual. Yet, behind her façade, it seemed that she was a raw sexual being. She promised to enjoy raw sex. Jarrik imagined her sex too large to be sexy, yet so ravenous to swallow his penis that he wanted to get in there.

The white truck dropped them off at the dead end of a dirt road. There were a few dry bushes and plenty pale footsteps in the dark hard-packed soil. The driver cautioned them to be back before sunset. Namazzi jumped off the truck. She half danced and half trotted the first steps. Her lanky calves were flying side ways as she tried to run a bit. Soon, they fell into a comfortable pace following the use trail up the mountain. Occasionally, a dry tree gave them extra respite from the hot sun.

Namazzi wanted to know about America. She wanted to learn more English words. They babbled back and force. Namazzi was leading the way. Whenever Jarrik looked in front of him, he saw Namazzi. He could not help but look at her ass in the cutoff jeans. The butt waddled left and right with her steps. The jeans were cut off rather high. Jarrik wondered, if he would be able to see part of her sex lurking through it. Every time that Namazzi made a large step over a boulder, he would involuntarily duck a little bit down to get a better view. Based on his medical knowledge, the labia must be close, yet he did not identify anything popping out.

“Penis,” said Namazzi, “You have penis.” She smiled like she had said something illegally. Jarrik snapped back from visualizing his penis, while looking at her ass. He realized that she was trying to show off that she had learned a bad slang word. She was teasing him by saying something naughty. He rolled with it and answered, “You have pussy.” She repeated him with a bad accent. He smiled.

Around noon, they reached a rocky high ground. A slow mountain wind made them comfortable. The capital was behind them. It was not really that large of a city. The high urban buildings in the center quickly gave way to large plots of parking lots, fields, and abandoned lots. The famous Sheraton hotel was visible. A couple old European churches stood out. The other side of the view showed the vast plain. A few rivers cut through the plain. They were little strings of blue surrounded by wide bands of green. The rest of the land was yellow dried grass. In the distance was one of the tallest mountains of Africa. They had white peaks on this summer day.

They stood there tracing the elements of the view for a while. Namazzi grabbed his hand. He felt her hand cooled by the mountain wind. Her hand was mostly hard, yet her finger pads were these little spots of soft on it. She said coyly that she liked him. He confirmed that he liked her as well. She added to her admission that she liked him a lot. He half turned and leaned forward to kiss her. She welcomed his lips. He tasted her tongue. Her teeth were taller than other women’s whom he had kissed. He hugged her body close. He could feel her boobs against his chest. He let his pelvis come forward, so that she cut feel his erection as a confirmation of his love for her.

His heart started palpating. A strong burning sensation on his chest reminded him how long it has been since the last kiss. All that physical anguish, he channeled by tasting her mouth even more, licking her tongue and her lips. He was eager to taste the flavor of her saliva. And, he liked it. When they broke the kiss, Namazzi sheepishly said, “You are my boyfriend now. If I find you with another woman, I will cut off your penis.”

She walked away to sit down on a rock. They had the military MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) for lunch. It may have been a plain meal back in America. Here in Africa, anything American was exotic and special. That’s probably how she viewed him as well. He quizzed her about her favorite movies, food, color, and so on. She was equally patient and coquet about answering his questions. He painted out in his head, how he would cherish and romance her.

At the end of lunch, he asked if he could have another kiss. She affirmed his request. As he started kissing her mouth, she drew him on top of him and lay down on the ground. His whole body was resting on top of her as she devoured her mouth. His penis was pressing against her pubic bone. Her mouth was more passive this time. Her hands were fingering their way under his shirt and into the back of his pants. She struggled a little at the intersection between getting her hands on top or under his underwear. She found her way under. She squeezed the bare skin of his ass. It made him more conscious of his hips. He felt the pressure of his body weight on her hard pubic bone sexually stimulating him. Her fingers at his butt cheeks felt so fresh. For one, she was new to that region on his body. For the other, it was a long time since he was touched there. So, his mind followed every motion of hers and made him feel delicious.

He smelled the skin on her neck to imprint the memory of recognizing her again. He got up and helped her stand. She looked at him with a luscious loving face. They walked back down the use trail. Walking down was like descending into the bottom of a soup bowl. The city was the soup and the bowl the surrounding mountains. The return seemed faster. Of course downhill travel is faster than uphill. Also, the mind is more tired and takes less in. The driver was waiting next to the truck. He had been smoking cigarettes as evident by the cigarette butts lying on the ground next to him. The cigarette butts had been neatly smoked down the last millimeters.

During the drive back to the clinic, Namazzi out of nowhere reached up both arms into the air and stood with her legs white screaming: “I have a white boyfriend.” Jarrik was equally happy about having snatched an African queen, yet he felt rather uncomfortable about pronouncing such luck and racial context so loudly. He put his hand on her hip half to assure her and half to get her to come down. They arrived at darkness. He had expected more, yet she gave him only a peck on the lips before she hurried away.

The second clinic day started the next morning. Kyden had kept the illegal abortion accidents hidden from Jarrik the first day. Most women in the country bore about eight children. Rape in the rural areas by rebels was common. Business men would learn basic field techniques to induce abortions and often budge the procedure. Two women arrived febrile and bleeding at the clinic. Jarrik and Kyden had to work together. Kyden worked fast and adept at field medicine. He did not use general anesthesia unless absolutely required. They neither had the monitors or breathing machines to properly support the patients. The Africans seemed to care little about it. They were glad enough to get some help.

After the rush, the burn wounds and immunizations offered happy boredom. It was amazing, how many children, or ankle biters in Kyden’s Australian slang, got burned every night by open heating or cooking fires in the house. The boredom offered him a chance to check out Namazzi. Her cart was on the other side of the street straight in view of his window. She was wearing a long purplish dress today. She waved him a cheery good morning. A little later after carefully looking left and right, she squeezed her boobies together in her dress. She expectantly looked at Jarrik’s reaction. He laughed with his eyes to not alert the young patient and his mother.

When the patient had left, he walked up to the window and raised his t-shirt to show his man boobs. Sure, there was a bit fat, yet they had a manly shape and a fluff of manly hair in the middle. Namazzi bent her body back laughing and her hand slapping the surface of the cart. Satisfied with himself, Jarrik waddled to the door to get the next patient. The elder man had been laughing liquid all night. Jarrik had started to think in Kyden’s Aussie speak. Laughing liquid meant to vomit. It was a simple food poisoning. He assured the man that it would be over in 24 hours. If not, he should return.

While Jarrik finished talking, Namazzi got antsy on the other side of the street. She was bending down and toiling around with something behind her cart. It made Jarrik stop in odd places of his sentences. She made Mickey Mouse ears with her hands. Her hands were against her head with the fingers splayed in all directions. She wanted is attention. As Jarrik looked over the patient, she stepped on something high behind her cart. She leaned forward, so that her back was horizontal. Then, she pulled down the top of her dress, so that Jarrik could look down deep into the middle of her breast. She did not pull it down far enough to reveal the whole boob or the areolas, yet he got a good look.

The elder food poisoning patient was quickly whisked out. Jarrik pulled the swivel chair with the stickers near the window. He kicked off his shoes and stood on the swivel chair. His hands reached for the ceiling to steady the swiveling motion of the chair. With a swift motion, he pulled down his shorts and mooned Namazzi with his naked butt. His hands still near his ankles, the door opened.

“Aw, you dropkick, you can’t be a drongo already on the third day! I know the country drives people batty.”

Jarrik came down the swivel chair and shuffled his feet into his sandals: “I am not even going to try to explain this one.”

“Mate, we have to make a trip to a rural outpost soon. I believe your girl has already shown you the general area yesterday. Before we can go, the local rebel leader mister Kon has to give us permission. We will meet him at a bar tonight. So, don’t make any plans with your girl or leave. The place is very dangerous.”

Kyden left the room. Jarrik caught his run away emotions of physical teasing with a girl and being chastised. Then, he wrote on a paper pad “can’t play anymore.” He held the sign to the open window. Namazzi read the sign and mockingly rubbed her eyes to suggest that she was crying. They both laughed and went back to their occupations.

Not being able to play, Jarrik got absorbed in his patients. A young painter had fallen off a roof and broken his leg. A police man had failed to stop a tuck-tuck two stroke bike. He had large bruises on his chest. A waiter had a strained wrist, because he protected his head from the swinging chair of an angry customer. Mostly Jarrik was focused organizing the white boxes of medical supply better. He seemed woefully short of anything. Yet over time, he ran into about anything tucked into the corner of an unrelated box. He was squatting over his white boxes on the floor, when a knock on the window stirred him.

Namazzi was looking in. Her lips were painted starkly red. Her cheeks had circular red rouge applied. Jarrik was at first shock to notice what he had missed at the distance. Yet, he felt charmed that she would try to woe him so obviously. It was a bit of a turn on to be coveted in such a savage way. Namazzis finger were moving between her cupped hand and her mouth to signal ‘eating.’ She was asking him out to lunch.

Jarrik meet Namazzi upfront. They invited Kyden to come along. They found a café a block down the street. A few ramshakled plastic chairs with broken pieces served as the sole restaurant furniture. People were sitting on the chairs. They were holding the food in one hand and the fork in the other hand. The white paper plates had two piles of food. The yellow paste was matooke, steamed plantains. The other pile was familiar millet. Some people also held piece of bread with the thumb on top of the plate. The cook, a fat woman, was standing in the corner of the lot. She was stirring two large pots over makeshift fires of discarded wood, plastic, and paper. Every once in a while, she’d kick a can of leftover something into the fire. Sometimes, the flame hissed a little higher. Sometimes, the liquid simply ran on the ground without catching fire. Other times, the liquid created a blue, red, or green flame. The patrons cheered, when that happened.

Kyden told us about his recent trip to the Impenetrable Forest National Park. He insisted that the name was indeed the official name. He told us about mountain gorilla tracking. Apparently, the gorillas can eat seventy pounds of foot a day. So, they leave plenty of broken branches and feces behind. Their gorilla tracker had driven them to the last known location in a Jeep. From there, they followed the tracker signs to the current location of the gorillas. Kyden stressed what a sight it was to see one of them life in front of you. Because they are mostly vegetarian, except for a few insects, they are pretty safe to get close to. Kyden offered Jarrik that they might be able to make an excursion there.

During the stroll back to the clinic, Namazzi gave Jarrik a bracelet. It was made from a simple, rough cord. There were two wooden pearls tied into it. A few special knots in the middle gave it an interesting texture. Jarrik happily accepted it. Namazzi tied it to his wrist. She kissed both Kyden and Jarrik on the cheek and crossed the street to her fruit stand.

That evening, Kyden was dressed rather dapper. He had a luxurious green shirt. It was cut to fall wide and make him seem a bigger man. He had a real jungle hat. It was white with a band running over it. His pants were pin stripped. His leather shoes were shining. He had a large ring on his finger. Jarrik had to go back and change to match the style.

The driver of the pickup truck drove them into another suburb. The otherwise sullen neighborhood with low dilapidated houses had one impressively large multi-level house at the street corner. Two guards were left and right of the entrance door. The guards were holding metal pipes with both hands. They had an eager expression on their face to use them. Perhaps, if a pedestrian did not cross the streets, but pass in front of them, they may have hit him for no reason. The entrance led a few steps up to a door. The strong wooden door with iron bracing was half ajar. A smart looking man with glasses was holding a book in his hand. It was a photo album with photos of people.

When the maitre recognized Kyden, he opened the door a little bit more. He took a photo of Jarrik with a Polaroid. He put the Polaroid in his photo book. The two walked up the steep, wooden stairs. The second floor was made with heavy exposed wood beams. A warm cantina was to Jarrik’s right side. Beyond the cantina was a European looking bar with drinks. To Jarrik’s left side was a balcony. Driven by curiosity, he stepped forward to look down.

The courtyard held another level of the establishment. The furniture was simpler and older. Kyden explained that the lower level was for the regulars. The upper level was for the elite and Westerners. The clientele was louder and more rowdy. A woman was cowering on the floor. She was wearing a dirty tank top. Jarrik doubted himself for thinking that she was wearing nothing else. Yet, it seemed like she was naked around the bottom. He looked closer and followed her movements. She lurched forward at a dog. The dog had been looking bewildered all around him. The dog was now running away from her. She went after the dog on her knees. Her feet would completely stretch out as she would push herself forward. She went under a table. He thought that he saw her bare bottom before she disappeared under the next table.

The crowd was roaring. They had tied the skirt of the woman to the dog’s tail. The woman was desperately trying to regain her modesty. The dog simply ran confused in a circle, because everyone was cheering and shooing the dog. The African woman being so debased in front of the men was disgusting to Jarrik. Yet, the naked bum turned him on a bit, especially when the pink soles of her feet were squatting right next to it. A couple times, he glimpsed one of her boobs as her tank top disheveled. It was sexy to catch that moment. It was abhorrent to see another human being so demeaned.

Kyden warned him to not frown on the show, but like it. He should cheer along lest he get in trouble. Kyden screamed, “She is so hot, fucking assholes.” Kyden pointed Jarrik to look at a table that was shielded and a quiet oasis from the tumult. There were two soldiers in fatigue standing around a man with his pants at his ankles. The man was sitting. They were showing him a magazine. With each flip of the page, they would touch an electrical contact to a car battery. The man with the pants down would cringe. The cables were attached to him. Kyden finished, “Yep, homosexuality is illegal here. In their savage ways, they teach him to dislike the naked men in the gay porn mag. Never appear gay to these animals.”

We left the balcony to sit down in the cantina. On the way, we passed tall African women. They were dressed especially luxurious. Yet, the clothes did not fit. Neither did their demeanor and behavior measure up to the elegance of the clothes. They were unsure and childish. The luxurious clothes looked like bad costumes of a high school theatre play on them. They had their little purses. Perhaps, that’s where they put the money from doing their tricks. They sure had the look of a hooker. They had the highest high heels that Jarrik had seen since leaving Boston. Their tall legs wobbled unsure like bambi as they attempted to strut.

