Maggie in Africa

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

"That's a personal question, you impertinent twerp," I answered tartly, but with a smile on my face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thirteen men? A quick response. You didn't need to count on your fingers."

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

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

"Only if I can just lie here. You've worn me out."

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

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

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

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

"Why worried about pregnancy? Did he cum in you?"

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

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

"No, but be careful. I'm a little tender. You've fucked me three times last night."

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

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

"I like Faye. I love you."

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

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

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

"The perfume of true love."

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

"Honestly, I've never had a desire to fuck my mother. My sister? Maybe." He laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

"Enough, please. I'm not going to greet the waiter naked."

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

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

"I'm proud of you. Proud that people know I am fucking you. I want to show you off. I love you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's a sad story. You were lucky."

"Yeah, I prayed to God to save me from pregnancy and scandal -- and I believed my prayers were answered. I vowed to dedicate my life to serving God and never to take a chance like that again. A year later I got married and I was faithful to my husband for 14 years."

"What changed in your life?"

"I was bored. Time was passing and I had not had much fun. I know it's selfish, but even though I loved my husband I wanted more out of life. It was a mid-life crisis, a little earlier than mid-life. I wanted a career, more excitement, more sex -- or better sex. We were almost poor before I started working. Now, I send money home to my husband and he doesn't complain or inquire as to what I might be doing when I'm not home."

"Loved your husband? Or love your husband?"

"I believe I still love him -- but I love you too. Is it allowed to love more than one man? To fuck more than one man?"

"That's a question I can't answer for you. What do your children think of you?"

"I've tried to raise them to be open-minded and tolerant -- unlike my childhood. I think they admire their mother. She's off in Africa doing something adventurous. Maybe my husband misses me." I shrugged. "I have somebody running my accounting business while I'm gone, but I need to get back."

"Tell me about your first affair?"

"It was almost seven years ago. I had been married 14 years. I had just begun my accounting business and I traveled from place to place in Kansas to audit the books of churches and religious organizations. I was cheap and I was good. I was working in Kansas City, more than one hundred miles from where I live. A friend of mine took me bar-hopping and introduced me to a young man. I ended up drunk and fucking him. It was my first affair and my first time being drunk. Not the last," I added, with a chuckle.

"Did you cum?"

"Absolutely! More than once. He even ate me. I had never had such good sex. I felt guilt afterwards, but I wanted to be loved. "

"Your husband doesn't love you?"

"He does in his own way. I make him a comfortable home. I'm a good mother to our two children -- or rather I used to be before I took this job so far away from them. I make more money than my husband does. And he fucks me every night. Always the same way. Missionary. Quickly. No formalities. No wine and pasta. I'm a receptacle for his sperm." I looked down. "Oh, shit. All this reminiscing and now I've dropped pasta on my tit."

"I'll lick it off." Brian put his plate of pasta on the table beside the bed and turned to me and licked the sticky pasta off one of my breasts, and then moved his mouth to my erect nipple. "Have I told you that I love your tits?"

"There's not much there to love. But, they don't sag. Yet. Thank God for that."

"The nipples are puffy. I've never fucked a woman with puffy nipples. Very erotic."

She looked at herself critically. "My nipples used to be pink. Bright pink. But, children and age, I guess. Now, just brown. I wish I had fucked you when they were pink. You would have liked that. They were pretty."

"I wish I had been fucking you ever since I first got an erection. I think I was five years old. Does your husband know about your affairs?"

"I don't think so. Although I suppose he suspects. I spend a lot of time traveling to service my clients." I laughed, "Well, not 'service' in the way you may be thinking. I'm very professional in my work. The men I have fucked are not my clients. I'm careful when I'm near home." I mused a moment. "My husband likes the money I make. We were poor until I started working."

"What does your husband think about you working in Africa?"

"He doesn't like it, but I give him one-half my salary. He likes that and it relieves my conscience. The children are both away at college. They don't need me much anymore. So, here I am, a wanton woman, having an affair with a young man in Africa. And loving every minute of it." I put down my empty plate on the bedside table and we kissed.

"Did your husband think about visiting you here?"

"No. Colorado is the most exotic place he's ever been. What about your girl friend? Will you get back together with her?"

Brian's fiancee had visited him in Kenya three months earlier. I met the girl -- and she was pretty, sophisticated, and stuffy in the upper-crust English sense of that word. They broke up near the end of her stay. Brian liked living in Kenya and didn't want to go back to England. Plus, although he didn't implicate me in the breakup, I speculated that one of the reasons was that he was fucking me and happy about it. That both pleased and disturbed me. I didn't want to be responsible for a failed romance.

"I don't know. I'll be going back to England in a few months. If she hasn't found somebody else, we'll begin again."

"Will you marry her?"

"Probably. Eventually. It seems my fate. She's a good match. Old money, family, you know."

"Do you love her?"

"Right now I love you." We kissed.

I poured each of us another glass of wine, emptying the bottle. We sipped the wine, sitting side by side, silent for the moment, naked, our hips touching, a sheet half-covering our legs and pubic areas. I continued my musing and self-confession. "I'm just a woman from small town Kansas with modest aspirations. Once in a while I get to do what I'm doing now: experience love and passion and excitement."

"I don't know whether or not I love my girl friend," he finally answered my question. "I've known her my whole life. We're comfortable with each other. She's good in bed -- although not as good as you are." He kissed me on the cheek.

I returned the kiss. "What makes me good in bed? Flatter my ego. Make me feel that I'm more than I am." I laughed.

He thought a moment. "You smile when you are making love. You laugh. You're joyful when my cock is inside you. You make you feel like I'm a great lover. You've got pointy tits. You always cum. You don't have an agenda. I trust you. Mark agrees with me, by the way."

I broke out into tears. When I could speak again, I said, "Oh, my God! I will miss Mark also. Will you tell him I miss him? That I will never forget him. And please take care of Faye. Beneath that tough exterior, she's vulnerable. She loves him, but he's never going to marry her."

I continued talking. "I can't believe I've been involved in a sexual relationship with you and Mark and Faye. That is far outside my experience, but I admit I pretty impressed with myself. A middle-aged woman who has a handsome youngster like you as a lover. Four months we've been fucking. I've never had an affair this long-lasting. Most of my lovers have been one-night stands -- or not much more than that. I'm a happy woman now, but I'll cry when I say goodbye to you at the airport tomorrow. Be prepared for my meltdown."

"I may shed a tear or two also. It's been fun, hasn't it. Now, I'm quietly desperate to fuck you again." His hand sought my vagina.

"Promise me something," I said.

"Anything, my brown-nippled goddess."

"Promise me that you won't forget me. You're my first real love affair. The first man not my husband with whom I have had an intense relationship. You'll go on to great things and I probably won't ever have another affair to match what I feel now. Remember me. Memories will be all we have of each other. When I'm an old woman I want to look back and remember that I loved a young man and he loved me and that we parted loving each other." Tears were running down my cheeks.

"I love you. Now and forever."

We coupled in passion, he lying between my legs. I wrapped my legs around him, his penis going deeper and harder inside me than it ever had, or so I believed, and I climaxed, once, twice -- and then it was him, his body stiffening, his breath coming hard and fast, his penis quivering in me, and a hot rush carried us both forward into a few seconds of oneness.