Maggie in the African Bush Pt. 02

"Will you take care of Mark while I'm gone?" The speaker was Faye, Maggie's best friend in Lokichogio, the tented United Nations encampment which supplied food and other aid to the people of war-torn Sudan.

"What do you mean?" asked Maggie. The two were drinking Tusker beer while sitting at a wobbly table in the shade of the grass-thatched hut that served as a bar in Loki. Mark was Faye's lover.

"I'll be home in England for a month. I'm worried that Mark will find somebody else." Faye was wringing her hands in nervousness.

Maggie took a long look at Faye. Faye was a tall, thin, attractive blonde who spoke English with an accent Maggie supposed was cockney. Mark was a tall, thin, blond, UN official with polished manners who spoke with the accent of a BBC news reader and was unmistakably upper-crust which Faye was not. The two had been lovers during the five months that Maggie had lived and worked at Loki. Both were about 30 years old. Maggie was 39 and American. "I'll be glad to help you, but how am I supposed to take care of Mark?"

"Well, you know...." Faye paused. "I know this is just a Loki romance and a temporary kind of thing but I won't be able to stand it if he takes up with another woman. There's several girls here who would hop into bed with him in a moment while I'm in England. He may like one of the younger girls more than he likes me." Faye was uncomfortable, unlike her usually brash self.

"What makes you think I can divert Mark's attention from other women?" Maggie wiped away a bead of sweat from her temple. It was hot. It was always hot in Loki and air conditioning was unknown in the UN tent camp.

"Well, Brian is gone so you're not tied down at the moment." Brian was Maggie's 23-year-old lover, also English, also upper-crust, and in a long-term relationship with an English girl who had come to see him in Loki. Maggie had met her when she arrived. Brian and she pretended to be no more than acquaintances in the little world of two hundred aid workers living in Loki. Brian and his girl friend had left Loki for a tour of African game parks. Brian would return in a couple of weeks.

Maggie was both insulted and amused. "Faye, level with me. Are you asking me to fuck Mark while you're gone?" She took another drink of her beer and leaned back in her wicker chair and stared at Faye.

Faye looked relieved. "Well, yes...if it's necessary -- and of course if you want to. Mark likes you. I know that. And you have fucked him."

"Once. And we were drunk and did a four-some which I don't regret, but it wasn't very romantic or memorable. He just got off in me while you were doing the same with Brian. I was worried the whole time that Brian would like you more than me -- and I probably wasn't much good with Mark." She laughed. "Fortunately, Brian seems to have some sort of mother complex so he stayed with me."

"Oh, you were good all right." Faye had relaxed. "I was worried that Mark might like you more than me." The two of them clicked beer glasses in a mutual toast and giggled like school girls.

Maggie ruminated on Faye's offer. "You've got nothing to worry about. I feel like a grandma around you all. So, how do I lure Mark into my tent -- and defeat all the competition for him even though I'm old and flat-chested and no glamour girl?" For all her protestations, Maggie was in fact proud of her slender body and her smiling and friendly face that had attracted a number of men to her bed. She thoroughly enjoyed her sex life, despite being the wandering wife of a preacher back in Kansas and the mother of two teen-age children, one of whom was in college. She had deeper feelings for Brian, her toy-boy friend, than she liked to admit. It was a real romance and they loved each other in a transitory way.

Faye spoke after a pause. "I could tell Mark that I'm leaving him in your hands. You two could travel together on a trip to Sudan -- on business of course -- and cement the relationship."

Maggie giggled again. "You've been plotting this. Evil girl! Do you think Mark would agree with this arrangement?"

"I think he would. You underestimate yourself. You're strong and sensible and sensual and you attract men who want more than a brainless female and a roll in the hay."

"Thank you for that." Maggie leaned forward and kissed Faye on the cheek. "But, supposing Mark and I hit it off, what do I do when Brian comes back to Loki in a week or two?"

"Tell him the truth. Tell him you are filling in for me in my absence. And since he's been fucking his girl friend, it should be okay for you to fuck Mark. Fuck them both. Do a threesome. We're all one big happy family."

"It's all very complicated. I don't want anybody to get hurt. Least of all, me."

