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Archive name: granny.txt (MF)
Authors name: Ximenes (address withheld by request)
Story title : Granny and the Tree House
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Granny and the Tree House (MF)
by Ximenes (address withheld by request)
***
"A Gap Year experience you won't forget," said the
brochure. "Face new challenges, meet new people, find
yourself in the tropics, and at the same time know that
you're doing something to help those in the world who
aren't as fortunate as you." They weren't joking,
either.
***
It's not the age, it's the attitude...
This story is dedicated to all those British teenagers
who spend part of their Gap Years doing altruistic work
in developing countries. They are the salt of the earth
and unsung heroes of the world. As are also those men
and women who plan, organise and supervise our Gap
students both in Britain and in the field. This story
is for you. Gentlemen, this could be you!
PROLOGUE
It had rained for days and days. The soil was full of
moisture, and the torrents of water falling from low,
grey clouds simply ran over the surface of the earth
and into the streams. Global warming? El Ni¤o? Who
could tell!
I had come out from England to escape grey, rainy days,
but they seemed to be following me. Here, along
tributaries of the mighty Limpopo river in Africa I was
supposed to be checking up on the most vulnerable
settlements, those closest to the rivers, and dropping
off emergency supplies or evacuating villagers to
higher ground for the duration of the floods.
But here every house was at risk, and there wasn't any
safe high ground to be found. The entire surface of the
earth seemed to be awash and on the move. The rivers
were treacherous - chocolate brown, foamy, and in
midstream moving at a brisk jogging pace. The elderly
outboard on our RIB (rubber inflatable boat) was having
a hard job to make headway upstream.
The Aid agency had given us a route to follow each day,
and a boatload of food and blankets to distribute. We
had radios to keep in touch with our base, but in these
low lying districts communication was poor. As often as
not we were out of touch and on our own. "We" was
myself and my Mo‡ambiquan interpreter and guide Jonas.
To begin with, the work was all I had dreamed it might
be - exotic, exciting and altruistic. We were welcomed
everywhere we went, and by dropping off medical
supplies and ferrying ill or injured villages to the
clinic at Chokw‚ we had the glow of performing a useful
humanitarian function. Heady stuff for a nineteen year
old on his "gap year" before University.
But it had rained for days and days. The exotic had
become commonplace, the exciting was now humdrum and
our job was becoming increasingly dangerous. The rivers
were full of uprooted trees, sheets of corrugated iron
off destroyed buildings, and lumps of wood with
protruding nails in them. Any of these would slash our
fragile boat on contact. At best we would be stranded;
at worst we would be swept away in the current and
drowned.
The Agency we worked for was on the point of suspending
our little flotilla of boats, saying that conditions
were too dangerous for its volunteers. We were very
reluctant to stop operating, because we knew that the
situation of many villages was even more perilous than
our own. Besides, if something's dangerous it's also
exciting. We were all afraid of having to sit around,
bored, until it decided to stop raining.
It was mid afternoon and we were on one of our last
stops. A small hut stood prominent at the junction of a
side stream with the main river. Normally it would have
been ten feet or so above high water level, and the
side stream would have been a small trickle. Now,
however, the main river was almost level with the top
of the bank, and the side stream was much too deep and
fast flowing to wade or swim through. The hut, with
palm thatch walls and corrugated iron roof, looked
pathetically inadequate to withstand any further rise
in water level.
In the hut was a man, his sick wife, her mother, and a
young girl of about ten or so. A scrawny guard dog
yapped frantically as we carefully nosed our way to the
bank. Half a dozen hens scuttled about trying to avoid
humans and find some shelter from the deluge.
The woman had a fever and seemed very weak. Jonas
shinned up a large tree growing next to the house, and
with this extra height he managed to make radio contact
with base. After describing the woman's condition and
the precarious state of the house, we were told to
ferry the family to the base clinic. This was about two
hours upstream in normal conditions. In the raging
flood we knew our boat wouldn't make it against the
current with everyone on board.
Being young and foolish I immediately offered to stay
behind, and told Jonas to take the husband and wife. He
would return later for me and the other two people.
This was strictly against our rules, and we both knew
it would be virtually dark before he could arrive back
at base. There was an absolute ban on travelling on the
river by night, even in normal conditions. In this
weather it would have been suicidal. But the woman's
condition was alarming and we made our decision to
split up.
All our RIBs carried an emergency pack which included
lightweight tent, food, fresh water can and so on. I
took out the food and water, and we used the tent to
make a shelter over the RIB to protect the patient from
the worst of the rain.
