If you have a few minutes and care to listen to an old man, I have a story for you, one that has stayed with me all these long years. It's a story of love and lust, of tears and joy, one of my fondest memories.

If I miss a few details, please forgive me dear reader for, after eighty-nine years, age has played its time worn trick, memories of sorrow and sadness have softened with time dimming their painful ache, and memories of joy and happiness have been polished, burning ever brighter with each passing year. I'm sure you'll understand if, in recounting my tale, the happiness, joy, and love I experienced far outweigh the sadness. But make no mistake, sadness and tears still haunt the hallways of my mind, spectres slipping in and out of cherished thoughts.

"Oh. Mbana, thank you."

"Moro?"

"Nawa, Mbana."

Forgive the interruption. That was Mbana, my factotum, bringing me a cup of tea. Actually, he's my friend, a life-long friend for the past sixty-five years. He asked me how I was and I told him I was fine in Otjiherero. He does fuss at times.

I met Mbana in Namibia back in 1946. Back then he was a strapping lad of about sixteen years of age from the Herero tribe. I was told the name 'Herero' was derived from a word meaning 'to throw an assegai', a spear. Whatever it came from, the Herero were a brave, fighting tribe who fiercely protected their pastoral way of life. There was much to be admired in the way they lived, and their values and outlook on life.

Mbana is tall and still slim with a regal deportment, typical for the Herero. He used to be able to walk or jog for days on end without resting. Of course, age has caught up with him too, just like it has with me. Bones complain, aches and pains flit through your body in a random pattern; nature's way of reminding you of your mortality.

Where was I? Do forgive me for wandering; it's a trait of the old and frail. Oh, yes. My story. Let's see, where to start.

In 1948 I fell in lust. It shocked and surprised me. You see, I fell in lust with an Austronesian girl no older than eight or nine by the looks of her.

I was twenty-six at the time. I had hired Mbana on as a guide and interpreter and we were in the highland region of the Malagasy Republic; you would now know it as Madagascar. Mbana and I had meandered through Southern and Central Africa for two years, in no hurry to reach anywhere. We were at the extreme eastern end of our journey and due to head back to Namibia. I was exploring, living off a small inheritance and indulging my endless curiosity for the world.

The village was small, set amidst beautiful verdant vegetation and cultivated stepped fields with traditional thatch roofed wood homes lining red dirt roads. Tall hills covered in lush green framed the village; exotic birds with bright vibrant plumage appeared and disappeared into tall, old trees, singing their songs of mating and warnings. It was in this land of beauty when I first lay eyes on her.

I saw her peeking around the shadowed edge of a small abode as Mbana and I strolled through the village. Two dark chocolate eyes peered at me, a white man, a rare sight in their village. At first I wasn't sure if she was a girl or boy. Her giggle gave her away. But, when she emerged from the shadow, she froze me in my tracks, mid-stride. Birdsongs faded and the world went silent as if holding its breath.

As I think back on that seminal event, I find it hard, to this day, to explain what it was. I had never found children interesting. In fact, at my young age, they were rather tiresome. I also hadn't lacked for female companionship. I'd been privileged to have carnal relations with several, black and white, since achieving maturity, so carnal desires were not a factor.

Perhaps, if I described her you might understand, but, then again, perhaps not.

She was less than four feet tall and could not have weighed in at anywhere near fifty pounds. I couldn't even see the shape of her childish body as it was concealed by a plain ocher dress, almost a sack cloth dress. Certainly she was slim as her arms and legs were narrow.

But her face, well, let me tell you, it was a face of an angel, perfectly proportioned. She was Austronesian, as I said. She had the delicate features of, hmm, how can I describe her? Ah, a Polynesian, yes, Polynesian. Her skin was golden and glowing. Her nose was narrow at the top, flaring at the nostrils with deep red lips below. Thick, almost jet-black hair tumbled in unrestrained waves over her slender shoulders, un-brushed, almost wild.

And her eyes, well, they were spectacular; exotically slanted yet large with rich dark chocolate irises that seemed to expand and envelop me as I looked at her. Even from twenty feet away I could see expressions, thoughts and feelings echo through those eyes. They spoke volumes. As I stood frozen to the spot, caught in her gaze, I felt like I wanted those eyes for myself, to hide them away from humanity, to keep them for my own pleasure, locked away like stolen artwork only to be brought out for my private enjoyment.

With one look she had captivated me. I would never be able to look at other females without comparing them to her.

Now, you must understand, this wasn't love. I didn't know her. I didn't know if her personality was gentle and attractive or if she was a hellion on wheels. No, it wasn't love, it was lust. But please, don't misunderstand. This was a possessive lust, not a sexual lust. I wanted to have her near me and gaze into those eyes whenever I wished. It was an unreasonable lust and I knew it.

We left that village, left the girl without talking to her. My last sight of her was a smile, her bright white teeth contrasting sharply with her golden skin. Her smile lanced through me and, I'm afraid, I cannot tell you about our trip back to the port town. I was befuddled.

You're going to ask me what happened to her, aren't you?

Let me see. I drank that night, consuming more than my usual dose of cognac, Courvoisier, my favourite tipple. Mbana didn't join me in drink. He had yet to take to cognac, preferring Omaere, a traditional sour milk drink, sometimes fermented to become alcoholic. That night alcohol, which I usually consumed in discreet measured doses for health reasons, had loosened my tongue. I believe I became maudlin and, if you are to believe anything Mbana says, the cognac did more than fog my mind. It also sweetly seduced my morals.

I don't remember that night.

I do remember being hunched over the hotel restaurant table mid-morning with steam from a cup of strong black coffee rising into my face, hoping it would unglue my eyes. My mouth was in no better shape. It was as dry as the Sahara. Mbana slipped into a chair across from me.

"Duma. It is all arranged. We must go now."

In case you didn't know, well, how could you, Duma is the nickname Mbana gave me after I beat him at a hand game that requires significant speed and agility to win. He was not pleased to lose to a white man, but there you are.

"Mbana, what are you talking about?" I mumbled to him in confusion.

Oh. Did I not mention? Duma is the word for Cheetah, which I was anything but that morning. Anyway, where was I?

Ah, yes. The hotel restaurant.

"We must go now. It is all set, Duma."

Not having actually consumed the coffee and with, I believe, significant remnants of cognac coursing through my veins, I was not in top notch shape. He hauled me up and manhandled me into the Land Rover.

The ride was a nauseating blur. But I am absolutely clear on this. I found myself sitting cross legged on a woven reed mat, in a neat plain wooden hut, perhaps larger than a hut, but not by much. Mbana was discussing something with an older gentleman, a small wizened man of indeterminate age with gray hair, his face a fascinating road map of experience, wearing simple pants that seemed to end mid-shin, his feet bare and leathery. I could understand nothing of what was being said. It seemed to involve elaborate hand movements, though.

Eventually Mbana turned to me. "You must give him fifty pounds, Duma."

"I don't understand, Mbana. What for?"

"For the girl," he said in all seriousness.

"Mbana, what in the name of Jesus are you talking about?" I asked, somewhat confused and still not thinking straight.

Mbana clarified.

It appears that at some point the previous evening, in a state of extreme inebriation, I had told Mbana about the girl and how I had to have her. He seemed to have misunderstood my musings. Certainly I was not going to buy a girl. That's slavery. And I told him so in no uncertain terms.

But, once again I was surprised. The payment was a dowry, the agreement already made. I had a new bride. Mbana told me I had agreed the previous night, something about doing anything to have her near me forever, insisting marriage was an eminently reasonable solution.

Now, dear reader, less you think me an amoral man, you must understand that there was a decorum one followed back then. A gentleman's word was his bond. Still is. I could not back out of this arrangement without stirring the wrath of the village and, as it turns out, this wizened old man was the village elder, the man with a final say on everything. I might have never left the village alive.

I was faced with two choices, neither of which appealed to me; get up and run with the inherent risk of death, which I could never do as a gentleman, or accept the situation and place the child in a home somewhere away from the Malagasy Republic. I imagine you know which I chose.

On the bright side, I saw the child again. She was led into the hut by hand. A long conversation between her and the elder ensued. I have no idea what was said, but my attention was on the girl. She was bewitching me all over again. Her light sweet voice was like listening to perfect solo musical notes that seemed to hang in the air forever. It caused bumps along my arms to rise and I felt a chill down my spine.

Every so often she'd glance over at me and her eyes would freeze me like a springbok caught in the light. I was drowning in information overflow, her curiosity, her discomfort, then her understanding and something that appeared to be sadness. I promise you she was enchanting.

I was briefly considering keeping her with me permanently, rather than placing her in a home, when she turned to me and smiled, held out her small hand and introduced herself to me.

"I am Ahe." She pronounced it 'Ah hey'.

To this day I remember that first touch, the delicateness of her hand and how soft it felt in my rough palm. It was so small, warm, her touch gentle.

"Ahe, I am John."

"Hello, John."

I doubt if you believe me. I know if I had not experienced it, I too would be sceptical. But the simple fact was she had bewitched me, she must have. I have only vague recollections of a chanting ceremony as we knelt in a small garden bursting with exotic blooms, fragrances wafting in the air as birds sang a chorus. I remember Ahe in a simple white cloth, her dark hair glinting in the sun. I can recollect in slow motion the village elder placing her delicate hand in mine, entrusting her to my care. I can recollect dark chocolate eyes filling my world, her shyness and pleasure beaming at me.

