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Archive name: granny.txt (MF)
Authors name: Ximenes (address withheld by request)
Story title : Granny and the Tree House

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Granny and the Tree House (MF)
by Ximenes (address withheld by request)

***

"A Gap Year experience you won't forget," said the 
brochure. "Face new challenges, meet new people, find 
yourself in the tropics, and at the same time know that 
you're doing something to help those in the world who 
aren't as fortunate as you." They weren't joking, 
either.

***

It's not the age, it's the attitude...

This story is dedicated to all those British teenagers 
who spend part of their Gap Years doing altruistic work 
in developing countries. They are the salt of the earth 
and unsung heroes of the world. As are also those men 
and women who plan, organise and supervise our Gap 
students both in Britain and in the field. This story 
is for you. Gentlemen, this could be you!

PROLOGUE

It had rained for days and days. The soil was full of 
moisture, and the torrents of water falling from low, 
grey clouds simply ran over the surface of the earth 
and into the streams. Global warming? El Ni¤o? Who 
could tell! 

I had come out from England to escape grey, rainy days, 
but they seemed to be following me. Here, along 
tributaries of the mighty Limpopo river in Africa I was 
supposed to be checking up on the most vulnerable 
settlements, those closest to the rivers, and dropping 
off emergency supplies or evacuating villagers to 
higher ground for the duration of the floods.

But here every house was at risk, and there wasn't any 
safe high ground to be found. The entire surface of the 
earth seemed to be awash and on the move. The rivers 
were treacherous - chocolate brown, foamy, and in 
midstream moving at a brisk jogging pace. The elderly 
outboard on our RIB (rubber inflatable boat) was having 
a hard job to make headway upstream.

The Aid agency had given us a route to follow each day, 
and a boatload of food and blankets to distribute. We 
had radios to keep in touch with our base, but in these 
low lying districts communication was poor. As often as 
not we were out of touch and on our own. "We" was 
myself and my Mo‡ambiquan interpreter and guide Jonas. 

To begin with, the work was all I had dreamed it might 
be - exotic, exciting and altruistic. We were welcomed 
everywhere we went, and by dropping off medical 
supplies and ferrying ill or injured villages to the 
clinic at Chokw‚ we had the glow of performing a useful 
humanitarian function. Heady stuff for a nineteen year 
old on his "gap year" before University.

But it had rained for days and days. The exotic had 
become commonplace, the exciting was now humdrum and 
our job was becoming increasingly dangerous. The rivers 
were full of uprooted trees, sheets of corrugated iron 
off destroyed buildings, and lumps of wood with 
protruding nails in them. Any of these would slash our 
fragile boat on contact. At best we would be stranded; 
at worst we would be swept away in the current and 
drowned.

The Agency we worked for was on the point of suspending 
our little flotilla of boats, saying that conditions 
were too dangerous for its volunteers. We were very 
reluctant to stop operating, because we knew that the 
situation of many villages was even more perilous than 
our own. Besides, if something's dangerous it's also 
exciting. We were all afraid of having to sit around, 
bored, until it decided to stop raining.

It was mid afternoon and we were on one of our last 
stops. A small hut stood prominent at the junction of a 
side stream with the main river. Normally it would have 
been ten feet or so above high water level, and the 
side stream would have been a small trickle. Now, 
however, the main river was almost level with the top 
of the bank, and the side stream was much too deep and 
fast flowing to wade or swim through. The hut, with 
palm thatch walls and corrugated iron roof, looked 
pathetically inadequate to withstand any further rise 
in water level.

In the hut was a man, his sick wife, her mother, and a 
young girl of about ten or so. A scrawny guard dog 
yapped frantically as we carefully nosed our way to the 
bank. Half a dozen hens scuttled about trying to avoid 
humans and find some shelter from the deluge.

The woman had a fever and seemed very weak. Jonas 
shinned up a large tree growing next to the house, and 
with this extra height he managed to make radio contact 
with base. After describing the woman's condition and 
the precarious state of the house, we were told to 
ferry the family to the base clinic. This was about two 
hours upstream in normal conditions. In the raging 
flood we knew our boat wouldn't make it against the 
current with everyone on board.

Being young and foolish I immediately offered to stay 
behind, and told Jonas to take the husband and wife. He 
would return later for me and the other two people. 
This was strictly against our rules, and we both knew 
it would be virtually dark before he could arrive back 
at base. There was an absolute ban on travelling on the 
river by night, even in normal conditions. In this 
weather it would have been suicidal. But the woman's 
condition was alarming and we made our decision to 
split up.

All our RIBs carried an emergency pack which included 
lightweight tent, food, fresh water can and so on. I 
took out the food and water, and we used the tent to 
make a shelter over the RIB to protect the patient from 
the worst of the rain. 

