The Sweetness of the Pear: Mekela

"Would you like to?"

"I always like to make love."

I stretched out beside her. "You have an intriguing accent. Did you come here from somewhere else?"

"I grew up in Africa."

"How do they make love in Africa."

She knelt up in indignation. "How do we make love in Africa? We make love just like everybody else. How do you think we do it?"

The blood rushed to my face. "That's not what I meant," I tried to explain. "I meant, 'Do you have any special customs or special rituals?' "

"I know what you meant," she laughed. "I was just teasing you. We have lots of ways to make love in Africa. Let me see. Sometimes we play 'the lion and the lioness.' Would you like me to teach you?"

"Very much"

She knelt down on all fours, facing me. Her skin was dark and glossy, her breasts just as firm vertically as they had been horizontally. "The lion, you see, he is a lazy fellow. He sits in the sun all day showing off him mop of hair. He thinks he is the king of the beasts." She reached out and tousled my hair. "You will be the lion."

I got onto my hands and knees too. My penis was beginning to swell.

"And who is it that sweeps the floor, carries the water, and hunts for dinner? Me. The lioness. I am the one who gets things done." She raised her head and neck up proudly and began to parade back and forth. As she turned, she gave me the full view of her backside, her firm, strong haunches, her dark, alluring vulva.

"The lion is good for one thing, I suppose. But he is so lazy! Must the lioness do all the work herself?"

She wiggled her bottom seductively. I crawled over to her, and knelt up behind her, bringing my now erect penis to the margin of its target. She took a step forward, coyly eluding my touch. My penis was drawn forward as if by a powerful magnet. I braced my hands on her firm hips. She snarled and reared back unexpectedly, pushing me off. "The lioness is contrary," she explained, matter-of-factly. "She does not want to make things too easy for the lazy lion."

She resumed her walk, sashaying her hips and smacking her lower lips with every step. But every time I approached, she snarled and clawed at me. I launched myself onto her back, but she wrestled her way out from under with a strength and wiriness that surprised me. Then she wiggled her gorgeous bottom again just inches in front of my face.

Perhaps a little sugar might do the trick. I ran my tongue lightly up the crack of her buttocks. I licked again, deeper this time, and then deeper still, probing the full depth of her crevasse. I found her anus, and tarried there a while to savor the texture of its pucker. I tasted the tidy little seam between her anus and her vagina, then lightly traced the slit of her vulva from stem to stern. I licked her again, this time plowing the furrow more deeply. I plowed more deeply still until I struck her wetness. She seemed more docile now. I tried once more to mount her, but again she threw me off, this time clawing my chest.

I approached her warily, and gave her a few more tentative licks. Then I licked her more languorously, starting at her clitoris and tonguing a wide swath all the way to her anus. I brought up my penis one more time. She reared, but this time I was ready. I grabbed her firmly around the chest and waist and pulled her up on her knees. I held on tightly, her bottom spooned tightly against my groin, her back pressed firmly against my chest, until her struggling subsided.

We were both breathing heavily. I gently nibbled her earlobe. Still holding tightly with one arm, I slid my other hand down between her legs to continue massaging her there. She turned her head, and I nibbled the corner of her lip. I let my grip soften into an embrace. With one hand still down between her legs I played the other over the magnificent contours of her volcanoes, feeling my way up their slightly overhung southern slopes, cupping their heft, running my thumb around the crater rims and over the steep, hard nipples. She was pressed so closely against me that it felt to my hands as if it were my own body they were exploring, my own silky skin, my own bursting nipples, my own patch of woolly hair, my own wet vagina. The head of my penis poked out between her thighs like an appendage of her clitoris, and my hands felt them both with equal wonder.

Mekela leaned her head back against my shoulder and let my hands have their way. But when I went to lower her back down onto the futon, she bucked and tried again to escape. This time I roared and grabbed her with both arms around her waist. She slipped through, but I still had her by the knees. She squirmed onto her side. It took every inch of my strength to get her onto her back and myself on top of her. Both of us were now slippery with sweat.

"My pretty lioness," I panted. "Why are you so contrary?"

"My handsome lion," she panted back. "You have won me now."