She led me by the hand to a very small room. I stood quite mute as she gathered up her meagre belongings in a small cloth, turned to me and held out her hand.

It was quite surreal. I felt like I was under a spell, unable to think clearly. That is the only explanation I have been able to come up with over the years, for what normal man would accept this.

I did not break from her spell until we neared Antoribe, the port on the eastern seaboard set in a deep protected cove with seagulls screaming their welcome, the smell of salt and rotting fish strong in the air. I asked Mbana what I was supposed to do. I'd never had responsibility for another person. He simply shrugged and told me to keep her. If I didn't want her as a wife, she'd make a good maid, he advised. To Mbana a girl marrying a much older man was normal. A very young girl as a wife was not that unusual.

"Duma. Do not fret," he said with conviction. "She will keep you young. You have long time discover if there is love."

As we arrived at the hotel, I felt Ahe's apprehension in the tightening of her grip. But let me tell you, she had no visible signs of it showing. Her head was held high, her look forthright, and appeared to all intents and purposes to belong. I was amazed.

Her remarkable self assurance impressed me enormously. I led her to my room. That night we ate in my room and she spoke for the first time since leaving the village.

"John, where are we going?"

I had to mentally shake myself, for once again her sweet, lilting voice had distracted me, sending chills through me.

"I am going to take you to some very nice people who will look after you. They are in Namibia." I was acquainted with a couple who could keep an eye on her and raise her on my behalf. They were good, kind people.

I saw disappointment in her dark chocolate eyes as she sat looking into my soul. It was an uncomfortable experience. And, despite my efforts, she didn't speak one more word to me, verbal or otherwise, that evening, our first evening together.

I was surprised to find myself fretting about her silence. Perhaps it was a desire to hear her voice, or perhaps a need to reassure myself she would be all right, but nevertheless I fretted. As I pointed out the bathroom to her and how everything worked she simply took it in her stride with grace.

I had taken to the couch to sleep. Ahe was a lost little form in the bed. As I lay waiting for sleep to take over I felt dissatisfaction inside, but could not isolate the cause.

Mid way through the night, I felt Ahe slip under the blanket and cuddle back into me, pulling my arms around her. A little of the dissatisfaction inside me eased with her closeness, a small warm bundle in my arms.

"Ahe, will you talk to me please?" I begged.

We were at breakfast in the hotel restaurant eating oatmeal, water for her, coffee for me. She had a look in her beautiful eyes that I could only describe as wisdom, wisdom she should not have at her tender age. She inspected me with a frank stare assessing me, and I began to worry I would not pass the test, although I had no idea what that test might be.

"Okay. Where are we going?" she asked softly, her head tilting slightly.

Her beautiful lilting voice threatened to bewitch me again, her eyes so powerful. And, in my defence, I was young. I was in an unfamiliar situation. I had no experience handling children. Those were the excuses I made back then for what I said next.

"Ahe, I told you last night. Remember? Namibia. You'll like the people I'm taking you to. They're very nice."

She didn't say anything to me, but her eyes had a conversation. I watched her tell me it was unacceptable. I watched her tell me she wouldn't accept it, it wouldn't do. It was all there in her eyes. What hurt was watching her tell me how disappointed she was in me.

I couldn't take it. It hurt and I didn't understand why. I had Mbana take her shopping for clothes and other necessities instead of me while I stewed at the hotel. Ahe wasn't the problem. I was. She confused me, her incredible eyes seemed to bewitch me, muddle my thinking, and make me feel inadequate, telling me I could do better. At what?

I heard her voice first. It was so distinctive in my mind I could already recognize and separate it from background sounds. She came into the hotel with her hand in Mbana's. She was smiling up at him and they both had packages in their arms. I felt a jolt of displeasure with Mbana at the sight.

When she saw me, her smile vanished like an ethereal wisp of smoke in the wind. She didn't look angry. She just looked, flipping a switch and hiding her thoughts from me. But even though she didn't talk to me with her eyes, I felt uncomfortable.

"Mbana, please take Ahe to the room and come back. I'd like to talk to you," I instructed, and watched them as they made for the stairs.

I distinctly remember feeling a touch of anger at that point. I was too young. I didn't have the experience of living a full life, of having a family, responsibilities, or of children. I had no frame of reference to understand how to handle Ahe. I believe, in retrospect, I was angry at myself. I had never come across a situation I couldn't resolve in some way, win or lose. But with Ahe, I had seemed to be losing at a game I didn't understand.

When Mbana returned we had a conversation. It was eye-opening. An eighteen year old Herero tribesman proved to me that wisdom had no correlation with how well educated or how well travelled one might be.

"Duma. You made her angry. You don't make ladies angry. It's not good," Mbana said with a serious expression, leaning forward on the table.

"But Mbana! How? I have done nothing to her."

"Duma. She is your wife and you tell her you do not want her. It makes her angry."

"Mbana, she is NOT my wife!"

"Duma, Duma, how can you be such a smart man and be so stupid. Think. You may not see her as your wife, but she sees you as her husband!"

Realization dawned on me and I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was true. I had been blind, interpreting everything from my perspective, an insular approach, one wholly out of character for me. I had, unwittingly, taken a girl out of her familiar surroundings, away from her family, and forced on her an uncertain future, one she could not possibly have an understanding of. I had then added to her distress by explicitly rejecting her.

All-in-all, I was impressed with her equanimity. I felt quite sure I would not have had the calm and grace she had displayed under similar circumstances. Now, of course, with a lifetime of experience behind me, I have that self-assurance. But then? I was being shown-up by an eighteen year old tribesman and an eight, possibly nine year old girl.

It was a new experience and one that did not sit well with my self-image. Truth often hurts.

That afternoon I sat in the hotel bar thinking hard, forgetting to return to the room and missing dinner. The beers were replaced with Scotches and, at some point, with my old friend Courvoisier. With every drink my mind became more muddled. I did not achieve the clarity of thought I had hoped for nor resolve anything.

I understand from Mbana that he fetched me from the bar at some point close to midnight. I do not remember him doing so. To this day I have vague recollections of small hands helping me out of my clothes as I stumbled around, of being put to bed and a small warm body cuddling into me as I fell into an alcohol-induced slumber.

I also remember the blinding pain that hit when I cracked my eyes open the next morning, the unreasonably bright sunlight spearing into my brain like a hot lance, and a demolition crew at work in my skull. Through the haze of blurred vision I saw Ahe sitting in a chair, groomed, cream-coloured sleeveless dress, and matching shoes on her feet that hung over the side of the chair two feet above the floor.

This angel of mercy had a steaming mug of coffee in her hands, the aroma pulling at me to rise. But here's the thing. When I smiled at her with a guilty smile, feeling contrite, she smiled back. The light in the room intensified and the heaviness inside me magically eased. Her bright, bright smile was a balm to my soul and a soothing cure for my hangover, more effective than the coffee she reached out to give me. In my weakened state I felt I'd do anything to keep her smiling at me, to gain her approval, and to forever feel what I was feeling at that moment.

Now I do not want to dwell too much on this moment, dear reader, for I have much, much more of the story to relate. But it is important that you to understand the significance to me, for it affected my actions for years to come. In retrospect, that was the moment I started to fall in love with this child.

Shame on you! Certainly not! It had nothing to do with sexual attraction. At least, not at that point. It was love, as a father loves a daughter. It was the desire to protect her, cherish her, watch her grow into a young lady, to feel pride, and the desire to be part of her journey in life. I wanted her approval. It was almost a primal urge inside me that needed fulfilment; a void I never knew existed. And I knew I would never be a part of her journey in life if I left her in the care of others.

Anyway, on with my story.

"Good morning, Ahe," I croaked.

"Good morning, Duma. It is late. Mbana says it is time for you to rise."

"What time is it?"

"I do not know."

I took the coffee from her, checked my watch on the bedside table, wound it up by force of habit, and stumbled into the bathroom. When I emerged, human again, Ahe was still sitting on the chair, small hands in her lap, and her delicate feet bouncing up and down as she looked out through the open balcony doors at the morning-calm, light blue Indian Ocean.

I paused to look at her un-noticed. She was indeed a beautiful child. Long dark tresses fell to below her small shoulders in gentle waves, framing her oval face. She had the full dark eyebrows of a child, untouched by tweezers, naturally sculpted over wide exotic eyes. I cannot adequately describe the colour of her eyes. Rich dark chocolate is the only comparison that comes to mind, but it feels as if it's an inadequate analogy. Long dark lashes added intensity to her gaze. Her small nose was narrow at the top flaring gently around her nostrils with naturally deep red lips below. Her mouth was not tiny or pursed. It was pleasantly broad and curled into rounded cheeks that dimpled when she smiled.

In the morning light her skin was golden, glowing silkily, and utterly smooth without a blemish. Indeed, now that I was not hypnotized by her eyes, I could see just how lovely she was. Unfortunately, as she turned her head, she beguiled me again with those eyes.

I wish I could explain to you what they did, how they affected me. But words fail me. In all the years I have lived, I have never met their match. They were so expressive, a true window to her soul. When light played over her irises, I saw flecks of gold dancing and flashing hypnotically. Her eyes seemed to be able to change hue, deepening or lightening according to her thoughts.

Shaking myself, I reached for her hand. "Come."

I led her onto the balcony. As we leaned against the black iron railing in the warmth of the early morning sun, me with my hands, her with folded arms, her chin resting on top, I tried to undo any damage my ignorance had caused.