One of them lost her balance. The towering ebony beauty came down while giving gravity a good fight. She landed straight on Jarrik. Her face dug into his groin. Her fingers grabbed his butt cheeks like the handles of a rickety public bus bouncing threw potholes. Someone flashed a photograph. Jarrik politely helped her up. She strutted on.

They made it to an empty table safe enough from then on. The waiter brought them real imported Corona beer with a lemon. A real plate made of pottery followed. Rice, beans, and a steak were on top of it. A little salad with lettuce and tomatoes was put at the side. The food tasted good. Kyden wanted to know about the state of affairs. Kyden equally warned Jarrik about the wickedness of the local rebels.

The rebels believed that god asked them to abduct people, mostly children. They quote the part in the bible, where Jesus told his followers to stop catching fish and start catching people. Somehow, the rebels take it very literally. Luckily, the rebels odd beliefs have them fighting in completely ineffective ways. For example, they attack in cross formations for no good military reason. They do not take cover, because their prophet forbade them. They have a preference to use holy water over guns to attack. Unfortunately, the senior commanders are increasingly successfully convincing their prophet leader to adopt more traditional military tactics.

After the plates were emptied, Kyden excused himself. He needed to negotiate safe passage into the rural village. They would deliver medical aid there. The backroom was only accessible to officers of the rebel army and special guests. Kyden needed to go by himself. Kyden disappeared behind a door covered by a pearl curtain. A rough looking guy in black patted him down.

Jarrik sampled the beer menu and got an imported German pilz beer. He looked through the lilquor bottles behind the bartender. The place was amazingly well stocked with foreign imports. The bartender was actually smartly dressed. That stood out to Jarrik among the other Africans, who were seemingly wearing Goodwill’s leftover.

The clumsy woman from earlier strutted out of the backroom. Her gait was still like that of a young deer. With every step, here ankles would tilt left and right. She stopped at Jarrik’s desk. Her dress had a deep cut in the front that showed the inside edges of her scrawny breasts. She held a pile of money to Jarrik: “Please, count.” Jarrik assumed that the woman was indeed a prostitute. She was so uneducated that she could not even verify the payment of the John’s. She was thus in danger to get in trouble with her pimp. Jarrik liked helping out. He took the stack of money from her hand and started counting. There was again that odd flash of someone taking a photo.

The African money was so colorful and came in such different sizes. Despite it looking like real loot, it only added up to fourteen bucks or so. He told her the number and gave her the money back. She hugged him lightly on the shoulder and kissed his cheek. He did not know if he should feel dirty about that. He wondered where her lips had been before. Oddly, another camera flashed.

Jarrik gladly returned into his own thought world nursing his German Pilz. His fingers played with the wrist pendant from Namazzi. He thought about his love. He wondered what the customs of endearment were in Africa. He wondered if she expected him to marry her. “Mate, already a new girl friend,” Kyden rose Jarrik out of his thoughts. Kyden pointed to the lip stick smudge on his cheek. Apparently, the prostitutes here had only cheap lipstick that marked.

Kyden was happy. His hair was a bit tussled. The left side of his shirt was buttoned a little higher than the right side leaving him uneven. Kyden blabbered that the negotiations went very well. The rebel leaders wanted to meet Jarrik as well. He promised Jarrik that the backroom was the best bar in the entire country. Kyden gushed about a Scottish Scotch distillery that had gone out of business fifty years ago. They still had a bottle of that stuff in the back. Mister Kon’s private collection would be a dream making all the labor in Africa worth it.

The bouncer to the backroom separated the wood pearl strings of the curtain for the two doctors to step through. The bouncer was very accurate. He carefully felt the armpits. He had Jarrik take of his shoes. He felt the spaces between his toes. When he checked the groin, he actually separated Jarrik’s two testicles. To signal the end of the body check, the bouncer slapped his large hand on the side of Jarrik’s shoulder. The pat was so hard that Jarrik’s shoulder joint and clavicle clicked against each other.

The backroom was very dark. Some of the walls may have been walls or simply darkness. The only light came from the table in booths. There a string of Christmas lights would lie in a rough circle. A slight red or green glow would come from the lights. Apparently, there were semi-translucent curtains to provide further invisibility in some directions. Jarrik figured that somewhere an overseer had to sit in the perfect spot to oversee the whole action. Maybe, he had been to one to many Las Vegas casinos.

The eyes slowly adjusted to the light. Apparently, there were many soldier boots, guns, and hookers. Kyden grabbed a young, short, a bit chubby looking woman. She was wearing the same ultra high heels, panty hoses up to her thighs, and garters above. Her body was covered by an Olympic bathing suit. Those Africans had no taste for continuity. “The red neck collard means that she is a house slave – free to use by any customer,” Kayden explained. He shoved the prostitute under the table of an empty booth. He sternly told her, “no blowie, blowie! Only massage the feet. Massage feet.”

We sat down. A waiter brought the venerable bottle of Scotch with two shot glasses. He left the filled shot glasses at the table and took the bottle away. The Nubian woman under the table started taking my shoes off. The massage felt good to Jarrik. She was kneading his soles with her knuckles. Then, she rubbed his ankle. She plugged the individual toes. Jarrik stole a glance at her. She was sitting on her heels hunched over his feet. She had pulled her bathing suit down to her hip, so that her chubby boobs were dangling over his feet. She smiled big at Jarrik. She stuck her tongue out provocatively.

An officer approached the table. The officer had an oversize uniform. His boots were tied high with the pants stuffed on the inside.

“So, this is your doctor friend.”
“Jarrik is a very capable internist. He will help many people in the village.”
“Kyden, you know, we don’t really care for those people. You also know that he has to sleep with one of our ladies, so that we can trust him.”
“Officer Pen, I assure you that Jarrik is very loyal. However, he is also married.”
“We all are married and use the women here. Kayden, is he gay?”
“Take a look under the table.”

The officer started laughing as he saw the prostitute with her bare boobs working Jarrik’s feet. He pushed one foot between her thighs and rubbed it against her vagina: “This boot is better getting wet from your wet pussy.” The cubby prostitute started licking Jarrik’s feet. She would rub her chubby boobs around his feet. Jarrik did not want to disappoint his girl friend back at the clinic, yet he was also afraid of that car battery in the court yard of the bar. He quietly slouched back on the bench. The buzz of the alcohol set in. The mellow daze of getting a massage came over him. He only half listened to the conversation about routes to the village, checkpoints, and passphrases.

An hour had easily passed by the time that Kyden pulled Jarrik out of the booth. The chubby prostitute eagerly followed them. Jarrik pulled a five dollar bill out and stuffed it behind the spandex covering her twat. He made her bend over and slapped her cubby butt. The fat of the butt wobbled beautifully. Another soldier quickly came to pull her away. Having been with a white man made her more valuable.

They walked out of the bar to the waiting white pickup truck. The streets were empty, except for a passing rebel truck with armed soldiers in the back. The clinic was quiet only a stray dog snooped around trash in the street. A huddled figure was in front of Jarrik’s room’s door. It was Namazzi. She had been sleeping there. Her face was wet from tears. She had found a thin wool blanket to wrap around her.

“What is the matter?”
“You betrayed me! You already betrayed me. You were out with another woman, were you not?”
“No, Namazzi, we had business to do.”
“Do you always do business at a bar while drinking? You took away my dignity and rolled it in the dirt. You are a player and cheater!”
“Namazzi, we had a business meeting with the rebels to procure safe passage.”
“I know those rebels with their booze and whores. How many of them did you sleep with?”

Namazzi went running into the streets. Jarrik went after her to placate her. Namazzi only threw her shoes at him continuing barefoot. She made the point that she did no longer have to suffer wearing those shoes to attract him. He picked up the shoes and followed her constantly talking to the quiet figure in front of him. Her room was only two blocks away in the back of a grocery store. After first closing the door in his face, she relented and let him enter. She told him to sleep with her, hold her, and spoon her. They both kept their clothes on. She drifted off to sleep quickly.

He woke up middle in the night. He softly kissed the skin on her neck. He smelled her hair. He looked at the side of her face in the moonlight. She was cradled in soft white bedding. Her breaths were equal. He looked around the small mostly empty room. Two brown cardboard boxes contained most of her clothes. A bowl and carafe in the corner seemed to act as a sink and tap. The images of the perverted rebel bar raced through his mind. The imagination of forced abuse and beatings behind closed doors sickened him. Her middle class worry about infidelity was a nice sanctuary for his thoughts. She was his anchor point in this swash buckling adventure.

His next thought was noticing that the morning sunlight was shining into the room. He rapidly excused himself. She roused in panic to get to her fruit stand as well. Kyden waited smiling for him at the office: “Take it easy tiger or you work yourself out.” The rest of the week went by easy. Jarrik held his head down working long hours. Namazzi walked with him hand in hand. They had food dates together. They visited a lake near the center of the capital. He showered her with kisses and little gifts. She told him about her family.

Friday was a sad day. An aging Jeep Wrangler was parked in front of the little white washed clinic. Jarrik was holding white medical supply boxes for Kyden. Kyden stood in the Wrangler and was piling as many items in it as he could. Kyden was clearly excited about visiting the rural village. Namazzi was stealing the tears out of her eyes, when Jarrik did not look. Jarrik hadn’t even seen Namazzi naked yet. However, she reminded him to not even look at another woman, especially during those gyno exams. She yelled at him to dispel her anxious energy. She even slapped his face once. He gracefully like a gentleman received the blow. He understood that she was helpless to express how sad she felt about missing her love.

The Jeep rumbled swiftly through the streets. Kyden, a bit recklessly, loved dodging people, cars, and debris, as he weaved through the streets. He liked to call it his car racing game, since he had to leave his Xbox at home. When the city dirt streets gave way to rugged country streets, Jarrik quickly learned that to avoid hitting his head against the roll cage of the Jeep, he had to lean inside the car. So, both Kyden and Jarrik were leaning over the center console of the car. Kyden was in his element. He tried to race the car fast enough to make the CD player skip playing the Disturbed CD. The Distubed singer bellowed to heavy metal music: “Indestructible, determination that is incorruptible, from the other side a terror to behold, annihilation will be unavoidable.”

Jarrik wasn’t sure, if Kyden had turned into a rebel. The high quality Jeep CD player for rugged conditions rarely skipped. The under armor plates of the Jeep more frequently cracked loudly on rocks and ditches. The piled luggage in the back of the car came frequently flying up into the air, as the soft suspension of the Wrangler were fully unloaded at the crest of a bump, before they fully compressed at the bottom of the following ditch.

The speed of forty miles did not even seem that insane to Jarrik. Yet, the Jeep kept sliding gently sideways on the sandy patches of the street. Kyden more fool heartedly than experienced slipped the car through the soft turns and twists counter steering to keep the Jeep from spinning out. Kyden stopped to step next to the car. Still being door width away from the door, he stood with the feet wide apart and gushed the urine at the dried plant life.

Upon zipping up his pants, he told Jarrik to give it a try. Jarrik was at first relieved to have gotten rid of the insane driver. Upon being taught, how to change the gears and all the different four wheel modes, he wondered, if his inexperience may be more dangerous than a dare devil. Kyden told him that first, he did not need four-wheel-drive. There was no need for extra traction on the flat, dry road. Second, he could start as slow as he wanted to get comfortable with the truck like behavior of the car.

So, Jarrik let go of the break and stepped on the gas. It was the first time driving a car that he felt literally hundreds of horses were lurching forward. The engine roared with strength making him truly believe in its power. Making turns had the suspensions on the outside of the turn bow the car in that direction. The first time that happened, Jarrik immediately stopped turning completely. The suspensions bouncing the car back up on that side, had it bounce down on the other side. Upon realizing that Jarrik really needed to turn, he would turn again. Only this time, in addition to the force of the turn, the prior bounce returned to push down the outside suspensions. Jarrik’s reactions to the bounce only made the car start bouncing left right even more. The Jeep came to a stop. Kyden laughed hard: “It’s been thirty years, since I was in a bouncy castle!”

Soon, Jarrik got the feel for the drift of the car. He especially loved the oversteer of the truck. In some sandy turns, the backside of the Jeep tried to break out. He first felt it in his bum. It felt a bit like someone pulling the chair out from under him. He’d counter steer and step on the gas to pull the rig straight. There was a subtle stimulation of the brain to control the soft sideways motion. Sometimes even on wide straightway, he would swerve to create little oversteers.

A gaggle of scrawny goats on the street got Jarrik to stop. Jarrik smilingly looked at the first sign of third world road obstacles. Kyden yelled at Jarrik, “get down, get down,” until Jarrik’s head disappeared behind the console. Boots rustled closer. Kyden yelled their identification at them. A teenager yelled something back in an African language. Kyden tapped Jarrik to get out of the car with him. They both had their arms raised. They looked at nine or ten boys in village garb with military hats. The boys were holding one hand high in the air behind them. Hanging from the hand was a string with a sling of water. “Holy water,” Kyden mumbled to Jarrik whispering.

Kyden pointed out boxes on the back of the Jeep. The leader of the ragtag army team would take the box and hand it the second in command. The second in command was a bit unsure, what to do with his holy water sling. Afraid to make the leader wait, he let the sling drop to the ground and water run into the dry ground. They piled half of the load next to the road. Then, they send the youngest, a thirteen year old boy, to move the goats. He went running with his arms waving wildly charging at the goats. The goats darted in all directions away from his battle cries. The little boy seemed to have a lot of fun.

Kyden mumbled to Jarrik that the soldiers would better safe keep the most valuable medicine. Kyden took the wheel, so that they could be off faster. Jarrik was the DJ sifting the CD collection. He played Nirvana’s “rape me” song, which had an odd taste in this country of rapes, mutilations, and genocide.