While this was happening Jonas was also explaining to
the man that we would leave his mother in law and
daughter in my care until a return journey could be
made. The child was very tearful at being left with a
white stranger, and as the RIB spluttered slowly
upstream round a corner in the river we all realised
how deserted and vulnerable we had become.
Jonas had kept the radio, so I was completely out of
contact with anyone. I could speak neither Portuguese
nor the local tribal languages, so the only way I could
communicate with my two charges was by gesture.
I already knew the chances of being picked up that day
were slim; the sun would set at 6.00 and darkness would
fall very quickly in these Equatorial parts. There was
just a chance that Jonas would see or make contact with
another RIB and divert them to where I was, but it was
a long shot.
CHAPTER 2
So, as evening drew on, I took stock of my situation.
It had stopped raining for the time being, but storm
clouds were piled up in all directions, deep indigo
against the sun, and we were in a temporary respite
from the deluge.
The highest point on the land around the hut was only a
couple of feet above river level. If the river rose
during the night, we would be in real trouble. As well
as the big tree which Jonas had climbed, there was
another sizeable one close by, and it might be possible
to lay some of the hut's roof beams between the two
trees and make a "tree house" safe above the waves. It
would be flimsy, especially if the wind got up, but at
least it was worth a try. The inside of the hut was
smelly, dark and muddy. It would soon be alive with
mosquitoes, too. It seemed more inviting to risk life
in the trees than endure a night in a midden.
Now, I challenge any of you readers to try to explain
to a ten year old and a fifty-something, in sign
language, that you want to demolish their house to make
a shelter in the trees, and that you expect them to
climb into the trees to sleep! The child liked the idea
but didn't know what to do; the old lady understood
what was intended but didn't agree.
After several attempts to be diplomatic, patient and
all the things we were told to be on our orientation
course, I lost my cool and started ripping the roof
apart. The hut came apart easily enough, though not
without gashing me on sharp bits of corrugated iron. It
was probably just as well I didn't understand what the
other two were saying to me!
As I expected, the little girl was nimble and agile up
the tree, and in no time at all we had a deck of
timbers and corrugated iron, about ten feet long by
five feet wide, strung between the trees. We cut some
small branches and tied them to make a frame, and the
old woman gathered palm leaves from the forest floor
and plaited them together to give us a section about
three feet by six feet which would give us reasonable
shelter from the rain. This all took us less than an
hour, but it was all we managed to get done before
dark.
As if on cue, the light went, the rain resumed, and
every mozzie in Africa came whining towards us. We
hadn't eaten, and despite being on the Equator we felt
cold as well as wet and miserable. I scrambled all my
possessions into the tree house, and congratulated
myself for my foresight in remembering to take my
mozzie net out of the RIB. I had my torch at the ready
to signal our position if a boat arrived during the
night (no chance, I knew, but when you're in this
situation you don't always behave rationally).
The little girl brought a blanket from the hut and
climbed up with me in our tree house. She wrapped
herself, fully clothed, in the blanket, knelt down and
said her prayers. Then she kissed me good night on my
cheek as if I was her father, lay down, turned away
from me, and closed her eyes to sleep. It was so
innocent and charming it disarmed me completely.
Of course it had occurred to me that she might sleep
with me, even though she was miles too young: every day
we heard stories of such liaisons in the bar at Base.
But this girl's simple actions of trust and routine had
put her into the "little sister" category and off
limits as much as if there was a squad of heavies
watching over her.
It was just what my own sister had done not so may
years before, and although this sounds daft it made me
feel not randy, but acutely homesick. What the hell was
I doing here in the wilds of Africa, at considerable
risk to myself, in the name of "adventure"?
Then the fun really started. I shinned back down the
tree to collect granny and help her up to the shelter.
Except there was no way - NO WAY - she was going to go.
She had arranged the remnants of the demolished hut
around her into a sort of circular den, which she was
sharing with the dog and a couple of hens bold enough
to risk the canine's teeth.
My language skills were not up to telling her that she
was in danger, or a stubborn old fool, and I was
soaked, cold and famished. The dog bared its teeth and
growled at me with a "come on, son and I'll take yer
fingers off" look. So I left Granny to it and went back
up the tree.
I rummaged in my stuff and dined on an energy bar.
Forget all the adverts - high energy bars taste crap
even when you're starving in the jungle! And bloody
Jonas would have had a nice hot meal and shower and a
beer and be relaxing at Base. The girl was asleep
already, and I settled as best I could for what I knew
was going to be a long and arduous night.