While this was happening Jonas was also explaining to 
the man that we would leave his mother in law and 
daughter in my care until a return journey could be 
made. The child was very tearful at being left with a 
white stranger, and as the RIB spluttered slowly 
upstream round a corner in the river we all realised 
how deserted and vulnerable we had become. 

Jonas had kept the radio, so I was completely out of 
contact with anyone. I could speak neither Portuguese 
nor the local tribal languages, so the only way I could 
communicate with my two charges was by gesture.

I already knew the chances of being picked up that day 
were slim; the sun would set at 6.00 and darkness would 
fall very quickly in these Equatorial parts. There was 
just a chance that Jonas would see or make contact with 
another RIB and divert them to where I was, but it was 
a long shot.

CHAPTER 2

So, as evening drew on, I took stock of my situation. 
It had stopped raining for the time being, but storm 
clouds were piled up in all directions, deep indigo 
against the sun, and we were in a temporary respite 
from the deluge.

The highest point on the land around the hut was only a 
couple of feet above river level. If the river rose 
during the night, we would be in real trouble. As well 
as the big tree which Jonas had climbed, there was 
another sizeable one close by, and it might be possible 
to lay some of the hut's roof beams between the two 
trees and make a "tree house" safe above the waves. It 
would be flimsy, especially if the wind got up, but at 
least it was worth a try. The inside of the hut was 
smelly, dark and muddy. It would soon be alive with 
mosquitoes, too. It seemed more inviting to risk life 
in the trees than endure a night in a midden.

Now, I challenge any of you readers to try to explain 
to a ten year old and a fifty-something, in sign 
language, that you want to demolish their house to make 
a shelter in the trees, and that you expect them to 
climb into the trees to sleep! The child liked the idea 
but didn't know what to do; the old lady understood 
what was intended but didn't agree. 

After several attempts to be diplomatic, patient and 
all the things we were told to be on our orientation 
course, I lost my cool and started ripping the roof 
apart. The hut came apart easily enough, though not 
without gashing me on sharp bits of corrugated iron. It 
was probably just as well I didn't understand what the 
other two were saying to me!

As I expected, the little girl was nimble and agile up 
the tree, and in no time at all we had a deck of 
timbers and corrugated iron, about ten feet long by 
five feet wide, strung between the trees. We cut some 
small branches and tied them to make a frame, and the 
old woman gathered palm leaves from the forest floor 
and plaited them together to give us a section about 
three feet by six feet which would give us reasonable 
shelter from the rain. This all took us less than an 
hour, but it was all we managed to get done before 
dark.

As if on cue, the light went, the rain resumed, and 
every mozzie in Africa came whining towards us. We 
hadn't eaten, and despite being on the Equator we felt 
cold as well as wet and miserable. I scrambled all my 
possessions into the tree house, and congratulated 
myself for my foresight in remembering to take my 
mozzie net out of the RIB. I had my torch at the ready 
to signal our position if a boat arrived during the 
night (no chance, I knew, but when you're in this 
situation you don't always behave rationally).

The little girl brought a blanket from the hut and 
climbed up with me in our tree house. She wrapped 
herself, fully clothed, in the blanket, knelt down and 
said her prayers. Then she kissed me good night on my 
cheek as if I was her father, lay down, turned away 
from me, and closed her eyes to sleep. It was so 
innocent and charming it disarmed me completely. 

Of course it had occurred to me that she might sleep 
with me, even though she was miles too young: every day 
we heard stories of such liaisons in the bar at Base. 
But this girl's simple actions of trust and routine had 
put her into the "little sister" category and off 
limits as much as if there was a squad of heavies 
watching over her. 

It was just what my own sister had done not so may 
years before, and although this sounds daft it made me 
feel not randy, but acutely homesick. What the hell was 
I doing here in the wilds of Africa, at considerable 
risk to myself, in the name of "adventure"?

Then the fun really started. I shinned back down the 
tree to collect granny and help her up to the shelter. 
Except there was no way - NO WAY - she was going to go. 
She had arranged the remnants of the demolished hut 
around her into a sort of circular den, which she was 
sharing with the dog and a couple of hens bold enough 
to risk the canine's teeth. 

My language skills were not up to telling her that she 
was in danger, or a stubborn old fool, and I was 
soaked, cold and famished. The dog bared its teeth and 
growled at me with a "come on, son and I'll take yer 
fingers off" look. So I left Granny to it and went back 
up the tree. 

I rummaged in my stuff and dined on an energy bar. 
Forget all the adverts - high energy bars taste crap 
even when you're starving in the jungle! And bloody 
Jonas would have had a nice hot meal and shower and a 
beer and be relaxing at Base. The girl was asleep 
already, and I settled as best I could for what I knew 
was going to be a long and arduous night.