The village turned out to be a picture book African village. It was situated next to a river. It had lush green grass on the main place. The people lived in grass and stick huts. Trees, animals, and gardens provided rich nourishment despite the poverty in world goods. Little kids welcomed the Jeep huddling around it, as Kyden let the Jeep idle towards the village. Old man sitting outside the huts had only one or two teeth left, yet seemed like wise knowledgeable sages about the land and folklore. Some of the women wore no top covering. Their tube shaped hanging boobs were free under the sun. They often had a baby stripped to their back or chest with a shoulder sling.

The village elders had dinner prepared for them on a wooden porch. They all sat together. After the initial formal welcome chatter, Jarrik was immersed in shaping the porridge pile on his plate and pressing the byte sized local vegetables into the pile. It suddenly puzzled him, how the little child soldiers would get those boxes here. So, he asked Kyden. Kyden got immediately upset. He asked the elders to excuse him. He walked Jarrik to the Jeep.

“You realize that prostitution in a host country leads you to be banned from any humanitarian mission in any organization. Further, prostitution in this country is illegal and dealt with the death penalty. Think about your girl, if she finds out.”

“Now, I hate to do this to you. However, it is either Mister Kon’s henchmen that will also break your knees or me. Take a look at these.”

Kyden held a vanilla envelope to Jarrik. Inside of it were two photos. One was the prostitute at the bar falling into his crotch. It looked like she was giving him a blow job. The other photo was him handing her the money back that he counted. It looked like he was paying her for the blow job.

“Jarrik, now don’t get upset. The only way to get help to these people is with Mister Kon’s permission. He only deals with people, whom he controls through black mail. And, he wants his cut. I know, it is asking a lot. However, this is the only way to get help to these people. Tomorrow, you will see how much good that heavy price does to the world.”

That night, Jarrik was very exhausted and depressed about the reality of his mission. The view from the floor of a rural hut without doors and windows did not console him. The primitive leaving that would connect him to the roots of nature did not console him. His fingers held the coarse string around his wrist from Namazzi. He thought back to the moments, when his mind had formed the idea to go to Africa on a humanitarian mission. Somehow, he had believed to be in a safe bubble near, yet not in contact, with the rebels, corruption, and maltreatment. As a newcomer, he was now feeling crushed under the heel of it.

A young girl roused him in the morning. She was eighteen years old. She called herself Mangeni. She offered him an earthen cup of liquid with both hands. Petals of a flower floated at the top of the liquid. He received the cup and recognized that it was hot. He slurped a little of the liquid. It was a hot tea full of fruity flavor. The happy girl grabbed him by the hand and pulled him outside. Next to the entrance, she had left a lei of flowers. She put the band of flower band over his head. It was a white flower with pink veins and tips. She led him back to the porch.

Kyden was already sitting on the porch and cheerfully chewing on his breakfast. He was leaning over his breakfast plate, while a local beauty was massaging his neck. Kyden looked up at Jarrik, “no hard feelings, I hope.” Jarrik’s face grew dark, as it dawned on him that perhaps Mangeni was yet another manipulation. Kyden recognized Jarrik’s thoughts: “Don’t be a fruit loop, Jarrik. Mangeni, go get your aunt!”

Except for Jarrik’s grumpy mood, his surroundings were picturesque. The porch had been built with local wood. The texture itself was unique. The wood color had an orange tinge to it. Tribal carvings embellished the edges of the porch. A beautifully lush grass lawn lay at the feet of the porch. The lawn was framed by bushes and small trees that each deserved individual inspection. Birds with vivid color highlights fluttered and chirped around them. Evidently, the birds were fed by nasty flying insects that were landing on Jarrik’s skin.

Their breakfast company was consisted of the most select members of the tribe. The dress was mostly simple and exposed plenty skin for ventilation in the heat. Yet, their faces painted the intelligence, experience, and determination of the individuals. Older man with short, gray, curly hair and sometimes beards looked venerable for their wisdom. Middle aged men with tough bodies and demeanor that promised instant action were probably leaders in their own respect for agriculture, construction, or some other business.

Steps and sounds came from the direction that Mangeni had left to. A small group of four huddled people came closer. Mangeni lead them chabbering about a great doctor and only a little farther. Two men were half carrying and half assisting to walk an elder, not too old, woman. She was almost like a round ball because of all the fabric draped around her. The blanket had red, green, and black stripes running around it with white frizz at the edge. Red flip flops covered her feet. There was a little break in the blanket wrapped around her near the bottom of her ribs on the right side. There was a white bandage with blood.

Jarrik jumped up and ran towards Mangeni’s aunt. He asked the two men to lower her to the ground onto the soft green grass. The aunt struggled, because lying flat caused her unbearable pain. Jarrik palpated the aunt’s abdomen. It was hard like rock. The wound had introduced an infection that had spread across the whole abdominal cavity. She was in very critical condition. The wound itself had re-torn itself from walking and was freshly bleeding. Jarrik removed the bandages to get a look. A seven inch gauche exposed the large intestines and a shimmer of the kidney. A few drops of bright red blood fell on the loose grass.

Mangeni explained that the village had been raided three days ago by rebels. Her aunt had been running for the fields. A rebel had hit her with a machete from the car. As she fell, the rebel had assumed her dead and speed back to the village. The wound had been getting worse and worse despite smearing dirt into it and herbal remedies. Mangeni looked at Jarrik with large puppy eyes. Her cute young body was shivering slightly. She was sitting on her knees. She leaned forward on her hands. Jarrik told her to get the aunt to a hut for treatment. He’d meet her with medical supplies from the Jeep.

A hut next to the porch was prepared. It was an empty room. It had a door frame and two openings for windows. There was neither a door nor a window pane. A hand-woven rug served as the surgery table. Jarrik had supplies spread out next to the aunt. The aunt was silently weeping with the back of one hand over her eyes. Mangeni stayed close to help. Jarrik had her wear Nitrile gloves and a face mask as well. She looked kind of sexy with her exposed brown skin of her hot weather clothes and the sterile medical accessory.

The first order of business was to open the wound properly to suture the cuts to the large intestines. They were still bleeding. Luckily, the kidney was only nicked and already healing. The hygienic conditions for this kind of surgery were horrible. Jarrik did the best he could. This was field surgery. Mangeni did the best she could catching any flies that entered the hut to avoid their dirty feet to infect the wound further. Jarrik sent Mangeni to get hot water, plenty of it. Mangeni went running out of the room. Her young legs were flying high behind her with the soles of her cute soles showing. Jarrik was still attracted to the pink edge that black people’s feet have, as the foot curves to the sole. Her black hair was flying as she jumped from the cabin floor down to the grass outside.

The entire abdominal cavity had become infected. Jarrik used a tube to fill the cavity with a very strong antibiotic solution. He taped the wound temporarily shut. His fingers kneaded the whole stomach to move the solution around. Mangeni arrived with a large pot of hot water from the fire. Jarrik dropped a couple iodine pills in it to be safe. Mangeni helped kneed her aunt’s stomach. The Nitrile gloves were way too large for her small hand. They made her look goofy. She almost played with the stomach. Jarrik showed her how to work more systematically. Her young playful young face had a serious look.

The hot water had cooled enough to flush the antibiotic solution out. Mangeni kneeled high to create enough gravity pressure for the tube to in her aunt’s stomach. Jarrik guided the tube deep under the abdominal skin to flush everything out. He also looked at Mangeni. Her skin was so tender and soft. Her boob size was average. Yet, they were so unperturbed by the drag of gravity that they marveled him. All of her movements were so light, like her body moved instantaneously as thoughts crossed her mind. Old people move slowly as to overcome a reluctance to move. All of Mangeni’s movements were so easy without hesitation.

With the emergent problems addressed, Jarrik could focus on the urgent issue of repairing the tissue damage. Being in the field, he lacked the specialized instruments of a Western surgery room. His main tools were a ten blade scalpel, tweezers, and a suture needle. The rest he had to improvise with gauss pads and his own fingers. His gloves were covered in red blood of all shades. The tips were liquid bright red. From there out multiple rings of dried blood covered his hands as a reminder, of when he had been deep inside the body cavity and how deep.

Mangeni stayed steadfast at his side. Around lunch time, she left for a moment and returned with a mushy, yellow papaya half without the black round seeds. The papaya flesh had been cut into cubes inside the skin. She feed him one cube at a time by reaching her hand to his lips. At first, he gingerly picked the piece with his lips and sucked it in. After the first slippery piece almost dropped to the ground, he would take the whole piece in his mouth by touching her fingers a little bit. Her fingers had become all oozy with papaya juice and sticky flesh. Once a soft papaya piece had split in two. She rubbed her young fingers against his teeth.

A little later, she had to wait for a moment with a papaya piece raised in her hand for him to finish a tricky procedure. The juice ran down her finger and over her hand. She licked her brown hand clean following the juice drop in reverse up to the fruit piece. Jarrik opened his mouth. She put the piece in. He closed his mouth around her and licked her index and middle finger as she pulled it out. For the strangest reason, Jarrik was thinking about Mageni’s freckle and licking it. Jarrik had started thinking in Kyden’s Australian accent. A freckle in Australian is the anus. He imagined the tight sphincter in the middle of the butt cheek bulges with her smooth tender skin.

Jarrik wiped the thoughts off his mind and continued the surgery. By late afternoon, he worked his way backwards out of the abdominal cavity. He sutured each layer of muscle and finally the skin. The aunt had fallen asleep from exhaustion and the mild sedatives. Mangeni was sleeping as well with her face resting on her aunt’s thigh. The last part was re-inserting the lost blood into the aunt’s body. A sterile stainless steel kidney bowl had collected half a quart of blood. The faint blood pressure indicated that she could need everything she could get.

Following field procedure of the Army manual, he strained the blood through gauss from one kidney bowl to the next four times. Then, he injected the blood into a plastic pouch. The pouch was connected to a drip into the aunt’s arm vein. Jarrik waited for the blood to go in, while he took her complete vitals again. Then, he sat there waiting for the blood to drip. At last, he was able to do something good. At last, his mind was taken away from his struggles with the experience. At last, he was able to do something neat and meticulously according to the available conditions.

The next day had minor orthopedic injuries and suture jobs. The recent rebel attack had broken some bones and cut some skin. For the most part, the rebels were mild this time. Disfigured people from previous attacks were among the people. The starkest example was a boy with lips, nose, ears, fingers, and toes cut off. It required good bed site manners to keep a calm constitution next to him. Fortunately, he was fine and never required the services of Jarrik or Kyden. Seeing him in at the group gatherings was enough of a challenge.

After lunch Mangeni grabbed Jarrik’s hand to lead him across the grassy lawn. She told him to not go back to get his sandals. The lush grass felt wonderful under Jarrik’s feet. She led him into the bushes beyond the grass. She raised her arms as if she were playing to be a plane. The underside of her arm grazed the top of the bushes left and right of her. Jarrik felt the bush brushing against his side. The leaves were soft and the branches a bit scratchy.

Mangeni stopped in front of a smaller bush with purple flowers. The flowers had a waxy sheen that made them appear like plastic. They were about half inch wide and an inch and a half deep. Mangeni twisted one flower off. She tilted her had back and placed the flower against the tip of her small pink lips. She sucked the nectar out and motioned Jarrik to do the same. There was virtually no nectar to be sucked out, a small drop perhaps. However, the small drop was extremely sweet like a mouth full of a chocolate croissant. She laughed at him straining to get nectar out and his clumsy hands crashing the delicate flowers. Her face shimmered the white of her eyes and teeth with her childish smile.

She turned on her heels and jumped sideways to a bush not too far away. Her youthful jumping and movement made him feel large, lumbering, and old. Feeling that way only made him want to be with Mangeni more. She stopped in front of a perfectly round bush with many dark green leaves the size of four quarters. The leaves were concave and had many little hairs on their surface. Mangeni picked a few. She brushed them against her face. The expression of coziness on her face equaled that of a model’s for a toilet paper commercial, where the model rubbed a rabbit against her face to illustrate the softness.

“This is lover’s bush. The leaves are so soft, the tree may become your lover,” said Mangeni. She threw a delighted smile about her tease. She held a leave out to Jarrik and her other arm next to it: “Compare the touch and tell me, who is softer.” The lover’s bush leaf was sure extremely soft with the fuzzy tiny hairs. However, Jarrik enjoyed feeling Mangeni’s skin more. It was soft, moist, and otherworldly smooth.

Jarrik walked his index and middle finger up her arm to her shoulder and said, “a little man walked up the stairs.” Mangeni wiggled her body with excitement. He knocked his knuckles softly against her forehead, and said, “He knocked.” She looked up at his hand cross eyed. He inched her nose shut with his fingers and gently wiggled the nose left and right, while saying “And, he rang the bell.” Mangeni’s head ducked down as she could not breathe for a moment. Then, she burst into laughing, jumped up into the air, and hit Jarrik with both hands on his chest: “You are funny, mister.” She ran off.

The next morning brought sadness. The village leaders expressed their gratitude. Mangeni’s aunt was stable. Yet, she could not stand up yet to say good bye. Mangeni in her place wished Jarrik good bye. In place of the aunt she, placed a fat and wet kiss with a lot of suction on his cheek. Jarrik was sad to leave the clean, lush, and vibrant rural village for the dilapidated and primitive capital.

Before Kyden could step on the gas, Jarrik put his hand on Kyden’s arm to interrupt him: “Kyden, I may have been an ass. The way this place works may be a huge culture shock for me. However, I appreciate that you look out for me.”

“Mate, no drama. You are here for the medicine and beautiful land. I will make sure that you get that. And, the rebel dealings, I try to keep out of your eye sight. If you knew it all, you would leave this place the same day. So, trust me, when I don’t tell you something. This place can get immensely ugly. Think about your girl Namazzi or your new friend Mangeni.”

The drive back to the capital was immensely fun. Without fragile medical supplies in the Jeep, they could play around. Once, they drove the Jeep with one side up on a dirt mound to see, how far to the side they could tilt the Jeep before it would fall over. Jarrik slowly steered it into a steeper side angle. Kyden stood on the ill side. After every foot forward, he pushed against the roll bar of the Jeep to test, if he could push the Jeep over. When the point was reached, where the Jeep precariously balanced on two tires, Jarrik reached his hand out of the open window and could touch the pale hard soil. He climbed out of the car through the roof. They laughed and high fived each other.