"Ahe, I'm sorry for my behaviour. I did not mean to upset you. But try to understand. You are so young, too young for marriage. I am not the man for you. You will grow up and find love, and I want to help you. I will help you."

Her head turned, her cheek resting on her arms as her lips curved in the sweetest of smiles, eyes shining.

"Duma, you are my husband. I will wait for you."

I think I was a good man, even at that age, so long ago; at least I like to believe so. But she pulled at my heart; this child serenely accepting her fate with such dignity, a fate I tried to explain to her was not foretold. She could choose her life's path and I would help her in any way I could, I explained.

As she turned to look back out over the ocean, she simply repeated, "Duma, you are my husband. I will wait for you."

Mbana and I had decided to take two or three months to return to Namibia. We would travel with the Land Rover we purchase in the Malagasy Republic, and I wanted to make a side trip to Botswana and South Africa. Our journey started on a rust-limed ferry taking us across to Pemba, a port on the east coast of Mozambique. We planned to camp out, only staying in towns or villages when we needed to resupply. I had become used to it over the past two years. No, that's not true. I had grown to love it. I'd grown to love the vast expanse and beauty that was Africa.

It was on the ferry that Ahe and I had our first of many conversations. It was the beginning of a relationship that would flourish and bloom.

As her dark hair danced in the breeze I asked her, "Ahe. It's a beautiful name. What does it mean?"

"Softly blowing breeze," she replied as she stared ahead at the deep blue ocean, swells rocking the ferry as they crossed the bow, and Mozambique a dark smudge on the horizon.

How appropriate, I thought.

"What does your name mean?" she asked, her attention on the distant horizon.

"John? Well, nothing really."

"No. Duma. What does it mean?"

"Ah. It means Cheetah. But it's not my name."

She turned to look up at me. Such a beautiful face. "Then why does Mbana call you that?"

I explained about the hand game, a game one played when there was nothing else to do as you travelled through the Bushveld, how Mbana was not happy but impressed by my speed. She seemed amused.

On that ferry I learned that the elder who had married us was her grandfather. He had raised her for the last two years since her parents died. I found out she liked music and dance. But most importantly, I discovered a remarkably mature girl who was articulate and calm with a wry sense of humour. She had an impossibly positive view of life, her views of life and death formed by their religion. She told me about the Anglican minster that had stayed in their village trying to convert them, leaving behind a knowledge of English as the only mark of his failed visit.

Throughout that ferry ride, I was blessed by the attention of a witty, charming angel and I could feel bonds developing with every passing hour.

That night we made camp. Mbana cooked; canned stew if I remember. We set up two tents, one for myself and one for Ahe. Mbana thought it barbaric to sleep inside an airless enclosure.

Ahe was not impressed when I explained that one of the two tents was for her. Her eyes let me know that it was only a temporary situation and not to get used to the idea. And, one hour after I had settled, a shadow stole into the tent and crawled under the blanket, settling back against me, pulling my arms into a hug. I drifted into sleep with a smile on my face and a warm little bundle in my arms.

The next morning, as we ate bread and cheese for breakfast, I heard Ahe laugh for the first time. Mbana had jumped up to refill our coffee cups and tripped over the line mooring my tent. His full frontal dive to the ground was quite spectacular, dust puffing out and dancing in the morning sun. As he looked up from his prone position in embarrassment, a wry smile on his face, Ahe started laughing, a deep belly laugh, snorts and all. I chuckled at his predicament and at Ahe's enjoyment but also felt my heart constrict in my chest.

For two months we travelled leisurely, in no rush to reach a destination, happy with the magnificent vistas Africa provided every day. Ahe peppered Mbana with questions on everything she'd see. She was naturally inquisitive about every new sight, how grass could grow in sand, where was the water, how did animals find it, what did he mean they could smell it, water doesn't smell.

Every evening we'd sit by the fire chatting with the dying sun putting out a fiery display of red, bronze and gold as it sank towards the distant horizon. Acacia trees would become black outlines, sharp paintbrush strokes against the deepening blue-black sky. The air would fill with the sound of wildlife waking to forage for food; chattering monkeys, the distant roar of a lion, or rustling noises in the bush. In the flickering glow of a fire Mbana would relate tales of his tribe at Ahe's insistence and we'd rehash the sights of the day. I'd sit quietly enjoying Mbana's and Ahe's discussion, amazed at how he treated her like an adult. And Ahe would enchant me as she laughed, talked and graced me with an occasional glance, dark chocolate eyes shining with pleasure, intelligence and wit.

Inevitably Ahe would creep into my tent at night and cuddle into my arms before falling asleep.

And slowly I began to change. I began to see the world through her eyes. I began to feel the awe, wonder and excitement she felt at the sight of wild animals that had become so commonplace to me. My curiosity was stirred by hers as she'd point excitedly at herd of elephants far off in the haze of the afternoon sun. Her enthusiasm for spotting lions lounging in the shade of Acacia trees was contagious, her delight at seeing lion cubs play friskily bringing a smile to my face. Her fear of crocodiles brought out protective instincts in me, her laugh at monkeys playing made me smile. I also began to wait for her to sneak into my tent and cuddle before falling asleep.

This little girl was wriggling into my heart, subtly playing with my feelings, caressing my love for her as a child in my care, seducing it, and gradually altering its shape and direction. Slowly, without my being aware of it, love for this child was blossoming into love of this child; I was falling in love.

We had camped on a small escarpment leading down to one of the few rivers in Botswana when the unthinkable happened. I woke up cuddled against Ahe with a definite tumescence and my hand on a small hip bone. My condition was instantly recognisable and instantly mortifying. I scrambled out from the blanket and the tent and, some way from camp in the early predawn light, patiently waited for it to subside enough to urinate.

Now I'm sure you understand that a full bladder was not what caused my distress. Of course you do. But to my recollection, I had not been dreaming. I had no excuse for my condition. I could not assuage my guilty feelings by blaming it on some distant memory of bedding a woman, even though it was quite a distant memory, let me tell you.

I also was not aware that Ahe had been awake and smiled as I scrambled away. But I knew she was aware of my condition as, later at breakfast, she told me with her eyes and a small shy smile.

Upon seeing her awareness embarrassment overcame me. I turned to Mbana sharply. "Mbana, we must stop in Gaborone." I tried to distract myself and prevent telltale redness from coloring my cheeks. "Today," I added insistently.

"What for Duma?" Mbana asked, glancing up from his bowl of oatmeal.

"For supplies." I couldn't tell Mbana of my need for a, how does one put this delicately, for a lady escort. But, it seemed he was a trooper coming to my rescue, or so I first thought.

"We don't need supplies, Duma. But Ahe could use some appropriate attire. Dresses are not the best for the next part of our journey."

I nodded my agreement, pleased, until he added, "We could stop the morning after next to buy them."

It was not what I had in mind. But being unable to explain my personal need in front of Ahe, I held my tongue.

It was lucky for me I didn't go into Gaborone. I say that now with the advantage of hindsight. At the time I didn't feel quite so lucky. We stayed at the camp that day to relax, wash dirty clothes in the river, and complete other chores that pile up when one travels in rough country.

A short while before noon a melodious voice singing lightly caught my attention. Ahe had a beautiful singing voice. Her song sounded like a lullaby, one a mother might sing to a child, warm and comforting. I walked down the escarpment in order to hear her more clearly, and there she was, a golden child bathing naked in the water. I admit I was transfixed.

Her hair was wet, almost jet black and plastered to her slim back. It accentuated the curve of her spine and drew my eyes down. Her bottom was small and proudly out-swept from her lower back with two tiny plump buttocks indented on their sides. I watched fascinated as, with her head thrown back, she poured water over her head with a bowl, the water finding hidden paths to run in rivulets down her back, collecting and then separating around her buttocks, part running down the sides but most running through the deep valley between.

She was a skinny little girl. No alluring swell of hips or pleasing roundness to her thighs. No. Her legs were thin, so thin there was a wide gap between them from ankle to crotch.

I believe I must have been holding my breath because what sounded like a gasp escaped me. She turned and before I could flee, her eyes captured me, her intense smile and white, white teeth threw a net over me and her giggle tied a rope around my ankles locking me in place.

I was a fish flopping out of water on the river's edge unaware I was already dead. I just could not take my eyes off her. I could not offer her any modesty by turning around. And the amazing thing was she didn't appear to care.

I looked at this golden angel before me, poised with bowl held over her head, smiling a smile more radiant than the Kalahari sun at noon. Without the modesty of her cloth dress she looked even smaller. She had two dark brown areolae on a flat narrow chest topped by tiny almost black nipples. I could count every rib in her chest, yet she didn't seem starved, almost as if it was her natural physique. Her stomach was almost flat with a delicate curve below her navel. Hip bones stood out in sharp contrast emphasizing her hairless pudendum, an unusually prominent mound between her legs, with the sun casting a shadow that highlighted her tiny cleft.

I believe I became slightly dizzy at the sight, a bit light-headed, or I must have been suffering from heat stroke, for I found this child more attractive than any of the fine ladies I had bedded before. I was simply transfixed.

"Duma, come wash yourself," Ahe said brightly, her smile intensifying.

Oh no. I was not going to embarrass myself further. A tightness below was proud testament to her appeal.

"Ahe. Please forgive me for my rudeness. I was unaware of your, um, your . . . Perhaps you should turn around."

Her smile broadened, burning me. "Duma, you are the one man I will not hide from."