She wrapped her arms gently around my neck and lifted her face to kiss my cheeks and my eyes. She opened her legs. She was so wet that I slipped into her effortlessly, like a crocodile into the Nile. I kissed her, and with every stroke of my pelvis I rubbed her whole glistening torso against mine. She thrust back, and it was not long before I had filled her full of lion cum.

We only had time for a very short nap before the chime called us back to work. Grant and Claire were already in the conference room. They regarded us with some amusement.

"Did you have a nice siesta?" Grant asked.

"Very nice," I replied. "We managed to get in a little exercise as well."

"I see," smiled Grant. "Ostriches? Or lions?"

"Lions," I admitted.

Grant gave Mekela a knowing smile.

"He made his lioness purr like a kitten," she volunteered.

Everyone laughed.

"Next time, ask her to teach you the 'motorcycle postman,'" Grant advised.

We got back to work. Things proceeded smoothly until we discovered one potentially fatal snag. The projected transshipment route cut right across the marine sanctuary. We might be able to get a waiver, but Grant thought it was not very likely. The only other route was much longer and would be several times more expensive.

Claire was visibly crestfallen. But Mekela remained optimistic. "I'm sure that we can figure this out," she said. "Let us put on our thinking caps."

The problem seemed insurmountable. In most projects the movement of material makes up only a relatively small part of the overall operation, not the keystone to success or failure. We came up with three or four possibilities, but immediately had to reject every one of them. It looked like we might have to go back to square one and redesign the entire concept from the ground up.

"In Africa," Mekela said, finally, "when we wanted to build a church or a school, we did not have contractors and engineering firms. We had to rely on the people of the village to come together to carry the mortar and lay the bricks."

"I wonder if we could we do something like that here?" asked Claire. "Couldn't the local fishermen, in their smaller boats, reach the project sites without crossing the sanctuary?"

"We have been trying to think of a way to generate more local enthusiasm," said Grant.

"We'd probably be able to pay them a competitive fee," I said.

"They could take one load out in the afternoons when they go to set out their nets, and another load in the mornings when they go back to retrieve them," said Mekela.

We got back out the maps. Mekela consulted the gazetteer. Claire phoned Central City to be clear about indemnification. Grant and I ran some rough estimates two different ways. The supplies would arrive in much smaller loads, but they would arrive continuously. If we started the shipments early and continued them regularly, it just might work.

Dr. Peterson was very pleased. He congratulated all four of us on our creative thinking. The very first thing tomorrow, he would initiate a formal letter of agreement. He was delighted to have us on board and was looking forward to a splendid project.

We still had some time before dinner. Was there anything we needed to do? No? Well, perhaps Clark and Mekela had a few things they needed to attend to. Could we all plan to meet up again later at the restaurant? And, in the mean time, would Claire and I perhaps like to see the botanical gardens? They were the pride of Panga Lea.

Claire remembered the gardens from her earlier trip, and clapped her hands together in anticipation. They were indeed quite enchanting: lush tropical foliage, incredibly delicate orchids, leaves the size of bedspreads, exotic flytraps, tree dwelling bromeliads, catwalks through the canopy. Dr. Peterson was a charming host, and I could tell that he thoroughly enjoyed Claire's sincere fascination with every plant and flower.

We met Grant and Mekela at the restaurant. The chairs matched, at least most of them, but the tables were still exposed to the open sky, and the ambiance was still very informal and fun. Black beans and rice, mashed plantains, grilled fish, and watermelon juice, served family style. We told funny stories from our childhoods and tried to work out who had had the best place to grow up. We ended by agreeing that happy childhoods can take root in many different soils.

After dinner Dr. Peterson shook my hand heartily and kissed Claire on the cheeks. He was glad that this would be just the first of many meetings between us. Perhaps Grant or Mekela could suggest some further entertainment if we were not too tired, but he hoped that we would excuse him. He had a family to get home to.

"Do you like to dance?" asked Mekela. "There is a place where we can dance under the stars. I like it very much."

The place was not much more than an open dance floor surrounded by palm trees, but it was pleasantly crowded with people of all different ages. There were two guitars, a trumpet, a steel drum, a conga drum, and an astonishing array of percussible objects. The local rhythms were infectious. Mekela and I started out as partners, and Grant and Claire, but it didn't much matter on the crowded dance floor. Mekela took off her sandals and vest and danced bare footed and bare breasted.