I dozed fitfully. The water sounded awfully close, and 
every now and then I woke with a start and shone the 
torch down to see where the water was. The rain was 
falling steadily, but at least there wasn't a lot of 
wind. On the other hand our hasty thatch was lacking in 
finesse and water was dripping through in so many 
places that neither the girl nor I could stretch out so 
as to avoid the wet.

CHAPTER 3

At some point during the night all hell broke loose. I 
woke up - I'm not sure what woke me because, God knows, 
I was tired enough. It might have been the last 
desperate squawk of a chicken being swept away, or 
frantic yelps from the dog: at some point granny had 
tied it to a tree to guard her (who from, for God's 
sake!) and now it was straining to keep its head above 
water. 

As soon as I came to I knew things had changed for the 
worse. It was still raining. But the sound of the water 
was different. The lower notes were deeper and much, 
much louder, and the top notes were quieter. Shining 
the torch down I saw that the water had risen so as to 
be at the level of granny's den, and entering it. 

There was no island with a hut any more; there was 
granny's den like the conning tower of a submarine 
emerging from the water, and our trees rising from the 
water like a pair of bridge supports. Our island was 
gone. If our tree house went we were done for! The 
whole structure was vibrating in time to eddies and 
currents in the swirling tide.

As I watched, granny emerged from the hut. It was 
obvious she was in a bad way - she was staggering and 
looked as if she was about to walk into the river. I 
was down that tree so fast I skinned a wrist and didn't 
even realise. Granny was totally soaked and in shock. 
She was shivering uncontrollably. Her blankets were 
totally wet through. She would have to come up in the 
tree house, but how to get her up there? She hadn't 
seemed capable in the afternoon, and no way could she 
manage it now.

When I was a Boy Scout at school we were taught a 
carrying position called a "fireman's lift" which we 
thought was hilarious at the time because you had to 
slide your hand through somebody's legs to lift them 
onto your shoulders. A fireman's lift was the only way 
I would be able to get granny into the tree. But do you 
think I could remember how to do it? Arm between the 
legs was easy; the difficult bit was how to drape the 
torso around your shoulders without knackering your 
back. 

{So, readers, picture the scene. It's small hours of 
the night during an Equatorial rainstorm. A young man 
is floundering in mud in his bare feet, soaking wet, 
trying to wind an incoherent and uncooperative old lady 
around his shoulders. 

Just when I succeed I realised I've forgotten the dog. 
I don't want it in the tree with us. I don't trust it 
and feel sure it will try to take a toe or finger off 
when I sleep. So I undo its leash and let it take its 
chances in the flood. In seconds the dark form of the 
dog is lost in the night.

I heave granny onto my shoulders again, move towards 
the tree, and promptly drop the torch into the waters, 
now ankle deep. Instinctively I let granny go with a 
splash into the flood and lunge for the torch. I find 
it, but now it won't work. Bloody wonderful. 

Sod's law decrees that any minute now a squadron of 
rescue helicopters will fly over and miss us because I 
can't signal them. I'm being eaten alive by mozzies, 
and every now and then something crawls, slithers or 
rolls over my feet and my hair stands on end as I wait 
for something fatal to bite or sting me.}

Granny's fall had focussed her a little, so for a third 
time I pulled her onto my back and set about trying to 
climb the tree.

At this point I discovered that wet tree trunks are 
slippery. And wet, muddy legs and feet are more 
slippery. And a dead weight on your shoulders means you 
need arms like Tarzan to haul yourself up a tree. And 
Tarzan's genes somehow eluded my parents. And now my 
skinned wrist was hurting like hell. 

The first few feet were the hardest. I hauled, pushed, 
pulled, and manhandled us up to the tree house deck. 
Trying to get her onto the deck was the hardest. I 
probably broke all the rules about handling casualties 
with dignity as I pushed and prodded every bit of her 
body that seemed convenient. 

When I finally levered myself onto the deck I just felt 
as if I wanted to die. (In the following days I found I 
had a mass of bruises on every limb). Now the deck was 
giving ominously with the weight of three of us. The 
girl had rolled into the centre and if the two adults 
were not careful we would capsize into the river. (I 
thought of what I would write in my account to the Gap 
year placing service. OK, they'd promised "adventure" 
but this was taking things to the extreme!)

I suppose the logical thing would have been to leave 
the girl in the middle and put granny and myself on 
each side of her. But, of course, that's not what 
happened. Granny was shivering uncontrollably. She was 
clearly very frightened and not totally aware of where 
she was. 

I thought she might roll off the side of the platform. 
So I gently moved the girl over to her original 
position. I would sleep in the centre, to balance the 
weight, and granny on the outside. The girl would get 
drips on her feet, me on my shoulders and granny - on 
her face. Blast it! That wouldn't do. I was too 
confused to look for something to plug the leak. 

