Thirty-seven Years a Hunter

"If you'll still have me, it does."

We were married on the fifth of August, 1898, at the Presbyterian church in Mombasa. That was because that was the only church in Mombasa that wasn't Catholic or part of the Church of England, and Sharon said she didn't hold the beliefs of either and wanted to be married by a minister of any other Christian religion.

Like Harold's funeral, our wedding was a mix of a traditional wedding and a Swahili marriage celebration. Sharon had learned the Swahili traditions and wanted to experience them as well as the normal marriage she knew growing up. Since her family was in England and could not come to Africa, Sharon was "given away" by the British general in charge of Mombasa. She was beautiful in her white dress, though it was just a white dress and not a proper wedding dress. Sharon said she saw no reason to spend money on a dress she would wear only once. Kam began crying as soon as Sharon started down the aisle and didn't stop until we were back outside.

We said our vows and were introduced to the large crowd as man and wife, and then walked out of the church to the reception. I do believe every porter I'd ever employed was there with his entire family. Sharon and I spent almost an hour walking around to each family so I could do what she'd instructed me to do. I was to tell each family that Sharon was my wife.

There were tables set up with food everywhere, but once the introductions were done, Sharon said according to Swahili tradition, we were to go home and leave the celebration to the guests.

"That is so we will be alone tonight. Kam will stay at the party and dance until morning."

I don't remember ever being more nervous than I was once we were both inside the house. I knew what was expected of me, but since I'd never had the experience, I was pretty unsure of doing it correctly. Sharon seemed to be nervous too.

"John, part of the Swahili wedding tradition is that a girl goes with her mother to learn about being married. While you were in town yesterday, Kam and I did that. I know what will happen, so don't be afraid."

I said I wasn't afraid, I was just unsure of how to go about it. Sharon smiled.

"Kam and I talked about that too. The first thing we should do is get undressed. A man needs to see his wife and a wife needs to see her husband."

Sharon pulled the dress over her head, then removed her undergarments, and smiled.

"You saw me naked once and I told you not to look. You can look at me now."

As she said, I had seen her naked before, but from a distance. Now, with Sharon only four feet away, I couldn't stop looking.

Her breasts sat proudly upon her slender frame, the darker circles around her nipples drawing my eyes to both. Her waist was likewise slender and the sensuous rounding of her belly led my eyes to the tendrils of blonde hair that covered her mound. The hair was so pale I could see the beginning of her soft lips through the strands.

Her thighs were satin smooth and because she stood with her legs slightly parted, between those slender thighs I saw her hair-fringed, pouting lips.

I was still looking at her as I undressed, and it was embarrassing to take off my pants and underwear. In the short time I'd seen Sharon naked, my manhood had reacted by standing proud.

Sharon smiled when I stepped out of my underwear.

"Kam said you would be long and stiff, and it would hurt when you were inside me. She taught me what to do to make that easier for you and less painful for me."

When Sharon took the two steps that separated us and put her arms around my neck, she whispered, "Kiss me John". That kiss, our first, wasn't like I'd been led to believe kissing should feel. It felt, I don't know, it felt like somehow we were just one. It was a feeling I felt many times that night.

I felt Sharon's breasts against my bare chest as I held her gently, and I felt my manhood brushing the hair on her mound. Sharon didn't back away as I thought she might. If anything, she pressed her body against mine even tighter.

She broke the kiss gently, then pulled me toward the bed.

"Kam told me what we should do now. I'll show you."

Sharon pulled me down on the bed beside her, then took my right hand and pressed it to her left breast.

"Stroke gently at first, then kiss my nipple."

I was in the process of kissing her nipple when Sharon moaned. I jerked then, because her small, soft hand had closed around my erect manhood. She murmured, "now kiss the other one", and began gently stroking my length. Her touch was a wonderfully pleasant torture. It was the gift only a woman can give a man, a gift that promises of what is to come but is not nearly so exquisite.

Her hand left my manhood for a moment and then I felt her guiding my right hand down the round of her belly to the blonde hair that covered her sex. Still further she guided my hand until my fingertips cupped her lips.

"Gently rub there", she whispered.

I began doing as she wished, and in the process, my middle finger slipped between her soft lips. Inside those lips, I found the folds of another set of lips, and those folds were slightly slippery with a wetness. As I stroked them gently, Sharon opened her thighs wide, then guided my fingertip lower. "Inside me", she whispered, "then, in and out".

At first, Sharon's passage felt snug around my one finger, but as I slipped that finger in and out, her fluids made the passage very slippery. My stroking also caused Sharon to begin moving her body up and down slightly. After a while, she moaned softly, then moved my hand up until I felt a small bump under my fingertip. Sharon didn't say anything then. She just began moving my hand up and down so my fingertip stroked that little bump.

I thought maybe I'd hurt her when Sharon gasped and her body jerked, but she began stroking my manhood again, so I assumed it was a motion of excitement. As I kept stroking that little bump, her body kept moving up and down, and little moans kept slipping from her throat. The hand on my manhood sped up a little as well, enough that I knew I was nearing my end.

