I was more nervous than my daughter, even though it was her wedding day. Though technically my stepdaughter, I never thought of Mila that way. Mila took my arm as we walked down the church’s center aisle. She beamed with confidence while I feared tripping over my own feet.

The organ played ‘Bridal Chorus’. Everyone stood as we made our way to her handsome groom. Mila’s younger sister, Ruby, was a bridesmaid, and her brother, Noah, was a groomsman. After giving her away, I sat down next to the Mother of the Bride—my wife of 20-plus years, Isla. She handed me a tissue to wipe away my tears. We held hands.

Isla looked as lovely to me as the day we met, with just a touch of gray hair, aging better than I was. I adopted Mila after marrying Isla. Mila never met her biological father. The story that led to this wedding in Rotterdam, South Holland, is worth telling.

My story begins in Portland, Oregon. My former wife, Sue, and I were celebrating our fourth anniversary. We celebrated at one of Portland’s many microbreweries. I asked my annual question about having children. Same answer, for the fourth time: maybe next year.

“Paul, I am seriously considering a job change,” Sue said.

“Not happy being the parts manager at the bus garage?” I asked.

“No,” she said flatly.

“What are you looking into?” I asked fearfully.

“It’s more community-focused: a group of NGOs, churches, the medical community, and social services is coming together to help improve Portland.”

My only thought was: ‘Lord, help us all.’ I knew Sue was increasingly unhappy with her life, and I sensed I was contributing to her unhappiness.

“Portland could use some improvement. What would your role entail?” I asked.

“An administrator making sure we are all on the same page,” Sue proclaimed proudly.

“About the same pay, financed privately by influential, wealthy citizens and NGOs. The program is called Portland Helping Portland, or PHP for short.”

Three letters I would soon hate. That evening, I put my arms around Sue, hoping to be intimate for our anniversary. She was average-looking, with brown hair and eyes. She had B-cup breasts and nice legs if she ever wore a skirt.

“Well, guess it’s my duty to indulge you tonight," Sue sighed.

Sue took off her blouse and turned her back to me, letting me unfasten her bra. I cupped her breasts and kissed her neck, doing my best to be sensual.

“Paul, what do you think of my changing jobs?” Sue asked, ignoring my touch.

“If you think it’s right, then yes,” I said.

I would regret that answer many times. Sue turned around and took off her pants and panties. I got myself naked. We kissed and went to bed. I lay on my side, looking at her body. Nice breasts, red nipples, natural pubic hair. Her labia were just visible beneath her pubic hair. Her pleasant smile had vanished. With her right hand, she stroked my penis. On rare occasions, she would give oral sex if I asked. Tonight, I didn’t think she would. Sue preferred that I use a small vibrator on her vulva to warm her up. Once she was aroused, I was allowed to penetrate her. The closeness we once had was gone. I followed a well-worn groove.

“Let's do it now,” she said in a listless tone.

We used the missionary position as normal. I could tell it was duty sex again. I thrust into her for a few minutes and ejaculated. Maybe, against all odds, she'd get pregnant. Sue never did. I rolled off her. Sue put a towel between her legs and fell asleep. I stared at the ceiling for a long time. We would have duty sex twice over the following weeks before I left Portland.

I worked for a major worldwide shipping firm. I coordinated shipments too heavy or dangerous to fly. I mostly handled expedited shipments delayed for many reasons, including missing paperwork, customs holdups, and damaged containers. Sometimes I found missing containers on the docks and in railroad yards. I once saved a family's life after hearing pounding from inside a shipping container. Port Police arrested them; I wish I knew what happened to the couple and their children. Sue followed through and resigned as the bus garage parts manager. She pursued her new position with a fervor I had not seen before. Sue’s new office was close to the waterfront. I often drove by and saw our car in the parking lot. One afternoon, after locating a missing shipment, I stopped by to see her. Sue’s reaction was not what I expected.

“Paul, why are you here? I am very busy. Please leave now.”

I left like a scolded child being sent to his room. That evening, Sue apologized, then lectured me.

“My job is crucial to the cause. We must project seriousness to Portland's population. Please understand that I am 110% focused on this.”

