Christina Ch. 07-11

Finally we rolled back onto the bed. I lay on my back and Touby knelt above me, his eyes aglow with rekindled desire. As I lay panting beneath him, he picked up a single poppy petal and began to brush it back and forth against my nipples, which were already so erect that I thought they could hardly stand this extra stimulation. While he continued to tease the hardened little cherries of my nipples, he picked up another petal and ran it lightly along my outer labia, which immediately began to flower open with the delicate friction.

In another few moments of this I was fully dilated, fully open to him, and he probed gentle with his fingers to ascertain my readiness. When my aroused pussy seemed to gobble his exploring finger of its own accord, he withdrew with a smile, then spread my legs as wide as they would go and entered me with a smooth, even thrust of his hardened cock.

"That's it..." I cried. "Come inside me, darling... come inside me... yes.... yes... I love to feel you like that... fuck me, darling... fuck me...."

And fuck me did! Responding to my fevered urgings, he began to saw in and out of my welcoming pussy with long and measured strokes. It seemed to me that I could feel him plunge into me all the way up to my belly, my ribs, filling my aching cunt with the hard flesh of his cock, stirring me with it until I began to boil inside with the pure hard fury of it. In my opium dream I had the feeling that I was an empty balloon, an airless bag, and that his magnificent prick was inflating me, pumping me full of oxygen, giving me life.

Much more of this, I thought to myself dreamily, and I'll probably burst.

I closed my eyes tight and drew my knees up under my chin, exposing the entire plane of my eager pussy to him. He responded by burying himself in me as deeply as he could, his groin pulling up against my tingling cunt lips and messaging them maddeningly as he plunged in and out with greater and greater fury. My teeth were clenched and my head was thrashing from side to side, my hair brushing against his face like a thousand tiny whips, and I was babbling incoherently, grunting and mewling out my ecstasy in a language that is as universal as it is incomprehensible.

"Jesus Christ!" I heard him gasp in decidedly un-Meo like tones. "Where were you when I was in the states?"

"Nowhere near Disneyland, I can tell you that," I managed to answer.

Somehow this sounded so comical coming from a Meo chieftain in a mountaintop fuck shrine that I almost burst out laughing. But I was a bit too far-gone for comedy.

"Touby," I said. "I love you dearly, but please stop making jokes and just fuck me!"

"At your service," he said.

Now he plunged into me with renewed vigor, his groin still fused with my throbbing clitty, his cock ripping through me like a fast boat on a surging ocean. I responded in kind, throwing my legs around his back and locking my ankles tightly together, my cunt now closing around his wonderful prick like a velvet trap. Now we were truly locked together, our bodies joined as if they had been welded, a single machine lubricated by sweat and by the juices of sex, a growling, churning engine, piston and cylinder, trying to tear itself apart, driving itself to its own destruction.

"God... Touby... yes... yes...." I chanted, hardly knowing what I was saying in my sexual frenzy. "Fuck me... fuck me, Touby... like that... yes... oh, yes...."

A few seconds later I felt that familiar itch begin to rise in my belly, and I could tell from the greater strength of his exertions that Touby was nearing orgasm as well. We continued to thrust at each other, stroking the fires of climax that were roaring up in each of us, driving one another ever nearer to our mutual release. Soon it was on me, a long, steady massive climax that was almost exactly opposite the short, staccato bursts I had experienced earlier. It hammered in me like the throbbing of a bass drum, slamming outward, then seeming to turn to vapor and escape through every pore of my sweat soaked body.

At the same time I felt Touby stiffen, felt his gorgeous cock begin to throb and spew its oily load into me. The timing was absolutely perfect! We screamed in unison into the warm night air, and for a moment I had the feeling that our shouts were being answered approvingly by the spirits of every couple who had come to consecrate this peculiar but marvelous little shrine. I had the feeling that a thousand years of lovers were watching us, and that someday, if I ever came back to this place, I would find Touby and myself etched into the mural on the wall outside, enshrined there forever.

"Oh, Touby..." I sighed when our orgasms finally faded. "That was marvelous... just marvelous...."

"You weren't so bad yourself," he said. "For a white girl."

