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 "FOR WHAT WE ARE ABOUT TO RECEIVE....."

   by Schadenfreude

   My name is Cornelius Mpenza and I'm 25 years old, though after my recent
experience I feel as if I aged 15 years virtually overnight.  Let me start
at the beginning.  Despite my African name and very decidedly African
parentage I was born in the affluent area of Sutton in Surrey, England
where my father, Musale Mpenza and mother Hasina settled after leaving
Tanzania in the early seventies.  I guess some would call them 'economic
migrants' in modern parlance but I don't hear many complaints since my
father is a now world famous oncologist and my mother is a GP.  I suppose
you could say we grubbed along OK financially.

   Both my parents are deeply religious and from an early age I was
inducted into the local Methodist Church where my parents and I attended
the services weekly.  My family are stalwarts of the Church and have held
many a social on our lawns in order to raise funds for the Church
restoration fund.

   Three years before the time of which I write, our Church appointed as
Minister the Rev.  Henry Ashford a sandy haired, pleasant man in his mid
forties, together with his wife Marian - surprisingly attractive (one
always expects vicars wives to be dowdy) with an infectious smile, dark
hair and big blue eyes.  She was nearly ten years younger than her husband.
They were full of bright new ideas and were all for doing much more for
Christians abroad, particularly the religious schools in Africa.  Of course
my parents were all for this and helped as much as they could with fund
raising and such.

   In every walk of life where people congregate and interact there is a
driving force,a galvaniser of energy and direction who ensures that
enthusiasm never flags.  In our case it was Henrietta Copeland-Smythe,
widow of Sir Henry Copeland-Smythe, a local industrialist, and daughter of
Brigadier Sir Arthur Wainwright,soldier of the Crown.  Henrietta, or
'Hetty' to her friends, was a classic daughter of the Empire, bombastic,
bullying, decisive and endearing in turn.  She had spent her childhood in
what was then British Tanganyika where her father was serving.  She was the
ideal pillar on whom Henry and Marian Ashford were glad to lean whenever
there was any 'strong-arming' to be done in raising funds or finding
volunteers to staff fetes etc.  She was in her sixties, but you'd never
guess from the youthful energy she put into her work.

   Anyway two years into the Ashford's Ministry we had raised a splendid
sum of nearly £20,000 and, at the end of the Sunday Service, The Rev. 
Ashford proudly announced the figure from the pulpit and then went on to
outline where the money would go, much to the Church fund but it had agreed
that £10,000 would go towards our Church's sponsored mission in Tanzania.

   It was at this point that Hetty Copeland-Smythe kicked off the big idea.
"Reverend," she said "Would it not be an excellent idea to send
representatives to Ngona to hand the cheque over personally?  It would be a
wonderful gesture of friendship and we could report back on the state of
the Church school and show some video footage on our return."

   I smiled for the 'we' made it clear that no way would Hetty be left out
of such a journey to the country where she had spent her childhood but the
idea was warmly received and, at a meeting after the service, it was agreed
that four people would make the trip.  Hetty of course would be one, Marian
Ashford would go as her husband's representative as Henry, it appeared was
scared of flying, the third, to her nervous delight, was to be Dorothy
Clark our Church organist for the last ten years in recognition of her
sterling work and the fourth, to my amazement, was me.  Dorothy was a
pleasant enough woman, of average looks, an only child who at 38 had been
looking after her widowed mother for 15 years.  To say she was sheltered is
an understatement and we were astonished that she accepted the invitation,
having never been further than Weymouth with her mother in her life.

   Under normal circumstances the prospect of ten days in Africa with an
elderly widow, the vicar's wife and a spinster organist would not have been
my idea of fun but I recognised the honour for my parents to be one of
those chosen to go back to the family homeland and to spend time in a
different cultural environment.

   So plans were made with the Church school and we were to be welcomed the
next month.  We would fly to Dar-Es-Salaam and there pick up a Range Rover
for hire and drive westwards across the plains and the huge National Park
to Ngona.  Although it was a long drive there were chalets in the national
park for an overnight stay, clearly a relief to the three women that we
would not be 'roughing it'.  I had a Commission in the Territorial Army and
had driven a Range Rover through difficult terrain as part of my training
so I was the ideal choice as driver, though it did strike me as slightly
amusing that here we were going back to modern Tanzania with three middle
class white women and a black 'chauffeur'.

   As the time approached I began to get quite enthusiastic, particularly
as I would have the close company of the lovely Marian Ashford for nearly
two weeks.  I had taken quite a shine to her, despite the difference in our
ages, though of course I was careful not to give this away.  Still....  ten
days away on a passionate hot continent, I fantasised, then laughed at my
own puerile stupidity.  Little did I know what would transpire!

   At last the day of departure arrived and it seemed most of the Church
turned up at Heathrow Airport to see us off.  My parents gave me a parting
hug while the Rev.  Ashford gripped his wife in a kind of bear hug which I
assume passed for an embrace in their household.  I wondered idly if this
was how he grabbed her in bed and whether she had ever been properly
sensually touched by a man.  Henrietta arrived in a chauffeur driven Rolls
Royce and, while everyone was staring anxiously at their watches, Dorothy
and her mother finally arrived ten minutes late for check-in, full of
apologies but it appeared Dorothy had suffered an attack of nerves just
prior to leaving the house and they'd had to cancel the taxi and call
another.  Her mother fussed and flapped about her daughter's air sickness
pills, diahorroea tablets and anti malaria spray until I felt quite
nauseous myself.

