Untamed Passion

Tags for Untamed Passion – Contemporary 2, Interracial 3, Procreation 3, Romance 1 – (New to my Tag system? See my profile for specifics before reading.)

This is a work of fiction. The island state of Casslan is a made-up location (to the best of my knowledge) for the purposes of this story. All names are fictional and any resemblance to characters herein, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

"Nakina Owusu is a beautiful African refugee who finds herself on the islands of Casslan. As she struggles to make a life for herself far from home, she finds herself courted by an unlikely suitor, and is swept up into a torrid love affair that will affect both their lives..."

For those of you who like it, please send comments, suggestions and constructive criticism. I apologise to those who do not find it to their liking, since the aim was to please rather than displease. Enjoy.

*

Debra Augier inspected herself in the mirror as she was preparing herself to retire for the evening, reaching the decision that she would need to visit a hairstylist soon. Suddenly Vanessa, her eldest daughter, flashed past her doorway in a flurry of movement that spoke of an overdue engagement, which the blaring car horn outside emphasised.

"I'm off mom!" her voice drifting back down the hall. "I'll be back before eleven, and don't worry about dinner!"

"Please be careful ma Cherie," Debra called, her English accented with French undertones. "Do not do unnecessary things!"

Vanessa was now past the age for her mother to look out for her, but she still worried about her daughter, who had finally turned eighteen. In a way Debra was glad, Vanessa had become a lovely young woman who had taken well to the responsibilities of her life. However, she was at the age when members of the opposite sex would become a factor in her life – she already knew boys were paying attention, and even some men.

As a mother, Debra's wish was that her daughter would find a nice quiet person who would care for her and make her happy. Surreptitiously, she had screened through the potential suitors that had shown interest, and had been quite surprised to find that David Ambrose was among that number. Her only consolation was that Vanessa was a bit of a tomboy and had, thus far, shown little interest in men.

David was the current heir to the powerful Ambrose family, who was allowed significant leeway by the, somewhat, corrupt government on this small island state. The Ambrose were insular, and many people, even other wealthy families, were nervous around the family patriarch Albrecht Ambrose. Debra was secretly terrified of the man, even though she had never met him in person. In any event, it was exceptionally rare that he had ever been seen outside the halls of his stately residence.

Debra gave a sigh and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was now an older woman and her hair was greying over, but she wore her age with dignity and grace, and only in her eyes could one see that she had passed through hardships and sorrow and had come through stronger.

It was such hardships and sorrow that Debra wished to spare her daughter from, which she believed would befall Vanessa if she became involved with David – she had no dislike of the courteous young man, and even found him to be pleasant, but it was his family that made her anxious.

****************

The year was 1978 when Debra had first arrived on the islands of Casslan, she had come as a refugee and her name then had been Nakina Owusu. Like many, she was seeking to escape the vicious civil unrest in Africa and didn't care where she ended up, so long as it was as far away from the guns and hacking machetes as could be managed. A single refugee was not given too much attention as the country was undergoing internal decay under the failing communist government of the time.

Even with ease of entry, Nakina was still a single young woman, tribally raised and far from home – she had little understanding of the workings of the modern world. It was fortunate that there had been refugees who had come before her, and they had an impromptu set-up to aid people like herself.

Within two weeks she had a job as a counter hand in a local mini-market, but life was not made any easier; fluent in her native tongue, her English and French were poor, and as an illegal immigrant she was woefully underpaid and worked twice as hard. Yet it was either that or risk being returned to her country. Nakina choose to endure rather than return to a hell she had left behind.

Despite this, she was only surviving and she was miserable. With no idea where her remaining family was, and with no true friends, she tried to fit in by remaking her image, but it was a time when fashion magazines portrayed impossibly slender women with firm builds as the ideal type. Though not fat, she was larger-bodied than most women, and her sizeable breasts were soft and pendulous. The majority of the island's native people were of African descent, but her purer pedigree made her features distinctive and though it cost her dearly, she constantly spent her money on perfume to try and hide her strong body odour. The people who should have been her comrades teased her constantly, and, though Nakina Owusu smiled, she felt alone and depressed as never before in her life.