I had to move before she noticed the inappropriate reaction she had caused, but I couldn't, not while she held me trapped in those gorgeous eyes.

"Look! A Rhino!" I said, pointing.

When her head turned I was released and beat a hasty retreat, the tinkle of her laughter chasing after me.

As I think back at that little event, I cannot help laughing. It set up a conflict within me at the time that I now know was wasted effort. Ahe had a maturity about her that I suspect she'd had from the day she was born. After years of thinking about it, I believe it was that maturity contrasting her immature frame and her laughter and giggles that made her so alluring.

Well, it's getting late. Perhaps I should continue this story tomorrow.

What? You what? You want me to continue?

Very well. Let me see. Ah . . .

Ahe preyed on my mind all day. If I chastised her for her display I'd only upset her. And besides, it was my fault, not hers. But as she chatted with Mbana and they went about their chores her eyes kept talking to me.

I'd catch her eyes here or there; "Duma, I'm your wife, it's okay," "It does not embarrass me, it should not embarrass you," or her worst transgression "Duma, you are my husband. I will wait for you," which seemed to have greater meaning as the day drew on. Her light giggles that would follow each visual comment sent chills through me. I found myself seeking spots where she could not see me, a weak attempt at self protection.

She told me months later how funny she'd found me. She said she had not seen a man blush as many times as I did that day. She also admitted to finding it so funny she'd seek me out just to get a reaction. She was showing a mischievous nature that I found quite attractive.

That night when she slipped into my tent my arms were open waiting for her to cuddle in. In the cast-off pale moonlight, cuddled to me, she turned her head, pulled my cheek down to her soft lips and kissed it lightly. Her eyes told me she loved me as she wished me a good night. Warmth flooded me.

I slept a restless sleep with her enticing sleepy girl aroma surrounding me. I kept on waking up and guiltily lifting my hand from whatever part of her body it had settled on, and where previously I had gladly hugged her to me, I was now reluctant. All those actions now seemed inappropriate.

Yet every time I removed my hand I'd see her smile in her sleep and reach for my hand or arm to pull it back. If I shifted away, she'd scoot back. If these were war skirmishes, I was losing the battle quite badly.

Inevitably, with her effervescence, her complete indifference for my discomfort, and with plenty of support from Mbana I might add, our relationship grew closer, more personal.

It started with the tents. At our next camp site, Mbana put up only one tent.

"Mbana, where's the other tent. You don't expect me to sleep outside do you?" I asked.

"No, Duma. I don't."

"Well . . ." Oh. I understood. A little heat touched my cheeks.

That first move brought about the second. That night Ahe changed in the tent and for some inexplicable reason she waited until I was in it before changing. I was treated to my second view of her body, albeit this time with knickers on. In some ways this made it worse. In the moonlight her bottom seemed more curvaceous and the knickers seemed to make her pudendum appear so much plumper. Her eyes glowed in the moonlight, and soft shadows emphasized the delicate beauty of her face. Her shy smile as she bared herself lanced into my chest.

This time, when she crawled in next to me, she faced me, nailed me in place with those magnificent eyes, smiled the sweetest of smiles and kissed me chastely on my lips. She then rolled over and whispered, "Good night, Duma, sleep well," as she snuggled back against me.

Well, let me tell you dear reader, I was a man, a twenty-six year old man. I was a vigorous man who had not had the company of a woman for months. I was also a man who suffered from what I now call Male Dissociative Identity Disorder; like all men do. Do not confuse it with bipolar disorder . . . What? You're confused?

Well, the explanation is really quite simple. We men have two minds or identities, one above and . . . Ah, I see you understand. Enough said.

Now, where was I? Botswana . . . river . . . one tent . . . Oh yes. The tent.

Well Ahe's kiss, perhaps coupled with the visions of her bathing and changing, and certainly with the way she was taking over my heart, caused a rather prominent tumescence, one that was slightly too prominent for me to hide. But Ahe calmly reached behind her and felt the outline before pulling it up to nestle it into the small but deep valley of her tiny buttocks, and then promptly returned to hugging my arms, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was not.

Now I am a cultured and well educated gentleman. While my other identity, the one below, an uncouth and uneducated cad, battled my gentlemanly restraint, screaming and railing at me, I remained still. However, as soon as I thought she was asleep, I'm sure you can understand why I slipped out of the tent, found some privacy and . . . Yes, exactly that.

Somewhat relieved I slipped into the tent and under the blanket, trying not to disturb Ahe. However, I am ashamed to admit that, when her dainty hand once again reached behind her, groping me in search of the stiffness she had felt previously, my body betrayed all civility and eagerly rose to the occasion.

That night was the beginning of our journey of discovery.

Until she was almost twelve and the most . . .

Sorry? You want salacious details? Really! I am a gentleman. Gentlemen do not tell. Well . . . it was a long, long time ago. I suppose no harm can come now.

So let me take you back.

Once Ahe was satisfied with my renewed condition, she once again placed it against the valley of her buttocks and hugged my arms to her chest. You may find this surprising but eventually I fell asleep.

She woke me the next morning for the first time; usually I was the first to rise. She wiggled in my arms as she rolled over to face me. I tried to keep my eyes closed for I knew if I saw hers I'd be lost. Unfortunately, she cheated by poking me in the stomach, giggling as I opened my eyes. Oh dear.

I was transfixed by the beauty of her face and by the pools of her dark exotic eyes; it was becoming an all-too-familiar feeling. A smile burst onto her face, dimples formed and I was lost. I had battled a well fought battle. I had been out-manoeuvred and out-gunned by a child. I lost. I was beaten.

"Duma," she whispered, "I know you like me." She giggled again.

"No, Ahe."

Her eyes grew bigger, "What do you mean no?" they said.

I smiled at her gently. "Ahe, I don't like you, I love you."

"Oh, John." And, in that inexplicable response from the gentler sex, she silently cried, big drops welling in her beautiful eyes and slowly rolling down.

She didn't smile and I began to worry, being somewhat unfamiliar with this reaction.

She cuddled into me, burying her face against my chest, silently crying. I heard her whisper, "Oh John." I did what any gentleman would do; I hugged her petite body in my arms.

"Hush, Ahe," I whispered, my face buried in her thick hair, inhaling her scent deep into my lungs.

For about five minutes we lay together. But she surprised me by pulling away and sitting up looking quite serious.

"It's about time, Duma."

She belted me on the arm then bestowed a glorious smile on me and scrambled out of the tent.

By the time I emerged, Mbana had left in the Land Rover. Ahe was trying to make oatmeal over a fire, but it looked suspiciously like glue. She served me a bowl with a proud smile. I smiled brightly as I forced it down, reassuring her she would one day make a wonderful cook if she applied herself.

"But Ahe, perhaps a little more instruction from Mbana would be appropriate. We do not want to poison anyone."

She grinned at me, her one spoonful had confirmed to her that I was speaking the truth.

"Where did Mbana go so early?" I was choking a little on the coffee, but it did have the elixir of life, caffeine.

I was treated to a melodious giggle. "He went to get supplies."

And that was all she had to say on the subject. Mbana returned mid afternoon with several small packages which Ahe quickly took as they whispered together. When I inquired as to the nature of his purchases, Ahe refused to talk, her eyes told me to mind my own business and a smile would grace her lips. Mbana was equally reticent, but smiled broadly every time I probed. I was beginning to be suspicious.

That night, she was waiting for me when I retired. I entered the tent to find Ahe standing, waiting for me wearing a pure white nightgown.

"Come Duma. Sit here."

She sat me on a small stool and stood back. Her dark, dark eyes told me how excited she was, how she loved me, and her shy smile told me how nervous she was. I knew whatever she had planned I would have to be very careful how I reacted. I seemed to have a track record of reacting inappropriately with Ahe.

I admit I did nothing to stop her as she reached up and slipped tiny straps off her small shoulders. I held my breath as, in the soft pale moonlight, her gown fell to the ground in a silky swish. An angel stood before me, a golden angel wearing white silk panties, shadows gracefully enhancing the swell of her pudendum underneath, and I could no more stop my reaction than halt a charging Rhino with my fingertip. I loved the drape of fine silk over her mound, the loose soft folds between her thighs hiding her outline, and the gathers around the elastic that made them look so chaste yet so alluring.

My heart ached as I saw a shy, expectant smile curve her lips and her eyes ask me if I liked what she had sent Mbana to buy with strict instructions. Who wouldn't? Ahe, a small delicate girl, slim and shapeless, offering herself, baring herself to me. What mortal man could resist the trust and love in her beautiful eyes, and the allure of her sweet innocence. I couldn't.

I reached for her hands and drew her between my knees. Staring into her magnificent eyes, smiling gently showing my pleasure, and with an unexpected tremor in my hands, I hooked my fingers in her panties, tore my eyes away from hers and looked down as I gently slipped them over her small bottom then down her front. As they stretched over slender hips a shadowed gap formed against her stomach, teasing me and heightening my anticipation of seeing her from this close. My breath was bated as the rise of her pubis emerged, perfectly smooth, perfectly hairless, and I felt a sigh escape as her cleft appeared, a small cleft tightly sealed, seductively curving down and disappearing between slim thighs.

Her labia were plump and rounded. Her pudendum was a ripe peach sweeping up from her small stomach and accentuated by the shadowed creases at the sides. I do not believe I had ever seen such a beautiful sight. With her hands on my shoulders I let her silky panties fall to the floor and watched two dainty feet step out of them and step back. My gaze moved up and I held my breath again at the prominence of her pudendum between her legs. It looked soft and inviting and I wondered what an immature sex might feel like in the palm of my hand for the first time in my life.