Then I remembered that, on a Mountain Rescue course I 
attended in the 6th form at school, we had been taught 
that if someone was at risk of hypothermia they could 
be put in a sleeping bag with a "normal" person. 
("Normal", in this situation, is very relative as 
readers will have already worked out!)

But granny's clothes were heavy as well as sodden. 
They'd never dry out during the night, and we'd both 
risk exposure. So I started hauling off her clothes in 
the pitch dark. Now don't start thinking this was an 
erotic awakening. For a start you couldn't see your 
hand in front of your face. I only knew where she was 
because I wasn't letting her go. 

Next, I didn't know how many layers of clothes she had 
and how they came off. Then, for someone so addled a 
few minutes ago, she suddenly came to herself and 
assumed I was trying to rape her and yelled and 
struggled like fury so that I thought the platform 
would come down. 

She lashed out in all directions, walloped me across 
the bridge of my nose, but did serious damage to the 
thatch of the shelter. Oh, by the way, the rain had 
stopped now, very suddenly, and through the new holes 
in our thatch we could see the occasional star. But the 
drips continued from the roof, and our new ventilation 
holes had made us mozzie banquec.

Granny's yells woke up the girl. She cried and howled 
in sympathy but at least she didn't go for me or 
destroy the shelter. I yelled at her to shut up. Bad 
move - she yelled all the louder.

All this time granny was fighting and struggling and 
eventually one of the beams supporting the tree house 
moved. Only a few centimetres but it felt as though we 
were about to drop into the river. The girl screamed. 
Granny froze. I froze, too, until I knew the damage was 
not fatal. Suddenly I was so pissed off with granny 
that I slapped her hard across her cheek and bellowed 
at her. 

She collapsed in a whimpering heap beside me. Quickly, 
before she had time for second thoughts, I removed the 
rest of her saturated clothes and tried to wedge them 
into the worst holes in the roof. (Would have made a 
wonderful sight for a rescue helicopter in the morning 
- granny's faded green knickers poking through the 
roof). I stuffed her into the sleeping bag and with 
great difficulty squeezed in next to her. (If they 
intend you to use sleeping bags to rescue people in 
this way, why the hell don't they make the bags big 
enough to fit two people?).

She lay on her back, her sobs and whimpers subsiding 
while she waited for me to make a move on her. I lay on 
my side, cushioning her head with my arm. The girl, 
too, went quiet and granny said soothing things to get 
her back asleep. Granny had evidently decided I would 
assault her as soon as the girl was asleep. She lay 
tense and unyielding. My arm under her head had gone to 
sleep and I was acutely uncomfortable. 

It was still several hours before dawn. I was so angry 
with everyone and everything. My heart was pounding. 
I'd rescued these two people from almost certain 
drowning and now I'd probably be arrested for attempted 
rape and spend all my adult life rotting in a 
Mo‡ambiquan jail. Life was SO UNFAIR.

Long minutes passed. We were at a stalemate. I had 
stopped granny shivering and we were both beginning to 
get warm. When I couldn't stand the discomfort any more 
I removed my arm, and, keeping my hands outside the 
sleeping bag, manoeuvred her round so we were curled up 
like spoons, me behind her. At last this seemed to 
convince her I wasn't about to pounce on her, and we 
both relaxed into sleep.

CHAPTER 4

"Dawn came up like thunder" goes the saying. What it 
doesn't say is that if you're stuck up in a tree, and 
there's a thunderstorm right overhead, you're shitting 
bricks and certain you'll fry in the next strike.

When the storm had passed without us ending up flash-
fried, we felt it time to get up. Spend a penny, find 
something to eat, wash - that sort of thing. Granny had 
been awake for a long time, and as long as I kept my 
hands outside the sleeping bag she seemed relaxed and 
comfortable. All very gentlemanly, but my hands and 
arms were mosaics of mozzie bites.

The girl was awake, looking out from the shelter and 
than back at us with a peculiar, vacant expression.

I started to unzip the sleeping bag. Granny grabbed by 
arm and gestured to me to get her clothes. I pointed to 
them, wedged into the roof. No matter, she wanted her 
clothes. I held the nearest part of her dress and 
tugged hard. The ball of soggy clothes landed on top of 
us. So did numerous insects. So did a small brown 
snake. Furious at being disturbed, it set its head back 
to strike. Granny and the girl screamed in unison. 

I hadn't a clue what snake it was - to me all snakes 
are vile and probably fatal. I recoiled away from it, 
fast. The decking of the tree house lurched again, 
setting the reptile off balance. As it tried to recover 
and strike at us there was yet another lurch and the 
snake was tipped off the deck, whipping furiously as it 
fell to the water. 