   Eventually we got through boarding and onto the plane whereupon Dorothy
had another attack of nerves and wanted to get off.  She was persuaded,
amid some duress it must be said, to stay put then she took a couple of
tablets which seemed to calm her nerves.  Unfortunately I had her sitting
next to me having drawn the short straw.  At last we got airborne and as
the plane rose in the air, dipped and circled the airport, Dorothy threw up
in my lap and burst into tears.

   The remainder of the flight was uneventful, for Dorothy dropped off to
sleep thankfully for most of the journey and we arrived in Dar-Es-Salaam
just after dawn.  After collecting our luggage I went for a much needed
wash and a change of clothes in the airport washroom before we headed off
to the car hire office to collect the Range Rover.  Everyone piled in to
the SUV and, after taking a deep breath and consulting the map I set off to
navigate our way out of the capital and off westwards toward the plains and
the main road towards Lake Ngomba.

   I drove out of the city relatively easily at that time of the morning
and for the first time that day I was really happy.  The sun had started to
come up, we were here in Africa and I was out of the city traffic and into
the real native Tanzanian landscape.  Oh did I forget to mention, I had
Marian Ashford sitting beside me too.  I kept stealing sidelong glances as
she closed her eyes and laid her head on the headrest, my eyes stealing
down the length of her body.  She had chosen a light summer blouse beneath
which I could see her pale bra, and tight jeans which showed off her legs
beautifully.  I started to develop a rather pressing strain at the front of
my jeans and decided desperately to concentrate on the road ahead.

   Dorothy seemed to have calmed down a lot and was actually starting to
enjoy the experience it seemed from the excited chatter in the back while
Hetty seemed to be listening patiently.  We had gone some twenty miles or
so when Dorothy asked if I could stop when we reached a suitably wooded
area.  There was no need to ask why of course and so, as soon as we reached
a clump of trees I dutifully pulled over.  Dorothy, looking slightly pink
in the face, trotted across the road and some way into the trees.  Before
long there was a loud shriek which had us all out of the vehicle.  "Dorothy
are you all right?" Marian shouted and, after a brief pause, there was a
nervous shout in response.  "Y-Yes I'm sorry.  I felt something climbing up
my thigh!"

   Hetty rolled her eyes and looked to the heavens.  "I suppose there's a
first time for everything!" she muttered dryly and Marian looked at her and
burst out laughing.  For the first time as her eyes sparkled and her teeth
shone in a glorious smile, I saw the young girl within Marian Ashford and I
swear I fell in love with her at that moment.

   "Hetty you're an awful woman!" she said in mock reproof as Dorothy
stumbled back from behind the trees, her face pink with embarrassment.

   We drove on along the dusty Tanzanian roads, some wet from recent
flooding and I was lucky to average 30mph for much of the journey and with
necessary natural function stops and snack breaks, we had been on the road
for nearly eight hours and already the night was drawing in and we were
still nearly 100 miles away from our chalet stop.

   Then disaster struck.  We reached a river crossing and found that the
bridge had been destroyed in recent flooding.  There was no way to cross
and I banged my hand on the dashboard in frustration.  To my added
annoyance the two way radio in the Range Rover, designed to communicate
with the hire company in the event of breakdown on these lonely roads, was
not working and there was, of course, no signal at all from our cell
phones. I switched on the interior light and studied the map carefully.

   It was then I made what turned out to be a fateful choice.  "We can do
one of two things," I announced, "go all the way back to Morogoro township
and try and find accomodation, but thats nearly eighty miles in the wrong
direction, or I can take this small track through the Highlands and work
our way round to the next river crossing.  I don't know what the road is
like but I'm prepared to gamble if that's OK with you ladies."

   There was general assent and I turned the vehicle around and headed back
towards the junction I had seen on the map.  It proved to be a narrow dirt
road just wide enough for the car and I prayed that we would meet no other
vehicles on the road.  I drove on for maybe 5 or 6 miles the path suddenly
darkening as the forest closed in, large trees now overhanging the road,
making the path very dark so I switched on the headlights.

   "I'm getting scared," muttered Dorothy from the back seat and I was none
too happy myself - with good cause as it transpired.

   As the vehicle rounded a bend I gave a gasp and slammed on the brakes as
hard as I could.  The women screamed in sudden fright and we all stared at
a group of bushmen,dressed only in loincloths, their black skins glistening
in the headlights who stood, bows primed with arrows all pointed at the
Range Rover.

   Dorothy started screaming and Hetty had to put her hand over the woman's
mouth and talk to her gently to try and quieten her down.  There was no
doubt of Hetty's grit in the face of fear and I was glad of her presence.

   "Oh God," whispered Marian beside me, "Maybe we can negotiate to get
through!"

   I said nothing but watched as four of the men continued to block the
road, their bows aimed aggressively, while the other two advanced, bows
pointed, towards the vehicle.  I didn't know what to do but I sat tight and
realised the windows were open.  Before I could determine what to do, the
two men, their faces and chests daubed in paint adding a terrifying
dimension to their appearance, had reached the vehicle and were staring in
at the occupants.  I had thought in a moment of wild desperation of putting
my foot on the gas and just driving over them but we were on a Christian
mission and the fall out from deliberately killing some natives was too
awful to contemplate.