I never set foot in her office again. True to her word, everything else fell off her radar. Shopping, washing dishes, doing laundry, and feeding our cat were now on me, or they didn’t get done. Luckily, I knew how to use a microwave oven, or neither of us would have eaten. Of course, any hint of wanting sex was out of the question. Too much on her mind, too tired.

The PHP group held many evening meetings around Portland. Somehow, I let myself become the group's errand boy. Sue had me pick up and deliver everything, from extra pizzas to paperwork and boxes of T-shirts with PHP silkscreened on the front and back. The trouble was, they were rarely paid in full. To keep things moving and avoid pissing my wife off, I charged them to our credit card. Sue no longer cared about the household finances; I paid the bills, so she never saw the charges. Sue’s paycheck went to keeping her wardrobe up to date.

I admit I was somewhat of a whipped puppy then and stayed silent about the charges. Sue treated me like an employee, not her husband. She barely spoke to me. When she did, it was to proclaim that PHP was saving Portland. I guess the program was helpful. 

The local news stations wanted to interview Sue. They planned a high-profile media event at a downtown hotel to highlight the program. To my shock, Sue called and told me to dress in something other than my work clothes and to arrive on time.

“I need to project an image of a happy marriage to everyone,” she insisted.

At the gathering, Sue sternly told me to smile and stay quiet. She introduced me to a few guests, then had me stand at the back of the room. While I waited, a rather attractive young woman walked up and stood beside me. I noticed her perfume first. She smiled and said hello. No man could miss that she had one too many buttons open on her blouse. Very nice breasts; even with a bra on, I could see just a hint of her nipples poking through her tight shirt. I did my best not to stare; I tried to keep eye contact. 

“You must be proud of your wife’s work,” she said.

“Oh yes,” I answered flatly. “Are you involved in PHP?”

“No, Molly, my girlfriend, is. She is somewhere in the crowd. My name is Sara. We had a very, very deep relationship, understand?”

“Yes, no problem with me,” I replied honestly.

“This program has consumed her life and, for the most part, ended our relationship,” Sara said sadly.

“Well, I can relate to being pushed aside in favor of PHP,” I replied. “More like an unpaid worker than a husband.” My voice edged with anger toward the end.

We stood side by side as my wife went on and on about PHP. It was hard not to keep looking down at Sara’s lovely breasts. It was easy to imagine holding them in my hands, feeling her nipples harden. I could only fantasize about making love to her. Sara was beautiful.

“I like men just as much as women. Going both ways gives you twice the chance to score.” She smiled at me. I could not think of a clever retort, so I just smiled and nodded. Sara took a business card from her shoulder bag and wrote her cell number on the back. She slipped it into my shirt pocket. “Not looking to trash your marriage, but if you want a shoulder to cry on or something more personal, give me a call, please.”

Sara touched my arm, then left. I watched her walk away—the perfect outline of her ass in tight black leggings. With my current lack of sex, I’d last only seconds inside her before giving her a full load of my seed. I never did call. That night at home, Sue said she saw a woman in a very open shirt hand me a business card. Telling Sue that the woman’s friend worked for PHP didn't help.

“It looked like you were enjoying looking at her boobs. I told you we needed to project an image of a happy, married couple to the public.” Sue’s voice turned stern. “Not some bimbo trying to pick you up.”

“Well, if only we were happy,” I said, shrugged, and left the room.

“Well, will you call this girl who has taken an interest in you?” Sue demanded.

“The woman is more pleasant than you have been lately,” I called from the kitchen.

“Okay, I think I see the issue here. Missing sex, no doubt,” Sue mocked me. “Can’t have the admin lady of PHP’s husband cheating on her, now, can we? I think we still have a condom around from our dating days, before I started birth control.” 

Sue entered our bedroom and found one at the bottom of her underwear drawer.  

“Put this on, and you'll be rewarded with a head job from me, assuming you can get it up. But no swallowing on my end.”

‘Don’t do me any favors,’ was my silent thought.

Sue seemed to enjoy belittling me. I unzipped my pants. Sue jerked my cock like she wanted it to break off. Despite this, I got erect. It took me a moment to put on the condom. She sat on the bed with me standing and started sucking. She wanted it over with as quickly as possible. I did ejaculate, without real pleasure. I cleaned myself up while Sue brushed her teeth to get rid of the condom taste. Then, as so often, her cell phone rang. Nothing changed between us. PHP was her life.