I dozed fitfully. The water sounded awfully close, and
every now and then I woke with a start and shone the
torch down to see where the water was. The rain was
falling steadily, but at least there wasn't a lot of
wind. On the other hand our hasty thatch was lacking in
finesse and water was dripping through in so many
places that neither the girl nor I could stretch out so
as to avoid the wet.
CHAPTER 3
At some point during the night all hell broke loose. I
woke up - I'm not sure what woke me because, God knows,
I was tired enough. It might have been the last
desperate squawk of a chicken being swept away, or
frantic yelps from the dog: at some point granny had
tied it to a tree to guard her (who from, for God's
sake!) and now it was straining to keep its head above
water.
As soon as I came to I knew things had changed for the
worse. It was still raining. But the sound of the water
was different. The lower notes were deeper and much,
much louder, and the top notes were quieter. Shining
the torch down I saw that the water had risen so as to
be at the level of granny's den, and entering it.
There was no island with a hut any more; there was
granny's den like the conning tower of a submarine
emerging from the water, and our trees rising from the
water like a pair of bridge supports. Our island was
gone. If our tree house went we were done for! The
whole structure was vibrating in time to eddies and
currents in the swirling tide.
As I watched, granny emerged from the hut. It was
obvious she was in a bad way - she was staggering and
looked as if she was about to walk into the river. I
was down that tree so fast I skinned a wrist and didn't
even realise. Granny was totally soaked and in shock.
She was shivering uncontrollably. Her blankets were
totally wet through. She would have to come up in the
tree house, but how to get her up there? She hadn't
seemed capable in the afternoon, and no way could she
manage it now.
When I was a Boy Scout at school we were taught a
carrying position called a "fireman's lift" which we
thought was hilarious at the time because you had to
slide your hand through somebody's legs to lift them
onto your shoulders. A fireman's lift was the only way
I would be able to get granny into the tree. But do you
think I could remember how to do it? Arm between the
legs was easy; the difficult bit was how to drape the
torso around your shoulders without knackering your
back.
{So, readers, picture the scene. It's small hours of
the night during an Equatorial rainstorm. A young man
is floundering in mud in his bare feet, soaking wet,
trying to wind an incoherent and uncooperative old lady
around his shoulders.
Just when I succeed I realised I've forgotten the dog.
I don't want it in the tree with us. I don't trust it
and feel sure it will try to take a toe or finger off
when I sleep. So I undo its leash and let it take its
chances in the flood. In seconds the dark form of the
dog is lost in the night.
I heave granny onto my shoulders again, move towards
the tree, and promptly drop the torch into the waters,
now ankle deep. Instinctively I let granny go with a
splash into the flood and lunge for the torch. I find
it, but now it won't work. Bloody wonderful.
Sod's law decrees that any minute now a squadron of
rescue helicopters will fly over and miss us because I
can't signal them. I'm being eaten alive by mozzies,
and every now and then something crawls, slithers or
rolls over my feet and my hair stands on end as I wait
for something fatal to bite or sting me.}
Granny's fall had focussed her a little, so for a third
time I pulled her onto my back and set about trying to
climb the tree.
At this point I discovered that wet tree trunks are
slippery. And wet, muddy legs and feet are more
slippery. And a dead weight on your shoulders means you
need arms like Tarzan to haul yourself up a tree. And
Tarzan's genes somehow eluded my parents. And now my
skinned wrist was hurting like hell.
The first few feet were the hardest. I hauled, pushed,
pulled, and manhandled us up to the tree house deck.
Trying to get her onto the deck was the hardest. I
probably broke all the rules about handling casualties
with dignity as I pushed and prodded every bit of her
body that seemed convenient.
When I finally levered myself onto the deck I just felt
as if I wanted to die. (In the following days I found I
had a mass of bruises on every limb). Now the deck was
giving ominously with the weight of three of us. The
girl had rolled into the centre and if the two adults
were not careful we would capsize into the river. (I
thought of what I would write in my account to the Gap
year placing service. OK, they'd promised "adventure"
but this was taking things to the extreme!)
I suppose the logical thing would have been to leave
the girl in the middle and put granny and myself on
each side of her. But, of course, that's not what
happened. Granny was shivering uncontrollably. She was
clearly very frightened and not totally aware of where
she was.
I thought she might roll off the side of the platform.
So I gently moved the girl over to her original
position. I would sleep in the centre, to balance the
weight, and granny on the outside. The girl would get
drips on her feet, me on my shoulders and granny - on
her face. Blast it! That wouldn't do. I was too
confused to look for something to plug the leak.