   "Shuka!" the one shouted at us and gestured with his thunbs.  I had
learned some Swahili from my parents although I didn't speak it fluently
but I knew what that meant.

   "He is telling us to get out of the vehicle," I said with as much
courage as I could muster and Marian gasped beside me.  Hetty took a deep
breath and Dorothy began to wail hysterically.

   The man leaned into the vehicle and screamed "Tulia!  Tulia!"

   Swallowing hard I turned to Dorothy and said 'Please try and calm down.
You are making him angry."

   With an effort her wails turned to whimpers and under the harsh
directives we all got out of the Range Rover and stood in a frightened
huddle in the road.  To my surprise and horror, one of the men who had
blocked the road came forward and leapt into the driving seat, proving that
not all modern life had passed them by, as he expertly put the vehicle in
gear and drove it off up the dirt track and out of sight.

   Dorothy began to wail once more until the bushman who had stared into
the car grabbed her by the neck of her blouse and screamed at her again and
she clammed up in terror, her eyes wide and her mouth dribbling saliva.

   I could see that Marian's face was pale in the half light but she
managed to put on a brave face as we were all pushed and cajoled along the
road until we reached a small jungle track.  We were manhandled onto the
track and walked in front of our captors for some half a mile or so until
we heard the sounds of chanting and saw the fires of the bushmen's camp.

   Dorothy paused and began to whimper again but she was pushed forward
none too gently by her guard who snarled something incompehensible but his
meaning was clear.  We stumbled along the jungle path, pushed and prodded
by our captors as the chanting and the sound of drums got louder.  Finally
we emerged into a clearing and there we saw the ring of maybe thirty or
forty mud huts.  I could see Marian's face,almost white with fear now, as
we were herded towards the tribal camp.  As we were pushed and prodded
through the ring of huts so women and small children emerged to gape
open-mouthed at these strangers in their midst.

   As we were pushed through the vilage I could see the camp fires burning
closer and brighter and, eventually,we reached the clearing where an
incredible sight met our eyes.  Thirty or forty fierce looking warriors,
naked but for loin cloths and armed with bows and arrows stood around maybe
a dozen fires, arranged in a circle, chanting and waving their bows in the
air.  Behind them, squatting on the ground were a dozen men beating out the
rhythm on heavy drums.  In the middle of the crowd was one large chair
occupied by a wizened elderly man, clearly the chieftain, the only native
wearing any kind of costume, a shawl clearly made of tiger skin.  He
carried a staff in his one bony hand and gazed approvingly at the
proceedings within the circle where six young men, all about seventeen or
eighteen, wearing crowns of buffalo horns and naked but for a small loin
cloth danced around the circle each stepping onto each small fire,
apparently impervious to any pain, for a matter of seconds before moving
on, their hips moving sensuously, to the next.  They were obviously high on
some kind of drug for their eyes rolled, nostrils quivered and their lips
gaped in a rictus smile as they chanted and danced their way around this
ring of fire.

   "W-What's happening?" I heard Marian mutter nervously and Hetty
whispered, "It's some kind of rites of passage thing, I think.  They seem
to be blooding their young warriors into manhood or something."

   At that moment, the tribal chieftain turned his head towards us and
raised his staff aloft.  "Zima!" he shouted and immediately the drums
ceased and the young men stopped their dancing.

   I swallowed hard, Dorothy gurgled and Marian said 'Oh God" quietly as
Hetty held her hand.

   All pairs of native eyes turned towards us as the old man got to his
feet and, with some difficulty and using his staff as a crutch, slowly
walked over to where we stood, trembling in fright.  He was accompanied by
a dozen of his warriors and, at a sign, two men were assigned to each of us
to grab our arms.

   The old man, his wizened face cracked into an awful smile of broken
teeth, stood in front of the terrified Marian, reached up and cupped his
bony hand over her breast as she recoiled in shock.

   "Stop that!" she shouted, tears welling up in her eyes, and I tried to
wriggle free of my captors to help her but of course the effort was in
vain. It was Hetty who was the voice of sanity in a crisis as always.

   "Marian, don't antagonise them," she said between gritted teeth. 
"Whatever happens we must stay alive.  Whatever we have to do -" She got no
further as one of her guards wrenched her head back and shouted "Tulia,
tulia!" which by now we knew meant 'Shut up!'

   The chief, his face like thunder, smacked Marian's face hard then as she
choked back a sob, her pale cheek reddening fast, the old man continued the
palpation of her breasts as I swore helplessly under my breath.  He seized
her hand and saw the wedding ring on her finger, then grinned that crooked
grin and muttered "Oleka".  To Marian's horror, the old man put cupped his
hand between her legs and began to trace his bony finger along the crotch
of her jeans.

   "Zema tomba!" he said and the warriors around him grinned and chuckled.

   He turned away to his men and Marian whispered "What did he say?"

   Hetty, her face pale, muttered "He says you are a married woman and will
be a -" she paused not translating literally "- good bed partner."

   "Oh Christ help us!" Marian cried fearfully, her teeth chattering as the
old man turned his attention to Hetty but not for long.  His hand roamed
across her ample bosom as her face flushed and she tried with all her might
to refrain from a reaction but she reddened in anger as the old man turned
away and muttered "Sinyaa zee kuma" which even my sparse knowledge of my
parents native tongue knew to mean 'wrinkled old cunt'

   He moved on to Dorothy who stood, apparently beyond wailing now, her
face a picture of paralysed shock.  He massaged the plump organist's large
breasts over her dress as her eyes widened in terror and she simply stood,
teeth chattering, as the old man's hands massaged her bosom.  He looked at
the reaction on her face and suddenly seized her hand and stared at the
ring finger, devoid of any adornment.