Her hands, fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, broke me out of my reverie and I helped her by unbuttoning the lower half. As she slipped the shirt over my shoulders I inspected her small dark areolae with tiny nipples and her perfectly flat chest that suddenly appeared to be so alluring.

"Stand," she whispered to me with excitement in her eyes, her wonderful eyes, dark eyes, her seductive eyes.

I stood, towering over her. She looked so petite with the top of her lustrous hair level reaching only the beginning of my chest. Her small fingers unbuckled my belt while I fretted over what to do with my hands; they felt awkward to me, hanging at my side as they were.

I was entranced by Ahe as she opened the button of my pants and struggled with the zipper. Her frown of concentration was lovely.

"It's soft," she whispered, drawing her fingers through the fine hair that trailed from my navel to the top of my underwear.

I was erect, fully tumescent, my penis a lump outlined in my pants stretching across me to the side. As she pulled the pants over hips to fall at my ankles my erection swung out, released from the constraint, my underwear tenting towards her.

She froze, her eyes wide open staring at the unfamiliar sight. With her gaze focused on it I heard her whisper with wonder and inquisitiveness in her voice.

"Can I see?"

My heightened state of excitement clouded my mind, gently suppressing awareness of how innocent Ahe was. As I pulled the waist over and down, she had her first sight of an erect male penis. Her eyes flicked up to mine then back.

"How does it work, Duma?"

It was said softly, a simple inquiry. But it brought home suddenly that Ahe was still a young child. She had no knowledge of sex, of making love, or of the mechanics involved.

I sat back on the stool and reached for her hands drawing her warm body onto my lap, one hand resting on a small knee, the other resting on the sweetest little buttock I had ever felt. Her other buttock molded around my erection trapped beneath, an experience I had never had before but quickly decided to repeat at a later date.

"What do you know of love or sex, Ahe?"

"You put your seed in me so I can give you children. That's what happens when you get married."

I smiled at her innocent, childish perspective.

"Ahe, you cannot give me children."

Her look of surprise said it all.

"But why? We are married."

"I need to explain some things to you, Ahe."

It was an interesting conversation, a naked man with a firm erection explaining the birds and the bees to a beautiful naked nymph. I tried to explain why she could not have children, explain pregnancy, about fertility, about monthlies, and about sperm and eggs, and I tried to explain about love and sexual feelings. But clearly I made some errors for as I explained Ahe's eyes grew wider, an expression of wonder appearing and she was clearly excited about something.

"What is it Ahe? Did you understand? You have to wait until you have your monthlies before you can become pregnant."

"Duma," she said breathlessly with wonder in her voice, "you put it inside me? You have to show me." Then she giggled.

God help me, but at that moment I felt like I'd like to show her. I felt a strong throb in my erection as I imagined how it might feel to make love to this angelic child. But luckily for Ahe, unluckily for me, as I picked her up and carried her to our bed roll I was reminded that she was just a child, so small and light in my arms. I vowed to myself to take it slowly and teach her how beautiful making love could be.

She lay on the bed roll, a sweet innocent golden child with trust in her eyes. I could detect no trace of shame for her nudity, no hesitation and no shyness. She looked curious and expectant as I leaned over and kissed her for the first time, one hand on her thick, glossy hair and the other resting across her stomach. Her eyes gave me a commentary. They talked of her surprise, of the warmth of my lips, and of the pleasure of her first kiss, before closing. Her body talked to me, an excited tremble under my hand and the vibration of a murmur deep within her.

I felt her small warm lips against mine and began to believe there was a heaven. Kissing Ahe chastely, my hand felt her silky soft skin as it moved up across the gentle outline of her ribs and over the dimpled surface of her areola. I felt the bead of her nipple under the pad of my thumb and circled it gently, feeling it harden and grow. Ahe twisted her head away from my lips gasping, not in arousal, but for air.

"Breath through your nose," I murmured to her and kissed her again.

She began to participate. Her hands slipped around my neck, pulling lightly to increase the pressure of our kiss. I watched her eyes pop open when she felt the tip of my tongue brush her lips. It was amazing to feel her lips against mine curl in a smile, then relax. I felt the tiniest touch of her tongue against my lips before hers curled in another larger smile, a little mischief flitting through her sparkling dark eyes, a silent giggle shaking her small body.

But when our tongues touched again, when our eyes closed and we moaned in tandem, I felt myself falling into a deep chasm of sensuality unlike anything I had experienced before. The world was forgotten as I drowned in the eroticism of our kiss, as she played with me, caressing my tongue, backing off, tips touching delicately, then following me into my mouth. I now knew heaven existed. Heaven was called Ahe.

It was me that broke that kiss. My erection was straining and damp and I had to stop. I had to let the dizziness fade.

I remember that kiss today, across all these years. While I had many more, it was that kiss that changed my life forever. The feeling of protecting and nurturing Ahe burned more fiercely inside me, joined by an intense, driving desire to have her for myself, only for myself, to love and cherish her, and yes, have her as my wife.

"Close your eyes," I whispered to her.

I kissed her lightly and quickly on her lips then moved down to kiss her small chin. Turning her face to the side, I brushed her hair away from her neck and nuzzled her right below her tiny ear. I heard her murmuring softly as I kissed her neck, inhaling deeply to lock her scent in my brain.

Gently removing her hands from behind my neck, I placed them at her side. Bending down I kissed a tiny nipple before moving across to kiss the other. They were hard little nubbins against my lips, too small to reach my mouth. My tongue explored the dimpled surface of her dark areola before teasingly rubbing her nipple, and she gasped and strained her small chest up trying to push against me, settling back with a sigh as I applied gentle suction.

As I gently played with her other nipple, I slipped my hand down to cup the pad of her mons in my palm. All of my senses now moved away from my lips to my hand. I could feel tremors in my body as I touched her immature sex, warm and soft against me. I pressed gently enjoying the resilience. It felt so thick, as if I could press down forever without meeting her pelvic bone. I began to wonder how it might feel against my lips.

I kissed Ahe's flat stomach, her tiny navel, and then the slight curve of her lower belly. I was aching, my erection straining painfully as my mouth neared her pubis. But I held myself in check. I had a lifetime ahead for my gratification. I wanted to explore Ahe's preadolescent form, teach her pleasure, teach her in such a way that she'd celebrate it for the rest of her life.

Closing my eyes I removed my hand and tenderly kissed the top of her thigh, first one than the other, trying to draw out the exquisite tension I was feeling. I inhaled sharply at the sight of her hairless pubis, a plump vee shape nestled between her thighs. Her tightly sealed cleft formed at the peak of her mons and plunged down between her legs. In the moonlight the deep creases on each side of her pubis channelled my gaze to the gap between her legs and highlighted the roundness and the fullness of her sex.

I bent in, inhaling Ahe's fresh, clean scent before letting my lips touch her right at the top of her cleft. She was so soft and so smooth my erection was pulsing, dampness dripping down the shaft slowly. I could hear Ahe's breathing change and become shallower, faster.

When the tip of my tongue slipped between her labia we both moaned. I felt a small twitch in her body and gently cupped the sides of her bottom in my hands before probing more deeply. She parted her legs as I traced her clitoral hood down and used my tongue to probe for her clitoris protected within, before licking back to the top. Ahe groaned and pushed against my mouth, spreading her legs wider.

Moving between her legs I ran my hands over her shins and thighs, caressing them as I went. I watched as her labia slowly unglued, fascinated by the difference of child's immature sex compared to an adult. Ahe's cleft seemed much, much deeper but short, perhaps two inches long with her clitoral hood taking up half its length. Her inner labia were undeveloped. A thrill of excitement shot through me when her labia parted further to reveal the dark shadow of her vagina, an impossibly tiny darkness right where her labia blended into her buttocks, the shadow of her rectum below.

I felt sexual desire burning brightly inside me, but I understood I had to take my time. I had to lead Ahe into the joy of sexual experiences. She was only a child. Bending close, I could see the glisten of moisture. I could hold back no longer. I lay down on the bed roll and kissed her sex deeply, tasting her arousal. As I probed her vaginal opening I saw her clitoral hood flush red and enlarge. Her hips jerked.

Quickly I slid my hands under to cup each small, firm buttock. Using gentle pressure I taught her the time-worn motion, a gentle move of hips up and down, sliding and rubbing her sex against my mouth, her clitoral hood against my nose.

Her breath was rasping and chest heaving as she gripped the blanket beneath us. I heard her whisper, "Oh John," as the pace of her movements increased. With her clitoral hood dragging against my nose and my tongue pressing against her vaginal opening I sucked gently. Ahe thrust her hips up and cried out as her climax erupted. Her small body strained up off the blanket and her hips lost rhythm, jerking against my face as she cried out again and again. I drowned in her sweet climax, my erection swelling as I ejaculated onto the blanket.

Gradually her orgasm ebbed to small irregular twitches, the remnants of an intense experience. I lay next to Ahe and cuddled her sweaty body against me. Pulling the blanket over us we drifted to sleep.

Something changed in our relationship the next day. I was pulled from a deep sleep by Ahe's warm naked body wriggling out of my arms. It felt right to me. By the time I cracked open my eyes she had disappeared.