"You can handle it. I'm leaving tomorrow. And tomorrow Mark is off on a week-long trip to Sudan. You could go with him. I'll suggest that to him. And I'll suggest to him that you might be willing to continue what you started with that foursome. Remember! We're disaster junkies. When we're not saving the world, we have nothing to do in Loki except drink beer and fuck."

Faye took a long drink of her beer and continued. "Moreover, you'll be leaving Loki about the time I get back and Brian will need someone to console him. I'll do that. For you." She giggled while she took Maggie's hand in hers. "He's cute -- and he has the endurance of youth and a big cock. I discovered that about him in our little tryst."

The two of them laughed together and Maggie waved at the bartender to bring them two more bottles of beer. Maggie sipped her beer in silence as Faye prattled on about her visit to England. "I should be insulted," she thought. "Faye doesn't want Mark attracted to other women here, so she wants me to be his lover because I'm no threat to their relationship. Should I feel cheap and used? Instead I think I just agreed to become her substitute lover with Mark. Am I a Loki slut? That's what some people call Faye....But, what the hell! Brian is off with his beautiful, rich girlfriend and I'm lonely and jealous. I need a life while he's gone. Jesus, I pray, make this all turn out well." Maggie still had the faith of her youth and marriage -- although she had decided that sex and booze did not belong in the pantheon of sins. Provided, of course, that nobody got hurt. Her husband seemed happy with the contributions to their meager income from her earnings -- and he didn't ask what she did during her absences from home.

She said to Faye. "Tell Mark I'll go on that trip with him. But don't make any other promises."

***

Maggie and Mark saw Faye off at the airstrip that served as the Loki airport which as usual was crowded with aging, decrepit cargo airplanes -- mostly of Russian origin -- that the relief workers used to travel to Sudan and to deliver or airdrop goods to civilians displaced by the war. After waving goodbye to Faye they walked together to their plane. Each of them carried a small bag containing all they would need for their week's sojourn in the Sudanese bush. Both of them had a satellite phone hanging from their waists. That would be their contact with the outside world while they visited remote refugee camps.

In line with her semi-agreement with Faye, Maggie had paid more attention than usual to her appearance. Her wardrobe was limited to flowery skirts, sleeveless blouses, sandals, and floppy hats to escape the always-present sun. Sunscreen and mosquito repellent were essential and, for this trip, she added a small bottle of perfume, a tube of deodorant, and a dozen condoms (UN supplied condoms were available in a bucket nailed to one of the posts in the Loki bar) to her usual travel items. "I'll fuck him if he wants to," she said to herself, "but I not going to take the initiative and be embarrassed if he turns me down."

The two of them boarded the airplane, a Russian Antonov, similar to the U.S. Air Force's C-130. They sat on canvas seats lining the walls of the plane surrounded by bags of wheat and rice, construction materials, a bicycle, boxes of medicine, and other items. Air was the only way to get survival items to the refugee camps and besieged villages of Sudan. A half-dozen other passengers were on the plane. Once the plane took off it was almost too noisy to talk.

Maggie took a close look at Mark. He was dressed, as always, in impeccably pressed khakis and matching shirt -- but his armpits were stained with sweat. He was more than six feet tall, slender but in obviously good shape with a shock of brown hair that spilled onto his forehead, white and shiny teeth that spoke of many trips to a good dentist, and well-tanned skin. "I can see why Faye likes him -- or is in love with him. He is a good catch for any woman. Can I catch him? Do I want to?" In the narrow seats, their hips touched each other and Maggie was aware that her small, pointed breasts --- barely concealed by a blouse unbuttoned to her breast bone and a loose, flimsy bra purchased in the Loki market -- touched his shoulder when she leaned toward him to hear his comments shouted above the noise of the aircraft engines. Her flowery, equally flimsy skirt, also purchased in the Loki market, rode up over her knees. The weather favored a minimum of clothing.

Their two hour plane ride ended in a landing on a dirt airstrip carved out of the bush. A crowd of tall, slender Sudanese awaited at the edge of the landing strip, along with a white man in the uniform of a military officer. The British has peacekeepers stationed in Sudan to try to keep the warring factions from killing civilians. The officer met them as they walked down the ramp of the Antonov. He showed deference to Mark and cast an appraising eye at Maggie.