Had Sharon not begun pulling on my manhood, I should probably have done just that. As it was, I had no choice but to follow her hand with the rest of my body. I fumbled a bit, but was soon kneeling between Sharon's wide-spread thighs.

"Put it in me now, John", she whispered.

If her soft hand had excited me, the soft lips that closed around the tip of my manhood were more than arousing. I felt her wetness coating it as she lifted her hips to push herself over my length. That effort was short lived because her maidenhead stopped my progress.

She caught her breath at the pressure, but then raised her body even more. I felt my manhood enter her passage a little more before Sharon gasped and eased her body away. I thought perhaps she had decided not to take the act to completion, but a second later, Sharon took a breath, held it, and lifted her body up again. As before, my progress was halted by that same barrier. As Sharon increased the pressure, she gasped "Do it now, John", and thrust her body up. I could not hold back and pushed into her. I felt a slight yielding at which Sharon gasped again, and then the way seemed to open to my thrust. As Sharon cried out softly, I sank my full length into Sharon's shaking body.

The sensation of her warm depths clasping my manhood and the shaking of her body made it impossible for me to avoid my natural end. I gasped as seed burst from my shaft and flew inside Sharon's body. Again and then again I gasped as the surges raced from my loins to join with the slippery wetness I felt flowing from her body. After a fourth, I could do no more than hold my weight on my arms and recover my breath.

Sharon put her arms around my back then, pulled me down and kissed me, then whispered, "Now I feel like a wife, John."

"Did I hurt you", I whispered back.

Sharon stroked my back.

"A little, but it feels good to have you inside me. Kam said it won't hurt again and that it will feel even better."

We did not repeat the love-making the next morning. Sharon said she was a bit sore. Instead, we lay in the bed in each other's arms, though I confess I did attempt to change her mind.

Kam returned home about ten that morning, and as soon as she walked in the door, Sharon nodded and smiled at her. Both of them went into the kitchen and left me in my chair in the living room. I could not hear their conversation, but I assumed it was relative to what Sharon and I had done on the previous night.

Sharon's prediction about our lovemaking becoming better was proven over the next several months. As I learned what aroused her the most and she learned the same about me, we enjoyed what I can only describe as the true happiness of two people becoming one.

Often of a night, Sharon and I would share a scotch on the porch and then retire to our bedroom. There, she would slowly remove her clothes, an act I greatly enjoyed watching, and then pull my hands to her soft breasts as we kissed. One thing would lead to another, and usually the night would end with my manhood buried inside Sharon and throbbing out my seed as she moaned, gasped, and clawed at my back when the contractions of her body swept her away.

It was four months later that Sharon informed me I was to be a father in about six months. I was overjoyed, of course, but also concerned. Sharon just laughed.

"Kam says I am young and strong and will be fine, so do not worry."

I did still worry, especially when Sharon began to swell with the child inside her. Her increasing girth did not stop us from our lovemaking though. She would have none of that even though she said most doctors would have instructed otherwise. We continued to find pleasure locked in that lover's embrace that pre-dates time, and once we had both spent, lay still tied until my manhood slipped from the velvet embrace of Sharon's passage.

Kam was overjoyed as well. She had been widowed before having children, and looked upon Sharon as the daughter she'd been denied. When the time came, Kam would have no other person present except for the doctor, and she watched his every move lest he should make some error and cause harm to either Sharon or the baby.

Emily Kamaria Adderly was born on the fifteenth of June, 1899, and entered this world quietly. When Kam allowed me to come into the bedroom, Sharon looked exhausted but smiled at the tiny baby suckling at her breast.

"Isn't she beautiful, John. I think she has your nose."

I confess I could not see the resemblance. Little Emily was of a ruddy color and still looked a bit damp. The look on my face must have been one of dismay, because Kam laughed.

"John, all babies look like your daughter looks. Being born is a struggle, but both Miss Sharon and Miss Emily are doing fine."

Such was proven to be true. Emily grew from that tiny, reddish pink baby to a fat, healthy girl with a penchant for getting into anything and everything as soon as she could crawl. Kam was secretly proud that Emily carried the middle name of Kamaria, and openly proud of Emily.

I believe Emily was the grandchild Kam had wished for, for she treated her that way. When Sharon or I attempted to instill some discipline in the young girl's mind, Kam would just laugh.

"Swahili boys and girls do as they want until they become men and women. Miss Emily will grow strong and smart by doing just that."

Usually, a little after we had scolded Emily for some transgression, we could find her in the kitchen with Kam and munching upon some treat Kam had made for her.

A year and a half later, Emily had some competition. John Harold Adderly was born a little faster than Emily and immediately began screaming his lungs out. We had thought Emily was an active and curious child. John Junior made Emily look quiet and sedate. As she had with Emily, Kam became his refuge in the storm of scoldings by myself and Sharon. If we could find neither child, we had only to look for Kam. They would both be there, sitting quietly as she taught them Swahili or showed them how to cook.