We'd had another near miss. Funnily enough, Granny 
suddenly became less interested in putting her clothes 
on; she wrapped herself in the sleeping bag and waited 
for me to do something.

Now I'd realised that our island was under water, and I 
assumed the flood would have peaked at a foot or so. 
But when I looked out from the decking the sight took 
my breath away. The water was half way up our tree - 
the lowest branches had been submerged. All trace of 
the side stream had gone. 

The Limpopo extended as far as we could see on BOTH 
sides of us. It felt as though we were stranded in 
midstream. There was no sign of life. Brown water, 
flecked with foam, and trees. Plenty of bird life but 
no animals.

It all called for a reappraisal of our situation, which 
was even more serious than I'd thought. There wasn't a 
hope of a RIB getting through this water. Its speed and 
power were enormous - many magnitudes greater than the 
previous day. After the storm the day was steamy so 
that visibility kept growing and fading as banks of 
mist swirled across the landscape. That ruled out 
helicopters. In short - we were stuck here 
indefinitely. At least Base knew where we were - but 
there was doubt as to whether they'd be able to find us 
in this changed geography.

Some of my kit - clothes, and a few pieces of food - 
had been knocked off the platform during the night. All 
we had was a bottle of water, a handful of energy bars 
and some fruit. Not much between three people for an 
indefinite period. There was no way we could climb down 
the tree and look for food on the ground. Granny was 
looking at me with a "you got us into this mess, now 
you can get us out of it," look.

I didn't know what to do - I felt close to tears. I 
wanted to wake up and find it had all been a dream or 
that rescue would come charging round the next bend in 
the river. Fat chance.

At this point the little girl started sobbing. For two 
pins I'd have chucked her off the platform and granny 
with her. But no, I got a bad attack of the big, 
protective older brother stuff. I wrapped my arms round 
her and said soothing things. She couldn't understand a 
word I was saying (just as well, because they were all 
lies, like "don't worry, we're just about the get 
rescued any minute now.") but she seemed reassured and 
brightened up.

The first problem was how to have a morning pee from 
the platform without embarrassing the women. The deck 
was tilting at quite a rakish angle and there was 
nowhere private to go. But when you're bursting, I 
discovered that all your scruples leave you. I dropped 
my shorts (I was now naked) and let fly as best I could 
over the side of the deck, making my contribution to 
the floodwaters about to devastate Chokw‚. When I 
turned round Granny was supporting the girl who was 
leaning out over the side to add her own quota, too.

That left Granny herself, who still hadn't quite got 
out of my sleeping bag. I gestured to her that I would 
support her weight if she leant out from the deck. 
There was a long pause, then, reluctantly, she pulled 
herself out of the bag and squatted on the safest 
looking edge of our planks, naked and acutely self 
conscious. I held her arm and braced to take her weight 
if necessary, with my other arm round her shoulders. 
She was so self conscious it took her ages to perform, 
but having done that, she let me pull her up and to me. 
To my surprise she put her arms around me and hugged me 
and smiled as she talked. At last, I'd been accepted.

As you can imagine, being young and inexperienced, I 
had an enormous boner within milliseconds. Naked adult 
women had never been a feature of my social life 
before; I grew up in the kind of family where the sight 
of anything more than a breast on TV would get someone 
reaching for the zap button. Granny could feel my 
shorts tenting out into her belly. 

I'm sure that's what brought on the smile! She gently 
disengaged and carefully rummaged through her clothes, 
shaking out every item in case any further nasties 
lurked inside. She covered her bottom half but not her 
top, and my boner stayed long enough and hard enough to 
use as a crowbar. 

After a few minutes Granny realised that I was 
embarrassed at my condition, and especially at what the 
little girl would say, so she distracted the girl and 
moved out of my line of sight. I stared out over the 
waters like a ship's figurehead (and bowsprit!) until 
my hormones stopped raging as much as the floodwater 
below.

We dined off an energy bar and sips of luke warm water. 
Big deal. "Water, water everywhere and ne'er a drop to 
drink" Studying "A" level Eng Lit was no doubt good for 
the soul but it didn't do anything to keep you alive in 
this situation.

But first things first. I decided our platform needed 
re-building, because it looked likely we would be stuck 
there for at least another night. The floods didn't 
show any sign of receding yet. Granny gabbled at the 
little girl who shinned further up the tree and came 
back with several branches. She had absolutely no fear 
of heights and was completely at home up in the leafy 
canopy. 

After several trips we had enough wood to painstakingly 
shore up our platform. One of the beams from the hut 
roof had broken, but it took ages to carefully move the 
other wood around and brace it without losing any of 
our precious things overboard. I was sweating buckets 
by the time we'd finished. 

