The funeral of the famous English lord known affectionately as “Tarzan” to his admirers on The Dark Continent was an odd affair that perplexed the town folk in the small village close to his traditional family estate in the Northlands.

They had come to love the quiet and reclusive man that was so generous to the poor and the afflicted in ways that reflected his humble solicitude.

The sisters in the Convent of Saint John provided beds and provisions to the guests from far and wide that attended his last rites according to the stipulations of his will that provided the good sisters assurance of continued support long after his demise.

Allegedly, his only offspring, a wisp of a girl called Charity was tucked away in their castle-like lair in a private cell on top of the far tower. Some rumors abounded concerning her inability to finish a simple sentence without staring off into space and losing all sense of where she was and even the fact of her own identity.

Other than this strange curse, which had been visited on her since childhood, she was normal in every other regard, including a fair share of beauty that her long-deceased mother had possessed in her role as a star of the London stage for a full two seasons.

The mystery of her affliction was so strange that the town folk thought of her as some sort of latter-day witch closeted in secrecy away from ordinary folks for their protection.

Some of the visitors to the funeral specifically asked to be given an audience with the isolated girl, but they were left wanting because the nuns were instructed that she was to be left to her own devices without interference of any sort.

The other sisters, with their vows of chastity and poverty, chatted about her extensively because they had no vow of silence in their order.

There was much ado about the lack of a proper heir to the lord’s fortune. Distant relatives were constantly besieging the attorneys for the estate with petitions for sharing in the vast sums of wealth sitting dormant in secure spaces in the vaults of several large financial institutions deep in the bowels of the London seat of commerce.
***

The diminutive Mother Superior of the Order of the Convent of Saint John was reading the lengthy letter recently received from the postal facility in Portsmouth and bearing stamps from the far-away King’s postal station in Nairobi, Kenya.

The envelope was somewhat strange in that it appeared to have been pressed from some thin animal hide rather than convention linen paper. The writing was in formal block letters no longer popular in educational circles because of the pressures of modern society. The one sentence that she repeatedly referred back to in her repetitive reading of the written words caused her noticeable concern and made her press her face closer to the page to make sure she had understood it correctly.

“The esteemed Chief Tarzan’s son, Tarzan Jr. is now safely hidden in the household of Doctor Larson, Esq. of Johannesburg, South Africa and is known as Adam Smith. He is described in the census particulars as “an orphan of the white race found surviving in the ruins of a Congo tribe camp and chased from the escarpment by the slave traders from Sudan.”

She read the short section several times, and the words were seared into her brain by the fact that there might be a true heir of the Lord’s fortune after all.

When the lawyers were unable to furnish any details about the Kenya connection, the Mother Superior decided to send two of her best sisters to Africa to determine the true story behind this astonishing letter.

They would go first to South Africa because the last known location for this young lad known as Tarzan Jr. was in Johannesburg. It just so happened that the close-knit order of nuns had a small clinic and school in that area and the investigating sisters would be welcome to stay in the relative safety of their high-walled compound.

***

Sister Monique was actually French by birth, and she spoke several languages fluently. Her family had traveled extensively around the continent in her childhood more by necessity than chance because her parents were circus people and they never tired of presenting their high wire act in any venue that would show a profit.

At the time of the dreadful accident that claimed the lives of her parents in Vienna, Monique was only fourteen years of age, and she was sent to the Convent House to reside until she reached her majority as there were no known other next of kin.

When she reached eighteen, she decided to cast her lot with the sisters because it was a way of life that pleased her with its simplicity and the lack of stress to do things she was not yet prepared to do in order to survive in a modernistic society.

Monique was barely five foot tall, and she only weighed a paltry ninety pounds soaking wet. Of course, because of her lifestyle, she was still a technical virgin, but she had plenty of education on matters of a sexual nature because she read extensively and much of the content was quite detailed in describing the various fetishes and perversions of the European hedonistic society.

She had a reputation with the other sisters of sinful inclination in the wearing of French undies with their flimsy construction and often titillating design. Of course, her black habit and long skirt tended to offset that weakness of the flesh and her every movement was a study in the complete ladylike behavior of the most circumspect expectation.

***

The other nun selected for the African mission was the most unsuited sister in the convent.

Her name was Heidimarie, and she hated to be called just Heidi or just Marie because she insisted that was not her name. She had been sort of a street person in the homeless category before being taken in by the convent for training as a food services nun. She had a friendly personality so could communicate with the lowest of the low and not feel in the least bit superior.

She had also gone through a short spell after her eighteenth birthday with the use of drugs and booze before her calling to her religious re-birth. She was well-versed in the daily strife of carnal relations with a varied assortment of male admirers of all ages.

They were drawn to her pretty-young-thing vision of innocence, despite its falsity of content. It was about as deceptive as one could possibly imagine given her well-hidden side of lustful urges of the flesh.

Sister Monique and Sister Heidimarie booked a steamer from Liverpool to Johannesburg that allowed them to trade-off the fear of flying for the uncomfortable bouts of seasickness in two different storms enroute that caused the consumption of oodles of crackers and good hot British tea.