Then I remembered that, on a Mountain Rescue course I
attended in the 6th form at school, we had been taught
that if someone was at risk of hypothermia they could
be put in a sleeping bag with a "normal" person.
("Normal", in this situation, is very relative as
readers will have already worked out!)
But granny's clothes were heavy as well as sodden.
They'd never dry out during the night, and we'd both
risk exposure. So I started hauling off her clothes in
the pitch dark. Now don't start thinking this was an
erotic awakening. For a start you couldn't see your
hand in front of your face. I only knew where she was
because I wasn't letting her go.
Next, I didn't know how many layers of clothes she had
and how they came off. Then, for someone so addled a
few minutes ago, she suddenly came to herself and
assumed I was trying to rape her and yelled and
struggled like fury so that I thought the platform
would come down.
She lashed out in all directions, walloped me across
the bridge of my nose, but did serious damage to the
thatch of the shelter. Oh, by the way, the rain had
stopped now, very suddenly, and through the new holes
in our thatch we could see the occasional star. But the
drips continued from the roof, and our new ventilation
holes had made us mozzie banquec.
Granny's yells woke up the girl. She cried and howled
in sympathy but at least she didn't go for me or
destroy the shelter. I yelled at her to shut up. Bad
move - she yelled all the louder.
All this time granny was fighting and struggling and
eventually one of the beams supporting the tree house
moved. Only a few centimetres but it felt as though we
were about to drop into the river. The girl screamed.
Granny froze. I froze, too, until I knew the damage was
not fatal. Suddenly I was so pissed off with granny
that I slapped her hard across her cheek and bellowed
at her.
She collapsed in a whimpering heap beside me. Quickly,
before she had time for second thoughts, I removed the
rest of her saturated clothes and tried to wedge them
into the worst holes in the roof. (Would have made a
wonderful sight for a rescue helicopter in the morning
- granny's faded green knickers poking through the
roof). I stuffed her into the sleeping bag and with
great difficulty squeezed in next to her. (If they
intend you to use sleeping bags to rescue people in
this way, why the hell don't they make the bags big
enough to fit two people?).
She lay on her back, her sobs and whimpers subsiding
while she waited for me to make a move on her. I lay on
my side, cushioning her head with my arm. The girl,
too, went quiet and granny said soothing things to get
her back asleep. Granny had evidently decided I would
assault her as soon as the girl was asleep. She lay
tense and unyielding. My arm under her head had gone to
sleep and I was acutely uncomfortable.
It was still several hours before dawn. I was so angry
with everyone and everything. My heart was pounding.
I'd rescued these two people from almost certain
drowning and now I'd probably be arrested for attempted
rape and spend all my adult life rotting in a
Mo‡ambiquan jail. Life was SO UNFAIR.
Long minutes passed. We were at a stalemate. I had
stopped granny shivering and we were both beginning to
get warm. When I couldn't stand the discomfort any more
I removed my arm, and, keeping my hands outside the
sleeping bag, manoeuvred her round so we were curled up
like spoons, me behind her. At last this seemed to
convince her I wasn't about to pounce on her, and we
both relaxed into sleep.
CHAPTER 4
"Dawn came up like thunder" goes the saying. What it
doesn't say is that if you're stuck up in a tree, and
there's a thunderstorm right overhead, you're shitting
bricks and certain you'll fry in the next strike.
When the storm had passed without us ending up flash-
fried, we felt it time to get up. Spend a penny, find
something to eat, wash - that sort of thing. Granny had
been awake for a long time, and as long as I kept my
hands outside the sleeping bag she seemed relaxed and
comfortable. All very gentlemanly, but my hands and
arms were mosaics of mozzie bites.
The girl was awake, looking out from the shelter and
than back at us with a peculiar, vacant expression.
I started to unzip the sleeping bag. Granny grabbed by
arm and gestured to me to get her clothes. I pointed to
them, wedged into the roof. No matter, she wanted her
clothes. I held the nearest part of her dress and
tugged hard. The ball of soggy clothes landed on top of
us. So did numerous insects. So did a small brown
snake. Furious at being disturbed, it set its head back
to strike. Granny and the girl screamed in unison.
I hadn't a clue what snake it was - to me all snakes
are vile and probably fatal. I recoiled away from it,
fast. The decking of the tree house lurched again,
setting the reptile off balance. As it tried to recover
and strike at us there was yet another lurch and the
snake was tipped off the deck, whipping furiously as it
fell to the water.