"Welcome to the Nuba Mountains," said the British officer. He led them to a Land Rover at the edge of the dusty airstrip. "I'll show you around. We've arranged a pair of huts for you to stay. No electricity, of course, but a shower has been rigged up. Shall we be off? We've got three refugee camps near here, and all of them are in need of more supplies, but I'll let you determine that." Mark took his seat in the front beside the driver and Maggie squeezed into the back seat. "Comfy back there?" asked the cheery officer, a major. Maggie had learned how to distinguish British military ranks since her arrival at Loki. Maggie covered her face with a scarf to ward off the dust as they proceeded slowly down a primitive red-dirt road. The major kept talking. "I hope that airplane brought us something to eat. I'm awfully tired of goat and rice three times a day."

Maggie and Mark had an exhausting day talking to refugees and relief workers. They were tired and sweat-soaked and the sun was going down when they returned to the base camp, a single rambling adobe building with a tin roof surrounded by about twenty thatched-roof huts. "Dinner at seven," said the major. "I'll leave you to clean up and get settled down."

"Could I offer you a drink?" Mark asked as they walked toward their huts. "After a shower of course."

"Yes, please, a large drink," Maggie answered as she wiped sweat and dust off her face with the scarf. "Where's the shower?"

"There." Mark pointed to a small outbuilding with walls but no roof. "It's the only running water for one hundred miles. You go first."

"Thanks." Maggie stepped inside her hut which contained a narrow metal cot with a thin mattress, a chair, a small mirror, and several bottles of water. She put her carry bag down, opened it, and got out a fresh skirt and blouse, panties, and a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo, and a towel. She walked to the shower with her clean clothes and reveled in the sparse flow of cool water from the shower head. She toweled herself dry, letting her hair hang down loosely in strands over her shoulders, wrapped the skirt around her hips and put on the clean blouse without bothering with a bra. "The sun is down, but it's still too damn hot," she said to herself. "Besides, I'm supposed to be seducing Mark. Braless is just being practical."

Mark met Maggie as she walked from the shower to her hut. "There's a pint of Jameson and a bottle of water and glasses on my bed if you want to start while I'm showering," he said. "No soda water, sorry."

"I'll make do." She walked into his hut while he continued on to the shower, sat down on his bed, opened the bottle of Jameson and poured a healthy dollop in a glass and added a splash of bottled water. Maggie loved alcohol, so much so that she had worried about becoming an alcoholic. Earlier in her wayward life, she had had sex with several men while under the influence. She was confident now that she had her drinking under control.

She had downed one-half her drink when Mark returned from the shower. He was dressed in a clean and ironed pair of khakis and shirt and his hair was combed. Before thinking she blurted out, "My God, Mark! How do you manage to look like the fashion magazine portrait of an aristocrat on safari! I look a mess, and I tried to clean up." She laughed at herself. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be bitchy -- but you give me an inferiority complex."

Mark leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You look beautiful. I like your hair." He ran his fingers through her brown hair which had a few sparkles of gray mixed in.

"I'll tie it up in a pony-tail when we go to dinner."

Mark poured himself a drink and they clicked glasses and sat side by side on the bed, talking about what they had seen during the day. Mark's eyes strayed downward to the curve of her breasts, visible as she leaned forward and raised her face to look at him.

Maggie was the lone woman in the dinner with Mark and six British soldiers and aid workers. The occasion was festive. The airplane had brought in canned hams and peas, beer, and whiskey and this luxurious fare incited revelry and good cheer. For the soldiers and civilians who had lived for months in this isolated post, it was a rare opportunity to celebrate -- and with a rarity, a white woman. Maggie wondered how many of them had mistresses among the tall, elegant Sudanese women. "You could take these women to London, and make them models," she thought.

It was nearly ten p. m. when Mark and Maggie, both a little tipsy, walked back to their huts arm in arm. The darkness was unsullied by any hint of artificial light.

"Another drink?" asked Mark as they reached the door to his hut. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him. She leaned into him and they stood wordlessly for a long minute. "Faye told me she asked you to take care of me while she's gone."

Maggie pulled away in distress. "She wasn't supposed to say that. I'm going to kill her!"

Mark laughed. "No obligation, but you can take care of me if you want to." He kissed her on the forehead and tightened his arms around her waist, his hand straying to the top of her hips. "Do you want to come inside?"