A couple hours after sundown, they arrived at the white washed MSF clinic. Because a Jeep is an open car, they had to unload everything into the clinic. It was a hardship, because their brain was fried from the constant attention an unmaintained dirt road required. Constantly, a deep pot hole could come up. Some potholes were deep enough to break an axle. When Jarrik finally retired to his room, he again found a huddled person waiting at his door step. It was Namazzi.

Namazzi pushed off the blanket that covered her. Her tall figure emerged in the nightlight. She was wearing dress with shoulder straps that went down to the mid thigh. The small dress only made her lanky body seem larger. She was enraged. She grabbed Jarrik by the ear and turned him in a half circle: “Have you been sleeping with another woman?” Jarrik wined at the pain and denounced the question.

She pushed him into the room. He sat down at the foot of the bed as a helpless heap. She insisted on her question with a shrill voice: “Swear to it!” He swore by his Eagle Scout honor and raised two fingers straight into the air. He silently wondered, if it was time to break the relationship off. She insisted even more vehemently: “Proof it!” She pulled on his pants. He struggled to remain on the bed. All grace had left her in the fight to see his penis. He ceded and undid his pants.

Her hands lifted his penis up to her face. She turned it around looking for some kind of signs. She pulled his foreskin back. She softly pressed the head of his penis to make the urethra open. Evidently, she was not sure, what kind of sign to look for infidelity on his penis. However, she checked every inch. Jarrik enjoyed watching her so eagerly handle his penis. It was close to a blow job in his mind. She sniffed his penis: “Does it always smell like this or is this another woman?” He laughed: “Why don’t you lick it!” She dipped her sharpened tongue tip on his penis, considered it, and said, “It doesn’t taste like much.”

Namazzi got a can of Sprite from the cooler. It was probably lukewarm, because the ice had not been replaced in their absence. The can opened with the familiar ping of carbon sparkling with little pops into the air. She led him into the bathroom. Over the sink, she poured the Sprite over his growing penis. Her fingers distributed the Sprite over the skin of his penis. She made sure to get it under the foreskin. Half the can was left over on the thin wooden ledge under the mirror.

“An old house technique is to put Sprite on the cheating husband’s penis. If the Sprite dries and it changes color, the husband has cheated. It turns orange for one time cheating, red for cheating twice, and blue for cheating more frequently.”

His pants were still at his ankles. She was kneeling in front of him blowing on his penis to dry it faster. Little water drops rolled away from her mouth. She chased those water drops across his penis with her lips almost touching his penis. So much teasing made his penis completely erect.

Of course, the Sprite became only sticky and did not change colors. There was awkward silence after Namazzi conceded that he probably had not cheated on her. His penis was hard, yet Namazzi made clear that he had earned the right to have sex wit her yet. Out of fairness, Jarrik asked, how he was to know that she had not slept with another man. Namazzi immediately placed her face on the ground and begged him not to hit her, because she had been completely faithful. Jarrik was dazed by the intense reaction. Namazzi took the silence to intensify her pledge. She kissed his feet and offered to do anything to proof her chastity. Jarrik wondered what being in the power seat could get him.

She hopped to the bed and threw herself on it. She lifted her dress and pulled down her panties. “Please, check for yourself. No penis has touched me.” He grasped the opportunity. He made her move higher on the bed, so that he could comfortably lie down on his chest. Her vagina was longer than that of most women’s to match her tall size. The end of her vaginal lips was almost completely dark. The inside of her was bright pink. He folded labia and vulva over. He checked under her hood. He smelled her. He of course copiously tasted her. The vagina was very well lubricated. The whole panic deal must turn Namazzi on.

He insisted on verifying that her boobs had only been touched by her. She quickly pulled down the top of her dress, which was no scrunched together to form a ring around her midriffs. The breasts were a bit flat, because the fat of the breast had to spread over such a tall chest. The nipples were somewhat erect. The little dots that formed a circle around her nipples were more stiffened for the size. He licked her nipples. She let her handle her boobs, while attentively paying attention to the feeling.

After Namazzi had decided that his inspection should have been convincing, she dressed herself properly again. Reluctantly, Jarrik packed his erection back into his pants to mirror her. A little platonic talk about his trip quickly signaled Jarrik that his chances for sex were near zero. He also felt extremely tired and asked Namazzi to leave. She gave him a peck on the lips. He slapped her butt friendly as she walked through the door.

The next day brought a long line of patients to the clinic. The line extended outside the little clinic’s doors into the sidewalk. The UN had a Typhoid immunization drive and was sending throngs of people to the clinic and other centers all over Africa. Kyden and Jarrik became assembly line workers. Their office doors remained open to let the next person already stand in the door for swift handling: Ask for allergies, swipe the shoulder with an alcohol towel, and inject the vaccine. Jarrik remembered his times at McDonald’s. McDonald’s had clocked all customer interactions to the second. The boss would yell at them for being seconds slow. Jarrik tried to turn patients over in under sixty seconds. Kyden would occasionally take notice of Jarrik’s speed and yell from his room: “You mad man!”

The busy clinic was good for Jarrik’s mind. The relationship with Namazzi was on the downswing. Like sharks, relationships that don’t move forward die. Over beer, sitting in the foldout chairs around the cooler in Kyden’s room, Kyden had sympathized with Jarrik’s plight of being stringed: “Even you are the opposite of a wombat, you still want to root at some point.” That was another Australian expression that stumped Jarrik.

“First, to root means to put your donger in her cunt. Second a wombat is a critter and also a cozy name for chap. A human wombat roots, shoots cum, and leaves. That’s a selfish fella in other words. It is supposed to be funny, because a real wombat eats roots, shoots, and leaves. Ay, mate, what am I going to do with you?”

The evening was the first quiet evening. Drinking beer with another English man let Jarrik’s mind escape for a while. He pretended to be back in America. The distance let him reflect and process the events of his time in Africa. The cheap foldout chairs with the plastic bands for a seat cushion stretching almost to the hard floor became oddly familiar. Kyden’s laughing ruddy face with the curly blond hair stayed in Jarrik’s memory.

The morning brought a headache and an empty clinic. Not a single person was in the waiting room. Jarrik scratched his head. In his room, he found Kyden sitting on his exam table merrily swinging his sandal clad feet back and force: “Brother, we are going on a trip to track gorillas. It is time for our excursion. A buddy offered me his prop plane for a couple days. Get packing!”

The pickup truck drove them to a field strip at the edge of the capital. There was a shed with rusty red roof. It was made from corrugated steel. A meshed fence surrounded the air field. The fence was bent almost to the floor in many places. That’s why someone had laid coiled of barbed wired behind it. The weeds rose higher than the barbed wire coils. There were only about five Cessna planes next to the air field. A grease faced chubby man stood next to a plane. He was holding the kerosene pump from a kerosene truck. His blue overall was rolled down to his hip. It equally showed his gut hanging out and the streams of sweat running down his bare torso.

Sitting in the cockpit with the propeller spinning in front of them, Jarrik yelled to Kyden: “I did not know that you are a pilot.”
“I am not a pilot. It is easy like driving a car. See pulling on this knob controls the acceleration. The steering wheel is self explanatory. Left is left. Right is right. Forward is down. Backward is up. That’s it in a nutshell.”
“What!”
“Don’t be a wuss!”

Kyden slightly pulled on the gas knob. The propellers roared higher and the plane tugged a little forward. “Oh, and the foot pedals are left and right as well!” The plane rolled into the center of the landing strip. The landing strip was bare and slightly cracked dirt. A few lights lined it. “Isn’t there a need to radio?” “This is Africa ain’t nobody care.” Kyden pulled the gas knob all the way out. The plane started accelerating slowly forward. For Jarrik’s taste, the plane gained speed uncomfortably slow. Kyden kept looking at the palm of his hand. There were a few numbers written. Half way down the field, Kyden yelled to Jarrik: “That’s my cheat sheet! At 70 knots, we need to pull off the ground.”

As the speedometer reached 70 knots, Kyden pulled back on the steering gently. Jarrik’s stomach dropped down both from the sudden lift and the realization that he was in the air. Kyden laughed loud: “Getting to this point in Australia would have been $2,000 already.” The plane steadily climbed. The buildings got smaller. The suburbs were indeed mostly rubble and waste land torched pale by a harsh sun. The wind stiffly blew through a two inch hole in the side window, their only ventilation.

At 2,000 feet altitude, Kyden was still cheering to himself for flying a plane. Perhaps, it was the first time that he flew a plane. He waved his palm with the cheat notes to Jarrik. He pointed at his second note: 127.2. Then, he dialed the number into a little box that was labeled Nav1. A little white line started moving around on a horizontal scale. Kyden circled the plane, until the white line was captured in the middle of the scale. “That’s the radio beacon for our destination.”

The noise of the propeller and wind drag made it hard to talk. Jarrik was anyway mesmerized by the landscape: dirt patches, lush green forests, dirt roads, rolling hills, primitive villages. Once he spotted an elephant. The sky was bright blue with a few white clouds at the horizon. The plane shifted sideways and vertically randomly leaving Jarrik the choice of either becoming tense and nauseated or relaxed and dreamy. He went for letting himself go and enjoying the excursion.

“I lied to you, mate.”
“Oh, good, you are a trained pilot.”
“No, we are not going to track gorillas. We are going to the Impenetrable National Forest. However, we are dispatched there to meet Mister Kon. His son is sick. He offered to leave me head on my shoulders in exchange for our services. We can’t let anybody know about this business. He is a wanted man. He outlived many special ops teams sent to kill him by his secrecy.”
“What the fuck!”
“Relax, mate. Everything will be fine.”

Jarrik wanted to get out of the little Cessna. However, he realized that he was stuck here 3,000 feet over the ground. He would be stuck there hours away from civilization. Kyden noticed Jarrik’s anxiety crawling on his face like ants. Kyden quickly pushed the steering forward and back. The dip had everything in the plane flying up and falling down. Jarrik jolted out of his worry thoughts. “Jarrik, go fly for a while.” Kyden let go of the steering. Jarrik held the steering in place with the utmost precision and whole body tension.

A seeming eternity later, Kyden suggested Jarrik to go a little left and right. Jarrik turned the steering a little. He was shocked with the responsiveness of the plane. What had seemed to him the tiniest amount left actually moved the plane quite a bit. He tried a bit the other direction. He smiled for a moment, before he let the plane turn far enough to be five dashes away from the center of the horizontal navigation scale.

A little portable radio blared the song “Bad Things” from Jace Everett. Kyden dialed the sound up to the maximum. That gave the radio a fighting chance against the noise in the cockpit, yet distorted the tune as well. However, Jarrik attempted to fly the plane to the music. As the singer sang “When you came in the air went out,” the plane pulled up and right. As the singer deeply threatened “I wanna do bad things with you,” Jarrik steered the plane down and tried to make it twist left and right to the rhythm as it gained speed. The propeller wine raised in pitch.

Kyden took over the steering. He pulled the plane higher. Kyden seemed like a buzz kill until the plane had climbed 6,000 feet. Kyden turned the steering all the way right. The plane started turning itself over. Jarrik panicked at first. When he found himself upside down hanging from the lap belt with all the little crap of the plane lying on the roof under his head, he started laughing. Kyden kept the steering on right. The plane rolled sideways over and over. With each roll the aim of the plane’s nose changed its angle. After a few rolls, they had a hard time figuring out, if the plane pointed up or down. They let the plane go its merry way for a moment, until their sense of balance was restored. The plane was heading down. The pulled the nose up and pointed it again towards the direction of the radio beacon.

Jarrik looked out of the window and observed the slow progression from plain flora to forest. The forest became thicker, greener, and taller. Kyden was reading a ring boned manual for the plane. He occasionally flicked switches and turned knobs that he read about in the manual. “We have to find something called flap.” Kyden pointed at the third note scribbled on his palm: “Flap.” There were a lot of dials and switches in the Cessna. Near the center bottom was a lever called flap. “Okay, before landing, we have to push that down to make the landing easier.”

The destination was still hours away. A little red cooler with a white lid had sandwiches and beverages. Jarrik snoozed for a while lulled by the vibrations and steady humming. A mountain in the way required them to climb in circles before crossing the mountain. A large lake tempted Kyden to fly low in the hopes of scurrying a flock of flamingoes into the air. There were no flamingoes flying up. A large black bird almost hitting the plane made them think twice about chasing birds again.

Finally, a clearing in the forest contained the airstrip. There were no man made improvements to the patch of dirt. A truck contained rebel militia waiting for them. A fly-by of the airstrip discovered no particularly deep holes or rocks in the way. A deep crack in the center seemed a bit sketchy. They made a mental mark to stay left of it, because there was more space.

Turning around to approach the air field, Kyden bit his lip as he aligned the flight path of the plane with the air field. Then, he pushed the speed stick a little in. He waited for the speed to lower. He pressed the flaps down. Something moved on the wings of the plane. He checked the palm of his hand again to read 50 knots. He carefully pushed the speed stick in further until the speed was close to 50 knots. As the plane nose pointed down to get nearer the ground, the speed ticked up. Kyden pushed the speed stick further in. As the plane descent equaled, the speed ticked down. Kyden swiftly pulled the speed stuck to prevent a stall. He seemed quite tense about the adjustment.

Jarrik’s pulse started beating in his throat like a river during a flash flood. The beginning of the landing strip was tacitly close. The dirt blurring by suddenly indicted the speed that they were going by. Close to the ground, Kyden violently pulled back on the steering. The plane stalled and fell the last three feet out of the sky. The dinky shifted and bounced a little bit as it got used to racing on the dirt. Kyden pushed the speed stick all the way in. He searched for the brake. He couldn’t find it in time before he had to steer the plane left of the sketchy center crack. Passing the crack, the plane was still going pretty fast. The tall trees at the end of the air field came rushing closer. Jarrik was the hapless victim of his own collision. Kyden found the button to engage the breaks. The engine immediately dropped its pitch to a bass mumbling sound. The plane stopped.