And at that point it started raining again. Our stuff, 
which had pretty well dried during the morning, was 
about to get soaked again. Granny yelled at the girl, 
who took off up the tree as if it were a flight of 
steps. She descended a few minutes later festooned with 
leaves, like a "green man". 

She and Granny wove these leaves at lightning speed, 
and just about the same time that all our things were 
wet through again, they not only completely sealed the 
thatch from the previous night, they even extended it. 
If we weren't so hungry, things would be looking good. 
We even had a thatched funnel of leaves to catch rain 
water and replenish our all but exhausted bottle. Of 
course, by the time we got the things set up to work, 
the rain diminished to a drizzle. Oh well, it's the 
thought that counts!

The girl climbed up into the higher branches and 
played, trying to get wild birds to come to her, and 
making models of them with twigs and leaves. Granny and 
I had nothing to do but wait for rescue or dry land, 
whichever arrived first. I sat down and motioned granny 
to sit next to me. She did, and I put my arm round her. 
I lay back on the deck, and she snuggled up next to me. 
We could hear the girl chattering to the birds, out of 
sight among the canopy of leaves which dappled us with 
shade and kept off the worst of the sun's heat.

For the first time, I had a hard look at Granny as a 
woman. I knew she was relatively short, only coming up 
to me chin in height, but lying down on bumpy 
corrugated iron covered only in a thin blanket, height 
wasn't a problem. She had a thin, sinewy-looking face, 
deeply lined and wrinkled by the sun, and with a very 
prominent jaw and mouth. Her hair was getting sparse 
but had lost none of its lustrous blackness. Chestnut 
brown eyes looked warily at me above high cheekbones, 
and although she had lost some teeth the rest were 
white and healthy looking. 

It was impossible to guess her age from her face, and 
even with my youth and inexperience I realised that hot 
sun and hard, outdoor work would have aged her 
prematurely. I traced with a finger the lines of her 
face and jaw before moving down to her bare chest and 
torso. Her whole body was wiry and fit looking; not an 
ounce of wasted flesh (in contrast to my padded torso). 

Her breasts had lost the fight against gravity. The top 
half was thin, developing wrinkles and unappealing, but 
the bottom parts of each still swelled out into globes, 
taut and welcoming, and as I reached her areolas and 
nipples they hardened and rose into my exploring 
fingers. Definitely not centrefold material, but these 
tits were here in total reality and I was being 
welcomed to make use of them! 

Up till now she had been a passive partner, but when I 
stopped at her breasts and made love to them Granny 
tentatively began to investigate my body. We kissed, 
hesitantly at first, then more firmly. At that point 
she ceased to be an object to be done to; she became a 
partner to work with (but I was too young to realise 
such a fine philosophical idea. I was desperate to get 
my rocks away and this woman looked a likely 
prospect!).

Once again I had a raging hard on and my shorts were 
tented to the point of pain. Granny laughed at my 
discomfort. So I flipped my shorts down to my knees and 
kicked them off before resuming my exploration of 
Granny's top. I kissed her gently to show her I wasn't 
about to jump her. She kissed back, then reached down 
and undid a drawstring on her skirt. It was a very 
clear invitation and permission to go further. I gently 
pulled her skirt aside, raising up on an elbow to gain 
access.

Her belly and loins were like those of a much younger 
woman - rounded and inviting, and not at all sunken or 
shrivelled. Her thighs were lean and well muscled. Her 
pubic hair was untrimmed, but much more sparse than I 
had expected. As I gently explored my way downwards, I 
was parting tight spirals of hair with coffee-coloured 
skin underneath. Finally, her vagina protruded well 
below the line of her groin so that I could fill my 
cupped hand with her pudenda.

Meanwhile she had investigated as far south as my pubes 
but stopped short of making contact with my penis. I 
put her hand on my tool to show it was OK to proceed, 
and she wasted no time getting to know every millimetre 
of me while I in turn cupped and probed her entrance.

She gradually loosened up, and my tool was jumping as 
if it had a life of its own. We were kissing and 
embracing, oblivious to anything around us. The she 
swung herself over me, crouched on her haunches, and 
carefully put the head of my penis into her. 

I was terrified I'd come before we'd got it together, 
so I closed my eyes and tried to think of whether I was 
supposed to be doing any of this (our rules in the Aid 
Agency were strict and explicit). But after a few more 
seconds of making sure she was lubricated, I felt 
paradise descending on me as Granny lowered herself 
fully home. 

I tried to hold on as long as I could, honestly I did, 
but it had been a long time since my last fuck and 
Granny was clearly coping with all my size. So as I 
felt my own floodwaters of life rising I held on to her 
for dear life and groaned as I spurted again and again 
into her welcoming bowl. 