It was the moment of decision for Maggie. She rested her head against his chest as she thought, "Should I do this?" She raised her head to look at him. It was so dark that she couldn't see his face, but she touched her lips against his. "I don't know. I don't want to mess up my relationship with Brian. He's a beautiful boy and I'm fond of him." She almost said "even though I'm old enough to be his mother" but she caught herself at the last moment.

"We can keep this as secret as you like. Except for Faye. She'll want to know."

"I couldn't keep this a secret from Brian. Can we do this without consequences? I'm not sure that we can."

"We're all temporary here. You'll be going home soon; Brian will go home; I'll get another posting; Faye will stay. She loves her work and this life. We live for today. Tomorrow, who knows?"

"He's answered one question in my mind. He wants to fuck me and he's mostly sober this time," Maggie thought. She couldn't help but feel pride. "This British aristocrat who is handsome and rich and on his way to a lordship and a cabinet position, wants to fuck me, Maggie from Kansas, little Mrs. nobody." She corrected herself. "But I am somebody. Men like me; I'm good at my job; I'm doing worthwhile work. My children are proud of their adventurous mother; my husband, well, I suppose our marriage is in the toilet...."

"So," he asked after a long pause. "Do you want a drink?"

"No," she answered. "I don't want another drink, but I'll come inside with you. Do I need to get anything from my hut?"

"If you're talking about what I think you're talking about, no. I am prepared. Faye prepared me."

Maggie said in exasperation. "You knew. All this time I was wondering if I should -- and how I could -- seduce you. And I didn't need to."

"No, you didn't." With that he put his hand under her chin and raised it to his head and kissed her on the lips and she responded and they locked into a lengthy embrace. His hand ranged over her hips and she thrust her pelvis against his and felt his hardness pressing against her.

Mark reached inside her blouse and his hand found her breast and he pressed his fingers against her nipple. She felt his fingers explore her nipple. It was erect and prominent and firm to his touch. "Did you go without bra tonight to titillate me?" he asked.

"No, It's not about you. It was hot and my bra was wet from sweat that had been trickling down my chest all day. I'm more comfortable without it."

He pulled her closer to him and reached down and pulled her skirt up to her waist and then put his hands under her hips and picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him as his hands explored her buttocks. "You wore knickers."

"Yes, necessary. This skirt is made out of very thin cloth. I didn't want to display myself to everyone."

"So, what appeared to be your womanly wiles were just practical ways to beat the heat?"

"Not exactly. I confess that I had in mind that I wanted to fuck you -- and maybe a little show of skin would help." Their lips met again and her legs tightened around his waist and he drove his groin against hers. She rocked back and forth against him. She was breathing hard.

He lowered her to the ground. "Let me take your blouse off because I want to kiss your naked tits in the dark of a moonless night in the wilds of Africa." His hands sought the buttons on her blouse and she helped him pull it over her shoulders and over her arms. He caressed her breasts with his hands and his mouth found a nipple and he kissed and sucked it. "And now your skirt," he said. He fumbled for the string that held the skirt on, untied the bow knot, and it dropped to her feet. She stepped out of it. He pulled her panties down to her ankles and over her feet. He unzipped his pants and pulled his penis out and pressed it against her now naked body.

"I hope I can find my clothes," she said. "I can't see my hand in front of my face." She felt his penis probing her crotch. "Don't be sticking that thing in me. I'm a preacher's wife. I can't take any chances." She pushed him away and turned and found the door to the hut and opened it and bent down to go through the short and narrow opening. He followed her.

Inside the dark interior of the hut, she felt her way to the bed, leading him behind her. "I wonder if that cot is strong enough for both of us," she asked.

"It's the same kind of cot that you have in your tent back in Loki. If I recall correctly, it held both of us about a month ago.

"Oh, yes, that was fun, wasn't it? I was a bit uptight. I'll try to be better tonight."

"You were good. I was worried I wouldn't get hard."

"You did." She reached down to feel his penis. "That doesn't seem to be a problem." She unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it toward the chair near the bed and pulled his pants and boxer shorts off over his feet, kissing his penis on her way down. She took his penis into her mouth and sucked it and licked it and wallowed it around in her mouth.