I laughed easily, feeling thoroughly released, thoroughly at home with this man who I realized was now my husband – in Meo country, at any rate. But the laugh did not stop when I did! In fact, it seemed to grow and multiply until it sounded like many voices laughing, as if the carved figures had come alive and were sharing our mirth. For a few seconds I put it off as some new opium fantasy, but when the laughter grew in volume, refusing to go away, I finally opened my eyes and sat up.

There, in front of my eyes, filling the hut with their presence and their laughter, were at least a dozen Meo tribesmen, all dressed in their traditional splendor!

I quickly moved to Touby's side, casting my eye about for my clothes, for something to cover myself with. Finally I crouched behind him, letting his body shield me from their eyes.

"Touby," I whispered in his ear, "who are they?"

"My three brothers," he said, "my two uncles, and my seven cousins."

"Well, tell them I'm charmed to meet them, and I'll see them all at the reception."

Touby said something in Meo, and the men once again broke into uproarious laughter.

"Touby," I said dangerously, "why are they laughing?"

"They think you made a joke," he said.

"Well, tell them!" I barked. "Tell them it is most definitely not a joke!"

"They wouldn't understand," Touby said. "This is a very important part of the ceremony. And I had to go through hell just to get it diluted this much. They only agreed because you're a foreigner."

"Touby," I said, "I think you'd better tell me what you're talking about."

"Didn't you read it in you're books?" he said. "The part about Meo weddings?"

"I never got that far," I said.

"No wonder. Well, at a Meo wedding, right after the kidnapping, that is – all the adult males in the groom's family come to, um, sample the bride. It's an old, old –"

"No," I said. "I don't care how old it is, I am not about to fuck your entire tribe."

"I know that," Touby said. "Just calm down. I told you I got the thing diluted."

"Oh, good," I said. "Does that mean I only have to fuck the uncles?"

"You don't have to fuck anybody," he said. "No body but me, that is."

"And what do we do with this family reunion of yours?"

"They watch," he said. "That was the best deal I could make for you. They watch."

"And if I don't feel like putting on a show?"

"They kill you."

"I see," I said. "Amazingly efficient system of justice you people have." I gave him along, cold stare, and then turned my gaze to each of the relatives in turn. Finally I let out a long sigh.

"This is going to be one hell of a honeymoon," I said.

Actually, it turned out to be nowhere near as bad as I had expected. Once my arguments died down and it became obvious that things were going to proceed as negotiated, Touby's uncles sat down in a circle and settled into an attitude of polite and quiet watchfulness. In fact, they even managed to impart an air of solemnity to the whole thing, which I thought would have been impossible, but which they managed to pull off quite well.

As for me, I have never been one to shy away from an audience.

So within a few minutes, Touby and I were locked together again, his cock pumping in and out of the creamy depths of my pussy. I decided to put on a good show for the uncles, so I threw myself into this oriental fuck fest with renewed energy and spirit, literally shimmying up the length of Touby's marvelous pole, then sliding slowly, languorously back down again. A few minutes of this and I was off to the races for the third time that night.

We went at each other like that all night long, rolling and heaving through the poppy petals, changing positions and orifices as the mood struck us. We abandoned ourselves completely to the rite of consummation, forgetting even the presence of Touby's relatives as we explored and plumbed one another's bodies until every last drop of sexual juice had been wrung out of us.

When it was all over, when we simply could not move our bodies any more, we fell asleep, joining the uncles, brothers, and cousins who long before us had grown weary of the vigil.

Chapter nine

I bided my time for the next few days, turning in an academy award winning performance as Touby's wife and even learning a few words of Meo. Knowing that I would be leaving as soon as I made my contact with Laslow, it was quite easy for me to play the role, and I think I won over the Meo women fairly handily. After the honeymoon night in the shrine, the men were no problem whatsoever, and I could tell a few of them were getting ready to make me offers of their own, if I should ever tire of Touby.

Actually, I rarely saw the men. The neighboring Yao tribesmen had recently decided to align themselves with the capitalist forces that were attempting to wrest control of the opium traffic from the communist Meo. The Yao had allied themselves with elements of the Taiwanese army who had been run out of Mae Salong by the Meo and who had now established an encampment just across the Burmese border. This new Yao – Taiwanese offensive meant new fighting for the Meo, and the air was constantly being rent by the sound of mortar fire. The men, Touby included, were out on what amounted to a perpetual bivouac.