Ahe and Mbana were half way through breakfast by the time I emerged. They were deep in conversation which halted as I approached. Before I could ask what they had been talking about, Ahe stopped my heart with a radiantly bright smile and eyes that pierced me with love. I believe she distracted me deliberately, but it worked. I forgot to ask what they'd been talking about so quietly.

The change that happened was within me. Up until just the day before, I was polite and careful around Ahe. But that day, as we packed up to continue our journey, I'd grab Ahe and hug her or spin her, basking in her giggles. I saw her blush once when I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek in a burst of emotion. Her blush was a very rare event I was to find out. But that day, I was happy, gloriously happy.

Mbana seemed to pick up on it as he had a grin plastered on his face all day, although years later I found out it was not my happiness that had him grinning. It was Ahe's behaviour. He, like I, loved her sweet charm.

For the next couple of days Ahe and I settled into a routine. Each night I would pleasure her and she slowly learned how to read her body's responses and, although I did not achieve release, I found it tremendously enjoyable. On the third night she directed me for the first time, asking me to concentrate on a particular nub that gave her great pleasure. I was thoroughly enjoying her journey of discovery. I found her arousal had a distinctly delicate scent and taste which was abnormally pleasant, I could feel an addiction developing.

We were resting in each other's arms one night, in the middle of Botswana south of the Makgadikgadi Pan, an extensive salt deposit, when Ahe asked me about my erection. To this point she had held it once or twice but I had steered her attention away, largely because it created a rather strong urge to do something she was not ready for.

"Duma, where does it fit?" she asked.

"Do you remember where my tongue was pushing when you had your climax?"

"Yes."

"It goes inside there."

I felt her shift and thrust her hand down between us. She wiggled around and sucked in her breath suddenly.

"But it's so small. It hurts when I push my finger in. You're much bigger."

"Well, yes. That's why we are taking our time."

"Can it really fit, Duma?"

"I don't know Ahe. Even if it can, it will hurt. You're very young. Perhaps in a few years."

The next night she turned her inquisitive mind to my penis, not that I was objecting, you understand. After her climax faded, her respiration had returned to normal and we were cuddled together, she reached down and gently grasped my erection.

"It's hot, Duma," she observed.

I looked at her and she had this grin on her beautiful face and a look in her dark exotic eyes that spoke of pure mischief. Without releasing her hold, she pushed my shoulder with her other hand, rolling me onto my back. Still clasping my erection in her soft hand she raised herself and swung a knee over my legs to straddle my thighs.

I cannot apologize for what happened next. You must understand I had been under some strain over the last few days. Without release, it had heightened my excitement. So, when Ahe held my erection in both dainty little hands, grinned at me with sparkles in her dark, dark eyes and then squeezed, I'm afraid I ejaculated. Rather explosively too. Her eyes opened wide and she froze as my erection pulsed and spit semen onto my chest and stomach. My heart was thumping as I watched her bounce up and down slightly from every twitch of my hips, an intense climax washing over me.

By the time my eyes had uncrossed Ahe was staring at the collection of semen on my stomach, her hands still gripping my flagging erection. She looked up at me and grinned.

"Duma," she exclaimed breathlessly, "Wow."

Eventually she let go of my penis, studying it as it shrank. She then poked a finger into the pool of semen in my navel and stirred it around before raising her hand, inspecting it as she rubbed it between her fingers.

"Is that the sperm?"

"Yes."

"It's hot and slippery. And there's a lot."

She proceeded to talk, excitement and awe in her voice from this new experience. It made me smile as she never paused for me to answer some of her questions.

"Duma, is there always this much? It really came out fast. How come you are faster than me? Are you always that fast? Why is it so hot and slippery? Did you see how high it went? Do you know your penis jerks and swells? And it's hard but soft. Why? And why is it small now? Will it get bigger again? When? How do you make it bigger? Why does it get big?"

I couldn't take it anymore. Laughing, I grabbed her and pulled her down into a hug, my semen spreading between us.

For the next hour or so I explained and answered every question she had. At one point we wiped the mess off which brought on another question about why it was flaky when it dried. That one I had no answer for.

Ahe took to her new discovery like a thirsty elephant to a river. She was an inquisitive little girl who hadn't the least shyness in her, Western society not having tainted her view of morality or sex. During the day, if we were fortunate enough to be camping near a river, she'd splash and giggle naked with me, but become quite serious when we washed each other. No sexual touching at all.

At night it was a different story. I am pleased to say I eventually managed to last through a few strokes of her hands. Only time would mute my extreme excitement at having this Golden child hold and caress me.

However, the next step in our journey of discovery happened one night. We had slipped into the habit of me pleasuring her first, perhaps because I tended to be somewhat drained from her ministrations. Ahe learned how to stroke me gently and to hold my testicles carefully, that after a playful but painful grasp one night. She took particular joy at teasing the tip of my erection until moisture appeared. Sometimes she'd sit astride my thighs and other times at my side as she gently massaged and stroked me, playfully pointing my ejaculating penis in all directions, giggling as she did.

But this particular night she threw her leg over me and plopped down.

"Ooof."

My knees reflexively raised knocking Ahe to my chest as a stab of pain lanced through my groin. By the time the stars had faded, I saw her face peering at me.

"Sorry."

"Ahe, perhaps it would be a good idea if you didn't do that again, don't you think?"

She grinned. "Okay, Duma."

She pushed herself upright and, oh Lord, I felt her pudendum settle on my penis, her labia parting and sliding softly around me. We both looked down at the same time. What a sight it was. This little angel, legs spread wide, astride me with her hairless pubis puffed out around my renewed erection. Her clitoral hood, red and inflamed from the attention it had received previously, was mashed against the top.

We both froze. Ahe had her head bent, her dark hair a curtain shrouding her face, and arms straight with hands on my chest holding herself up. I felt a small twitch in her hips.

"Oh Duma," she whispered and twitched again.

Her face came up looking at me with an expression of wonder. Her eyes talked, telling me as she felt a spike of arousal and telling me how good it felt. I felt her curl her hips and rub her pubis up my now straining erection. She inhaled sharply when she rubbed back again, dragging her clitoris over the crown.

My hands came up to hold her tiny bottom and I guided her, taught her how to stroke me and how to turn her hips to press her clitoris against my shaft. Slowly she started moving faster. I felt the moisture of her arousal spread along my shaft and liquid dripped from my tip onto my stomach. Every time she slipped back, the crown of my erection would rise from my stomach, joined to my belly by a thin string of moisture. Our pace increased and my hips joined the action. I knew I was very, very close. The sight and feel of her immature sex caressing me and her soft labia hugging me was intensely erotic.

I gritted my teeth desperately trying to hold back, our hips moving faster and faster in the motions of love. When her body twitched and she whispered, "Oh John," I climaxed explosively, jerking up hard against her, holding her bottom to me and semen hitting my throat. I heard her cry out as the second pulse tore through me, semen hitting my chin. I was deeply into the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced, grunting with every painful pulse, pleasure punishing me. I moved her bottom pushing her back and forth, stroking me through my climax until I felt it ease, a calm descending over me, and Ahe collapsing onto my heaving chest.

Now, back then I thought that was as good as it might ever get. There was something so sensual and erotic about having a child move with you and their sex gliding against you. But there was better. I was to find out rather painfully.

I stroked Ahe on her slim back as she lay on top of me. I could feel the sweat and semen between us and her light body breathing heavily. I was unimaginably drowsy. My eyelids were drooping with the complete relaxation you get from an intense orgasm and I wanted to sleep. I knew I had to clean us up so I rolled, letting Ahe gently down on her back. She was deep asleep, her second orgasm of the night overwhelming her.

We didn't get much of a chance to talk about it during the day. There was a sense of excitement and urgency in the air as we were now within three days of the Namibian boarder, home, and bouncing around in a hot Land Rover at fifteen miles an hour is not conducive to conversations. There was also a question of decorum. With Mbana in the cabin, some subjects were inappropriate.

With the bustle of setting up camp that night and preparing dinner, it was not until Ahe and I retired to the tent that we could finally discuss what had happened.

Ahe washed her naked body with a cool wet towel. "Duma, what happened last night?"

"What do you mean?"

"It was so strong. I couldn't stay awake."

"Do you mean your orgasm?"

"Yes. It was a very strong orgasm. The best one yet." She turned towards me washing under one arm and rich, dark chocolate eyes twinkled. "Can we do it again?"

Now, you know I'm a gentleman. How could I refuse a little lady's request? Actually the way she asked and that twinkle brought on an immediate tumescence. Her giggling didn't help. But quite frankly, I didn't need any help. I was indeed eager.

We lay in each other's arms, kissing lightly and letting our arousal build. I was gently caressing one of her magnificent compact little buttocks. They were so small that one fit perfectly in my hand, cool, baby soft skin slipping across my palm. Our kiss intensified as the tips of my fingers gently nestled in the valley formed by her buttocks. As I probed deeper seeking where they joined, she clenched them, soft, soft skin squeezing against me. Quite thrilling.

I felt my erection pulse as I touched her rear entrance for the first time. Ahe's tongue teased me as it touched mine and ran. I willingly followed into her small mouth as it opened to welcome me. Our passion built and Ahe hooked her leg over my thigh.

My fingers slipped down through Ahe's clenched buttocks drawing a sharp inhalation as I felt her labia. Her arousal was warm, silky and moist. I teased her letting my fingers lightly trace her hairless cleft and her urgency built, stronger now. She pushed at my fingers, her labia parting and hugging the tips. I felt dampness leaking from my erection as my finger slipped between her labia and gently caressed her clitoral hood. As I caressed her, as she moaned into my mouth, her clitoris hardening into a small bead, emerging to kiss the pad of my finger. Her slender hips undulated as I gently caressed.