   To the shock of all of us, the old man suddenly put his bony hand under
Dorothy's long cotton dress and, as she gasped in alarm, we all heard a
ripping noise and Dorothy's white knickers descended in a pool of torn
cotton around her ankles.  She cried out and struggled in vain as the
chief's bony fingers again disappeared under her dress and she began to
weep and writhe in shame and discomfort.

   I was ashamed and humiliated for I could do nothing to help and,
surrounded by a bunch of hostile natives, I was too frightened to even
protest

   "Kizinda!" he shouted in triumph as he withdrew his finger and the tribe
roared its approval.  Dorothy had proved to be a prize indeed - she was a
virgin.

   He shouted a command and immediately I was seized by three or four of
the tribesmen,my hands and feet tied with rope and I was laid down on the
ground at the edge of the clearing where the fire dance was still in
progress, helpless as I watched the three women led away towards the
nearest hut where maybe a dozen tribal women stood waiting, their teeth
gleaming in what appeared to be anticipation.  I sat there and writhed in
my bonds until my companions were hustled out of sight.  I could feel the
tears of helpless rage and fear at the back of my eyes.  I had no idea what
would happen to us and no clue whether we would get out of this alive.  I
feared for my companions, all the more so when, some ten minutes after they
had been led away, I heard an unearthly shriek emanating from the hut where
the women had been taken.

   Some time later three long straw mats were brought out by some of the
natives and placed in the clearing, surrounded by the circle of fires and
the drums began to accelerate in pace and volume, the six young men in the
clearing now ceased their running around the fires and instead stood side
by side in front of the three mats.  Their rippling chests were thrust out
and they seemed to be mouthing some kind of an incantation.  Something
important was obviously about to happen and my heart beat faster and my
stomach churned.  The warriors began to chant and then suddenly, out of the
darkness and into the circle of fires stepped the most frightening spectre
I have ever seen.  His head was covered in a lion mask and he wore a belt
studded with animal teeth.  His loin cloth was covered in animal skins and
he sashayed into the circle, his arms waving in the air, loud
unintelligible chants coming from his mouth.

   He swayed towards each of the young men in turn and, reaching into the
bag on his belt, he pulled out some kind of bread pancake which he broke
and gave each of the young men a portion.  It seemed to be filled with some
kind of pourree'd leaves and herbs and each of the men took the piece and
ate it.  The witch doctor, for such I assumed him to be, began to chant and
the warriors around the circle began to chant in unison, waving their bows
and spears in the air as the drum beats increased in speed and intensity.

   I looked at the six young men, virtually boys, who stood in line by the
mats.  Their eyes had begun to glaze and roll around in their heads, their
bodies trembled and a sheen of perspiration stood out on their strong
rippling chests.  I looked on in amazement as the fronts of their
loincloths began to tent to a quite remarkable degree and it was clear that
whatever had been in the bread was a mighty powerful aphrodisiac, and now,
having no doubt what was to become of my female companions, I began to weep
in despair.  The witch doctor howled some kind of mantra and, without
further ado, took a knife from his belt and cut through the cloths around
the waists of the boys, ripping the material away as the crowd of warriors
cheered and chanted.  Six young men stood naked, their erect penises
glistening by the lights of the fire, hard as iron and just waiting to be
satisfied.

   The warriors at the edge of the circle cleared a path almost reverently
and I stared in horror, crying out in anger and distress, as the three
women, completely naked, were pushed towards the clearing.  They had all
been covered in a sheen of glistening body oil and all three were
completely shaved around the genitals.  I stared at them in shock for,
despite the predicament we were in, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the
sight in front of my eyes.  Dorothy, freed from her shapeless clothing, was
a revelation.  Her skin was as white as milk, she had full pendulous
breasts, a slight belt of fat around her middle and broad hips but naked
she was almost beautiful.  Around Dorothy's clearly exposed vulva there
were smears of blood.  I assumed her hymen had been ruptured and that this
action had prompted the shriek I heard earlier.

   Hetty too was astonishing.  I had never looked beyond that business like
exterior before but here, in front of me, stood this elderly woman, her
skin slightly tanned, her breasts just showing a slight trace of sag but
full and firm.  Her stomach was flat and there was hardly a trace of fat
anywhere on her body.  Her legs were strong and shapely just a hint of
varicose veins on the thighs.  The outer lips of her vagina were very
pronounced and swollen, almost obscenely drawing attention to her sex.

   Then finally there was Marian.  She stood, tall and proud, her beautiful
face seemingly oblivious to what was happening around her, oblivious to the
crowd and to her nudity.  Her medium sized breasts were beautifully round
and firm with the most incredible nipples I have ever seen.  Maybe they had
been orally stimulated but they stood out like stalks.  Her belly was flat
and firm and for some ludicrous reason I recalled that she had once said
she was unable to bear children.  I stared hard as she swayed gently on her
shapely legs and my eyes travelled to the junction of her thighs, to her
cunt, the lips almost hidden, the slit small and tightly closed.  Suddenly
to my shame, staring at this beautiful woman naked in front of me and
knowing her immediate fate, I developed an erection that nearly burst
through my trousers.