The door was quickly clipped open. Jarrik fumbled his way through the narrow door onto the wing. He jumped down and his sleepy legs almost let him fall face down. A few feet away from the plane and its moving part, he declared “I am feeling good right here.” He looked at the rebel militia truck rumbling closer to them. A cloud of brown dust was following the truck. Kyden piled medical bags onto the wing of the plane. The rebel soldiers arrived. These soldiers were smarter. Instead of holy water, they carried old style Soviet Union guns. The leader had an automatic rifle and red cap.

The ride on the truck bed was eerie silent. The falling darkness of dusk painted the large trees even more in the light of a horror movie. The first black body hanging from a tree startled Jarrik. Perhaps, the missing limbs and object like setup most horrified Jarrik. Kyden offered Jarrik oral diazepam to calm down and warned him to neither judge the rebels in their presence nor display gay seeming behavior. The next shocking site was a pile of limbs next to the road. Apparently, villagers had been literally chopped into pieces.

Half the rebel soldiers in the open air truck were kids. They obviously lacked mothers to tell them, to pick clothes that fit them and wash themselves. Apparently, they were poorly trained. They seemed awkward holding the weapons. No attention was paid to pointing the gun at safe places. A little boy near the back of the truck was resting his cheek bone on the barrel of the gun with the finger on the trigger. Large pieces of dirt were lying on the floor of the truck. They did not maintain their equipment either.

The truck stopped middle in the road. A soldier was sent into the thick of the forest. A pee break seemed unlikely, because everyone was starring in his directions. At least Westerners did not like attention while urinating. The soldier, or digger as Kayden calls all soldiers, returned with a new group of soldiers. The new soldiers were larger fully grown males. They wore proper uniform and had camouflage colored knee and elbow pads. They moved swiftly and with focus.

The new group of soldiers took the medical supply bags and distributed them among themselves. They told us to follow them into the thick of the forest. The going was slow as they had to walk around trees and other obstacles. Jarrik feared panthers and poisonous animals. Considering the company of trained and armed militia rebels, he was probably safe from wildlife. An hour in, lights of an encampment appeared. Under the trees and out of the sight of Western spy satellites was the master rebel camp. Kayden left Jarrik. Kayden would talk to Mister Kon. Jarrik would immediately attend Mister Kon’s son.

The tent was a dark green military tent. Supplies were stacked high near the entrance. Mister Kon’s son was a nineteen year old tall, skinny lad. The son lay on a low wooden frame with stretched fabric as a mattress. His forehead was sweaty. His face was tense with pain. The vitals were normal. So, there was no immediately life threatening situation. The abdominal exam showed hardness. The son had not eaten in two days and not eliminated in a week. All signs pointed to a regular constipation.

Upon the diagnosis, the son demanded immediately laxatives. Jarrik had to educate the son first. His feces had been dried and compacted into very hard pellets. If the intestinal muscles would be induced into contractions with medication, there would be a lot of damage. He had to drink a lot of oil, any kind, for lubrication. He had to eat fiber food like leaves to provide matter to push out the pellets. Jarrik guided the son through the forced dietary regiment and gave him a stool softener pill. An hour or two was mostly spent calming the anxious young man down and have patience to let the process work.

Kyden arrived for the glorious moment, when Jarrik allowed the son to take the laxative pills. The son over eagerly grabbed them. Suddenly, the abdominal paint that had near immobilized him was gone until he swallowed the pills and waited for them to work. Jarrik turned to the silently observing Kyden: “Most common cause for expeditions to evacuate, a simply constipation.” Both waited for the son to feel better and eliminated for the first time. They were sitting on the bare ground and leaned against the stack of supplies.

The son eliminated. He finally went for a restful sleep. Apparently, the wise doctors were expected to stay in the son’s tent for the night. Kyden rolled himself on the ground using his bicep as a pillow. Jarrik struggled and remained. His eyes fell shut. He fell asleep. His body was sore, when the morning light woke him. The cheery young man called on them. He promised them that he would build them an African Disney Land to express his gratitude. He added that he would complete the glorious task by afternoon. The son left the tent. Kyden hissed only for Jarrik to hear: “The fucker is keeping us longer.”

The day was extremely trying. Mister Kon had cheap plastic chairs lined in a triangle. His commanders and consultants were sitting with him. Kyden and Jarrik were the honorary guests. That did not imply that they were expected to talk. Mister Kon mostly talked about his vision that it were natural for all children to carry guns and fight as soldiers. He threatened the president for committing war crimes in his name. He insisted that he never used child soldiers. The biblical diatribes were equally nonsensical. The two men sitting next to the doctors insisted that Mister Kon could see the future and was immortal even when directly hit by a hail of bullets.

Lunch consisted of two MRE’s from our medical bags, because Kyden didn’t trust the food to be clean enough for Westerners. Luckily, Mister Kon’s son came running after lunch. He announced that the first African Disney World had been built. He welcomed us as the honorary guests for the premier. Mister Kon was very proud of his son and rose up. The whole congregation followed the son’s proud steps. A strict order was observed: Mister Kon followed by the doctors. The advisors followed in the order of their rank.

“Indiana Jones ride,” announced the son standing next to a World War II Range Rover with the top completely taken off including the wind shield. It looked a bit like a large bathtub on wheels. A driver took the wheel. Mister Kon sat shotgun. The doctors were seated in the back next to the son. The driver took off at a comfortable twenty miles an hour. The car quickly came onto potholes that were rhythmically offset left and right to rattle the car from side to side. A log on the right side lifted the right tires higher and higher, until the Range Rover was driving on the left two tires. The driver showed a bit off before he let the car fall back on all four tires.

The driver was infected by madness and floored the gas. At the end of the road, two people jumped out of the forest and pushed a man-high ball made of branches in front of them. The son screamed: “Oh my god, the rock is going to crush us.” The game of chicken seemed rather unfair to Jarrik. The heavy Range Rover would bolt through the branches with mere scratches, perhaps a passenger or two would get impaled, and the two pushers were gone for sure. The last moment, the driver pulled sharply left into the forest.

We quickly encountered a steep slope. A shaky driveway had been built with thick branches and thin logs. There were two poles for the tires to fit on. The driver had to place the tires exactly. The Range Rover drove high over them. They creaked and swayed under the heavy car. The driver muttered: “I hope the logs don’t crack again.” The son ignored him and bellowed: “Look the holy grail is ahead.” A soccer tournament cup was standing at the end of the wooden driveway.

The son climbed out of the car and down the scaffolding. Everyone followed. Jarrik wondered, if it were safer to risk the car falling on top of them or remaining in the car precariously up in the air. The driver silently cursed for having to back up over the thing logs. Mister Kon was very proud of his son’s Western education and creativity. Kyden was tickled by the ridiculous display and pastime of one of the world’s most hated war crime criminal.

An abandoned cabin patiently waited for the group. A throng of local tribal women stood next to door. They wore skirts with their brown tops exposed. Their breasts hung down like the invention of the bra was desperately necessary. Their faces looked a bit distraught. Apparently, they were freshly collected from a nearby village. The son proudly announced: “The Haunted House”

The first two women got on their hands and knees. They moved side to side facing towards the cabin. Mister Kon straddled their backs. The son explained to press the right button to go and the left button to stop. Evidently, he was referring to the breasts of the women. Mister Kon squeezed the right breast of the right women. The women started crawling forward with Mister Kon on their back. It was a bit uneven as they stepped forward at different times. The son punctuated “fully electronic button.” Mister Kon disappeared in the dark cabin.

Kyden followed next. He had a bit of fun with the whole thing. He straddled the two women and yelled like a cowboy while wielding his fist in the hand. Then, he slapped one of the women on the ass. The son politely reminded Kyden to push the button. The two women shuffled off with Kyden into the cabin.

Jarrik was okay with sitting down on the women, because it reminded him of playing horse as a kid with his parents. Yet, touching the boobs of the woman felt a little weird. He leaned forward and reached under the torso. The tribal boob was a rather flabby mass. Out of curiosity, he checked the nipple. It felt large and soft. He wondered how the other woman’s boob felt. As he touched it, the women stopped. The left woman’s boob was plenty of skin and little fat. Her nipple was rather large though. He squeezed the right boob again to continue. He looked down at the naked women’s back beneath him. The right one was a bit darker. The left one had more defined muscles.

The first thing that he saw was a naked woman in a coffin. Her pubes were bunched and black. The second most obvious thing was her missing head. It was actually simply cleverly leaning back and covered with a red paper. Next to the coffin was a box with a woman’s head looking outside and muttering “Where is my body?” A candle next to the head and coffin barely lit up the scene.

The two women under Jarrik turned around 180 degrees. A naked woman was covered in little snakes. The snakes crawled around her thighs and torso. One snake was even in her hair. Her areolas were dark brown. Her hips were full. She poked her hand holding a chicken towards Jarrik hissing “voodoo.” A second woman in the background made sure to keep the snakes in check.

The two women under Jarrik that formed his carriage turned again to kneel their way to the back exit. The light at the door promised the end of the ride a little two soon. Three yards from the exit, three naked savage women jumped out of the dark with machetes and started dancing around them. Their bodies were painted white. “We are the ghosts and will keep you. The two women under Jarrik stopped. Jarrik tacitly tried squeezing the right one’s boob to no effect. The naked thighs danced around them. Their sexes smelled a bit musk without even getting close. Jarrik resigned to watching the boobs swing left and right in front of his face. In a way, it was sexy to sit on two half naked women and having three others dance around him.

Finally, the ghost women withdrew. Jarrik could start his female carriage by squeezing the now familiar boob again. Kyden welcomed Jarrik to the sunlight laughing: “You should have seen your face with those ghost women!” The next group of theme park visitors was waiting on the other side of the cabin. The commanders talked seriously about the attributes of the Indiana Jones ride. Jarrik thought to himself that it must sure suck to suck up to a rebel leader. The son excitedly ran ahead: “Pirates of the Caribbean is next!”

A short walk path led to a mellow creek with canoes waiting. Mister Kon sat at the front of the canoe of course. He looked very proud emanating Louis XIV energy. The son sat behind him and pointed out the details of the ride to which the rebel leader nodded approvingly. The doctors sat further back in the canoe. The last person was the paddler of the canoe. The water was brown and dirty from flowing very slowly. It was about ten yards wide.

As they passed a thick push, the sight of the first scene appeared. Crates and barrels with semi-naked bush women mixed among them. All the women had a black fabric to cover one eye. Two women faced each other and alternating hollered “arrgggh” at each other. Another couple chased each other around a crate. A third couple consisted of one lying across the thigh of the other while having her naked exposed ass slapped. An additional woman waded to the canoe. She held five cold bottles of beer against her naked breast and called “krog.” She handed the bottles to the people in the boat.

“Congo Safari” exclaimed the son as our canoe left the mildly Caribbean, mildly pirate-like scene. In the elbow of the next turn of the river were women in the shallow. “Look elephants bathing, father,” chirped the son, while padding Mister Kon on the shoulder. All the women pinched their nose with one hand. The other hand reached through the loop of the former hand and waved around. Obviously, the second hand was intended as the tusk of the elephant.

One woman lay on her back in the very shallow water raking her naked legs and arms in the air. Two women splashed each other by smashing the water surface with their task hand. They got really playful about ducking their face from the water splashes of the other. Their long hair widely threw water in half arcs around them. Their breasts happily bounced up and down. “Well done,” said Mister Kon, while tapping his son’s hand on his shoulder.

The paddling soldier in the back of the canoe gave us little bags of peanuts to keep one and pass the rest on. The naked women swam towards the canoe. They stopped next to the sidewall of the canoe with their heads bobbing up and down as they were treading water. Mister Kon held his cupped hand down to the water with a peanut in it. The nearest woman snapped it out of his hand with her mouth. Mister Kon laughed. Jarrik and Kyden followed the example feeding the elephant women.

Jarrik actually found an odd mixture of fun between the dirty water on the women, the power over the women, and the sensual feeling of their tongues and lips licking the palm of his hand to snap the peanuts. “I told you women more competition, more animal,” chided the son. The women started shoving each other to compete for peanuts. One pushed the others face away with her hand. The canoe started rocking a bit. One of the women dived under to pull away one woman by her long slender leg. The head of the pulled woman went under water for a moment before she struggled back. Jarrik got turned on imagining the naked bodies struggling underwater, if only the water were clearer and he were under the boat with scuba goggles.

The canoe had drifted on. The elephant women returned to their starting pose for the next canoe. Their own canoe ran ashore to let them out. They clapped applause for the son’s Disney Land recreation. Kyden was curt to get back to the plane. Mister Kon, sad to forgo further expressions of gratitude, let the two doctors leave. A badly beaten Toyota truck drove them back to the airfield.

The return flight through the night was unremarkable, except for the comments of Kyden to Jarrik: “I was so glad to get out of there. That mad men can go from gratitude to insanity in a second. When he channels a certain spirit, he sends his people to chop limps and anything off people within grasp.”

They returned to the white washed clinic building in the early morning. A huddled shape lay in front of Jarrik’s room. The shape was a little shorter and wider than the familiar huddle of Namazzi. The shape hurried away as the steps of Kyden and Jarrik came closer. It was a random villager sleeping in the capital. Villages were often ransacked at night by roaming rebels. Therefore, some villages emptied at night walking for miles to find safer sleeping places in the streets of cities.

The next surprise was the mess in Jarrik’s room. The mattress was tossed over. All his clothes were strewn over the floor. Not that he had brought much on the trip. However whoever searched his belonging made sure to scatter them well across the room. Kyden rushed to his aid. Kyden was quick to check the little bathroom for a possibly surprised thief. Jarrik cursed the villager sleeping in his doorway. Kyden thought that it might be someone else and asked Jarrik to check for his passport. The American passport was gone.