"Duma, I'm ready," she whispered as she broke our kiss.

I rolled on my back bringing Ahe with me, her legs slipping to my side. Before she could rise from my chest, I held both of her glorious buttocks in my hands massaging and squeezing them. They were so small, soft yet resilient, and quite possibly the most erotic buttocks in the world.

With her face on my chest I could feel her breath pick up pace as my hands caressed down the sweep of her bottom to her thighs. Her legs tightened into my sides as I moved my caresses to the inside of her thighs, inching up and moving exquisitely slowly towards her full proud pudendum. As I scooped up the moisture of her arousal, Ahe groaned and started wiggling her bottom. Her soft warm stomach pressed against my straining erection, spreading my lubrication between us.

"Duma, now," she whispered, almost unheard.

Ahe pushed off my chest rising as my legs bent to support her. My golden child smiled at me with dark chocolate eyes, love shining out then changing, darkening in arousal as her labia touched my erection. I felt a flush of heat rush through me as she settled down, her plump pubis spreading warmth and dampness along my erection.

In that moment, we paused, my erection throbbing against her. I knew she could feel the love that was drumming in my chest. Her dark eyes expanded, grew larger, drawing me in like whirlpools. Then, as she moved her hips her eyes closed and her head tilted back, flattening her stomach. She moved again.

I held her small hips, my fingers curled around to her bottom, feeling her movements by touch. As she slipped up over the crown she drew my moisture back down the shaft, her hips jerking with the stimulation against her clitoris. Her strokes lengthened and her breathing deepened.

I could feel pressure building inside me as I watched Ahe, riveted to the sight of such a small child giving me so much pleasure. Her mounting arousal thrilled me beyond belief.

Slowly, very slowly, her tempo increased. Her strokes lengthened so she was pushing her little bottom against my raised thighs on the back stroke and sliding the crown of my erection deeply through her damp cleft on the forward stroke. I was getting close. My orgasm was stirring inside me. I felt the tenseness in my testicles and the tightening in my stomach that preceded it.

As I drowned in the sensuousness of her labia's silky caress, my eyes closed. My concentration focused on the feel of her, soft and warm, sliding and massaging my erection.

"Oh John."

Her pace increased suddenly, her hips urgently thrusting as her orgasm neared. Suddenly mine was approaching as well. As I felt the pressure of an incipient climax, as we stroked in counterpoint in increasing arousal, Ahe twisted in my hands then she screamed, collapsing onto my chest, the crown of my erection suddenly lodged three quarters into her vagina. My eyes flew open. As I heard her sob and as my heart shattered, semen rushed up my shaft exploding into her. She was in pain and I was frozen in shock, body rigid as I ejaculated into her again. Pleasure crashed into me battling fear. With a super human effort I tugged her bottom up pulling her off of me, semen exploding against her labia again and again as she cried. I felt tears fill my eyes as I hugged her tightly to me, my erection spitting the last remnants of my climax between her legs.

"Ahe, Ahe," I whispered urgently. "Please Ahe, look at me."

She turned her face on my chest, tear-streaked eyes, dark, very dark chocolate eyes, pain.

My heart broke. "Oh Ahe. I'm so sorry."

We stayed in that position for what seemed like hours, Ahe finally reaching up and wiping a tear from my cheek.

"It's okay Duma. It's okay."

We did not talk that night. We hugged each other tight. I pulled a blanket over us and we let our bodies calm, the calm leading to relaxation and slowly we drifted to sleep.

My eyes popped open when I felt Ahe stir, the morning dawn dusting the tent with a lemony glow. I looked down at this sweet child cuddled in my arms. She opened her eyes and her smile, singing out love, brightened the tent and sent a warm flush through me. Ahe was okay. I kissed my angel gently.

"I'm sorry Duma," she said softly, staring into my eyes.

"Ahe, why? You have nothing to be sorry about."

"It was my fault, I moved too high."

"No. It was mine. I should have known better. Ahe, I need to make sure you aren't hurt, I have to look at you."

"No Duma. I'm not hurt. I know."

She rolled away and dressed. I watched her like an eagle for any twinge or hesitation but she seemed fine. As she left the tent I stood to dress and started shaking as I saw spots of blood on my penis and on the blanket. My heart constricted, I had hurt Ahe.

I hurriedly dressed and rushed out of the tent, stopping dead in my tracks. Ahe was laughing with her head thrown back. Mbana, laughing with her.

As I approached, Mbana's laughter died down into chuckles. Ahe turned and looked at me, her laughter fading at my expression.

"Duma, I'm okay, really," she reassured me, smiling brightly, her stunning eyes twinkling.

Everything seemed to be normal as we packed and prepared to leave, but I found myself holding Ahe more gently all the same.

That night we sat around the fire late into the evening. Mbana wanted to know what I planned to do when we finally returned to Namibia, two short days away. I told him I was going to buy some property and build a house with what was left of my small inheritance.

I had been debating what to do to earn a living. In the almost three years I'd spent on this spectacular continent, I had fallen in love with Africa, its wild beauty, stark landscape, and intense evenings. I loved the smell of sand, the wide open expanses, scrub brush, and free-roaming wild animals. I didn't want to leave. I couldn't imagine returning to the dreary rain and cloud covered London with its bone-chilling winters.

There was something magical about the wide open Bushveld, the desolation of the Kalahari Desert, the intensity of the sun. Nights were simply spectacular. The sun a giant orb in the sky transforming at dusk as it painted the sky in amber and gold with streaks of red and black before sinking below the horizon. Night would awaken with the sounds of animals starting their foraging. I loved Africa. I had decided I wanted to live here.

"Mbana, I am going to start working and I would ask you to stay with me. I need you."

"What will you do, Duma?"

"My education is in geology. I plan to find mineral and ore deposits and sell the information to mining companies. I need you to guide me. I can tell you what sort of rock formations or land features we need to find and you can help with your knowledge and contacts."

Mbana grinned at me. "You can make money at that?"

"If I find minerals or ores, yes. Quite a lot, actually."

"Okay, Duma. We continue travelling then."

In the tent, as Ahe cuddled in my arms she asked, "Do I come with you, Duma?"

"Ahe, I would have it no other way."

I squeezed her tightly. But when she started getting frisky, I flatly refused. I would not take any risks until I was sure she was healed. And, despite her pout and by keeping my eyes averted, I won. We slept.

Ahe tried again the next night but I had figured out if I did not get caught in her devastating eyes, I could actually stand firm. If she was disappointed, she hid it well. That day we passed into Namibia from South Africa, camping in the surprisingly lush region of the Succulent Karoo; a region replete with an array of succulent plant species. It is a wild and beautiful land with masses of colourful blooms, cacti, flowering desert grasses, and dark green bushes. Yet it is still the desert, stunning, and absolutely beautiful; perhaps one of the most beautiful spots on Earth.

That night as Ahe cuddled to my side, her warm soft naked body in my arm, she turned her face to me, chin resting on my chest, dark, dark eyes talking. Without saying a word, I understood her.

"Okay, Ahe. Tonight."

A smile burst onto her face as she scrambled onto her knees, dove on top of my chest kissing me with soft little lips. She pulled her head up, looked deeply into my eyes, flooding me with her love, and then slowly, gently leaned down and kissed me deeply.

Her delicate tongue teased along my closed lips. I felt her lips curve in a smile against mine then she suddenly thrust her tongue between my teeth, her body shaking as she giggled.

I was in love.

As our arousal slowly strengthened, we teased each other. I caressed two perfect tiny buttocks earning a murmur, then tickled her sides earning a giggle, quite an experience when lips are locked together.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten she could give as well as she takes. With a strong erection on my belly, she traced it with her fingertip, light as a feather, from the base up to the tip. My hips jerked upward seeking to increase the pressure, earning me a giggle but no joy.

Our playful touches slowly turned arousal into passion. She moaned into my mouth as her finger tip, caressing the small slit at the top of my erection, felt lubrication ooze out. I moaned when, with my finger lightly resting on her closed labia, she slowly pushed back, her lips encompassing my finger tip before being squeezed against the opening to her tiny vagina.

Our passion intensified, breathing harder.

Rising up, Ahe looked deeply into me as she swung her leg over my body, her dainty hands on my chest. Slowly she lowered herself, nestling my erection against her sex with an erotic little wiggle of her pelvis. My vision narrowed, only eyes, dark chocolate eyes. They softened as she settled, pupils dilated as she slid forward, then back. I heard a sigh as she slid forward, this time higher, the crown of my erection slipping through the moist, warm channel of her labia.

I felt it first in my hands holding her small bottom, a small twist of her hips. Suddenly Ahe had my erection pressed against her opening. I lost focus temporarily as the sense of heat, moisture, and a tiny, tiny opening overwhelmed me.

Ahe's eyes, her beautiful, hypnotising dark eyes glazed slightly as I felt her push, push gently, the memory of pain evident. With exquisite slowness, her opening grew, a tight band squeezing my inflamed crown, inching down, millimetre by millimetre.

I held my breath as she pushed, watched her eyes open wide, telling me of her relief, of her joy, of the sensation of my crown slipping inside without pain, then narrowing as passion intensified.