   The women seemed almost ludicrously calm and serene, their eyes slighly
glazed, and it was clear that they had been drugged in some way.  I shouted
out 'No!!' in a helpless and pathetic attempt to stop the inevitable but I
don't think the women even heard me, and I got a kick from one of the
native guards for my pains.  They were pushed towards the mats where the
six young men stood, hard penises jutting out like lances, and without fuss
they lay down on their backs and spread their legs wide apart.

   I knew they were under the control of some powerful hypnotic drug but I
became irrationally angry, particularly seeing my beloved Marian, so sweet
and unsullied, lying there stark naked, her nipples swollen and erect and
with her opened legs towards me I could see the blood red lips of her cunt,
her clitoris now standing proud, for the drug was now clearly having its
sexually stimulating effect.  I started to swear at the three women under
my breath.  Why weren't they fighting for their honour?  Why were they
lying there waiting to be used like cheap whores?  Of course I knew the
answer.  They had no choice - but it wasn't an answer I wanted to hear. 
How could they shame me like this?  Lying there naked with me unable to
offer any help or to stop what was going to happen?  They had taken away my
manhood and I hated them!

   The drums began again and as the chief, sitting on his throne, raised a
hand so the witch doctor again passed what looked like some kind of smoking
weed under the noses of the six boys who stood , now two to each of the
recumbent women lying waiting on the mats.  There was a roar from the crowd
and immediately the first three boys walked forward, knelt down and
immediately got on top of the women as the drums increased and the sounds
of the warriors roaring and chanting grew to a crescendo.

   I began to cry in helpless, impotent rage as I saw three sets of jet
black buttocks heaving up and down as the boys thrust in and out of the
women and, what was worse, no cries of anguish or distress just moans and
sighs which grew into squeals of pleasure as the intensity of the fucking
increased.  To my horror, I watched Marian's legs scissor wider, and as the
warriors laughed and roared, she wrappped her legs around her rapist's back
as he thrust his cock into her with ever deeper firmer strokes. 
Eventually, one by one, the boys gave a giant roar, their heads went back
and they finished inside the women with a giant shuddering climax.  As each
finished he rose and turned toward the crowd, his arms aloft in triumph,
his penis still dripping semen.  I stared in horror at Marian as her rapist
rose and celebrated and those almost virginal tight lips were gaping, and a
grey-white gooey mess was dribbling from the swollen slit.  Exactly the
same nauseating picture was presented by the other two women, their cunts
gaping obscenely and sperm dribbling from the swollen crack.

   The second boy in each row then took his place and the horror show
started all over again until he too was sated.  I was beyond disgust by
this time and my stomach close to discharging its contents, the drumming
and the chanting continuing for a few minutes before the chief stood and
raised both arms aloft.  At his signal half a dozen warriors walked into
the circle, lifted the three women gently to their feet and helped them out
of the circle and back to the hut.  Two of the men walked over to where I
lay and, at first I whimpered, fearing that they would do me harm, but I
was lifted up and gently carried to another of the huts where I was lain
down on a mat.

   I was shivering and shaking with fright, disgust and shock when the soft
straw entrance of the hut was pushed aside and I heard soft, feminine
giggling.  Two young African beauties, no older than seventeen or eighteen,
wearing absolutely nothing but the smallest loin cloths stood staring down
at me.  One knelt down and stroked my hair while the other busied herself
untying my bonds.  My over-riding feeling was one of profound relief for it
was apparent that I was not about to be killed, or at least not straight
away, and I surrendered myself to their ministrations.  They were smiling
and happy and, despite my anger and disgust, I couldnt resist smiling back.
The girl stroking my hair began to unbutton my shirt while her companion
began to gently unfasten my trousers.  I began to swallow hard for my penis
again began to react.  The young girls noticed and again began to giggle.
My shirt and trousers were off and now the one young girl began to pull
down my underpants.  I closed my eyes as my naked penis reared up in the
cool air but immediately it was enclosed by two soft warm lips as the girl
began to suck me very gently.

   My sexual experience was very limited and I had never in my life had a
'blow-job'.  I would have been too embarrassed to suggest such a thing to
any girl in the circles in which my family moved but it was a fantasy I had
long played out in my mind.  Here, in the most bizarre circumstances, a
young beautiful African girl was pandering to my darkest fantasies and
giving me an experience so exquisite that I thought I might pass out. 
Meanwhile her companion was kissing and sucking my chest, taking the
nipples into her mouth and working an erotic magic the like of which I had
never realised could exist.

   I managed to control myself for some minutes but eventually my ardent
companion moved from her position at my head to join her friend.  As her
companion raised my shaft, still nestling in her mouth, so the other girl
began to kiss and lick my balls.  The combined effect of their
ministrations was such that I cried out, jerked and heaved, then,
completely out of control my cock spewed its bubbling load into the girl's
mouth and she swallowed it down without demur.  Sated and exhausted I lay
back on the mat as one girl got up and walked out of the hut only to return
shortly with a bucket of warm water and a cloth.