My company faced shortages and damaged goods leaving Madagascar; my boss asked whether my passport was current. It was. He continued, “How about a few weeks in Madagascar? It seems to be the trouble spot. It may not come to that. Just be ready. This could be your opportunity to move up the corporate ladder,” he added.

Some time away from Sue sounded appealing. Late that night, a car pulled into our driveway. I did not recognize the driver. Outside, I saw a woman help Sue out of the back seat. My wife was intoxicated. I had never known her to overindulge.

“Couldn’t let her drive drunk,” the woman said. “Her car is in the PHP parking lot.”

The designated driver got back into her car and drove off. Sue climbed the front steps, and I followed her inside. She was in the kitchen, opening a bag of cookies. Her face flushed, and she rolled her eyes.

“Too much PHP celebrating tonight?” I asked.

“What the fuck do you care? You never approved of anything PHP-related or of my job, did you?”

“PHP has taken over your life, leaving no room for anything else,” I complained.

“Feeling left out again, there, stud? Looking for another blowjob?” She made a fist and pumped it toward her face.

“No, just wish things were as they used to be.” My fading hope.

“Sleep it off; we can talk in the morning.”

Arguing with a drunk wife was pointless. As I undressed for bed, Sue came in and munched on a cookie.

“Guess I owe you some hot-wifing time,” Sue said sarcastically.

She undressed and flopped into bed. She opened the bedside table and pulled out the small vibrator we used and began masturbating.

“Come on, help a girl out, Mr. Big Dick.”

Sue handed me the vibrator. I placed it on her outer labia, then moved it to her inner labia after a couple of minutes. It felt almost like old times. Not sure if she orgasmed. Sue pushed my hand away. I set the sex toy on the bedside table, hoping she'd fall asleep. But she didn’t.  

“Okay, Paul, get that little dick of yours out and fuck me.”

“You sure? You're just a little drunk tonight,” I said.

“Your tiny dick too good for my sweet pussy?” Sue’s voice rose.

I debated whether to go for it. After undressing, I mounted my wife. It was sex, not lovemaking. I knew it was not good for our marriage. After I pulled out, Sue started cursing.

“Who taught you how to fuck? Your useless dick could not please any woman. The biggest mistake of my life was getting together with you. Better get used to jerking yourself off. No more fucking me!” She was getting very angry.

“Please go to sleep, Sue,” I pleaded.

Sue screamed, “Plenty of men at work would be happy to give me a good long fucking! Big, thick cocks pounding me. Get the hell out of my sight.” Then she coughed and passed out. I went to the living room and fell asleep in my chair.

The next morning, while getting ready for work, Sue came into the kitchen, clearly hungover. She asked if we could pretend last night hadn't happened. I agreed. Sue remained distant, though a little embarrassed each time our eyes met. I headed to work. Somehow, my wife got a ride to her car. When I arrived at work, my boss said the situation in Madagascar wasn't improving. He told me to be ready to fly. He needed to clear it with the corporate office on the East Coast first.

A few days later, the events that led to my leaving “The Rose City” and to the end of our marriage began to unfold.

“Need your help this Saturday, Paul. My car needs an oil change. A service light came on the dashboard, and I need to pick up materials for the Seattle trip and maybe for Spokane.” Sue sounded like a drill sergeant.

I didn't understand why she was taking Portland stuff to Seattle. ‘Let's start something similar up there,’ I could hear Sue bragging in my head.

“All right,” I said politely, thinking, ‘Yes, dear.’

On Saturday, my wife drove us across town to a PHP meeting. Sue got out and told me what time to pick her up. I got behind the wheel and headed to the lube center. After waiting behind two cars for my turn, I knew Sue would be bitching and jumping down my throat for being late.

Sure enough, Sue was pissed. She told me to get in the passenger seat. We sped down the streets. Sue pulled into the print shop's parking lot way too fast. She was talking on the car's Bluetooth to someone about an upcoming event. Knowing the drill, I got out and went into the shop. I saw PHP boxes behind the counter. Six boxes of PHP material. Of course, they weren't paid for. Another charge on the credit card. The clerk helped me carry the boxes to her car. We loaded them through the back hatch. After I put the final box in, I waved my foot under the bumper. And just like magic, the hatch closed softly.