We'd had another near miss. Funnily enough, Granny
suddenly became less interested in putting her clothes
on; she wrapped herself in the sleeping bag and waited
for me to do something.
Now I'd realised that our island was under water, and I
assumed the flood would have peaked at a foot or so.
But when I looked out from the decking the sight took
my breath away. The water was half way up our tree -
the lowest branches had been submerged. All trace of
the side stream had gone.
The Limpopo extended as far as we could see on BOTH
sides of us. It felt as though we were stranded in
midstream. There was no sign of life. Brown water,
flecked with foam, and trees. Plenty of bird life but
no animals.
It all called for a reappraisal of our situation, which
was even more serious than I'd thought. There wasn't a
hope of a RIB getting through this water. Its speed and
power were enormous - many magnitudes greater than the
previous day. After the storm the day was steamy so
that visibility kept growing and fading as banks of
mist swirled across the landscape. That ruled out
helicopters. In short - we were stuck here
indefinitely. At least Base knew where we were - but
there was doubt as to whether they'd be able to find us
in this changed geography.
Some of my kit - clothes, and a few pieces of food -
had been knocked off the platform during the night. All
we had was a bottle of water, a handful of energy bars
and some fruit. Not much between three people for an
indefinite period. There was no way we could climb down
the tree and look for food on the ground. Granny was
looking at me with a "you got us into this mess, now
you can get us out of it," look.
I didn't know what to do - I felt close to tears. I
wanted to wake up and find it had all been a dream or
that rescue would come charging round the next bend in
the river. Fat chance.
At this point the little girl started sobbing. For two
pins I'd have chucked her off the platform and granny
with her. But no, I got a bad attack of the big,
protective older brother stuff. I wrapped my arms round
her and said soothing things. She couldn't understand a
word I was saying (just as well, because they were all
lies, like "don't worry, we're just about the get
rescued any minute now.") but she seemed reassured and
brightened up.
The first problem was how to have a morning pee from
the platform without embarrassing the women. The deck
was tilting at quite a rakish angle and there was
nowhere private to go. But when you're bursting, I
discovered that all your scruples leave you. I dropped
my shorts (I was now naked) and let fly as best I could
over the side of the deck, making my contribution to
the floodwaters about to devastate Chokw‚. When I
turned round Granny was supporting the girl who was
leaning out over the side to add her own quota, too.
That left Granny herself, who still hadn't quite got
out of my sleeping bag. I gestured to her that I would
support her weight if she leant out from the deck.
There was a long pause, then, reluctantly, she pulled
herself out of the bag and squatted on the safest
looking edge of our planks, naked and acutely self
conscious. I held her arm and braced to take her weight
if necessary, with my other arm round her shoulders.
She was so self conscious it took her ages to perform,
but having done that, she let me pull her up and to me.
To my surprise she put her arms around me and hugged me
and smiled as she talked. At last, I'd been accepted.
As you can imagine, being young and inexperienced, I
had an enormous boner within milliseconds. Naked adult
women had never been a feature of my social life
before; I grew up in the kind of family where the sight
of anything more than a breast on TV would get someone
reaching for the zap button. Granny could feel my
shorts tenting out into her belly.
I'm sure that's what brought on the smile! She gently
disengaged and carefully rummaged through her clothes,
shaking out every item in case any further nasties
lurked inside. She covered her bottom half but not her
top, and my boner stayed long enough and hard enough to
use as a crowbar.
After a few minutes Granny realised that I was
embarrassed at my condition, and especially at what the
little girl would say, so she distracted the girl and
moved out of my line of sight. I stared out over the
waters like a ship's figurehead (and bowsprit!) until
my hormones stopped raging as much as the floodwater
below.
We dined off an energy bar and sips of luke warm water.
Big deal. "Water, water everywhere and ne'er a drop to
drink" Studying "A" level Eng Lit was no doubt good for
the soul but it didn't do anything to keep you alive in
this situation.
But first things first. I decided our platform needed
re-building, because it looked likely we would be stuck
there for at least another night. The floods didn't
show any sign of receding yet. Granny gabbled at the
little girl who shinned further up the tree and came
back with several branches. She had absolutely no fear
of heights and was completely at home up in the leafy
canopy.
After several trips we had enough wood to painstakingly
shore up our platform. One of the beams from the hut
roof had broken, but it took ages to carefully move the
other wood around and brace it without losing any of
our precious things overboard. I was sweating buckets
by the time we'd finished.