Mekela's friend Patrick was there, and the two of them danced several numbers together. One was a bouncy cumbia that wound itself into a frenzy of steel drumming and earsplitting trumpet scales. Mekela and Patrick danced every beat, until the rest of dance floor was thrown back around them by centrifugal force. Mekela shook her grass skirt and her little breasts until she glistened with sweat. Patrick danced around her with his hands up over his head, conforming his body to her ever changing contours. She raised her own arms and whipped her hips around, sending the strips of her skirt out into a perpendicular orbit. Viewed edge on she was completely naked, a flash of clenched buttocks alternating with a whirl of nappy hair.

Later in the evening, a violin arrived and the music slowed down. I danced with Claire, holding her close in my arms. Her head and pony tail rested contentedly on my shoulder, and I was very aware of the lithe, supple body beneath her soft blouse and thin skirt. I danced with Mekela too, her bare titties pressed against my chest and my semi-erect member pressed against her groin. During one achingly romantic tango, my member found its way out of my trouser slit. Without removing my hands from Mekela's naked back I wove it through the thicket of her skirt to give her a little pink kiss.

"We can't call it a night without a little swim," said Grant.

"Yes, yes," agreed Claire.

Grant knew a nice spot not far from where we were. We took off our clothes under a palm tree. Grant's cock was all limbered up from the dancing, and Claire glanced at it more than once. She ran down the gentle dune ahead of us, her nude body pale in the moonlight. We followed her iridescent footprints. The water was peaceful and very refreshing after the long day and the dancing. We frolicked and splashed. Then Grant and Claire raced each other toward a light further down the shore. They took their time coming back.

"Do you know that I never saw the ocean until I was grown?" said Mekela.

"It must be wonderful live so close to it now."

"I love it very much. My friends and I come to bathe almost every day."

"Do you ever think about going back to Africa?"

"All the time. But I think about staying here, too."

"So do I."

"Have you ever made love on the beach?"

"No, I haven't."

She grinned at me. "So many things I have to teach you today. Come on. It is not difficult."

There was no one else in sight. We lay down right on the margin of the tide, where the bigger waves washed up gently around us.

She straddled my chest and massaged each of my nipples with her groin. Suddenly I felt a cozy warmth spread over my chest and abdomen like a wave charged with sunshine. I gave my body to its comforting embrace, even as I recognized its familiar pungent odor. "It is good for the skin," Mekela laughed. Another wave, a colder one, washed the warmer one away. I rolled her over on her back and kissed her fleshy lips and her salty, sandy volcanoes.

She rolled me back, and pressed herself flat against me, thigh to thigh and arm to arm. My penis was wedged against her pubis. "Aha," she said. "Is that the handsome fellow who kissed me on the dance floor? I hope he will stay a little longer this time." She wiggled her hips until it slipped right in, a perfect fit. She clenched her inner muscles and began to slide her whole body up and down over mine. I held her tight, one arm around her back, the other grabbing her bottom. Her weight, her friction, the warmth of her belly, the goose bumps on her thigh, the phosphorescent froth and splash and wetness, the slow, blissful rise, the gentle, rolling break, the sparkling ebb.

We said our affectionate goodbyes on the beach. Claire and Makela embraced, Grant and I shook hands. We would be in touch about the project as soon as we got back to the office.

On the walk back to the hotel, Claire was very happy.

"We did well today, Hector."

"We did indeed."

"Are you proud of us?"

"I'm very proud."

"So am I."

Back in the room, we got ready for bed. Claire cuddled up to me under the sheets.

"Do you mind if we don't make love tonight, Hector?"

"I'd say we were both pretty tired."

"We don't have to be at the station tomorrow until noon."

"Mmm."

"Shall we just lounge around all morning?"

"Mmm."

"And will you fuck me like a lion?"

I kissed her forehead. "Just you wait and see."

"Goody," she yawned.

We both slept soundly. The sun rousted himself out of bed long before we did. I drifted deliciously in and out of sleep, with Claire nestled softly beside me. Eventually we were both awake, but the only thing either of us did was to kick off the sheet when the sunshine reached the futon. The most luxurious thing in all the world, according to Claire, is to lie in bed for an entire day. But I just don't seem to have the stamina for it. Before long I got restless. So I got up to adjust the curtains. Then I went to the bathroom. Then I ordered breakfast.