To this day, I will never forget what I felt when I turned to thank the store clerk for helping. Sue, still on the phone, drove off. That feeling of worthlessness. Lower than whale shit.

“Are you going to call her to come back?” the surprised clerk asked.

“No, she is headed to Seattle and will likely not come back,” I admitted.

I walked down to the 7-11 for a drink. After 30 minutes, I realized she was likely driving 80 mph northbound on I-5. She had no idea she'd left me standing in the parking lot. Except for filling out the divorce papers, I decided our marriage was over. The walk home was long, so I called an Uber. Taking the initiative, I called my boss and left a message that I was ready to fly to Madagascar. On Monday, he said the corporate office had approved the Madagascar assignment and that I should be ready the day after the next.

As I packed, I looked around our home. I had hoped to raise a family here. How would my wife react when she learned I had left the country? The last thing I did was lay out all the receipts for PHP I'd paid. Then, sadly, I surrendered our cat to the animal shelter; that really hit home.

My company spared no expense. They flew me out on the corporate jet. After a couple of fuel stops and pilot rest breaks, I arrived in Antananarivo, Madagascar's capital, late Saturday local time. The city sits at almost 4200 feet above sea level, so breathing was a little more labored than in Portland, which is just above sea level.

The local office sent a car to shuttle me to the hotel. They gave me a few days off to adjust to the 10-hour time difference. I read up on the island: they drive on the left side of the road, not the right as in the US. The local languages are Malagasy and French—it was a former French colony. Not much English is spoken. The population is over 33 million. The currency is the Malagasy Ariary. Exchange rate: 1 US dollar is about 2000 Ar. Contact your local cell phone provider for international service.

Working with the local office staff took some getting used to. They spoke more English than I expected. The capital city is not a seaport, which is odd for a shipping company to be so far inland. The major terminal is the Port of Toamasina—about 218 miles away. The drive there is long and over poor roads. Wisely, the company provided me with a local driver.  

A week after arriving, Sue called around 3:00 AM Madagascar time (5:00 PM in Portland). I must have answered the phone while still groggy. She ripped into me after my groggy hello.

“Where the hell are you? I’ve been going crazy looking for you. What happened to the cat? What are these receipts? You’d better start talking, you miserable shithead,” Sue cursed at me. 

Before I could gather my wits, she started in again.

“Wait, I know. You are shacking up with that bitch you cozied up to at the meeting. She's letting you fuck her in the ass,” Sue accused me.

“No, I am out of the country, specifically in Madagascar. It's past 3:00 AM here,” I replied.

“Bullshit. You are lying,” she said.

“Well, here is something that is not bullshit. I am done with your constant bitching about everything. I am done with your put-downs, your obsession with PHP, and your total devotion to it at the expense of everything else. I want a divorce, quickly, please,” I said firmly.

Silence on the line. So, I added, “You can keep everything: the house, the cars, and whatever little money we have in the bank.”

I ended the call. Sue called back, but I did not answer. A day later, after many attempts, I finally returned her call.

“Really, where are you, Paul?” She sounded calmer.

“Madagascar, working for the company.” I forwarded some pictures from the hotel window.

“How long will you be there? Do you really want to end our marriage?” Sue sounded worried.

“Hoping to make this a permanent gig. And yes, still want a divorce.” My voice was firm.

“But let's talk, please.” Sue sounded desperate.  

“You remember the last day you saw me? The day you left for Seattle. I loaded PHP boxes into your car,” I replied.

“Yes.”

“You drove off, leaving me standing in the parking lot,” I said, annoyed.

“Oh, shit, so sorry. I was thinking about the trip,” Sue said, surprised.

“Always PHP. Nothing else matters to you, not even me. The cat is at the shelter, waiting to be adopted—poor thing. I figured you would forget to feed her or clean her litter box. I had to pay the invoices because PHP’s accounts payable is terrible,” I was yelling by then.

After a long silence, I said more quietly, “I'd like to keep the divorce simple, not to make lawyers rich. Everything is yours.”

After some frank discussions, we agreed that our visions of the future were vastly different.

Oregon law allows uncontested divorces without court appearances. About 9 weeks later, our marriage was over. She kept everything; I got my freedom. I hope a kind family adopted our cat. Around the same time, the Madagascar shipping issues were improving. Pleased with my efforts, the company let me stay, and my professional life was secure.