In the midst of all this, the opium harvest went on at its timeless, unhurried pace. The women spent all day in the fields, coming back to the village after dark with canvas sacks full of the resinous poppy juice. After a day or two of being left alone in the village, I begged relief from the boredom and asked to be taken to the fields when the women went out. After a brief discussion they consented, and the next morning I was handed a sack and a small curved knife and told to go with them.

I spent the better part of that day in the poppy fields, winding my way through he well kept rows of head high flowers, slitting open the polyps underneath and squeezing out the black gold inside. It was fascinating work (for a few hours at least), and it was easy to understand how the opium poppy had become the sine qua non of the Meo life, the center of its religion, the mainstay of its economy, and, of course, the motive power of its recreation.

Just when I was beginning to grow bored with the monotonous repetition of the harvest labor (I have never been known for my patience with manual tasks), I heard loud cries from the other end of the field. When I looked up, I saw that the women at that side had stopped their work and were congregating, looking down the hillside and pointing excitedly at something I could not see from where I was stationed. I dropped my sack, went over to that side of the field, and looked down. On the trail far below I could see the tiny figures of a train of mules, with a man walking alongside the lead animal. Even at that distance I could tell that the man was not Meo.

Laslow! I thought, my heart suddenly beginning to beat faster. At last I was to meet the man who could hopefully lead me to Paul's "owner".

It took him another hour to reach the village, during which time the women returned to their work, seeming to double their speed. When he finally reached the crest of the hill and came abreast of the field, the women stopped again and fell into an excited single file behind the mule train, chattering gaily as they followed him into the village. I had not yet had a good look at him, or any chance to present myself.

When we reached the village, Laslow tethered his mules and disappeared immediately into one of the huts with the headwoman. The rest of us took up a position outside the hut, waiting for Laslow to emerge. When he did, I caught his eye at once.

He was a tall man, well built and powerful looking, with a weathered face. He exuded the wild, sad feeling of a man who had seen too much, who knew humanity in all its baseness and depravity as well as in all its glory. There was also a dark, brooding sexuality about him that attracted me immediately.

He broke loose from the headwoman and walked over to me, his forehead wrinkled in a deep frown.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"Christina van bell," I replied. "I've been waiting for you."

One eyebrow shot up immediately.

"Oh?" he said. "And who would you be working for?"

"That's just what I wanted to ask you," I said.

"Young lady," he said. "Miss whoever-you-are, I hope you know that you're playing a very dangerous game." his tone was calm, but there was a threatening undercurrent to it.

But I was not about to back down.

"So are you," I said.

He stared at me for a long moment, trying, I suppose, to figure me out. I stood my ground, staring back at him coolly. He broke first.

"All right," he said, "let's talk."

He led me into the headwoman's hut, giving instructions in Meo that we were to be left alone. Once inside, I explained why I had come – my search for the holder of Paul's contract; the inexorable trail that had led me here through snider; then Santos, then Touby.

"I know you work for the man who owns Paul's contract," I said. "I just want to know where I can find him. You won't be implicated in the least."

He sat for a long time in silence, evidently thinking over what I had to say.

"Alright," he said eventually. "I've got a good setup with the Meo, the first decent setup I've had in my life, and I don't want to see it compromised. But there's nothing I can do for you here. As soon as the harvest is over and I'm all bagged up, you come with me to Penang. Once we get there I can set you up with people who can take you right to the boss."

I was suspicious. "Why can't you just tell me his name and where he lives?" I said.

"Because I don't know either one of those things," he said. "Those answers are in Penang."

I thought it over for a minute, and realized that for the moment I would have to be happy with this rather unsatisfactory compromise. I had no way of knowing whether or not he was telling the truth, but in this situation I had no way of finding out.

"Alright," I said. "I'll come with you to Penang. But what do I tell Touby?"

"Are you really married to him?" he asked.

"Up here I am."

"Then you can't tell him anything. We'll just have to sneak you out."

"Why can't I just tell him? He's civilized enough."

"He still has to answer to his people. Besides, the Meo have only one form of divorce."

"Death." I said. "I should have known."