   They proceeded to wash me very thoroughly front and back, finally
rubbing some sweet smelling oil into my skin making sure that they
minsistered to every square inch.  Then, when they were done and I was
floating on a sea of sexual delirium , they fed me a kind of spicy gruel
and unleavened bread,then gently covered me with a blanket.  Whatever was
in the gruel I don't know but, despite my shocked nerves and everything
that had happened, I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

   When I awoke the sun was streaming through the entrance to the hut and I
felt wonderful.  So invigorated and alive yet soon the memories of the
previous evening flooded back and I wondered in panic what had happened to
my three companions.  Just then one of the young girls came into the hut,
smiled sweetly at me and, again washed me from head to foot before allowing
me to dress.  There were no warriors to guard me and the atmosphere seemed
to have changed altogether from the intensity of the previous night.  She
beckoned to me to step out of the hut with her and I did so, finding to my
surprise that Marian, Hetty and Dorothy were standing in the clearing they
had occupied so shamefully the previous evening, but dressed in white robes
which covered them from neck to feet.

   The tribsemen were gathered round the circle as before but now there was
a different feeling in the air.  They were kneeling as in supplication to
the three women who were garlanded with flowers and festooned with gifts.
The women looked stunned, shocked and bewildered - as was I - but I heard
Hetty talking in faltering Swahili to the chief who had abandoned his
throne and was also kneeling in front of them.  He replied in reverent
tones and I caught the words "ninyi nyote kwa muungu" and, once more basic
though my knowledge of Swahili was, I understood he was saying that the
women were all a gift from God.  I realised that the tribe thought that our
arrival had been ordained by God in order to play a fundamental part in
their ceremony and that the women were now being revered and feted.

   What had led to this transformation after our violent introduction I had
no idea but I hopes and prayed that their mood, which seemed to be
volatile, would remain friendly.  I wanted to rush into the circle and ask
how my friends were but I sensed that such a move would not help our
situation.  It was clear that the women were now in charge of our destiny
and I had to rely on Hetty's knowledge of the language and her skilful
powers of persuasion to get us out of here.

   We all looked at each other, embarrassed and unspeaking, the
circumstances of the previous evening so horrific and bizarre but here we
were in a surreal situation of having to smile and talk with our defilers.
Eventually the chief clapped his hands and young women appeared with
baskets of bread and fruit.  For all that had happened I was ravenous with
hunger and ate everything put before me.

   Eventually the chief escorted Hetty, Marian and Dorothy back to the hut
where they spent the night, from whence they re-emerged some 15 minutes
later dressed in their own clothes.  When the chief, all smiles, beckoned
us to follow two of his warriors down the jungle track, I realised for the
first time that they intended to let us go.  Didbelieveing, we walked down
the track and turned into a clearing where, joy beyond measure, the Range
Rover was parked, the keys still in the ignition.  Our cases, undisturbed,
were still in the back of the vehicle and the two warriors, bowing
reverently, ushered us in to the vehicle, then knelt on the ground as, with
nervous fingers I turned the key.

   Slowly I turned the Range Rover round and began to edge it down the
jungle track towards the main dust highway, every so often scraping the
gears in my state of nervous excitement to be so unexpectedly freed.  I
last saw the tribesmen kneeling in supplication as I rounded the bend and
finally reached the main highway we had so dramatically departed the night
before.

   Hetty was in the front seat beside me and I heard Marian and Dorothy
weeping softly in the back seat.  I wanted to ask them how they were but
somehow a wall of shame and embarrassment had come between all of us and
for some time there was nothing but silence as we drove on through the heat
of the day.

   It couldn't last, of course, and eventually I noticed that the petrol
gauge was dipping towards empty.  We had brought spare cans of fuel from
Dar-es-Salaam and I announced, I suppose almost with gritted teeth, that I
would have to stop and fill up.

   "No, no!" Marian squealed, "Please don't stop!  Keep going.  Get us out
of here!" but Hetty turned to her and said gently, "Marian, he has to stop,
dear.  Don't worry, it's all over now!"

   I pulled over and opened the rear of the vehicle and realised Hetty was
standing beside me.

   "Cornelius," she said quietly, "we will all have to talk about this, you
know.  We can't go on like this."

   "I know," I said, desperately trying to keep the tears from my eyes, "I
don't know what to say or do.  I couldn't protect you, save you.  How do I
-"

   She put her hand on my arm.  "It is not your fault," she said, " not in
any way.  There was nothing you could do."

   I squeezed her hand, grateful for her strength.  "How do you cope with
this?" I asked her.  "You are so strong!"

   It was then that the old Hetty who could make a grim jest out of the
most appalling circumstances, emerged.  "Well I was high on that stuff they
gave us to eat and almost unaware of everything around me - except of
course for that giant schlong sticking in my face.  Well my hubby's been
dead for fifteen years now so what does a girl do in those circumstances? I
just remembered the harvest prayer and told myself 'For what we are about
to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful'"

   Despite myself I looked at her in rapt admiration and burst out
laughing. The other two turned around in shock to see Hetty and me holding
each other and laughing until the tears rolled down our faces.  Suddenly
all the tension was gone and Dorothy and Marian, thought they were unaware
of what had been said, captured the mood and soon all four of us were
crying and laughing, laughing and crying in a neurotic hysterical relief.

   The journey was much improved after that and we decided to head straight
for Ngona, despite it being a long drive.  We'd had one unscheduled
overnight stop of course and all the women wanted to get to our destination
as quickly as possible.

   Hetty, as ever, was the forthright and blunt one, never one to shy away
from a problem and she raised it almost as soon as we hit the road once
more.

