Nkhata Bay, Lake Malawi, May 1995

I sat in the hilltop gazebo overlooking the sleepy little bay. Time practically stood still here, and it was the perfect place for reflecting and putting pen to paper. I had everything I needed: a table, a stunning view, and shade from the relentless African sun.

Out on the lake, I could see swarms of flies in the shape of giant waterspouts. These humming clouds trundled slowly across the water until they hit the shore, where they would quickly strip the foliage bare. When this happened, locals and tourists alike stayed indoors under mosquito nets until the flies moved on. Sometimes intrepid fishermen were known to venture out in their canoes to catch the flies and make savoury cakes out of them – a delicacy I had yet to try.

I sighed in contentment. It had taken quite some time, but here, in this place, for the first time after months of bouncing around eastern Africa, I was finally relaxing. It’s not something you can plan, you see. You have to be ready. You have to let go.

This little ‘coastal’ village helped. An oxymoron for a land-locked country, perhaps, but true, nonetheless. Somewhat larger than Lake Erie, Lake Malawi was essentially an inland sea.

And Suzanne. Suzanne was helping, too.

Two things you should know about me,” she’d said. “One, I have orgasms very easily, and two, I’m a virgin.”

She was very direct, this incredibly sweet Canadian girl. Suzanne had told me this right after giving me the most incredible blowjob that totally belied her subsequent statement about virginity.

I closed my eyes and allowed the memory to wash over me.

Naked, I lay on my back with my cock firmly in Suzanne’s mouth. Her warm, soft, wetness was working a particularly diabolical magic on me; she’d only just wrapped her lips around my startled member and already I was close to firing an immense salvo worthy of a battleship.

Ninety seconds of unexpected delight and a torrent of slumbering spunk were about to erupt in this poor girl’s mouth!

“I’m going to cum,” I managed to gasp. It seemed only fair to give her a warning – however brief – in which to make a choice; either rapid retreat or full steam ahead and damn the torpedoes!

To my surprise, she didn’t stop, or withdraw her lips. Seemingly determined to make me spurt in her delicious mouth, she increased her oral ministrations and immediately tipped me over the edge. My balls cheered as I exploded like Mount Vesuvius after a particularly long hibernation.

Valiantly, Suzanne kept her lips clamped firmly over my pulsating rod as I filled her mouth to overflowing. I could sense her momentary indecision as she belatedly realised she couldn’t keep it all in and she relaxed her oral grip fractionally, allowing a deluge of caged miniature torpedoes to cascade onto the Pompeiian plain of my stomach and gleefully celebrate their escape.

By that day, I’d been bereft of any sexual activity since – well, since my interlude with Mette, the lovely Danish girl I’d met on the Bolivian Altiplano eight months previously. In a mutual desire to further Anglo-Danish relations, she’d quietly jacked me off in a room full of fellow backpackers. And later, when we were finally alone in a comfortable hotel in La Paz, she’d straddled me, positioned my cock at the entrance to her derrière, and offered me something I’d only dreamed about.

“Is that okay?” she’d asked gravely.

ooOoo

Letting go had taken me a long time. I had a lot of baggage to shed, you see. I’d been a submariner, but it turned out that living in a tin can a thousand feet below the surface of the ocean seriously wasn’t the life for me. It was like caging a wild bird; my wings had no room to spread and in response, my spirit withered.

I didn’t know myself then. Didn’t realise how miserable and unsuited I was for that life. But I began to comprehend that I needed to escape the dark hole I was spiralling down into. I desperately needed a change; to get away from this plummeting descent into depressing oblivion.

In desperation and hope, I decided I would follow my childhood dream of travelling the world. I would liberate myself from my bonds and become a nomad. Bugger nine-to-five. Stuff responsibility. Fuck having a job! I would live the dream and be free!  Eschewing fatherly advice, I resigned my commission and left the submarine service forever.

And in doing so, likely avoided a mental breakdown…

As it transpired, the hardest thing required to kickstart my plan was marshalling the courage to actually go; to set a date and buy a ticket. Once I managed that, it was easy.

South America broke me in. I spent three months backpacking the Andes and the world opened up before me. Everything was suddenly possible. I got my self-confidence back and, rather than assuaging my hunger, the trip only increased my thirst for exploration.

My wings were clipped no more. But simply flying was no longer enough; now I wanted to soar!

I bought a one-way ticket to Nairobi and four months later, here I was!

Here I often travelled alone. Alone but not alone, because I chose when to be with people and when to travel solo. Here I was finally free of all the shackles with nothing to bind me.

My thoughts returned to Suzanne.

“A couple of things you should know about me. One, I have orgasms very easily and two, I’m a virgin.”

Her words were still playing back in my head when she dropped the next bombshell.

“But you should know that I make myself cum – no one else can do that, so you don’t need to – you know…”

She’d smiled wryly as she said the words and I couldn’t help but wonder what experiences this intriguing girl had had – what exactly had led to this curious state of affairs?