And at that point it started raining again. Our stuff,
which had pretty well dried during the morning, was
about to get soaked again. Granny yelled at the girl,
who took off up the tree as if it were a flight of
steps. She descended a few minutes later festooned with
leaves, like a "green man".
She and Granny wove these leaves at lightning speed,
and just about the same time that all our things were
wet through again, they not only completely sealed the
thatch from the previous night, they even extended it.
If we weren't so hungry, things would be looking good.
We even had a thatched funnel of leaves to catch rain
water and replenish our all but exhausted bottle. Of
course, by the time we got the things set up to work,
the rain diminished to a drizzle. Oh well, it's the
thought that counts!
The girl climbed up into the higher branches and
played, trying to get wild birds to come to her, and
making models of them with twigs and leaves. Granny and
I had nothing to do but wait for rescue or dry land,
whichever arrived first. I sat down and motioned granny
to sit next to me. She did, and I put my arm round her.
I lay back on the deck, and she snuggled up next to me.
We could hear the girl chattering to the birds, out of
sight among the canopy of leaves which dappled us with
shade and kept off the worst of the sun's heat.
For the first time, I had a hard look at Granny as a
woman. I knew she was relatively short, only coming up
to me chin in height, but lying down on bumpy
corrugated iron covered only in a thin blanket, height
wasn't a problem. She had a thin, sinewy-looking face,
deeply lined and wrinkled by the sun, and with a very
prominent jaw and mouth. Her hair was getting sparse
but had lost none of its lustrous blackness. Chestnut
brown eyes looked warily at me above high cheekbones,
and although she had lost some teeth the rest were
white and healthy looking.
It was impossible to guess her age from her face, and
even with my youth and inexperience I realised that hot
sun and hard, outdoor work would have aged her
prematurely. I traced with a finger the lines of her
face and jaw before moving down to her bare chest and
torso. Her whole body was wiry and fit looking; not an
ounce of wasted flesh (in contrast to my padded torso).
Her breasts had lost the fight against gravity. The top
half was thin, developing wrinkles and unappealing, but
the bottom parts of each still swelled out into globes,
taut and welcoming, and as I reached her areolas and
nipples they hardened and rose into my exploring
fingers. Definitely not centrefold material, but these
tits were here in total reality and I was being
welcomed to make use of them!
Up till now she had been a passive partner, but when I
stopped at her breasts and made love to them Granny
tentatively began to investigate my body. We kissed,
hesitantly at first, then more firmly. At that point
she ceased to be an object to be done to; she became a
partner to work with (but I was too young to realise
such a fine philosophical idea. I was desperate to get
my rocks away and this woman looked a likely
prospect!).
Once again I had a raging hard on and my shorts were
tented to the point of pain. Granny laughed at my
discomfort. So I flipped my shorts down to my knees and
kicked them off before resuming my exploration of
Granny's top. I kissed her gently to show her I wasn't
about to jump her. She kissed back, then reached down
and undid a drawstring on her skirt. It was a very
clear invitation and permission to go further. I gently
pulled her skirt aside, raising up on an elbow to gain
access.
Her belly and loins were like those of a much younger
woman - rounded and inviting, and not at all sunken or
shrivelled. Her thighs were lean and well muscled. Her
pubic hair was untrimmed, but much more sparse than I
had expected. As I gently explored my way downwards, I
was parting tight spirals of hair with coffee-coloured
skin underneath. Finally, her vagina protruded well
below the line of her groin so that I could fill my
cupped hand with her pudenda.
Meanwhile she had investigated as far south as my pubes
but stopped short of making contact with my penis. I
put her hand on my tool to show it was OK to proceed,
and she wasted no time getting to know every millimetre
of me while I in turn cupped and probed her entrance.
She gradually loosened up, and my tool was jumping as
if it had a life of its own. We were kissing and
embracing, oblivious to anything around us. The she
swung herself over me, crouched on her haunches, and
carefully put the head of my penis into her.
I was terrified I'd come before we'd got it together,
so I closed my eyes and tried to think of whether I was
supposed to be doing any of this (our rules in the Aid
Agency were strict and explicit). But after a few more
seconds of making sure she was lubricated, I felt
paradise descending on me as Granny lowered herself
fully home.
I tried to hold on as long as I could, honestly I did,
but it had been a long time since my last fuck and
Granny was clearly coping with all my size. So as I
felt my own floodwaters of life rising I held on to her
for dear life and groaned as I spurted again and again
into her welcoming bowl.