Kyden explained that Namazzi probably had stolen the passport and ran off. The passport was worth thousands of dollars in the capital. That was enough to buy her freedom. Kyden admitted to the amazed Jarrik that he had another secret to admit to. Namazzi was one of Mister Kon’s prostitutes. She was a high class prostitute, because she provided the whole girlfriend experience rather than raw sex. Jarrik punched Kyden that his claims were impossible. They loved each other.

Kyden pointed out the tattoo of the tree and moon. Sure enough, she is a queen of the night. However, the tattoo marked her as a prostitute belonging to Mister Kon. The moon was the sign for a prostitute. And, the tree was the sign for Mister Kon, because he was like the tree the source of everything. Jarrik got madder for the giant deceit and punched Kyden again. Kyden explained that Mister Kon liked to keep a tight string on people in his world. Kyden had hoped that Jarrik would never have to find out and could have left with a sweet Africa memory, even if it were fake.

The quietude of the streets and the muscular action of walking calmed Jarrik’s spirit as he drifted through the streets. He was lost in the power and coercion of his Africa experience. The impulse to run off into the capital at night was not rational. He thought about flying home, yet realized that he needed to wait for a new passport express shipped to the embassy first. By sunrise, he was watching a scrawny dog walking down the street. He wanted to get hammered with the best stuff that he could find. Mister Kon’s mansion was the only place.

The city woke up around him. Sleepy people and wired people started coming out of their shags. The two guards with the sticks were at the entrance of Mister Kon’s bar. The place was open day and night. Many militia rebels returned in the morning from village raids during the night. The guard behind the door found his Polaroid photo to grand him entrance. Jarrik walked up the wooden stairs holding onto the hand rail. He walked past the balcony and cantina. He went straight for the backroom after another overly thorough frisk check by the guards.

He got the whisky that his dad always dreamed of drinking. The half empty bottle was behind the bartender. He carried five shot glasses to a booth. He pressed the shot glasses together to carry them in one go. A few rebel officers looked at him auspiciously. After he downed the drinks like a soldier emptying one clip after the next in the heat of fire, he started singing songs his father had taught him from Memphis. He felt cuddled by the familiarity. The officers around him felt rankled and moved closer.

Luckily, the bartender recognized Jarrik from an Internet posting about the savior of Mister Kon’s son and the opening of African Disney Land. He dragged the utterly drunk Jarrik behind the bar counter to protect him from the rebels maltreatment. He called Kyden. Jarrik passed out in the shallow pools of beer, liquor, and dirt. Occasionally, a service person accidentally stepped on him. He simply huffed in his sleep and shrugged in response. The discrete and long serving bartender looked worryingly down at Jarrik.

Kyden arrived with the Jeep in front of the door. He carried Jarrik on his shoulders out of the establishment. He drove straight towards the rural village. Jarrik slept half the way despite the stiff road wind hitting his face. Before Jarrik could fully come to, Kyden gave him a sedative. By nightfall, the Jeep arrived at the village. The elders listened understandingly to the explanation of Kyden. The still sleeping Jarrik was carried into a hut and place on a sleeping cot. The next morning, Kyden left a note for Jarrik and headed back to the capital.

In the late morning, Jarrik opened his eyes for the first time. Mangeni carefully paid attention. Jarrik closed his eyes again deciding the world was not a place worthy to return to. The second time that he opened his eyes, he at least inspected the blanket that covered him before drifting back into the blackness of sleep. By the third time, Mangeni tenderly pulled away the blanket. The warm blanket had felt stuffy to Jarrik anyway.

Mangeni pulled a white painted metal can of water and a yellow sponge near the cot. She dunked the sponge into the water. The water ran out of the sponge as she brushed Jarrik’s hands with it. She carefully washed between the fingers. Jarrik let it happen, because resisting required more effort than acceptance. She washed his arms. She pulled up the dirty old t-shirt from his belly. She made a face of disgust as she smelled the t-shirt. She pulled the t-shirt over his head. Pulling the fabric under the weight of his body out, required a bit of effort. Jarrik paid attention to the sensation of it.

The sponge danced over his whole torso to carefully wet the skin without dripping too much onto the cot. A wet cot is uncomfortable for sleeping. She lathered his torso with a bar of soap. She enjoyed sliding her hands in wide motion over the large male body compared to her young female body. She giggled as her fingers massaged the foam into the hairs of his armpit. She carefully washed the nooks of his face. She kissed him playfully on the nose to test how passive Jarrik was to the intimate manipulation of his face. Jarrik was severly depressed.

Mangeni continued to pull the pants down his legs and his underwear. He realized that he was completely naked with an eighteen year old girl intended on spring cleaning his body. He did not bother. The open window without a glass pane let air drift into the room and out of the opening as a door. He did not bother being seeing naked by people. He was no longer responsible for any of the mess in Africa including whatever was going on now. An elder came by the hut to check on them. Mangeni was focused on washing his hairy thighs. The elder was pleased and not perturbed by his nudity. Jarrik did not want to deal with anything. So, he kept his eyes closed even he was intently following the feeling of Mangeni’s hands on his body.

Shame was something that Mangeni seemed to lack. She washed his private parts. The sponge circled his balls, while she was holding his penis. Jarrik thought about the joke, where a nurse is shaving the pubic area of a man holding the penis like that. After a while the man says that the penis stands on his own and she would no longer have to hold it. Mangeni rubbed the sponge up and down his penis. He looked forward to the feeling of the hard soap followed by the sponge. She carefully placed his penis down over his balls. However, the penis would fall sideways. Unsatisfied, she would lay the penis straight up on his belly.

Next, Mangeni got the bowl with fruits that the elder had left at the entrance. She picked a piece of Mango and held it at Jarrik’s lips until he surrendered to it being easier to let the food in. It was sweet and smooth in his mouth. He realized that he had not eaten in a while. This was the first time that he looked at Mangeni’s face. She recognized the familiar face. Her eyes were clear as glass. The mood on her face was soft as a breeze, as she angelically smiled at being observed. Her hair was neatly done in a circle around the top of her head and hang open and long in the back. She was wearing a blue dress. She gave him another piece of Mango. He remembered licking her fingers during surgery. They were still as deliciously smooth and cool. This time she could openly see his hardon for her.

He watched her and observed her boobs and muscles move as she fed him. He gazed at her soft pink small lips. He inspected the lines in her lips that ran from the inside out like faint lip piercings. He would have fucked her, yet he did not want to tear the fabric of this wonderful unreal movie. So, he remained motionless only opening his lips at her offerings. After the plate was emptied, she laid it back down at the entrance of the hut.

She handed Kyden’s note to Jarrik and went to her own side of the room to sit down. Kyden’s note said that Jarrik should stay in the peaceful village until he had worked things out. A rash man was quickly a dead man in the capital. Jarrik let the note fall down and starred at the ceiling wondering, if he should return back to America early.

Boredom set in for Mangeni. She started dancing. First, she bumped her hips left and right. Then, she got wilder spinning in a circle. Next, she was catching imaginary butterflies in the air and setting them free elsewhere to the rhythm of an inaudible flute. She turned into an Indian deity with eight arms as her hands moved around like a temple dance. As she started sweating from the exertion, she pulled the dress over her head. Her young and tight body was completely naked under the dress. The rural village offered her neither bras nor panties. Her boobs did not flop like those of the older women. Her mammary gland gently rippled with motion, so sexy. Her butt was well-shaped and bulbous.

Jarrik’s penis was hard, yet his limbs felt too heavy to move. His confidence that he could actually have sex with the naked Mangeni was low, even they were both naked in the same room. He feared violating an unknown village rule and getting into more trouble, perhaps finally killed this time. All this agony was in such a stark contrast to Mangeni’s carefree shimmy, which made him want her all the more. He wanted to take her to energetically drink that carefree and happy way of being out of her.

The music in Mangeni’s head stopped. A woman at the entrance waved her to take a plate with a rough yellow pile of shea butter. The cream had been extracted from the seeds of the shea tree. The woman left. Mangeni kneeled down next to his cot. The tips of her cupped hand picked up a glob of shea butter. The two hands rotated against each other swiftly making a swishing sound and distributing the shea butter over the palms. She lifted his arm by the wrist. Her other hand glided all the way along his arm distributing the shea butter and massaging him. The warm fuzzy feeling of being touched made him happy.

He closed his eyes. Colors, faces, and people merrily flashed in front of his eyes and morphed into new shapes. His breathing grew deep under the crafty massage strokes of Mangeni. He became aware of his body, muscles, and bones. He felt himself more luxurious under the soft touch than the scraggy doctor rushed around in danger and deceit. Blissful memories and people back from America mixed with the recent torrent of events. With every stroke of her warm hands, he relaxed the muscles and surrendered herself to him.

So, it was that at first he did not even register her massaging his penis. Her hands started at the root of the shaft. Her palm stroked the penis towards the head along the thigh and finished down the thigh to his knee. With her other hand, she massage along his ball sack and brushed it against the opposite side. She finished the hand stroke passed his ball sack down to the knee. His penis felt so much more part of his whole body this way rather than the aperture that always stand out from his body. She massaged his penis up against his stomach as it hardened. She gently pulled the balls down in the sack stretching the sack skin. Around this time, he consciously realized that the eighteen year old Nubian beauty was handling his penis.

He looked down at her naked arms resting on his body, while she played with his now fully erect penis. She was almost half his age. He seized her up again. When he was eighteen, eighteen year olds seemed so mature. Now, this eighteen year old seemed so distant almost too young to be able to relate to. Could her young mind feel what he was feeling? Yet, she was all the more sexy. “Can I kiss it?” she asked. He said his first word “yes.”

Her lips swallowed his penis deep. The lips formed a ring and lowered down his penis. He felt the wet and warm sensation of her mouth. His penis was pulsating as each pump of the heart tried to fill it with more blood. She slowly moved her head up and down licking her tongue along his shaft. One hand was holding the root of his penis. Her other hand covered itself in more shea butter. Then, she twisted and wiggled her index finger into his anus. He had never felt the sensation before. It made him feel full. It made him feel like the head of his penis would explode. The finger in his freckle caressed the prostate gland. The surface of his penis was on fire. Her mouth was the petrol that made him explode. The strong sexual urge of his orgasm exploded in his pelvis. He pushed her head all the way down to his belly. She choked hard on the penis deep in her throat. She struggled and tried to relax. All his force held her head down. His jizz was gushing into her in spurts.

The last wave of ecstasy left him limb. Mangeni pulled her head up. A web of jizz, saliva, snot, and tears hang down from her face to his penis. She smiled in astonishment. Her young body and spirit drove his sexual desire so much that he did not need a recess. He told her to sit on his cock and start riding him. This time, he could fully taste her deliciousness. He caressed her boobs. He tenderly bit her nipples. He fully tasted the flavor of her mouth. He caressed his own fingers in her hair. Her little warrior like body was riding high on his body. She straddled him. She arched her back. She held her arms next to her head grinding her pelvis on him. She was all he had ever wanted in a woman.

He felt invigorated from the love making. She felt accomplished for having cured him of his depression. She dressed him in a rough tribal hem poncho. It was simply a rectangular fabric with a hold in the middle to stick the head through. She gave him drawstring pants with an imitation puma logo. They walked barefoot to the porch, where the elders had dinner. He joined them. He started talking. They proposed to him a hut as a medical station. He contemplated the setup and inquired on the kinds of conditions to expect.

Mangeni and Jarrik led a near married life. They screwed in the morning, for lunch, and in the evening. Jarrik’s happiest moment was discovering the true look of her freckle. He enjoyed the moment that he spit his white bubbly saliva on it. He rubbed it around. He softly and rhythmically knocked his dongle against her freckle until it willingly surrendered to the rhythm and wanted to feel more. If he had to pick his best African memory, it was looking back and force between her freckle and her face to gauge her comfort. His spunk inside of the ass of the black woman felt so much whiter than it had ever been.

Outside of his erotic escapades, he helped the villagers with his medical services. After the urgent conditions, people came with more chronic conditions that were a lot harder to treat. Fixing a broken leg is easy. Asthma is something very complicated and long lasting. A key component is the use of inhalers, which the poor Africans cannot afford. Yet, he made the best out of the limited supply and enjoyed furthering his skill in field medicine.

Mangeni loved bringing him new fruits and flowers to learn about her world. She was an excellent botanist. On another continent, she would have been a biology scientist. Her playful and joyous nature raised his humor to experience he best days of his life. Only looking at her youthful body kicked hardwired biological reactions in his brain to trigger instant happiness.

One day, all of that changed. In the morning, an albino African arrived. He had traveled for two days to see the doctor. Albino Africans are almost completely white. Yet, they retain the features and everything else of a black person. So nobody would mistake them for a Westerner. The freckles (dots on the face, not anus) were off a strange pinkish hue. Jarrik’s academic curiosity was pleased seeing the gentleman. However, Jarrik was sad to inform him that most albinos died before reaching thirty. The chronic issues that plagued him would only get worse until they would finally kill him. Jarrik promised to do the best to improve his situation no matter how dim the prognosis was.

The albino man took the news well, because he had been through so much hardship. Albino black people were ostracized by society, ridiculed, and haunted for superstitious beliefs. The elders welcomed the endangered man on the porch for lunch. He told them the story of constantly being on the run and evading attacks. Some people tried to kill him as a devil. Other people tried to eat his skin to cure HIV. Among raping virgins eating albino people was a widely held African myth for a cure of HIV. The man was overly hungry having slept in hiding away from the roads for days.

Sadly a few hours later a dilapidated Toyota truck charged into the town center to gun fire. A villager was hanging strangled from a tall four by four piece of wood that had been jury rigged next to the radiator. The dead man was a morbid banner to lead the armed gangsters. The villagers were hiding in their huts. The village was utterly silent and motionless to the guns fired into the air. The gunmen demanded the albino. Apparently, the dad villager had given the gunmen the tip and received death instead of the promised reward.

A green bottle filled with petrol and an old lit rag served as a Molotov cocktail that was thrown on the roof of the first hut. The hiding inhabitants ran scurrying to the next hut. The gunmen aimlessly shot in the general directions struggling with the pushback of the shots. Their smile gleamed after they regained their balanced and composure.