We’d met two weeks earlier on the island of Zanzibar. But we didn’t start travelling together until our paths crossed again a few days later in the Tanzanian highlands. I’d begun to take a shine to this curvy girl with her ash-blond hair, bangs, and alluring glasses. It was only after we’d crossed the border into Malawi and reached the little paradise of Nkhata Bay that I’d tentatively asked if she would be interested in a more intimate relationship.

I perceived in Suzanne the same love of travel, different cultures, and cuisine that I had. Like me she was shy, but she also had a mischievous smile that made you wonder what she was thinking. I loved watching her barter in the markets, where she displayed kindness and respect whilst having fun and driving a hard bargain. Not an easy combination to achieve.

I sensed that for her, like me, Malawi was special. There was something liberating and healing here. The fetters evaporated, setting the spirit free.

Is this what Suzanne wanted? This priceless gift she was offering me – was this her breaking free of her own personal restraints? A chain that, until now, she had been content with?

Did Suzanne want me to set her spirit free, too?

How could I possibly be worthy of such a precious gift?

All I could do was try and make it special for her.  I was no Casanova, but I wanted to take my time and show her that someone else could please her. I wanted to give her belief in herself so that afterward, she could feel the joy and soar with confidence.

I hoped I could do that. After what she had done for me, I couldn’t do any less, could I? It had been such an intimate act, brave and determined, yet full of uncertainty.

ooOoo

I remember that evening well.

“Would you like to make love?” I’d asked.

Coyly, she smiled at me and nodded.

We undressed and lay down on the bed together. The soft down of her pubic hair lay incredibly vulnerable before my eyes.

The confident and assertive Suzanne was absent now; she had consciously made herself defenceless and exposed. How could such an assured young woman have reached her mid-twenties with her virtue intact? Her earlier display of fellatio had hinted at no such self-doubt or uncertainty.

Tenderly, I kissed her lips, her nose, her cheek. She responded with nervous enthusiasm. I ran my lips along her jawline until I reached her neck. She sighed as I lingered, nuzzling softly.

Her generous breasts lay dormant, waiting patiently. I kissed the skin around her areolae, teasing, and gradually stirring her to genuine enjoyment.

She was making little gasps now, as I aroused her with my lips and tongue. I kissed her stomach, heading downwards. Her wariness gone, she opened her legs automatically, inviting me into her most private place.

I tasted her, making my own noises of contentment as I dipped my tongue, exploring her folds, teasing her reticent clitoris from its hood.

The gasps turned to moans and her legs began to shake as I circled her clit. Then Suzanne gave a long, lingering sob, and she clamped her thighs around my head as she spasmed, her orgasm quiet but definite as she flooded my mouth.

I pulled away and quickly slipped on a condom, for once managing not to fumble like an inexperienced teenager. Our eyes met and I smiled to reassure her.

But she was ready now and as I knelt, poised at her entrance, I looked deeply into her apprehensive eyes.

“Don’t worry,” I said.

“I’m not,” she replied bravely.

I carefully and slowly pushed inside her. She was so wet that there was only the slightest resistance and a little gasp, and I pressed again, and I was engulfed in her slippery warmth. Suzanne wrapped her arms and legs tightly around me and from there it was easy. It wasn’t fucking; it was a gentle, tender coupling, and her soft, breathy sighs as I slid in and out of her were more reward than I could ever have hoped for.

Then she came again, fingernails digging lightly into my skin, and I managed to match her climax, erupting powerfully and leaving me sated and deeply contented.

“Thank you,” she whispered afterward, as we lay enveloped in each other’s arms. Suzanne had a look of utter satisfaction on her face – the proverbial cat that had got the cream. I, too, was feeling pretty pleased with myself. I hadn’t made a complete mess of it, and I thought I’d successfully managed to achieve what I’d set out to do.

ooOoo

We managed to spend a few more days (and nights) together in Malawi. Two liberated souls whose paths had crossed for a few brief stolen moments.

We parted like backpackers were wont to do. There was sadness and poignancy, but no regret, and we both knew we would always remember the special time we had spent together.

As a memento, I asked her to draw a picture in my diary.

“What?”

“Anything,” I replied. “Something that has meaning for you.”

ooOoo 

Epilogue

A few weeks later I was hitchhiking along the South African coast – the famous ‘Garden Route’ – towards Cape Town with Carol, a short, effervescent Australian girl. It wasn’t unusual to be picked up by a hospitable South African and taken home for the night. And during one cold winter evening, we took the opportunity to cosy up and keep each other warm in an effort to improve Anglo-Australian relations. Somewhere on my travels, I’d clearly found some confidence, though evidently, my sense of direction hadn’t improved much, and during our shushing and fumbling I heard Carol giggle.

“You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?”

She paused.

“I’ve never done it there before, but I’m willing to try it if you want?”

Another gift? I thought.