We lay back, spent, on the decking and wrapped arms
around each other and dozed contently in the heat until
the girl came down and surprised us, naked, sticky and
content.
CHAPTER 5
We finished off the last remnants of our food and were
still hungry, a nauseous hunger which produced total
lethargy. All we felt able to do was lie down and try
to find a position where the gnawing from our bellies
felt less painful.
In mid-afternoon I was dragged out of my reverie by the
sound of an engine. A helicopter. It came closer,
moving slowly, and I was convinced it was looking for
us. Granny wasn't impressed, and made taking-photos
gestures with her hands. If I'd had matches I would
have set fire to our hut to show our position. But good
job I didn't! She was right. The helicopter drifted
overhead, and as I waved frantically at the crew
watching from an open door, I could clearly see the
outline of a TV camera silhouetted against the sky.
The bastards! Why couldn't they have dropped us food or
winched us up or done something useful? And I hoped
they wouldn't be able to use the pictures they had
taken - the western public wouldn't want to see a stark
naked European standing in a tree with two Africans.
And, as I've already said, Tarzan and I don't share the
same gene pool so there'd be no scoop about a jungle
boy.
To think you are about to be rescued, and then have
your hopes dashed, is totally demoralising. We just
about managed to drape the sleeping bag and our
blankets into the sunny bits of the platform to dry,
and then spent the rest of the day sitting or lying
listlessly. The girl was by now becoming very
distressed, and she spent most of the afternoon in
Granny's arms for comfort.
As darkness closed I realised we would, indeed, have to
spend a second night in the tree. We organised our
bedding, just as it began to pour with rain yet again.
The girl started her prayers routine again. This time
we all joined in - we'd need a bit of divine
intervention to get out of here alive! She tucked up
into her blanket, still whimpering with hunger.
Granny and I arranged the sleeping bag to give us as
much room as possible. I had recovered from our
lovemaking earlier in the day and was ready for more.
But I hadn't been able to get any - the girl had
monopolised the older woman's attention, and Granny had
covered herself up to discourage me.
Now, as I slipped off my shorts and squeezed in to the
bag after Granny, I could feel her legs bare against
mine. And as I adjusted the top of the bag to protect
our shoulders from any stray mozzies, she pulled my
arms inside it and put them around her. A few judicious
wriggles and her top came off, too, and I spread her
clothes under us to cushion our sharp bones against the
corrugated iron.
We were immediately busy with each other, hands
exploring and tongues kissing and tasting. She tasted
salty, and her body smell had an extra note of
woodsmoke which wasn't unappealing. I flooded my
fingers with saliva and reached down to open her and
help lubricate her entrance. As I turned and mounted
her she lifted and spread her legs as widely as the
sleeping bag would allow.
Entry was difficult and painful for her - she was too
dry and we were trying to make as little commotion as
possible because the girl was only fitfully asleep. She
winced hard and gasped in pain as I found the mark and
thrust inside her lips. Once inside, though, she
lubricated and relaxed.
As I wound up to another climax she taught me how to
move inside her, first with slow deep thrusts to her
core, then with fast, shallow little pushes just inside
her entrance. I found a breast with my mouth and
suckled her as I felt my pressure building up. As me
penis swelled even further at the point of coming, she
wrapped her legs tight round me and spoke to me in her
language, repeating the same words over and over again
while I jerked her body up and down the sleeping bag
with the force of my thrusts.
When I'd spent, she relaxed her legs for a few seconds
but held me tightly to her with her arms - I realised
she didn't want me to come out of her. I caressed and
stroked her body and she fed me her other breast as if
I was a baby.
Being young and excited, I hardened again very soon,
and she was more comfortable with me inside her. We
made love for a long time, this time very much in her
way, and eventually cried out loudly as she came. I
thrust home forcefully several times and came again,
much less copiously.
We slept through the rest of the night; our shelter was
pretty rain proof and we were exhausted. We tried to
make love again just before dawn, but she was very sore
down below and I was too tired to get a hard enough
erection, so we cuddled and kissed instead.
Soon after sunrise we heard another helicopter. This
was a familiar sound, a Russian made job used by the
Angolan armed forces. It seemed to know where we might
be because it started quartering the flooded forest
close to us. We leapt up and down, waved clothes,
shouted and yelled for all we were worth. Eventually
someone saw us and the machine lumbered towards us,
very low and very close.
The rescue itself was terrifying. The downwash from the
rotors demolished our shelter, sending thatch, blankets
and clothing flying away into the floodwaters below.