A second hut went in flames sending the inhabitants running for another hut. A man was hit in the leg this time. He still made it to safety pulling his leg behind him. A moment later, the albino man panicked and ran for his life. No matter how aging the Toyota truck was, it easily pulled up next to the albino man running at full speed. A gunman on the truck bed hit the albino with another four by four on the back of the head. The body was dragged over the ground back to the center of the village. The gunmen stood around the albino protectively for a while to demonstrate their superiority. Then, they announced that they would make anti-HIV potion out of the albino. The price for a serving was going to be one dollar or a boy placed into their service.

Jarrik stepped out into the sunlight. The gunmen immediately pointed all their guns and rifles at him. They seemed more scared by a white man than all the gun power could assure them. He offered that, as a doctor, he could extract the essence of HIV cure much better out of the albino than eating his flesh ever could. The gunmen were curious and came closer. They poked him with nuzzles of their gun.

He got them to follow him to his medical hut. He rifled through a medical bag for a clear vial. He pretended to rifle a little longer, as he secretly pushed the label ‘saline solution’ away from the vial. He raised the vial high into the air and showed a handful of hypodermic needles. They eagerly received a shot each without even suspecting that he could have poisoned them they danced happily outside the cabin and shot into the air. They said that the real Western drug was way better than the African folklore. “Oh the irony,” Jarrik thought to himself.

Real trouble started happening, when other villagers demanded the HIV cure as well. Very reluctantly, he injected village people with the drug. He saw one man clearly suffering AIDS leaving the hut to sleep with his wife. Jarrik’s face nearly fell off for guilt that he was physically feeling. He secretly asked a village elder for help to avoid more HIV infected people in the wrong belief of a cure infecting and thus killing people. The wise elder raised his arms to have all listen. Tomorrow night during full moon, a healing festival would be organized, when everyone would get the HIV cure.

Word spread and the ruse only attracted more people for the miracle cure. Jarrik’s life was in deep peril. Everyone close the gunmen camping out was in danger of being killed once the gunmen’s eyes would be lifted to see the truth. They would likely go berserk in enraged madness. Jarrik continued the cover as long as he could by taking a bit of blood out of the albino man’s vein. He filled it into little bottles. He mixed it with more saline solution to make it seem complicated. He would intently look at the clear color of saline solution, while the crowd observed him even more intently to learn his secret. He begged that Kyden would come soon to safe him. A village elder had summoned Kyden on a satellite phone.

By sundown, Mangeni pulled on his clothes. She asked him to come and see another plant at the river. She was very insistent. He mocked her for being a little girl. The crowd roared benevolently in laughter and excused them. Jarrik could really not think about plants right now. He started to become very standoffish about following Mangeni any further. Near the turnaround point for him, Kyden stepped out from behind a tree. The albino man was standing shaking next to him. The Jeep was a little further. The quartet left under the cover of the night at high speed.

Kyden chided Jarrik for being the most troublesome MSF doctor that ever sat a foot in his clinic. However, he complimented him for the ruse to safe the albino man’s life. Jarrik barely registered the hour long return trip. His mind had been exhausted from the tension in the village. It could no longer take new memories. Kyden dropped Jarrik off at the US embassy. He said that his life was no longer safe on the soil of the country without an armed escort. His passport had already been expedited and was waiting at the embassy.

The first thing that he clearly remembered again was the neatness and politeness. The napkin was folded two times. The paper of the napkins had three layers. The border of the napkin was stamped with a precise pattern. The logo of the American airline was printed with a pale color onto the napkin to barely disturb the sparkling whiteness of it. The water in the glass was not from the well next door, but a faraway island. The ice cubes were carefully counted to three. The lemon was neatly sliced and pressed onto the rim of the plastic cub. The stewardess smiled at him with a wonderfully tailored stewardess uniform that fit her body and the current fashion trends. Her lipstick was of a natural seeming, yet way too stunning color. The makeup carefully blended with her natural skin to be barely noticeable as it enhanced her face. Jarrik’s adventure with Medecins Sans Frontieres was over.

UC Davis is a public university nestled in the Northern part of the Central Valley of California next to the small town of Davis. Professor Wendel cheerily tapped on the metal bar on the seat in front of him. He was sitting on a red double-decker bus on his way to Meyer Hall. The university creek with the Arboretum way looked lovely with the pink flowering trees. Professor Wendel was excited to run his own version of the Stanford experiment. The department paid little attention to the tenured professor, who mildly meddled around.

The students were already sitting on the tables of the community room. The community room was simply a spacious area at the beginning of the hallway on the top floor. The university had added a few tables, chairs, and other surfaces for students to study between classes. There were ten students in their sweat pants, baggy t-shirts, cute skirts, and tight jeans. He gave five of them a corduroy cable that they tied around their upper arm. This marked them as the prison guards. The other five received a trash bag sling to wear over the shoulder and across the chest. Theses prisoners further received a paper coaster from a local bar pinned with a safety needle to their chest. The paper coaster gave them a number one through five.

The experiment was intended to demonstrate the dehumanization of the prisoners and bring out the tyrannical nature of the guards. The entire upper floor was expected to be empty for the next three days. The experiment developed into an entirely unexpected direction early on. After the guards had exercised the prisoners with drills, they left them in a class room, while the guards played games on their IPhone. Secretly, guard Jameson sneaked away from the guards. He commanded prisoner 3, the girl with the green skirt, tank top, and bra beneath showing out. They stole a plastic mattress from the makeshift beds and set up in a distant room.

They were fresh lovers. As fresh lovers do, they lay on the plastic mattress kissing, making up, and screwing like the birdies. Prisoner 3’s face glowed with happiness of love making. Guard Jameson’s blond hair was tussled. A green skirt was hanging of the edge of a desk. A t-shirt was lying on the floor. The female body was reaching up to the sky straight on top of the male body lying back and marinating in pleasure. The female body was moving with self pleasure around.

All the rooms had video surveillance for the experiment. And, the scene had later leaked on the Internet. Now, came the famous moment. Guard Mustapha entered the door. He was a large man with man boobs and an oversized black t-shirt. He lethargically swung his body through the doorframe with an earnest face to chew them out. Prisoner 3’s face seized him up flowing over with love and compassion. She asked the now famous words: “You wanna tap that? Go tap that!” She rotated both hands reached out toward him to come closer. Guard Mustapha wobbled closer. She hugged his large face and kissed him with the warmth of a tanned loving Italian. Her dark brown curly long hair framed her face. Guard Jameson helped pull the large black t-shirt, the size of a tent, over the head. Two big man boobs fell out.

Prisoner 3 turned around to lie on her chest on the plastic mattress and reach her naked behind up into the air. The butt and thighs were wonderfully toned from spinning classes. A little above his penis, guard Mustapha had a prominent gut fold. Beneath it dangled his small flaccid penis. He was kneeling on the plastic mattress. Prisoner 3 scooted her butt against his pale hairy flesh. She reached behind to hold his penis: “You don’t need a condom. I am on the pill.” The penis half stiffened, enough to insert it into prisoner 3. She moaned. He grabbed her hips to thrust in and out of her. His torso was erect and he looked into nowhere, glancing down at the naked cute coed body every once in a while. She had her eyes closed and hugged her breasts and face into the plastic mattress.

Guard Jameson looked on for a while, until he moved his butt in front of prisoner 3’s face. She grabbed his firm penis and swallowed it. An ethereal, warm, and soft light flowed in the room. Happiness and joy was created. They all came together. At dinner prisoner 3 ate with the guards. As the word for the reason of the privilege spread more sensual adventures happened among the ten students. The Stanford prison experiment had turned into a love nest. Guards and prisoners treated each other with much love and privilege.

Professor Wendel was much disturbed that his experiment did not develop as he wanted to. His role was to observe and analyze and never to interfere, except for the protection and safety. However, Professor Wendel got a hold of two real inmates. They had been hardened in the state penitentiary. Inmate Ron had killed two people, one of them in prison. Inmate Robert was notorious for raping his cell mates. The introduction of the two inmates did turn things ugly for half hour or so. A leg was broken within the first half hour. After the first half hour, one of the female coeds had seduced them into a little erotic adventure. They mellowed out immediately. After the second pussy giving, they became friendly. They taught the college kids, how to pass the time of the experiments and get really comfortable with the bare essentials of desk, chairs, and a few plastic mattresses.

The unexpected progress of the experiment left Professor Wendel permanently changed. He spent many days in his professor’s office. It was a small little room that barely fit the desk, two chairs, and a couch. Half year later, he emerged as a renegade and weirdo. He had formulated a theory of ‘sexappy.’ The basic idea of sexappy was that people getting regular sex were happy and functioned pretty well. He claimed that prison inmates would self patrol themselves, if they had access to sex. He claimed that murder, rape, and theft rates would drastically drop. The core motivation for human being is to screw the other gender. If you can have sex, you don’t need to steal anymore. If you can have sex, you don’t really need to take risks taking bribes. Professor Wendel was convinced that all society’s ills could be cured with more sex. He was isolated and sidelined in academia.

However, two years later, California state governor Schwarzenegger surprisingly picked up on the ideas. The state budget had a trillion dollar gap. Nobody could explain how such a large gap happened despite tax increases and service cuts the prior year. The governor was almost forced to close all schools and disband half the police force. Streets had already decayed for years into pothole heavens. Professor Wendel’s sexappy theory gave the governor a Hail Mary opportunity. He would introduce a service duty similar to the jury duty. By random choice, state citizens would be picked to render sexual services to anyone, who wanted to have sex. By that theory, he would be able to disband most prison guards and leave the prisoners to stay imprisoned by the honor system. Crime would drop low enough to close three out of four police precincts. Students would love each other so much that the older students would teach next year’s class. Corruption would drop. Tax evasion would nearly stop. If the black hole of the budget had not been as severe, he would have never had the law approved. “You wanna tap that? Go tap that!” had been the fighting slogan to gather popularity for the law.

Kristel was a young twenty something, who had received her first form summoning her for service duty. She had called the 800 number to confirm and check in. The morning was a little darker than usual, because she had to get up an hour earlier than work. The streets and sidewalks were black and reflective from the rain that had fallen earlier. Few people were driving or walking near the government building. The solid rock face of the building, the pillars, and Roman design elements clearly marked it as a government building.

The entrance door had a thin black metal frame with vertical push bars. A wide entrance with linoleum floor and gentle steps guided her to the post with a white paper printout taped to a portable barrier: “Service duty report in room 104.” Room 104 had rough office carpet and many rows of chairs. The walls were mostly mobile walls hinting at an army of government worker ants in little cubicles with high piles of paper cartons behind it.

Kristel got to seize up her compatriots. There was Faheema, gray faced Arabic woman. She guessed that most of her face was gray, because she could only see the skin around her eyes. She was wearing a scarf over her mouth and nose. The rest of her body was hidden under a layer of clothing that made her body shape look nondescript like a whale. Faheema was holding a large handbag. The design was simply a bag with two large straps. Her shoes were old and scuffy.

Betty sat right opposite to the window that had called their names to sign in. She was a chubby eighteen year old teenager. She was happy and excited. She wore sneakers, purple leggings that made her chubbiness clear. The fabric was a bit overstretched in places to seem transparent. She had a pink t-shirt on that was equally tight. It showed her the outline of her large boobs clearly as well as her love handles. She wore a metal button on her chest with the American flag, an eagle, and the inscription “glad to service.” She had asked the government worker during her signing in, if she could service two men, because she was a true patriot. The government worker solemnly declined her request: “We don’t do that.”

Kimberly sat apart from them all. She was completely aloof of the proceeding. She was in her mid thirties. She seemed to work on a grocery shopping list. She’d scribble a lot of things on it. Her hand bag contained odd knickknacks like a pacifier and a school permission slip. The only thing that she had said all morning was a brief comment to the sign-in clerk: “I know the drill.”

Andrea, our government guide, appeared next to the sign in window. She was a pear shaped woman wearing a floral blouse and brown pants. Her gut waddled as she walked. She had a gold ring and a gold bracelet. She called all four of them. She walked them behind the portable walls into the government ant farm. A little cubicle had a large black camera on a tripod. Opposite was a white pedestal with a red, white, and blue American flag hanging lifeless in the office.

Kimberly was the first to give her oath: “I swear to sexually service another Californian today. To my best ability, I will arouse him and stimulate him to orgasm. I believe in my duty of making this state better.” She held two fingers up high. Andrea flashed the camera to take evidence of the oath. The oath was a legal vehicle to imprison anyone getting second thoughts later and declining to have sexual intercourse with the designated person.

Betty was quick to jump up on the white pedestal. Her heavy boobs bounced. She lightly blushed as she belted out the words, emphasizing sex. She made fists and waved her outstretched arms left and right like a cheerleader. For the final, she jumped down into a squat and back up. As the camera flashed her, her fingers were in her mouth suggesting a blow job. She mumbled with her full mouth: “I am a patriot.”

Faheema was reluctant. She had followed up to here. She started inarticulately to scream ‘eeeeh aaaah.’ Andrea reached into the pant pocket of her loose pants. She got an orange prescription bottle out with a white cap. The label had Diazepam 20 mg written on it. Andrea tackled Faheema. The confused Faheema was no match to Andrea, who was twice her weight. The large hands of Andrea pushed down on Faheema’s mouth until Faheema swallowed. Andrea waited for an extra minute to make sure that Faheema had chewed and swallowed the Diazepam. Faheema sunk into the corner of the cubicle. Kimberly helped her pick up the items that had fallen out of her purse.