Sitting at her counter during work, she looked up to serve the next client. Whilst she didn't know every individual who shopped here, there was a certain clientele that came to this particular district, and she was certain this man was not one of them. Nakina always felt nervous with having to deal with Europeans or anyone of pale complexion, whom she had formerly only seen at a distance, and still lived with the dim preconception that they sold her fellow countrymen into slavery. This man was frowning over one of the larger hand-held phones of the period, and his displeased face seemed especially stern.

With some timidity, she began to punch in the items he wished to purchase, watching him nervously out of the corner of her eye. She suspected he might be intolerant and prone to violent outbursts for small mistakes. Suddenly he turned to her and smiled winningly – it had been the last thing she expected, and was suddenly confused. The neat stack of goods he had piled up, she toppled over and the violent tumble of items made her yelp in distress. He began to help her gather them up, laughing softly and without malice, all the while inquiring into the well-being of her person.

The manager came out and chastised her, then began apologising for her clumsy behaviour. To her eyes, he seemed a small nervous creature; eager to please, and even more eager to shift blame – she grimaced in disgust. Whilst the two of them exchanged words, Nakina was able to obtain a better look at the client. Though a white man, she could tell he was still fairly young, perhaps her own age. His hair was of a dark, almost dirty, blonde colouration, and she was amazed by glitter of his blue-grey eyes, which were as gentle as the morning sky – it was the first time she had seen such features up close. His mouth was wide and expressive, and his smile came easily. Once he had reassured the manager that all was well, he returned to her counter, much to her surprise.

"Do you think you could finish with my items, Miss..." he leaned forward to peer at her name tag, "Miss Nakina Owusu."

His manner was warm, even affable, and she felt her nervousness fading. Quickly she resumed processing his purchases and gave him the receipt, accepting the money he handed her and returning his change.

"I'm Michael," he said suddenly, and she was unsure how to respond, and smiled back instead. Perhaps there might be another customer? She looked behind him, but there was not a single person to be seen.

"Are you new to the islands?" he tried.

"Yes. New, two week ago, come," she answered, conscious of her poor English.

"Would French be easier for you?" he switched, believing he heard the faintest trace of French on her tongue.

"Yes, it is little easier for me," she replied, happier that she could manage.

****************

Michael returned regularly thereafter, almost on a weekly basis, and Nakina was at a loss, for he always seemed to find his way to her counter. She began to secretly fear that he might be an immigration officer who would soon find out she hadn't the proper permits to be in the country. Instead, he asked her out to dinner.

Coming from a culture of arranged marriages, she had limited notions with regards to courtship. She was a black woman and he a white man; the idea that he was interested in her as a woman did not even trespass upon her thoughts – instead she assumed he was interviewing her for some particular purpose that she hadn't yet discovered, and thus, despite his pleasantry, the entire ordeal was nerve-racking for her.

As the evening went on Michael slowly tried to ease her out of her shell, but she did so only reluctantly. As a quiet woman, used to allowing men to speak and dominate her life, that long-acquired view was profoundly ingrained. Seeing as a soft approach was producing limited results, Michael tried a different approach. He broke broke straight to heart of her concerns:

"Miss Owusu," his voice serious and formal, "Am I correct in assuming you're in Casslan without valid permits?"

As expected, it shook her badly, and, emotionally, she was suddenly quiet open.

"Is this what has been bothering you?" he laughed suddenly, making it clear he did not think much of the matter. "Please, put this aside – there is little reason for you to worry about this. The government of this country is quiet indebted, and they have little time to look for people who are here without proper permits."

"But..." she began.

"This country requires capable people, good people" he told her, "If you work hard, I am certain your lack of documentation will be overlooked, and you shall probably be given citizenship in the near future."

