The following story is entirely fictional despite its close resemblance to certain events. It is a reflection on the experiences of many white expatriates and their families working in Africa and the Middle East.
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Igwe held the tearful woman close in his arms. To be frank he cared little for her tears, or her fears and trauma's that had led to them. He did, however, appreciate the full warm curves of her body as he held her close.
With one hand around her waist he held her close, while his other gently stroked her short dark hair, comforting her. At six foot six inches he towered over the latest white woman to join his philosophy circle.
His decision to form a philosophy circle had been a stroke of genius in his campaign to seduce the relatively few attractive white women in Zimbabwe. Those disaffected with their life and looking for relief from the boredom of endless poolside sunbathing had been happy to join his circle. Their husbands were happy to be left to drink beer in one of the many hotel bars rather than join their wives discussing philosophy.
Many had subsequently learned the folly of their negligence when their loving 'faithful' white wives gave birth to a bouncy, screeching, black baby.
Angel sobbed in his strong arms, only to glad to find a man who understood her. Igwe was careful that his burgeoning erection did not disillusion her.
His hand rose slowly to gently stroke her back. Her natural reaction was to move closer to him and her full firm breasts pushed against him.
At 36 years old, and with two children, Angel was lucky to have full firm mounds that did not sag. Igwe appreciated his luck in having those mounds pressed firmly to him. He had no doubts how this evening was going to end.
His time in America studying psychology had served him well. Here in Africa he had no qualms about using the knowledge gained to twist and manipulate the minds of white couples. Enhancing their concerns, preying on their fears, offering them security, pampering them, while at the same time scaring them at the same time. Preparing them to accept the need to please him. These white couples were unnaturally afraid of the teeming black masses of Africa. They were often only too happy to accept a luxurious lifestyle, and often willing to take part in sexual adventures, if that is what it took to be part of the in-crowd.
Personally he preferred those not willing to be seduced. It was much more fun bedding them!
"My husband just doesn't understand me!" Angel sobbed.
Igwe grinned as he stroked her hair and looked down at the pretty tear stained face buried on his chest.
Stupid woman!
Why should her husband try and understand her? He was a man! It was a woman's role to serve and please her husband. African women knew their place, but these confused western women had lost touch with their role pleasing men.
'If only I could talk to him like I can talk to you!" Angel sought to gather her senses, suddenly aware that her nipples had unaccountable become erect as she pressed against this charming, educated, and sophisticated black man.
Igwe's nostrils flared as he took in the sweet freshness of the white woman in his arms. Washed, scented, and clean. So typical of these well brought up English women that married skilled and educated professionals. Yet so lacking in the basic understanding or relationships. She was well presented in her stylish western style dress. He would love breaking her in. Teaching this woman her true role in life. He dismissed her husband's acceptance and tolerance of her strange concepts of 'modern womanhood.' He regarded it as evidence of her husband's weak will, and the failure of his masculinity.
"I understand," he murmured into her soft dark hair. His hand rose from her back to gently stroke the softness of her slim white neck. Angel was relieved not to be held quite so tight, though his strong masculine presence was comforting. His fingers on her neck were soothing, calming, mesmerising as they drew soft circles on her neck. If only her husband would stroke her like this!
The sudden intrusive thought of her husband disturbed her. She was acutely aware of the stiffness of her nipples as they strained against the material of her soft lacy brassiere. She had found herself dressing differently since joining Igwe's circle. There were no men in this circle, and all the other women seemed to take such extra-ordinary care in their appearance. Angel had found herself wearing lingerie she rarely wore for her husband any more.
She did not want to seem rude to Igwe, and his strong hands, while gently stroking, belied the power of this man. They had a power over her that she sought to suppress, even as tingles shivered the soft skin of her neck.
He urged her to sit on his sofa and offered her a Turkish Apple tea. She gratefully accepted and sat demurely while he prepared the drink. She did not notice as he lightly sprinkled crushed mbanje into the drink. He was confident she would not consider the presence of the crushed herb unusual.
She had been married to her doting husband Mark for 18 years. She was a faithful wife, and loving mother to their two teenage daughters. A devout catholic, and regular churchgoer, her current unexpected and unwanted arousal disturbed her. The tea would be calming, help her regain her distance, and reserve.
"He won't let me drive the car since the accidents," Angel complained.
Igwe stifled a laugh as he prepared the drink. Glad she could not see his face. Of course, her husband had banned her from driving! It was the one sensible thing Mark had done.
"Hmm, well you have had three crashes in the last month."
He turned back to a fidgeting Angel, and noted her nibbling her lip. He would bruise those soft lips with passion tonight. Angel ignored his words.
"He has undermined my status in the eyes of my friends," Angel went on.
In doing so he had probably saved your life Igwe thought, but he let it pass.
'Disgraceful, he should take more care of your position!" He responded instead.