When I came back, Claire was lying on her tummy, propped up on her elbows, looking at the booklet from the botanical garden. I was captivated by the way her back tapered so gracefully toward her slender, practical waist and then burgeoned out so voluptuously into the copious abundance of her hips. The two round halves of her bottom were full and firm and I could see well down into the rosy fissure between them. Where her legs parted, the lips of her vagina were just visible down below. Her broad thighs, her buxom calves, her perfect little feet. She looked at once so innocent, lost in her book, and so alluring, that my Calandrian equanimity was all but overpowered.

She put down her book, rolled onto her back, put her arms up on the pillow, crossed her ankles, and smiled. Every square inch of her radiated an overbrimming contentment with life. Her breasts were gentle and round, her navel soft and inviting. The fleshy hood of her clitoris poked out ever so slightly between the lips of her vagina like the tongue of a young girl concentrating on her lessons. All this she offered up to me as innocently as if she were swathed in flannel.

My built-in polygraph could not help but register an uptick of arousal.

"Lounging?" I asked.

"Basking in glory," she replied.

I knelt down beside her. My polygraph had ticked up another notch, and she had noticed.

"I don't suppose you've seen any lions around here yet this morning, have you?" she asked, sweetly. "I'm kind of expecting one to drop by."

"Lions! Well, if it's lions you're trying to attract, you're going about it in entirely the wrong way," I lied. I got on my hands and knees. The needle of my polygraph was now pegged to the limit. I strutted along the mat in my best lion form. "You are the sleek and powerful lioness. The huntress. The provider. You have just returned from a glorious kill. The blood is still dripping from your lips. You must promenade through the camp with your head and tail raised high."

She crawled to her drawer. "I should probably try to look a little more like a lioness and a little less like a lion." She used some pins to gather in her unruly hair, then turned to show me her profile. If her coiffure was not entirely convincing, the perky upturn of her breasts left little room for doubt.

"Grrrr," I said.

"Like this, then?" She began her promenade. She took long, slinky strides, shimmying the two luscious halves of her bottom with each seductive step, keeping her pouty vulva on full display. "Is my tail up high enough?"

"It's high enough all right." I knelt behind her, levering my penis firmly against the length of her slit. "See? You've already caught the lion's attention. But the proud lioness does not just let herself be mounted by any old lion who happens to amble by. She plays a little hard to get to test his determination. She plays a little bit rough to test his strength and vigor." I gave her a sharp slap on the butt.

She flinched and scurried out of my reach, looking back crossly at me over her shoulder. I tried to approach her again, but she quickened her pace and would not let me near. I pretended to preen myself until she dropped her guard. Then I stretched out and slowly licked the sole of her foot. When she did not pull away I licked the knob of her ankle, and then the plump belly of her calf. I had just worked my way up to her bottom, when there was a knock on the door and Conchita came in with a tray.

"Breakfast!" exclaimed Claire.

Conchita carried the tray to the table, paying little attention to our state of disarray.

"Breakfast indeed," I said. "There is nothing that lions like better than the taste of human flesh."

The table was well within my striking distance. After Conchita had set down the tray I bounded over and took a great mouthful of her thigh.

"What is this?" asked Conchita.

"Poor Conchita," I replied. "You have fallen in with a pair of ferocious lions who are going to eat you up."

"Oh, my goodness! Lions?"

"From Africa," said Claire, pouncing. She took a big mouthful of the other thigh. We maneuvered Conchita back toward the futon, and she sat down with a plop. Claire opened the drawstring of her apron with her teeth. I buried my head under the loose garment and began to dine on her bare ribs and midriff. Claire started in on her shoulder.

"Oh my heavens! I am being gobbled up by lions."

I worked my way up towards one breast, and Claire worked her way down toward the other. "Please, Mr. and Mrs. Lion," Conchita laughed. "Please do not eat me up today. There are many more breakfasts that need to be delivered."

I considered. "Well, all right. We'll let you go this time. But only so that you will be all that much more plump and juicy the next time."