Nakina meditated over this for a space. Michael wanted to reassure her further, to state that she could turn to him if needed, but he felt it would have been an underhanded thing to do. He wanted to see her stand on her own feet, so that she might someday shine with her own light, instead of remaining in the shadow of others.

"Come Mademoiselle," he said, interrupting her thoughts, "I brought the beautiful lady out this evening so that she might enjoy herself – this is your night. Please be at ease."

It was worth something to see her wide-eyed expression. Michael wondered if he had overdone it – flowery expression came a little too easily in French. He looked at her, enjoying her rich dark beauty, and became aware of his own heartbeat. Her lack of fluency with the local languages made her seem charmingly naïve, but he had talked to her long enough to realise that she was quiet intelligent, and quick to understand all that was taught to her. Trying to seem offhand, he waved for the waiter.

Whilst he did so, Nakina sat silently opposite him, her cheeks feeling hot. Did he really think her beautiful? She considered herself plain looking, and her brush with fashion beauty had shaken her further. Looking over Michael, she tried to see if the compliment could be returned. She had seen other women looking at him, so she supposed he must be handsome, but try as she might she could not see that quality in him. Nakina decided she had only a curious fascination with him.

Certain members of staff had disparaging looks for her, but Michael's company soon made her forget the world around her. He was intelligent and witty, and entertained her with the dialects of five different languages in which he was fluent. He had a way of making her see her dullest aspects as shinning accomplishments, and, moreover, she realised she was laughing the night away. It had been a long, long time since she had laughed at anything, and she was sorry when the night finally came to an end. He finally drove her back to the dormitory that she shared with many other fellow workers.

At the door he left her, smiling warmly as he took a step away from her. "May I see you again, Mademoiselle?"

Nakina's voice felt hoarse, "I may be busy during the week. But I should like that."

"I notice you have improved your capability in English and French – you are quite exceptional to have done this so quickly." he complemented.

She could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest, her clothes felt unusually confining, and yet somehow too revealing. She also felt sudden disappointment. His silence was her cue to leave. There was an irrational need to prolong the moment. "You must be very clever," she said suddenly. "Despite your praise, I can barely manage, where you can speak five different tongues."

Though his eyes were gentle things, their gaze upon her suddenly sent goosebumps across her body. "Perhaps I could teach you."

Nakina stared at him, not trusting herself to speak. "There is so little time."

"Perhaps we can arrange a date when next we meet..."

Nakina thought she was about to urinate. "I must leave," she stuttered and raced inside.

****************

Nakina's room was a public sleeping area wherein others like her shared their space. In the oppressive night heat of an island summer, she moved quietly so as not to awaken the others. She stripped down and slipped into a scanty nightgown that was a size or two too small for her – a loan from the girl who slept opposite her.

Gently she slipped beneath the mosquito net that draped over her bed, rolling and stretching, moaning softly to herself. There was a deep and burning ache in her belly, glowing embers of loneliness and sex and restless youth. She was haunted by the face of her fair-skinned courtier.

As if by casual chance, her hand fell against her thigh and she brushed the velvet-smooth skin along the inside. Her fantasies were small, private things that the average woman might have considered mundane and unexciting. Now Michael had added a new foreign twist to them.

In them, she lay upon her bed, as she did now, save that she was naked and alone. Somewhere, there was the glow of candles, but it was otherwise dark. Her arms were stretched above her head, her hair washed and soft and spread beneath her head. Carelessly dropped about her body, the blossoms of exotic flowers in shades of red, pink and yellow. From the dark, Michael would come to her, lifting the thin material of her mosquito net to join her beneath, his naked white body oiled and silk-smooth. Upon her bed, he would kneel beside her, kissing her cheeks, her lips, her neck, whilst he ran long strong fingers across her body.

She could almost feel the smooth cream of his skin against hers, exquisitely pale against the rich black coffee of her skin. Nakina lacked the sexual imagination to take the fantasy further, nor did she dare – her body was already damp with sweat, and she had used her last bottle of cologne a few days ago. She sighed despondently, removing her hand, her fingertips coming away wet and slippery.