We lay back, spent, on the decking and wrapped arms 
around each other and dozed contently in the heat until 
the girl came down and surprised us, naked, sticky and 
content.

CHAPTER 5

We finished off the last remnants of our food and were 
still hungry, a nauseous hunger which produced total 
lethargy. All we felt able to do was lie down and try 
to find a position where the gnawing from our bellies 
felt less painful.

In mid-afternoon I was dragged out of my reverie by the 
sound of an engine. A helicopter. It came closer, 
moving slowly, and I was convinced it was looking for 
us. Granny wasn't impressed, and made taking-photos 
gestures with her hands. If I'd had matches I would 
have set fire to our hut to show our position. But good 
job I didn't! She was right. The helicopter drifted 
overhead, and as I waved frantically at the crew 
watching from an open door, I could clearly see the 
outline of a TV camera silhouetted against the sky. 

The bastards! Why couldn't they have dropped us food or 
winched us up or done something useful? And I hoped 
they wouldn't be able to use the pictures they had 
taken - the western public wouldn't want to see a stark 
naked European standing in a tree with two Africans. 
And, as I've already said, Tarzan and I don't share the 
same gene pool so there'd be no scoop about a jungle 
boy.

To think you are about to be rescued, and then have 
your hopes dashed, is totally demoralising. We just 
about managed to drape the sleeping bag and our 
blankets into the sunny bits of the platform to dry, 
and then spent the rest of the day sitting or lying 
listlessly. The girl was by now becoming very 
distressed, and she spent most of the afternoon in 
Granny's arms for comfort.

As darkness closed I realised we would, indeed, have to 
spend a second night in the tree. We organised our 
bedding, just as it began to pour with rain yet again. 
The girl started her prayers routine again. This time 
we all joined in - we'd need a bit of divine 
intervention to get out of here alive! She tucked up 
into her blanket, still whimpering with hunger.

Granny and I arranged the sleeping bag to give us as 
much room as possible. I had recovered from our 
lovemaking earlier in the day and was ready for more. 
But I hadn't been able to get any - the girl had 
monopolised the older woman's attention, and Granny had 
covered herself up to discourage me.

Now, as I slipped off my shorts and squeezed in to the 
bag after Granny, I could feel her legs bare against 
mine. And as I adjusted the top of the bag to protect 
our shoulders from any stray mozzies, she pulled my 
arms inside it and put them around her. A few judicious 
wriggles and her top came off, too, and I spread her 
clothes under us to cushion our sharp bones against the 
corrugated iron. 

We were immediately busy with each other, hands 
exploring and tongues kissing and tasting. She tasted 
salty, and her body smell had an extra note of 
woodsmoke which wasn't unappealing. I flooded my 
fingers with saliva and reached down to open her and 
help lubricate her entrance. As I turned and mounted 
her she lifted and spread her legs as widely as the 
sleeping bag would allow. 

Entry was difficult and painful for her - she was too 
dry and we were trying to make as little commotion as 
possible because the girl was only fitfully asleep. She 
winced hard and gasped in pain as I found the mark and 
thrust inside her lips. Once inside, though, she 
lubricated and relaxed. 

As I wound up to another climax she taught me how to 
move inside her, first with slow deep thrusts to her 
core, then with fast, shallow little pushes just inside 
her entrance. I found a breast with my mouth and 
suckled her as I felt my pressure building up. As me 
penis swelled even further at the point of coming, she 
wrapped her legs tight round me and spoke to me in her 
language, repeating the same words over and over again 
while I jerked her body up and down the sleeping bag 
with the force of my thrusts.

When I'd spent, she relaxed her legs for a few seconds 
but held me tightly to her with her arms - I realised 
she didn't want me to come out of her. I caressed and 
stroked her body and she fed me her other breast as if 
I was a baby.

Being young and excited, I hardened again very soon, 
and she was more comfortable with me inside her. We 
made love for a long time, this time very much in her 
way, and eventually cried out loudly as she came. I 
thrust home forcefully several times and came again, 
much less copiously.

We slept through the rest of the night; our shelter was 
pretty rain proof and we were exhausted. We tried to 
make love again just before dawn, but she was very sore 
down below and I was too tired to get a hard enough 
erection, so we cuddled and kissed instead.

Soon after sunrise we heard another helicopter. This 
was a familiar sound, a Russian made job used by the 
Angolan armed forces. It seemed to know where we might 
be because it started quartering the flooded forest 
close to us. We leapt up and down, waved clothes, 
shouted and yelled for all we were worth. Eventually 
someone saw us and the machine lumbered towards us, 
very low and very close.