"Death," he said, nodding in agreement. "And you certainly should have."

Three days later the harvest was ended. Touby had come back from a series of skirmishes with the Yao to oversee it, and had made me increasingly nervous by gluing himself to my side at all times. Apparently he was taking our marriage more and more seriously, as Laslow seemed to have known he would. I had developed something of an affection for the Meo leader, and I didn't want to hurt him if there was any way it could be avoided. But I could see there would be no way to approach him reasonably, so I held my peace and left my escape up to Laslow.

I knew his mules were loaded with this year's crop of opium resin, so I kept myself as ready as possible, fucking Touby silly at night so that he would sleep deeply, while sleeping with one eye open myself. Nothing happened the first night but on the second, when I was just about to drop off to sleep in spite of myself, I heard a rustling at the door of the hut. Then I saw Laslow's figure silhouetted in the doorway against the moonlight, and I knew that it was time to move. I got up quickly and tiptoed out of the hut, causing not so much as a stir in my Meo husband.

Outside, Laslow had everything waiting. The mules were packed and the front two were decked out in Meo riding gear. We mounted and moved off through the village as I hoped against hope that the mules would not stumble or bray. If so much as one Meo awoke, I knew, I could kiss my life goodbye.

But the escape went off without a hitch, and soon enough we were heading down the trail, putting distance and safety between Mae Salong and us. The night was gloriously moonlit, very similar to that other night – my god, it was so long ago – when I climbed the mountain with Touby and locked my body to his in that beautiful little shrine. Now I could not help but turn and look back, looking wistfully up the mountain, hoping to discern some shape, some familiar landmark that would help me locate that strange and wonderful temple of sex. But the mountains were shrouded in mist, and the shrine seemed hopelessly gone forever.

Yet despite my temporary melancholy, I had the unshakable feeling that I was finally on my way back to Paul.

The next morning we arrived at Chiangrai, where Laslow transferred the raw opium to, of all places, an air force helicopter.

"How do you get away with that?" I asked, after the chopper had taken off.

"With what?" he asked.

"With using an air force helicopter to transport opium."

"You should see the general's new swimming pool," he said.

So that was it, of course. I should have known. Evidently, the military was neck deep in the opium trade, and in that light some of the more absurd aspects of American foreign policy in Southeast Asia suddenly began to make perfect sense. I could not help but wonder how many wars that had been fought in the name of religion, or freedom, or national self determination had in reality been opium wars, battles to control what is and always has been one of the most lucrative trades on earth.

Realizing that, I also knew that Touby would never again be able to leave his mountains. Somehow, it was not a pleasant thought.

"What happens to the opium?" I asked Laslow as we walked back to his jeep.

"Bangkok for processing," he said, "then Marseilles for distribution, then on to buyers in Europe and America."

"I thought that route was dead," I said.

"It was," he said, and I saw him smile for the first time. "I'm reviving it."

There didn't seem to be anything more to say, so I simply climbed in the jeep beside him. A short ride and two plane flights later, we were in Penang, that beautiful Malay island which is known throughout Asia as one of the last bastions of British colonialism.

We took a taxi to the airport terminal in George Town, then a trishaw – a combination of rickshaw and tricycle that is the mainstay of public transportation in Malaysia – to the funicular railroad that takes one to the top of Penang hill. Penang itself is something of a Southeast Asian melting pot, and the street scenes reflect the mixture of cultures that have come to enjoy the city's tropical beauty and undeniable prosperity. The smell of Penang's streets is almost awesome – frangipani mixes with the Malay satay and Indian biryani, held together by the heavy tropical air and then stirred to a fragrant stew by offshore breezes. I had been there several times before, and now I was glad to return, doubly glad in that I felt I was drawing nearer and nearer to the end of my search.

Now we rode the funicular up the hill, leaving the heat of Canarnon Street behind as we passed through successive layers of jungle vegetation to the cool and flowery air at the top of the hill. Laslow maintained a suite in the Penang hill hotel, and was welcomed warmly by everyone from the porter to the manager. I found this welcome vaguely over exuberant, for up till now Laslow had struck me as one of the most reticent, self-contained people I had ever met, but I realized he had probably brought these people's affection with the proceeds of his opium concerns.