The following day found her surly and irritable, which continued throughout the rest of the day. Even two days later, she remained somewhat gloomy until Michael came back to see her during the day, and arranged for a place for them to meet up.

****************

Whilst Nakina stumbled initially, Michael was charming and gentle with her, and soon she began to quickly pick up the basics. Though she was clumsy at first, Michael was never lacking in patience. Now they met with each other two or three times a week at his apartment. He made no attempt to touch her, and Nakina was both relieved and disappointed.

They conversed about many things in general in an attempt to improve her familiarity with words. He had also been teaching her to read and now she peered at some nursery books with large letters he had bought for her to practice with, whilst waiting for him to return from the kitchen. A few moments later he brought out refreshments and they resumed her study.

Reading the words was different from simply speaking them, and some of them caused her some measure of frustration. Continuous talking had left her throat dry and she stopped for a moment to drink. Michael, who had been sitting behind her organising his own work, looked up when she stopped reading and approached at her shoulder to see what might causing her difficulty. The sudden heat of his breath against her neck startled her.

Given what transpired next, it would be hard to believe that had she remained calm, nothing might have ever come of their friendship, now, or in the future. Instead, just as the day of their first meeting, she overreacted in surprise and her glass was toppled over, spilling the contents in many directions. The juice was ice-cold, causing her to leap to her feet from the chilling shock. Calmly, Michael immediately took charge of the situation, bringing tissues and placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her. Slowly, he began to dab ineffectually at her soaked clothes, which now clung revealingly to her body.

The atmosphere was at that surreal point between fantasy and reality, of which neither of them were unaware of it. Michael had a sudden fascination with her lips and she with his. That slowness was suddenly broken when he jerked forward, pulling her to him, his own clothes absorbing the damp from hers. Nakina made a violent surge and pushed him away, her lips tingling, her heart racing.

"Michael, perhaps we shouldn't..." she whispered as though afraid of an illicit affair that might be discovered. He began to shower kisses across her face and neck, his hands describing the contours of her luscious body.

"Your shirt will be spoilt," she gasped in protestation as she saw the angry orange stain on the white fabric. He removed it and flung it aside like some useless garment. Though slender, he was well-built and healthy. Against the coolness of her wet dress, she could feel the heat of his body burning through.

Before she aware of it, he had unbuttoned the front of her dress and slipped it down, over her shoulders, allowing it to hang about her waist. Her breasts were bare, for she was not too comfortable with the confining embrace of a bra, and no one in her dormitory had possessed one to fit her. Sliding from her neck, he began to lick and suck at the residue upon her bosom. With his warm tongue gliding over her smooth skin, she involuntarily clutched at his head, her fingers sliding through the smooth strands that tickled the sensitive skin between them.

His hands slid down the arch of her back, further sending her dress down her body, clutching at the ample cheeks of her backside, as he slid the offending garment free from her body. Against her skin, those hands were hard and powerful as he held her close against him. Against the base of her stomach, she felt the rigid length of his manhood pressed between them, and the heat that radiated from it was even more intense than that of his body.

With a final deep kiss, she found herself upon his bed. Michael was moving with reckless haste in his efforts to be free of the last of his clothing. Nakina found herself shrinking from the intensity of his desire, but she could only watch him as one hypnotised. As his trousers and underwear came off together, she was shocked at the sight of his erect penis; she expected it to have been slender as his body, not the rigid, heavy thing that now confronted her. His pubic hair was light like his hair and his testes weighty.

Finally free of his clothes, he crawled over her. The sight of her lying beneath him was becoming overwhelming; the pulse in his temples hurt and his shaft twitched obscenely to his every heartbeat. Nakina had been at the heart of his most forbidden fantasies for months now, having long since tired of the porcelain doll-like beauties he was acquainted with. There was not one part of her body that had been made or tidied to please the whims of fashion – she stood wholly on her own account. All this bound within the delicious pseudo-taboo of an interracial coupling.