                                                                     *****

It was mid-September in Madagascar; the rainy season would start soon. I was enjoying an afternoon walk through one of the parks. I rested for a few minutes and reflected. My professional life was going great, but my personal life wasn't. I didn’t know what to do when I wasn't at work.

My situation was about to change. Looking to my left, I saw a woman calling to her daughter. The little girl was running, ignoring her mother’s calls. The child was holding a small book.

‘Beautiful lady. My luck, she is married,’ I thought. 

“Mila, slow down,” she called out.

Of course, Mila did not. To my surprise, the child ran straight to me and handed me the book. Unsure how to respond, I waited for her mother to catch up. I noticed she was not wearing a wedding ring.

“So sorry, sir. I’ve never seen my daughter run up to anyone, especially a man,” she apologized.

Her voice carried an accent. She looked very pretty to me: blond hair, brown eyes, her breasts slightly bouncing as she walked toward me. She wore black leggings and a white-collared shirt.    

“No problem, miss. Always wanted a child of my own. Sue did not, my former wife,” I was speaking a little too fast. “I’d be happy to read the story to her if you don’t mind. Are you from Australia?” I tried not to sound like a total fool.

“My name is Isla; Mila is my daughter; we are Kiwis from New Zealand. Guessing you are American?”

“Yes, I misjudged your accent. Sorry about that.” I felt foolish.

 “Most of the world cannot tell the difference,” Isla said, smiling. “We are from Auckland. Where in the United States are you from?” she asked.

“Portland, Oregon,” I answered.  

“Not sure where that is. Geography is not my strong suit,” Isla admitted.

“West Coast, a few hundred miles south of Canada,” I replied.

Mila climbed into my lap. I started reading the book she brought. It was a story about a family with a pet dinosaur. Isla sat down, watching and smiling brightly.

“You are the first man she has not feared. When I told my boyfriend I was pregnant, he left me. Both families were ashamed of me. I'm sorry. I shouldn't burden you with sad details.” Isla sounded sorrowful.

“Mila looks just like you; maybe someday I’ll find someone to have a child with,” I said hopefully.

“You came here after your divorce?” Isla asked, unperturbed.

“Yes, really, during the proceedings, my company needed help here; I was glad to leave Portland.” I felt more at ease around Isla.

I told Isla how my former wife, Sue, became so career-focused that she pushed me out and sidelined me. She didn't want children, and that day she left me standing alone in the parking lot. 

Isla spoke with regret. “My parents were ashamed of me for getting pregnant before marriage. The headmaster at the school where I taught fired me for being an unwed mother-to-be. I needed to get away, so I took a job here, teaching English to executives' children.”

She checked her phone. “Oh, look at the time! Mila and I’d better get going. Thanks for reading her book. I know it by heart. Didn’t hear you say your name?” Her voice sounded so sweet.

“Paul,” I almost barked.

“Thanks for a pleasant chat, Paul.” Isla smiled at me.

Isla took Mila’s hand and walked away. I sat there for a moment, knowing I should do something, and fast. I jumped to my feet, desperate, hoping to sound confident.

“Isla, may I see you again, please, and Mila?” I hoped my voice didn’t fail me. “My company is hosting a get-together this Friday, ahead of the rainy season,” I almost shouted.

Isla turned and smiled at me. “I teach at the Business Plaza, Suite 12, near the park entrance. School dismisses at 14:30.”

On Friday, I arrived outside Suite 12 fifteen minutes early. I had a small stuffed toy dinosaur, like the one in Mila’s storybook, as a gift. A few minutes after class dismissal, Isla left the building. She looked very proper in her school uniform: a black knee-length skirt, a white polo shirt with the school crest above her right breast, dark-rimmed glasses, and her blond hair in a ponytail.

“Paul, on time!” Isla smiled at me. “My flat is 2 blocks north. Mila is being taken care of by my nanny. She is okay with staying late while we go to your gathering.” Isla greeted me warmly.

“No, please bring her. It’s a family event,” I quickly replied.

“Thank you for including my daughter,” Isla responded happily.

Isla's flat was a small, ground-floor 2-bedroom with basic furniture and decor. Mila saw me and brought her storybook to reread it. Isla said goodbye to the nanny. Mila would be going with us.