While the drug started taking effect on Faheema, Kristel got on the white pedestal. She tried to say everything correctly and follow the hand motions to seal the oath correctly. She stood there with her blue jeans and the pretty top. The top showed her décolleté. The décolleté was framed by blue ruffles. It had a little waste band under her boobs. Her Latin face looked cute that day. Her cheeks were full and her hair was done neatly. She was wearing special Frederick’s of Hollywood lingerie beneath to please the lucky man that she would be assigned to. Her lingerie was flesh colored with a pink heart and red trim covering her nipples and vagina. Thin black strap ran over her shoulder for the bra and around her hip for the panties. She was wearing turquoise blue high heel slippers with playful feathers over the strap that covered her foot. Her cute and moist feet were done with red toe polish.

Faheema was drowsy. She had to hold onto the flag to tell her oath. Andrea would tell her each word individually, because Faheema could not remember more than one word ahead. Her eyes shifted open, half closed, and closed. Andrea stomped her foot on the ground to get Faheema to lift her hand for the final oath photo. Andrea grabbed Faheema by the hand and dragged her to the meeting room behind her. The other three women followed them.

The meeting room was a converted break with a sink and white counter. The counter had a black pot of coffee. A woven wood basket had a white sheet and presented bagels and sweet bakery things. A neatly typed white page asked any intrigued person to put 50 cents in a paper cup for coffee and 75 cents for a bagel and so on. The five women sat in a circle with thinly upholstered chairs. Faheema was drooling out of her mouth and slowly wiping the drool stain on her clothes. Andrea welcomed them to their patriot duty. She promised that they could have fun as well. And, everything would be over sooner than they realized.

The first segment of the lecture explained how to turn on a man. Betty immediately leaped to her feet. She swung her straight leg semi high. She pushed her boobs together, so that the nipples almost kissed. The two boobs formed a tight slit. She turned around to show her behind to the class. She grabbed her ankles and started alternately squeezing her jiggling butt cheeks. Then, she looked at the class between her legs and gave a warm smile. She jumped around and slammed her groin with her hand. She held it there and smoothly drifted back to her seat. The overweight Andrea looked at Betty with disapproval.

Andrea continued her lecture. She stressed that taking off the clothes was a great opportunity to arouse the man. Do it slowly. Pull down a section of the clothes to let him peer without actually removing the clothing. Wiggle clothing off instead of taking it off efficiently. Put the man’s hands on the clothing to let him pull it down. Especially, opening bras works wonders, because men take a long time to open the bra hooks. That provides plenty of time for arousal. Betty bellowed “I am a patriot”. And, she pulled down her top to show her naked boobs for a moment.

Andrea continued to explain sexual positions. Missionary is basic and fine. Doggie style can sometimes be an extra turn on. Betty swirled standing on top of her chair. She squatted on the chair. She said proudly, “I love it from behind squatting, when he goes all crazy.” Andrea cut Betty off. “Okay, we know what she likes. Let’s share a bit of our sexual fantasies. This lets us warm up and open up to have a good time later. Kimberly, you go first.”

Kimberly explained that since she had kids, simply having peace and quiet was her biggest dream. However, when she did have sex with her husband, she liked being tied up. Once her arms were tight spread out to the door or she was tied into a neat bundle, she knew that she had no more obligations. She could simply relax and enjoy her husband going nuts on her. A blind fold sometimes added a special spice, because it kept her guessing, what happened next. That would heighten her senses. Andrea assured Kimberly that the office had ropes and blinds available on request.

Kristel was shy. She said that she would love to be caught naked in a hot steamy shower and have the man lick her up and down. The man would lick the soles of her feet. He would lick her inner thighs. He would lick her ass. He would lick her arm pits. He would lick her face. He would finally settle to lick her burning hot sex.

Faheema was still drooling semi conscious. Andrea snipped at her: “I guess she likes her first hard cock.”

Andrea rolled a portable white screen from the wall. It was a metal square with white fabric in between. She placed it in front of the counter. She put the coffee and bakery items on the floor. She rolled a little mat on the counter. “Kristel hop on here.” Kristel obeyed. She lay on her back with her butt at the edge of the counter. “Pants down.” Kirstel opened the fly of her jeans. She lowered the jeans to her thigh. Then she hugged her knees onto her chest. Her naked ass and pubic zone was exposed to Andrea. Andrea fingered around her clitoris and labia to check for any signs of disease. Andrea inserted a metal cold speculum into Kristel’s vagina. Kirstel’s nipples stiffened a bit. Andrea poked inside of her with a long cotton tipped applicator. “I am checking for dentata. Some government rebels like to hide dentate in their vagina. The common tape is the snap trap. A pressure plate will have two spring-loaded metal teeth byte into the penis. I would have set them off by now. The other device is a needle that injects pain inducing medication. I will have to flush your vagina to get any of those out.” Andrea raised a douche bag. The water seeped into and out of Kristel’s vagina. “You have a nice young and tight pussy.”

Betty hopped onto the counter next. Kristel could see her sneakers lurking out behind the white curtain, as Betty was holding her knees to her chest and spreading her legs. Betty squeaked occasionally as Andrea rough handled her for being so enthusiastic earlier.

Kimberly followed mechanically and slightly bored. Her black high heels were showing past the white screen. Andrea was working between them. The white screen had been bumped against and moved slightly. Kristel could catch glimpses of Kimberly’s vagina. A silver ring was pierced in the hood of her clitoris with a silver dolphin hanging from it. The vagina lips were a bit stretched from the childbirth.

Faheema was dragged onto the counter. Andrea ruffled through the layers of draped clothing until she called out: “Faheema is a virgin. Does anyone want to take a look?” Betty was the only one, who immediately bounced to Andrea’s side. Betty gushed, ‘wow, it is so shiny, thin, and white!’

After the exams, the women sat in the circle waiting for the blood results to clear them of STDs. Betty tried to chat up Kimberly: “So, how was your first service duty like? You are such a proud American for going the third time.” Kimberly looked down on Betty: “Honey, it is in and out. The parking garage has only three hours of free parking. We better be getting practical soon.”

Faheema softly leaned against Kristel. Faheema’s hands were tenderly placed on Kristel’s olive tanned forearm. Faheema snored mildly. Kirstel kept her feet under the chair leaning forward. She kept running her tongue over her lips and checking the lineup of her eye brows.

Finally, go time! The service room was sterile like a doctor’s office. They shared the same room. The room was divided with white translucent clothes dividers. Each stall had a green medical table with a wedge as a pillow. There were two chairs and a small table to get acquainted. Above the table was a board with lights. The first light was switched on. It showed the symbol for two hands shaking. Kristel neatly sat down on the chair facing the entrance to her stall. She folded her knees and poised her folded hands on her upper knee.

She smiled as the man in the bright orange jump suit entered. The jump suit was zipped down all the way to show a plain white t-shirt behind it. The man’s head was bald. He was large and strong. He seemed to be twice the size of Kristel. “Yo, my name’s Dagger. What’s up in this house?” Kristel send a bright welcome smile at the man standing large at the entrance. “I am Kristel.” She added with a little dip of her head, you are “half and half.” The deep voice asked, “Now, what’s that, sweetie.” Dagger laid one hand inside the palm of the other and took a broad stance. “That’s when you are half muscle and half fat.”

Dagger thought it over for a moment. Then, he walked like a mix of a sideways swinging cowboy and the speed of a steaming train towards Kristel. His broad hands grabbed her high at the upper arms. He lifted her off the chair and pressed her against the white wall behind the green medical table. Kristel’s heart was pounding. She felt scared. At the same time, she had this urge to submit and surrender. There was the idea that giving in would make her feel good and resolve her anxiety. Dagger seized her up with his face close to hers.

They both listened to the noises of the other stalls. Apparently, Faheema’s man was complaining about having gotten a frigid woman. Andrea was getting hands on pulling down the clothes of both the protesting man and Faheema. Betty was gushing at her man, how hot he was. The sound of her slapping various body parts of her own to turn the man on clearly came over. Kimberly’s low voice was making perfunctory small talk.

“You ain’t talking shit at me,” hissed Dagger. “I am yours,” melted Kristel. Dagger hugged her warmly. The enormous mass of his body enveloped Kristel. Kristel cried a couple tears of relief on his large pecs. She felt the well trained muscles of Dagger’s body. She felt the growing erection in his penis. She could smell the clean basic soap of the prison that he had lathered himself with. She wanted to be taken and possessed by Dagger.

The light above the wardrobe switched to the symbol of a coat. It was the hint to start taking off clothes. Betty immediately lurched into cheer leading cheers. The sound of her snapping waste bands and clothes flying softly against the screen walls was heard. Kimberly made slurping French kissing sounds. Dagger pulled himself out of the orange jump suit. His biceps were large. A tattoo with Japanese symbols was painted on them. He flexed them for Kristel, while he held his fist at his forehead. Then, he lifted his white t-shirt to show the bulges of his six pack abs. He meandered over to Kristel. Kristel slipped her small female fingers under the top of his drawers. She pulled them down. As she pulled the rubber band of his drawers over his penis, the erect member snapped up into the air. It was a full girth eight inch long beauty. She leaned her face almost against it, as she bent down to pull the drawers of Dagger’s feet.

Dagger picked up Kristel of the ground. He placed her on his hips. Kristel straddled him with her legs. He was so wide, like a whole playground hut by himself. Dagger lifted her top over her head. Her hair fell back down. Her Frederick of Hollywood bra looked gorgeous on her skin. Dagger’s large hand could cup one of her full boobs completely. He fumbled with her bra straps for a moment, before a flash of anger crossed his face. He ripped the whole bra of her body. She breathed in air sharply. A red line marked her skin on the opposite direction of the pool. The fabric had been strong. Kristel exhaled as this dangerous man was right at her skin. She would be here for a while longer, forced by the laws of the state of California.

The fear turned her on at the same time. She could feel her pussy getting wet. She could feel how the strong man’s body made her tremble down to her bones. It made her clutch him harder. Her arms were a quarter of his large biceps. She looked like pretty adornment on him. He let her slide to the ground. She pulled down her jeans. She pulled down her panties. He picked up her panties from the desk to smell them. She was split naked and exposed in front of the prison inmate with his large muscles and stout erection.

The light above the medical table switched to the outline of a sexy woman. It was the signal to start arousing each other. Betty was the loudest as she gave a gulping and sucking blow job. Kristel slowly danced away from Dagger. She raked her arms up into the air in a wave like motion. She leaned on the table and stuck her fanny out. She slapped the naked skin of her ass: “All of this is for you, Dagger.” Dagger came closer. She turned around. She pressed one hand flat against his chest. She twisted side to side as she squatted down. She pressed her boobs together to make them appear fuller. Dagger looked down on her. His large penis hovered in front of her face. He hissed: “Cut the crap.” She slowly got up running her hands up the back of his hamstrings. She had her fingers glide up between his bulging butt creeks. He pushed her on the medical table. His body was over her naked body. She tried to turn her body a bit sideways in a little last minute fear. He kissed her full lips. His lips and tongue were large. Her were like fine china, as small and delicate.

The light above the medical table turned to the symbol of male and female to signal the beginning of intercourse. Dagger’s penis thrust into her mound. He pushed deep. She felt like she was a sacrifice on a large tribal statue. Dagger was like a giant. She was like wax melting on him. She split her legs to straddle his thighs. The sweat of his chest and heavy breath bore down on her. Betty was apparently doing cow girl, because she was cheering like a cow girl. Andrea kept talking sternly to Faheema and her man. Kimberly yelled at her man to get hard.

Dagger rose of the medical table. His massive legs made a large stance. His penis was still inside of her. He grabbed the back of her knees. Her knees acted like a door hinge. He’d slap his body against her pelvis. She would swing up along his penis and come smashing back down right against his pelvis. She was like a little whale rider, sitting on him and riding. She looked deeply into his eyes that were starring straight, as he was taking in the pleasure. He pressed her hard against him, almost painfully as he came inside of her. His pelvis curved forward to penetrate her deeper. She hugged her naked boobs closer into his body. Her blood was curdling with an orgasm. Betty’s screams of ecstasy had her half turned on as well. Betty made her skin tingle with the deeply felt screams. Faheema was sobbing in a muffled way. Kimberly was urging her man still on.

The sign above the medical table switched to a suite case ushering them to pack up. Dagger pulled his clothes back on. Kristel was still dazed from the raw force that had run through her. As Dagger turned to leave, she stopped him. She reached into the crotch of his orange jump suit. She pulled his penis out and kissed the head of the penis good bye. She had read that it would create a nice memory for inmates to hold onto until the month for the next service visit was over.

Dagger left. Andrea peered into her stall and frowned on her for still peeing naked. Andrea threw the clothes from the table onto her naked body. She got dressed. Her boobs were sagging a bit deeper without the bra. Her nipples showed a little through her top. Betty immediately jumped to Kristel and hugged her in exuberance. Kimberly was careful to organize her hair and straighten out her makeup. Faheema had her clothes piled on her unevenly. Her right shin showed her naked leg. Faheema seemed relieved that it was over. Andrea stamped the woman’s wrist to recognize their service with a rubber stamp: “Serviced an American today.”

Kristel was glad that she did not have to go to work today. She walked along the government hallway. She looked at the metal and silver insignias along the walls – patriotic symbols and lists of important people. In between, little glass boxes had current postings for government workers. She replayed the feeling of Dagger entering her belly. She replied the curdling of her skin. She replied the feeling of such a large, strong, and angry man.

She came to a little opening to the side. It was a smoking terrace. A few green plants and chairs had been placed there. A thick railing ran around the outside. It was made of a concrete wall with a large sized metal black metal tube on top of it. Near the side of the railing was a man in a blue janitorial suit. He was tall. He was shuffling. His pelvis was moving. In front of him was Betty. She was looking outside down onto the traffic. Her leggings were pulled just beneath her chubby butt. The janitor was fucking her from behind. Betty was all happy shoving her body into the janitor’s pelvis with each of his thrusts. She was happy to get an extra chance to be patriotic. She looked at the people beneath her walking on the side walk. Kristel stood there for a moment imagining the sexual appetite and good feeling of having her pussy stimulated again. Betty turned around to get screwed from the front. She saw the bashful Kristel and cheerily waved at her like a separation of a ship leaving to cross the Atlantic. Kristel walked on.