   "Ladies," she said quietly, "we have all had an extremely traumatic
experience but I think, although it goes against the grain, we should keep
quiet about it."

   I was astonished but kept my own counsel.  It was for them to decide.

   Dorothy was at first horrified.  "We HAVE to make a complaint, Hetty! 
We've all been raped.  We can't keep that quiet!"

   "Yes we can and we must," Hetty replied.  "We are not in London now, or
even in a civilised part of Tanzania.  We are three women travelling with
one young man through tribal homelands.  Many would say such a journey is
foolhardy.  How long do you think it will take for our claims to be
examined by the authorities?  How embarrassing do you think this will be
for the government?  Any investigation will take months if not years and
they will not want trouble with the tribal homelands.  How much sympathy
and co-operation do you think we will get?  What about the effects of this
on our mission?  Marian, what will your husband think?  Is it worth all the
distress and heartache for the small return we will get?  I doubt, being
virgins, if those boys had any diseases and Marian, you are unable to bear
children which is a blessing in this situation.  I, of course, am too old.
Its Dorothy we need to worry about."

   Marian, her voice cracking, spoke up quietly.  "You are right, Hetty. 
My husband would be shocked and horrified and would somehow feel it was his
fault, not being here.  I would rather we said nothing but I will leave the
decision to Dorothy."

   Dorothy sat still, contemplating, and I suddenly realised the change
that had come over the once timid and shy church organist.  She seemed
suddenly, in adversity, to have become a woman of the world, all her
previous hesitancy and nervous mannerisms no longer in evidence.

   "I have been raped," she said quietly, "and I have to accept that
changes me for ever.  I am tempted to demand revenge, justice and so on. 
But I am a Christian and one of the things I must do is forgive those
people.  They have their own rules and beliefs in which they genuinely seem
to believe we were sent to fulfil.  What would happen to my mother if she
found out about this I dread to think.  Therefore I agree with Hetty too.
We must say nothing.  "

   I was astonished and for the first time I spoke.  I must have sounded
very emotional.

   "This is my fault," I said bitterly.  "Had I not decided to take an
unknown road to try and make up time none of this would have happened. 
None of your shame, the..."I realised my voice was cracking.

   "Cornelius, none of this is your fault," Marian said softly.  "We took a
vote and we all agreed.  No one could have forseen that.  You must not
blame yourself." The other two promptly agreed.

   I was unable to speak and just drove on, the mood quiet and subdued
until eventually some 6 hours later we reached the settlement at Ngona.

   Of course the staff were delighted to see us and so were all the
children, rushing to the Range Rover with bunches of flowers and hugging
the three women with delight.  Of course they wanted to know what kind of
journey we'd had and was the overnight accomodation acceptable.  We looked
at each other and for a split second I thought Marian or Dorothy would
crack, their faces paled and just a hint of tears appeared in Marian's eyes
but Hetty quickly took charge as ever and sensibly decided not to tell a
story that could be checked.

   "Afraid not," she said, "we had to rough it, sleeping in the Car.  Damn
river bridge was down and it was that or going all the way back to
Morogoro."

   There were great expressions of sympathy at this, then members of the
staff took our bags and ushered us into the residential area of the
compound where we were shown our rooms and told to sleep for as long as we
wished.

   I crashed out on my bed, feeling as if I hadn't slept in a month and,
after what turned out to be 10 hours later, I awoke to find the sun
streaming through my windows.  What was worse I woke with a raging hard on,
the thought of the three women naked and then being fucked in that tribal
ceremony having constantly haunted my dreams.  I decided to go and clean
and service the Range Rover to try and forget these shameful visions so
quickly I washed and dressed,went downstairs to the compound and soon
located an outside tap and a hosepipe.

   While I was doing this I suddenly felt a warm hand on my arm and I
turned to find Marian dressed only in a robe and sandals standing beside
me.

   "I heard someone up and about," she said softly, "and I thought I'd take
the air."

   I smiled as best I could and returned to my labours with a heavy heart.

   "Cornelius," she said, her voice quiet and serious, "you won't talk to
me.  It's like there was a barrier between us.  Are you blaming me for what
-"

   "No," I said hastily, "it's not that at all.  It wasn't your fault.  I
just feel so helpless, that I let you all down, I-"

   She put her arm gently through mine and hugged me to her.  We had never
been this close and my throat dried up.

   "Then stop it.  You were helpless too.  How could you fight a tribe? 
Please, Cornelius, don't torture yourself like this!"

   Then I said it.  Whether it was the sun, the proximity of Marian, my
raging hard on -who knows - but I lost my reason at that point and just
blurted it out.

   "I wish that was all it was, Marian..." I stuttered and she looked me in
the eye, her beautiful face a picture of concern.

   "Then what, Cornelius?" she said softly.

   "When those boys were..were doing it to you...." I must have gabbled and
stuttered like a schoolboy "...I-I hated them because I wanted to be in
their place!"

   No sooner had I said it than I wished I had bitten my tongue off. 
Marian released her arm from mine, looked at me full in the face but
without any anger, and suddenly blushed to the roots of her hair.  Her
mouth opened half in shock and she just fluttered her hands in a 'Don't say
another word' gesture then turned on her heel and walked back to her room.
I called after her but she didn't halt her stride and I sat down by the
vehicle with my head in my hands, wondering about my sanity.