***

The residential section of the sprawling city of Johannesburg wherein stood the solid brick and mortar residence of Doctor Larson Esq. was both preferred and exclusive to the most prosperous citizens of that esteemed city.

The good doctor was a bit of a shadowy figure, and his title of doctor was more for his academic excellence than a medical title for the practice of healing his fellow man.

His Chief of Staff, a wizened ancient little Irishman  opined on frequent occasion, “His Excellency, the Doctor, is also a medical man with the specialty of a Doctor of the mind for afflicted unfortunates.” The little man would scare the servants with dire predictions of doom and gloom and his frugality even in the minutest of details was notorious in the neighborhood.

Doctor Larson’s seldom-seen ward, Adam Smith aka Tarzan Jr., had his sleeping quarters in a small windowless compartment on the rooftop, and he was frequently to be found in the rear of the compound exercising on the expensive training equipment used by the Doctor for testing and building the strength of his subjects of study.

Since the mysterious Adam was recently eighteen and with the typical needs of men everywhere, he was assigned a nubile female of sorts to tend to his manly requirements for exercises of a more carnal nature.

She was the eighteen-year-old daughter of the assistant cook, a light-skinned native of one of the interior countries with feminine features in high demand in the northern part of the Dark Continent for highly specialized labors in the demanding field of stress reduction in the nocturnal hours.

Her name was Jane, assigned to her in a moment of humor by the generally frowning Doctor. Actually, her real name was quite complicated and difficult to pronounce even for someone with linguistic capabilities in several African-based tongues.

Other than her duties to service Tarzan Jr. with her soothing brand of feminine mystique, young Jane was not at liberty to entertain any other male persons in the household without the Doctor’s express permission and was always in range of her mother’s watchful eyes.

Her excursions to the sealed compartment on the rooftop had gotten to be almost nightly unless she was indisposed due to some medical or other personal reason beyond her ability to control.

She was pampered with the best of female clothing, and cosmetic supplies money could buy, and the Doctor had even assigned her a personal female maid from a local tribe that usually had a supply of females available for extended service to persons with financial resources to pay up front.

The muscular Tarzan Jr. had developed into a nicely balanced figure of a man.

He was well-experienced in the matters of male/female relationships due to the daily dose of Jane’s loving care. She had expanded his ability to make love in the accepted fashion approved by the bulk of society.

The simple fact of the matter was that he was well-instructed in ways to make a human female heart glow with that essence that nubile young females aspire to when they fall under the spell of that magic called love.

 The smile on Jane’s face after her trips to the rooftop were speculated about ad infinitum by the servant staff, and the other female staff were somewhat envious of her status as Tarzan Jr.’s sole source of training in matters of the heart and regions further south.

***

It is with some degree of reluctance that it is necessary to relate that the relationship between the good sisters Monique and Heidimarie had bloomed abnormally while on their journey on the ship to the Dark Continent and the vicinity of Johannesburg, South Africa.

It was actually an accident of unavoidable proportion that caused the pair of them to be bouncing together in the narrow bunk during a storm of such violent force that they both thought their days on Earth were decidedly numbered and the number was close to nil.

It didn’t help that the good Sister Monique was in the habit of sleeping in her French undies even in the confines of the small ship’s compartment and that poor Sister Heidimarie was constantly banging into her hindquarters with her almost naked body entirely without any prior planning or any hidden agenda of a disreputable nature.

At one point with Sister Heidimarie straddled across the French undies which adorned the lush body of the submissive nun, they merged together not unlike a normal couple and their fate was sealed by nature and a mutual need of passion in a time of trouble.

Eventually, Sister Heidimarie’s more authoritative stance and personality held sway and she became Sister Monique’s “top” in a way that two closely acquainted females tend to adopt when protracted male company was out of the question.

By the time the two nuns arrived at the Order’s facility in Johannesburg they were given a single room. Space was at a premium, but they were quite comfortable sleeping in the same bed together in a way that insured their “closeness” was not merely a description of circumstance and was the essence of every breathe they took and every kiss they traded.

Their search for the elusive Tarzan Jr. was a well-guarded secret for their ears only. They just acted like they were testing the waters in the community for possible expansion of the Order’s fieldwork in the service of the Lord in the most destitute continent on Earth.

Eventually, they narrowed their search down to the locale of the compound of Doctor Larson Esq. They had managed to befriend some of the staff and even a few of the neighbors without arousing suspicion of any kind in their authentic attire of practicing nuns on a mission of saving grace in a world gone mad with sin and violence in depressing magnitude.

They managed to be present in the Doctor’s kitchen on a day when both Tarzan Jr. and his consort, Jane came in to get some provisions after a long night’s bout of perfecting their natural talents in human intercourse.

The almost naked body of young Tarzan was so much like the many pictures in the hallways of his famous father’s estate back in England that the two nuns knew immediately that he was the real thing and quite obviously the heir to the estate of the esteemed Lord of the manor.

Now it was up to them to entice him to accompany them back to his home and claim his rightful fortune and family inheritance.