“Give me a few minutes to change out of my school uniform. Please watch Mila, but I see she wants you to read her favorite book again.” Isla’s voice was music to my ears. Mila played with her new stuffed toy as I read her storybook.

Isla stepped out in a blue one-piece summer dress, cinched at the waist. The neckline was just low enough to hint at cleavage. Her hair was down, and she wore white cross-trainers and ankle socks. She looked stunning to me.

“Sit down, Paul, and hear my story, please. I want no surprises later in our relationship. You heard part of it the day we met in the park.”

She spoke quietly so Mila wouldn't overhear. “I graduated as valedictorian of my high school, was the first woman in my family to be accepted to the University of Wellington, and earned a Bachelor of Education in Teaching in Early Childhood. I accepted a high-paying job at a private school. I was considering getting my master's.

“'Isla, you are on the road to success!' my friends would tell me.

“Still, my family wanted me to get married and have children, just like my older sister and brother. Well, as you know, I had Mila. The married part? No. I fell in love with the first man who seemed like the kind of bloke my family would approve of—I kept things good and proper for a while. I was sure he would ask the big question, down on one knee with a diamond engagement ring. Time dragged on. I made the unwise decision to give in to his lust for premarital sex, hoping it would move things along toward the big question. It did not work.

“I gave him my virginity and became pregnant. Both families were unhappy. Mine, for the most part, disowned me because it was too much for their conservative values. My boyfriend wanted nothing to do with a pregnant girlfriend. He had to protect his future. Being a single mother with no family support was my future.

“His family gave me a bank draft for $25,000 NZD. Not sure what that would be in American dollars. Either solve the problem or raise it yourself. Leave their son out of it. To this day, it still hurts to think of my daughter as an 'it.' The school’s headmaster let me go. He couldn't have an unmarried, pregnant teacher in the classroom. At least he gave me severance pay.

“With the payoffs and my savings, I didn’t work during my pregnancy; I volunteered at a no-kill animal shelter for a time. The homeless dogs I walked were waiting for someone to love them, much as I was. New Zealand’s public health system covered Mila's birth. My parents visited us in the hospital but didn’t stay long. After a few weeks of postpartum recovery, I needed to earn money again. I began tutoring at home, working while still nursing my daughter. This worked for a while, but I felt the walls closing in; I needed a change of scenery. So, I started looking online for teaching jobs overseas. After some emails and a phone interview, I got the position here in Madagascar. I applied for our passports. My new employer arranged the documents I needed to teach here.

“My parents were unhappy that Mila and I were leaving New Zealand, but they offered no other advice. Only my older sister, Emma, came to the airport to see us off. That was almost 3 years ago.”

“You were very brave to leave everything behind, Isla. Moving to a foreign country with a baby is something few women would do. My situation was much simpler. Wow, we both arrived in Madagascar around the same time.” I reached for her hand; Mila joined us, smiling.

Now imagine the worst traffic jam on the most potholed road in any North American city, and multiply that by 10. That is what Madagascar's capital city is like every day. I tried driving once. Never again. I quickly hired a private car service. Well worth the price. Rakoto was often my driver. We got along well, two people with no common language. Ask for him by name when booking. He spoke the local language, French, and some broken English. My college French helped little.

Rakoto greeted us and opened the car door. He even had a child seat for Mila. Isla buckled Mila in and sat beside her in the back seat; I rode in front with Rakoto. Not romantic, but safe. From her teaching, Isla could speak some Malagasy and chatted with our driver. I felt a little left out.

At the gathering, I introduced my guests to coworkers. The company provided Masikita skewers (beef and chicken), Lasary salad, Sambos fried pastry triangles, and dessert: Koba cakes, peanuts and brown sugar, steamed in banana leaves. Bottles of THB (Three Horses Beer) were chilled in ice tubs, and Bonbon Anglais, a citrus-flavored soda, was available for the children. Music played in the background. Isla mingled easily with everyone. Mila was a little shy at first and stayed close to her mother. Later, after eating, she let me carry her until she fell asleep. Once, while Mila was with her mother, I was enjoying a THB, ice-cold from the tub. Two of my coworkers gathered around me.

“Be careful, Paul. Your girlfriend is pretty, but she is looking for a daddy for her child. Don’t be fooled. Children are expensive,” one of my coworkers warned me.