When I felt her slide over the crown of my erection, surrounding me in heat, in moisture, in a tight, tight velvety grasp, I moaned. Nothing, nothing had felt like this before. It was exquisite agony not to thrust my hips, to hold myself in check despite a roaring need inside. But Ahe rewarded my restraint, slowly enveloping me, sliding me deeper and deeper, her silken walls caressing me as they parted and hugged my erection, her clitoris dipping to kiss my shaft.

We both moaned when I touched the very deepest part of her, the very end, firm and rubbery against the tip. I saw her eyes open, dark chocolate eyes telling me of her wonder, her amazement, and how full she felt.

To this day, I have never seen such an erotic sight as Ahe straightening and resting her hands on her lower stomach, a smile breaking out as she felt me deep inside her body and her eyes, dark eyes softening as love displaced passion.

"John," she sighed softly, her smile radiant.

I felt tears prickle my eyes as I looked at my angel. How could I be so lucky? How could mortal man be so privileged?

"Ahe," I whispered, pulling her down to my chest, wrapping my wife, my child wife in my arms, Ahe's seductive, little girl scent sending sparks to my brain.

We moved together. I held her tiny bottom, guiding and pacing her, her tight vagina inching up my erection, cool air on my shaft. She sank on me, groaning as she hugged me inside her, deep, deep, all the way to the end. We moved together in a slow rhythm, never fast, just slow deeply satisfying strokes, sweat slickening our bodies as we made love.

Gradually, with tremors and twitches, our pace quickened, urgency arrived, bodies straining for that exquisite release.

I was close, a thunderstorm on the horizon threatening to crash over me. Ahe groaned as she pushed me hard against her deepest part, her pelvis jerking.

"Oh John," she gasped.

Suddenly, as I was buried to the hilt, she clamped down on me crying out. The thunder crashed in my brain, my erection expanded, and semen surged up exploding into her, into her immature little womb. She cried out again, raising her bottom, drawing me out and slamming down, squeezing me, semen exploded into her again, hot, thick, bathing the helmet. She cried out again, rose and slammed down, her tight vagina milking me, semen exploding again, spilling out over my crotch, too much, too much for her contain. Stars burst as she heaved again, clasping me, massaging me with her climax. Semen spurted, pleasure, pleasure. Bliss flooded me as I now thrust into her, holding her small bottom, arching my hips, pulsing within her, chasing my climax, chasing my climax, desperate to feel more of the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced.

As we slowed, as sexual release calmed and relaxed us and breathing returned to normal, I felt tears on my chest, warm tears. Ahe turned her face up to me, her eyes, dark eyes told me they were tears of joy.

We built our house in that spot, in the Succulent Karoo, amidst the cacti, succulent plants, and wild radiant blooms. For the next year we travelled, Ahe, Mbana and I, seeking and finding mineral deposits. It was a wondrous time. I discovered Ahe was ten, not eiight or nine as I had assumed. I discovered Ahe had a joyous, unrestrained inquisitiveness about sex. She pushed me, teased me, and goaded me into showing her more and more, each new sensation or position providing her with fuel to explore further. She eagerly took to sex outdoors and relished trying to shock me with inventive locations and positions.

I grew to love her so deeply it hurt when we were separated. Her giggles and laughter acted like a tonic to my exhaustion after a hard day. She read voraciously, always pestering Mbana and I with penetrating questions, and our evenings by the camp fire gradually became longer and longer as both Mbana and I found her company enchanting.

At the same time, I was as meek as a lamb, unable to refuse her when she'd turn her rich, dark chocolate eyes on me. I took to turning my back to her when Mbana would warn me she wanted something. It was quite comical at times, a grown man refusing to face a child. I'd turn shouting, "Go away you sylph, you manipulative wench," as she tried to get in front of me. Ahe would just giggle, retire, plan anew and surprise me. She almost always got her way.

They were joyous times.

When Ahe turned twelve, three months after we returned to our home, Mbana entered my study.

"Duma," he said softly, with respect.

I looked up at Mbana. He had a serious expression in his eyes. This was highly unusual. But when Mbana was serious I learned to listen.

"What's wrong, Mbana?"

"I would like your permission to leave."

That shocked me. He had never needed my permission for anything. Surely he knew that?

"Mbana, you know quite well you do not need my permission. You are, and always have been a free man."

"Duma, I ask as a friend."

"Then as a friend, I will be sad to see you go." And indeed, a deep sadness permeated me at the thought. He had become my closest friend over the past six years.

He smiled. "Don't worry Duma. I will be back in six months."

"Okay. May I ask where you are going?"

He grinned sheepishly. "I must return to my family and find a bride, Duma."

Well, blow me down. I had forgotten Mbana was now twenty-two.

"And where will you find a woman prepared to take such an ugly husband?" I asked, my smile ruining my delivery, I'm afraid.

Mbana left the next day. The following day I started construction.

Another interesting thing happened at this time. Puberty attacked Ahe. It started with soreness in her nipples, accidently discovered by my lips, I might add. She developed the most charming little lumps underneath that seemed to provide me with endless hours of fascination.

When they first manifested themselves, it was only one, on one side. Ahe was not amused at my observations about lopsidedness, or of asking her to stop leaning to the side as she stood.

"John! That's not nice," she'd admonish me with a stern frown.

But she'd grin none-the-less when I promised to apply judicious suction to the other side to rebalance her. That earned me a rather hard elbow in the side.

It was with some surprise when we discovered Ahe was pregnant. I had taken her to a close doctor friend, a neighbour, to see why she was vomiting, fearing she had eaten something or caught a bug.

"John, my boy. You're going to be a father." Dr. Jeffries was all smiles as he delivered this stunning news, assuming it was what I wanted.

"Good Lord, Dave. You are joking, aren't you?"

"Not at all. Ahe's pregnant."

"How? I mean she hasn't even had her monthlies yet."

He boisterously informed me I must have caught her at exactly the right moment, winking furiously.

It was with unusual tenderness that I took Ahe home.

"See Duma? I'm going to give you the first of many babies," Ahe whispered to me that night as she cuddled close.

She seemed quite proud of her pregnancy. I, on the other hand, was not too thrilled. Don't misunderstand; the idea of having a child with Ahe was marvellous. But I worried about her ability to bear a child at just over twelve years old.

It was around this time Mbana showed up, true to his word, exactly six months since he had left. He walked onto our land and up to the house with a big, big smile. Ahe and I were sitting comfortably, in the late afternoon heat, in wooden armchairs on the veranda.

Next to Mbana was a lovely willowy girl, slender and tall, in the full blush of pubescence, with deep ebony skin that glowed in the sun. She had the kindest face, pretty, with a beautiful, bashful smile.

"Mbana, don't you think you should introduce us?" I asked as he stood with a silly smile on his face.

His smile broadened even more. "Duma, this is my wife, Tisana."

"Welcome." I smiled at her as she shook my hand. But Ahe interrupted us, squealing, jumping up and grasping Tisana in a big hug.

As the ladies, well, girls, as Tisana was fourteen, chatted, I asked Mbana to wait a moment. I went to my study and retrieved an envelope that had been waiting his return.

"Mbana, I am glad you are back. Your place has been empty," I said, and added, pointing, "I would like your opinion on something, if I may?"

I led him around the side of our house and stopped, waiting for him to speak. In the six months he had been away I had a house built, as large as mine, six hundred yards away.

Mbana looked at the house then at me, confusion in his eyes. "I don't understand, Duma. You have neighbours now?"

I smiled. "Yes Mbana. You. I built it for you. Here." I pushed the envelope into his hands. "This is the deed to the house and half my land. You were my partner in exploration; you should be my partner in land. You earned it."

It was the only time I saw Mbana come close to tears. He didn't cry, but it was close.

Life settled for the four of us. But it was one night, only two weeks later that shook me to my core.

The scream made me bolt upright in bed, covers spilling to the floor. Ahe cried out again.

"John!"

Looking over, I saw abject horror on her small pretty face, blood soaking the sheets between her legs. Ahe had lost the baby.

But her eyes, her dark chocolate eyes, the grief and pain in them, the loss, and the agony in them tore at my heart.

I grabbed Ahe in my arms, lifting her small body, carrying her into the bathroom to sponge her, whispering softly to her.

"Ahe, my love. It will be okay, I promise."

But, as I held this child, my love, my wife, weeping in my arms, her anguish tearing through my soul, and big tears rolling down her cheeks, I was scared for the first time in my life, truly scared, for blood, deep red blood continued to drip from her, dark red hemorrhaging drops on the white tiles. God no! Please! Not Ahe!

I cherish my memories of life with Ahe.

Resting comfortably in a wooden armchair, a warm blanket over my knees, and feeling the chill of evening air creep into my old bones, I can see the sun setting, a golden orb sinking on the distant horizon streaking the sky with amber, and bolts of red, yellow and gold. Acacia trees are stark black one-dimensional outlines against the fading light like Japanese brush strokes. I smell the sweet scent of a blooming Jacaranda tree, of sand, of dust, of Namibia, of my home.

"Duma, it's time for dinner."

I looked up into rich, dark chocolate eyes, unchanged in any way by the passing of time, eyes that talk to me of a life enjoyed together, of children, of family, of love still burning strong, and of sadness as my end approaches, and of the pain of loss hovering in the night air. I see it in her rich chocolate eyes, exotic eyes flecked with gold, those beautiful eyes I've cherished for a lifetime. I see her realization I would not be kissing her in the morning.