One by one we were winched up - the girl first, then
Granny, then myself, with just the clothes we stood up
in (not very much on any of us!). The crew couldn't
speak English, and my Portuguese was inadequate for the
job, so with did a lot of gesturing (no other people
around, do you have anything to eat etc) and sat back
on a cold, smelly metal floor for a bumpy ride down
towards Chokw‚.
People spend a fortune to be taken on a helicopter
flight over the jungle and game parks. We spent our
trip eating bananas and stale biscuits.
Chokw‚ town had flooded disastrously, and we were taken
to another town further away from the river. The Aid
Agency had set up a temporary feeding camp for people
displaced by the floods, but most of the ones we met
were from Chokw‚ town which was under water up to house
roof level. It seemed that most people living along the
banks of the river had either fled earlier than
Granny's family, or were still unaccounted for and
presumed lost. We had been so, so lucky.
Once I had been fed, showered, clothed and checked by a
doctor I was given a right bollocking for splitting up
with my partner, Jonas. Not a word of thanks for saving
four people's lives, just a total earbashing for
putting the Gap Placement service into a panic. Still,
I was allowed a sat phone message home, to convince my
parents that the reports of my demise were premature.
That was an emotional moment, I can tell you!
Granny and the girl were put into a tent with other
families - the husband and wife with Jonas had reached
safety, but had been evacuated elsewhere when Chokw‚
flooded.
CHAPTER 6
Having locals in our rooms after dark was absolutely
forbidden on pain of dismissal, so I bribed my room
mate to disappear for the day. It was a Sunday and
everyone in the camp spent the morning in a religious
service to give thanks for their safety and pray for
that of others.
Afterwards there was a huge amount of matching of names
of people missing, against lists of names of people in
other refugee camps. Wails of anguish where loved ones
didn't appear on any list were punctuated with tearful
"alleluias" when the smudgy photocopies showed a family
had survived intact.
I met Granny and the girl in the camp and took them for
as good a meal as we could get in a caf‚ in the town
outside the tent city. The food was pretty awful, but
at least it was available and cheap. Then I smuggled
them back to my room for the afternoon.
I wanted to tell Granny that I was leaving to be based
somewhere else. I wanted to give her as much of my
pocket money as I could afford, because I had
everything in the world and she had nothing. I wanted
to see her and the girl again before I left. And, if
I'm honest, I'd enjoyed the sex and wanted to do it
again. I figured that she might be quite willing, too.
The girl sat inside the porch of the hut, colouring
pictures in books and drawing birds and animals with
the shiny new coloured pencils I'd bought her that
morning. Granny and I made love, slowly, and in
comfort, on my bed. The door was locked for privacy and
the windows shuttered to let in a breeze but keep out
prying eyes.
I introduced her to K-Y jelly and we made love naked
and on the top of the bed, enjoying each other's bodies
as we coupled. It was a pleasant, relaxed, satisfying
afternoon, and we did it so many times I lost count.
She was uninhibited, adventurous, and we were
determined to enjoy ourselves.
But, in the end, it was a bittersweet experience,
because we both knew we were saying farewell to each
other. I was being taken upstream to re-group. I would
be safe, fed, and had a home in England to return to.
Granny had nothing, except her grand-daughter and the
information that her son and daughter-in-law were safe
in another camp miles away near Maputo.
I feel ashamed that after all this intimacy and shared
danger, I never learned her name and never had a photo
to remember her by. I never found out her age, either;
I guess she must have been around fifty. But she taught
me something useful. In the West we live in a society
where youth rules, and relationships seem to always be
about young people.
Sex with someone as old as your gran is the kind of
thing to make most teenagers puke with revulsion, as I
would have done before this experience. But "there's
many a good tune to be played on an old fiddle" as the
saying goes, and I have to say I found the sex was
pretty good. I don't regret it for one second.
On the other hand I know I would have regretted it if
I'd corrupted the young girl. I admit I'm pretty
discreet as to what I say to people about my
relationship with Granny, but the marooning episode
made me notorious within the Gap organisation and
famous at home. The jokes about Tarzan and swinging
from the trees still go on, years after the event.
I went on my Gap year to find adventure, find new
things, new people, new experiences. And I did just
that - beyond my wildest imaginings.
And, Granny, if I ever return to Mo‡ambique, I'll come
back and look you up. But this time I'll have a foam
mattress and tube of K-Y in my rucksack. I'm willing if
you are. Is that a deal?
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
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Kristen's collection - Directory 26