Both grew much faster than I had anticipated, and when fourteen years had gone by, it seemed to me only the blink of an eye. Emily was well on her way to becoming a woman. She had the look of her mother in her face though her hair was a dark brown like mine. She also had her mother's mind and determination, characteristics I admired, but were also responsible for more than a few arguments between us.

At twelve, John Junior was often by my side as I arranged for supplies or visited a village in search of porters. He was fearless to the point of near recklessness, but he usually had the ability to see the danger of a situation and take steps to minimize it. When he did not, the resulting scrapes and cuts were bandaged by Sharon and the cure completed with a treat from Kam.

Sharon would not neglect the education of either, though both resisted being walked to the Presbyterian Church where the minister's wife taught school in English. They both did their homework because Kam oversaw that operation between the time they came home and dinner. She always had a treat prepared for them once they had completed their assignments.

That year, shortly after Emily's fourteenth birthday celebration, I was reading the Mombasa newspaper and becoming more uneasy with the world situation. It seemed as if at some point, the alliances formed in Europe must come unraveled. Germany was working hard to develop naval superiority over Britain. Germany had also increased the size of its Army as had France.

In Africa, Kenya abutted German East Africa, and while neither the German nor the British colonial governments wanted war, I had no doubts that if the situation in Europe exploded, so to would the situation in Africa.

If such were to happen, it would not be safe for my family to remain in Mombasa. In the interest of their security, I looked for a place where they could reside in relative safety. England and the United States were too far away, I thought. Sharon did not want to take another extended sea voyage either. We settled upon Australia as it did not seem to be as threatened as Kenya. On the first of February, 1913 I watched from the pier at Mombasa as their ship steamed out of port. It felt as if my life had ended, for Sharon had insisted that Kam go with them. I would be alone until such time as the world situation returned to a peaceful state.

Unfortunately, I was correct about hostilities erupting in Africa. Fighting erupted between the German and British colonies soon after World War I was declared. Since transportation into the interior was difficult at best due to the lack of roads suitable for vehicles, most supplies and equipment required by the British forces was carried by huge trains of native porters. I was asked to lead some of these trains because of my knowledge of the territory.

I will not record the expeditions of those porter trains. Suffice it to say it was a two-year period of hard, backbreaking work that enabled the British to achieve a favorable outcome to the conflict.

The only saving grace to the whole thing was the day I stood on the pier in Mombasa as the steamer bringing Sharon, Emily, John and Kam back to me steamed into the dock.

Much has happened during the years between that day and now. Our beloved Kam passed away four years ago. We buried her next to Harold. I knew that would raise some eyebrows among the British in Mombasa, but I thought it fitting she should take her eternal sleep next to the man who cared enough for her to give her a home when she was in desperate straits. I was sure Harold would have approved. Though he never admitted it to me, I believe they found love together.

Emily returned to Australia to further her education at the University of Melbourne, and plans to return to Africa to teach in the native schools after she graduates next year. While I am in hope she will do so, in her last letter to us, she told of a young man she met. Sharon says Emily is smart enough to make her own decisions, but I would at least like to meet the man before the relationship becomes serious.

I fear that John Junior has followed in my footsteps. I believe I corrupted him with my tales of hunting and exploring the bush. Since he was ten years old, he has had no other goal than doing as I have done all these years. No doubt as more people come to Africa to hunt and explore, he will be successful. He can track as well as Knumbo or I and is a better shot than I am.

He has achieved my height, but is somewhat heavier. I retired Harold's old four bore years ago, and now use a.500 Nitro Express made by Holland & Holland. I can tolerate the recoil, but John Junior seems to be immune to the power of the rifle. Such is the benefit of youth, I would suppose. John Junior will lead our next expedition into the field. I will go along, but more as an advisor. He is as ready for the task as I was to be a Cavalary scout at that age.

He is a good-looking young man, if I do say so, and has attracted more than one daughter of a British officer. I think it likely that one way or another, I will become a grandfather in a few short years.

Sharon has just brought a glass of scotch for us both, and upon sitting mine on the table smiled.

"John has gone to visit Colonel Bristol's daughter and will not return until late tonight. I thought now that we are alone again, we might re-live one of those early nights we had together."

I smiled because though Sharon is beyond the age of bearing children, the method of conceiving them is still one of her favorite pastimes.

"I would suppose we could arrange to do that. Do you have any favored position in mind?"

Sharon smiled and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"No, not as long as I am ultimately impaled, taken to my heights, and then filled."

She rose then, opened her blouse, and let me see her breasts. They are not so high as they once were, but are much larger, and I believe more sensitive. Already her nipples were swollen and stiff.

Sharon smiled.

"Do not be too long with your writing or I may fall asleep."

With that she left for the bedroom.

Well, it is time for me to end this tale anyway, though I find it relaxing to write. I have decided it is time for me to slip into the life of writer instead of adventurer. It is much easier on my legs to write than to walk, and I find remembering to be a great pleasure as well. After thirty-seven years as a hunter of men and animals, I have a great deal of things to remember.

John Briscoe Adderly

Mombasa, Kenya, British East Africa

September, 1920