The rescue itself was terrifying. The downwash from the 
rotors demolished our shelter, sending thatch, blankets 
and clothing flying away into the floodwaters below. 
One by one we were winched up - the girl first, then 
Granny, then myself, with just the clothes we stood up 
in (not very much on any of us!). The crew couldn't 
speak English, and my Portuguese was inadequate for the 
job, so with did a lot of gesturing (no other people 
around, do you have anything to eat etc) and sat back 
on a cold, smelly metal floor for a bumpy ride down 
towards Chokw‚.

People spend a fortune to be taken on a helicopter 
flight over the jungle and game parks. We spent our 
trip eating bananas and stale biscuits.

Chokw‚ town had flooded disastrously, and we were taken 
to another town further away from the river. The Aid 
Agency had set up a temporary feeding camp for people 
displaced by the floods, but most of the ones we met 
were from Chokw‚ town which was under water up to house 
roof level. It seemed that most people living along the 
banks of the river had either fled earlier than 
Granny's family, or were still unaccounted for and 
presumed lost. We had been so, so lucky.

Once I had been fed, showered, clothed and checked by a 
doctor I was given a right bollocking for splitting up 
with my partner, Jonas. Not a word of thanks for saving 
four people's lives, just a total earbashing for 
putting the Gap Placement service into a panic. Still, 
I was allowed a sat phone message home, to convince my 
parents that the reports of my demise were premature. 
That was an emotional moment, I can tell you!

Granny and the girl were put into a tent with other 
families - the husband and wife with Jonas had reached 
safety, but had been evacuated elsewhere when Chokw‚ 
flooded.

CHAPTER 6

Having locals in our rooms after dark was absolutely 
forbidden on pain of dismissal, so I bribed my room 
mate to disappear for the day. It was a Sunday and 
everyone in the camp spent the morning in a religious 
service to give thanks for their safety and pray for 
that of others. 

Afterwards there was a huge amount of matching of names 
of people missing, against lists of names of people in 
other refugee camps. Wails of anguish where loved ones 
didn't appear on any list were punctuated with tearful 
"alleluias" when the smudgy photocopies showed a family 
had survived intact. 

I met Granny and the girl in the camp and took them for 
as good a meal as we could get in a caf‚ in the town 
outside the tent city. The food was pretty awful, but 
at least it was available and cheap. Then I smuggled 
them back to my room for the afternoon. 

I wanted to tell Granny that I was leaving to be based 
somewhere else. I wanted to give her as much of my 
pocket money as I could afford, because I had 
everything in the world and she had nothing. I wanted 
to see her and the girl again before I left. And, if 
I'm honest, I'd enjoyed the sex and wanted to do it 
again. I figured that she might be quite willing, too. 

The girl sat inside the porch of the hut, colouring 
pictures in books and drawing birds and animals with 
the shiny new coloured pencils I'd bought her that 
morning. Granny and I made love, slowly, and in 
comfort, on my bed. The door was locked for privacy and 
the windows shuttered to let in a breeze but keep out 
prying eyes. 

I introduced her to K-Y jelly and we made love naked 
and on the top of the bed, enjoying each other's bodies 
as we coupled. It was a pleasant, relaxed, satisfying 
afternoon, and we did it so many times I lost count. 
She was uninhibited, adventurous, and we were 
determined to enjoy ourselves.

But, in the end, it was a bittersweet experience, 
because we both knew we were saying farewell to each 
other. I was being taken upstream to re-group. I would 
be safe, fed, and had a home in England to return to. 
Granny had nothing, except her grand-daughter and the 
information that her son and daughter-in-law were safe 
in another camp miles away near Maputo.

I feel ashamed that after all this intimacy and shared 
danger, I never learned her name and never had a photo 
to remember her by. I never found out her age, either; 
I guess she must have been around fifty. But she taught 
me something useful. In the West we live in a society 
where youth rules, and relationships seem to always be 
about young people. 

Sex with someone as old as your gran is the kind of 
thing to make most teenagers puke with revulsion, as I 
would have done before this experience. But "there's 
many a good tune to be played on an old fiddle" as the 
saying goes, and I have to say I found the sex was 
pretty good. I don't regret it for one second. 

On the other hand I know I would have regretted it if 
I'd corrupted the young girl. I admit I'm pretty 
discreet as to what I say to people about my 
relationship with Granny, but the marooning episode 
made me notorious within the Gap organisation and 
famous at home. The jokes about Tarzan and swinging 
from the trees still go on, years after the event.

I went on my Gap year to find adventure, find new 
things, new people, new experiences. And I did just 
that - beyond my wildest imaginings.

And, Granny, if I ever return to Mo‡ambique, I'll come 
back and look you up. But this time I'll have a foam 
mattress and tube of K-Y in my rucksack. I'm willing if 
you are. Is that a deal?

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 26