   The rest of that day seemed to pass in a blur.  Whether the others
noticed any strain between Marian and me I don't know but I felt as if the
Berlin wall had come down between us as Marian seemed to avoid my eye all
day.  We were taken on a tour of the compound, met many of the children who
were resident at the school and who lived in huts on the edge of the
compound, then we were taken on a local sight seeing tour in the school's
camper van.  It was wonderful to be treated so well but I was conscious of
the strange situation with Marian.  She didn't seem angry with me, just
stunned and awkward, unable to sustain a normal animated conversation.

   For the next three days we were treated like royalty.  We all went to
hear the children singing at a church service, we sat in on their lessons
and, between the formal events we were taken on a wonderful trip to
Serengeti.  I'm sure we all would have loved the experience as fresh
tourists who had just flown in but there were three women who had suffered
a dreadful experience about which they could say nothing, and me who had
been forced to watch.  We must have seemed tired and listless but our hosts
put it down to travel tiredness.  Compounding our problems, certainly for
me, was the ill advised and stupid comment I had passed to Marian.  There
seemed to be a wall betweeen us now.  She was reluctant to get into
conversation with me and during walkabouts on tour she seemed to want to
link arms with the other two 'girls', leaving me shambling along behind in
the company only of our guides.  In the evenings she would share supper in
a show of animation, then disappear to her room, not to be seen again until
breakfast

   On the last day of our tour we had least had the good news that our
hosts had chartered a small plane to fly us back to Dar-es-Salaam, thus
sparing us the tedious and risky journey back by road.  That last afternoon
was spent handing out prizes to a group of children whose happy, smiling
faces almost made me forget my own miseries.

   We had a late supper and I went to bed around midnight after sharing
some local wine with my hosts.  The women had retired for bed earlier and
Marian's mood during supper had seemed, if anything, even more strange. 
She had looked across at me a couple of times, flushed red, and then
resumed an over enthusiastic conversation with the others.

   I lay in bed, angry with myself for my stupid recklessness, knowing I
had ruined a beautiful friendship.  I lay on my side, tears in my eyes as I
tried to sleep.  I heard the handle of my door turn almost imperceptibly
and my heart almost stopped.  My first thought was thieves and I rolled
over and sat up in shock, then my eyes widened and my mouth dropped open.
There in the doorway stood Marian, dressed only in a bathrobe, but not for
long.  She closed the door softly and, by the light of the lamp outside my
window I watched her slip off the robe and stand naked before me.

   She moved toward my bed and put her fingers to my lips.  "God forgive me
for this," she whispered and got into bed beside me.  I didn't speak,
couldn't speak, just lay back and moaned as she slipped the sheet down the
bed, slithered down and began to suck my cock very gently until it rose and
throbbed in her mouth.  Eventually when it was so hard I thought it would
burst, Marian eased her body on top of mine and eased herself down onto my
cock and began fucking me.  I couldn't believe this was the lovely demure
vicar's wife who had begun this journey for here was a red blooded, and
obviously experienced, woman who was satisfying my every desire.  Her body
rose and fell atop my own and her breasts, nipples flushed with arousal,
swayed invitingly in front of my face.  I lifted my head and took a nipple
in my mouth as she sighed and moaned then with a long shuddering moan I
came inside her as she bucked and cried, our climaxes almost as one as she
flopped down on top of my sweating body, then she rolled over and lay down
beside me, her arm across my chest.

   "We must never speak of this, Cornelius," she whispered softly and I
couldn't answer, just lay beside her, the warmth of her body relaxing me
into a state of almost trance and soon I fell asleep.

   When I awoke I reached out for her body but there was no one there.  At
first I thought it had all been a dream but her scent was everywhere and
the smell of her on me was so distinct that there could be no mistake.

   I looked out of the window and she was standing alone in the courtyard,
seemingly lost in thought.  I showered and dressed then went downstairs to
join her.  She saw me approach but said nothing and made no movement
towards me.  I tried to put my hand in hers but she pulled it away.

   "No, Cornelius," she said softly, but firmly, "What happened last night
must never happen again and we must not speak of it.  How I live with
everything that I have done this week I have to sort out for myself." Then
she turned and walked back towards the reception centre leaving me alone
and on the verge of tears.

   Now, 12 months on from that fateful journey, I am sitting in church with
a heavy heart for so much has happened since then.  I am half listening to
the new Minister, for not long after we returned it was announced that Rev
Henry Ashford and his wife would be leaving the parish and returning to a
ministry up north for 'family reasons'.  I always wondered if she got round
to telling him anything that had happened on that trip.  Dorothy, just a
couple of months after our return, announced that she was leaving the post
for a while to accompany her ageing mother on a lengthy holiday and would
be gone for some months.  When she returned, just a month or so ago, she
was proudly carrying a little black baby she had 'adopted'.

   Hetty, of course, is still the driving force behind the Church and, if
anything, has become even more energised.  Her African experience, far from
ruining her life, seems to have put a new spring in her step and a glint in
her eye.  She has become far more tactile too, gripping my arm, squeezing
my waist and even, on one occasion, gently pinching my bottom during a
meeting.

   Now she has asked me to go round tomorrow to help her with some
gardening.  I suspect, having seen the glint in her eye, that any seeding
and planting involved will be with the lady herself.  But let's face it,
I've seen her naked and she's a nice bit of stuff for her age.  Anyway as
she said herself after our African trauma, 'for what we are about to
receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful'.