“Next, your girlfriend lets you sleep with her and gets pregnant; good life over. You are recently divorced; enjoy your freedom,” the other coworker added.

“No worries, I’ll be careful,” I said, laughing.

All too soon, the party was over. Mila was asleep as I carried her to Isla. Looking back on the day, I loved both Isla and Mila. I could have sent Isla and Mila home with Rakoto, but I went with them. Isla gave me a brief hug before going into her flat. Mila waved goodbye. The drive back was slow. I got into bed late, but I was happier than I had been in a long time.

I hired Rakoto to drive me to dates with Isla: dinner, movies with English subtitles, and coffee shops for just talking. Isla and I were comfortable together. I was grateful to Mila’s nanny for giving Isla and me time to get to know one another. Once, Isla introduced me to a new teacher at her school who had just arrived from London. Isla caught herself calling Mila our daughter and later apologized for the slip of the tongue.

“No worries, I'd be proud to have a daughter like Mila.”

The rains came on time. Traffic grew worse. After our dates, I sometimes made it back to my hotel in the early morning. One rainy Friday afternoon, I was working on a new computer program. Rakoto had driven up with Isla and Mila for dinner at the hotel. Afterward, we went up to my room for coffee. Mila played with the toys Isla had brought. Time passed too quickly.

“It’s getting late; I’d better call Rakoto to get you back to your flat.” I wished they could stay.

As I put the coffee cups in the small kitchenette sink, my phone beeped with a new text. By now, Isla knew my phone’s security code. She giggled and texted back. With a huge smile, she showed me the message. It was from Rakoto. The text ended with a winking face emoji.

“Heavy rain, traffic standstill, some road flooding. Girlfriend, stay with you tonight.” Then something I did not understand: ‘Ny fitia toy ny ketsa ka raha afindra dia maniry.’

“How much of a tip did this cost you, Mr. Paul?” Isla asked, tongue-in-cheek.

“None," I stammered. “Rakoto did this on his own. What does the last part mean?"

She blushed. “It’s a proverb. ‘Love is like a young rice plant: if you transplant it, it will grow.’"

I blushed, making Isla giggle. Malagasy proverbs are eloquent and to the point. Mila was falling asleep. Isla laid Mila on the couch and covered her with a blanket. Isla came up to me. We embraced, then kissed. 

“Last time I spent the night with a man, it was heartbreaking. It upended my life. The hurt from being alone and pregnant was nearly unbearable.” Isla went on, speaking softly, “I left everything I knew: family, friends, New Zealand. Now I am here with you. We are both far from our homes. I love you, Paul. You are the only father figure Mila has ever known. It feels right, but I am scared. I don’t want to be hurt again.”  

Holding Isla in my arms and looking over at sleeping Mila, I knew faith had granted me my heart's desire. Putting my hopes out in the open, I replied without taking a breath: “You and Mila are everything I ever dreamed of. I love you both deeply. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t have an engagement ring yet, and I'm not sure about kneeling. Still, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, Paul!” Isla exclaimed, loud enough to stir Mila without waking her.

We kissed. “Do we wait until our wedding night, or is tonight all right with you?” Isla asked.

Of course, I said yes!

Isla made sure Mila was comfortable and covered up. She assured me that Mila was a sound sleeper and that, if we were reasonably quiet, Mila would sleep until morning. Holding Isla's hand, we walked quietly to the bedroom and closed the door softly. I checked that the curtains were fully closed, then turned around to find my love standing there in just her panties. I stared at her, my mouth agape.

“Lovely breasts, Isla.” I pulled her toward the bed.

I kissed and fondled her for several minutes. She smiled every time our eyes met. I knew it was time to undress. I stood up and, in record time, piled my clothes on the floor. I was fully erect.

Isla gently stroked my very hard cock while talking softly, “Here is something you should know: I have only had sex once in my life. I gave up my virginity and became pregnant the same night—very little foreplay. Never even saw his penis. We had intercourse in the dark. It was an okay experience, but not earth-moving like in the movies.  You have had much more experience. I'm sure you'll allow me to have a wonderful time tonight.”

“That is the plan for both of us.” I pulled her in for a kiss.

Laughing, Isla said, “I'll probably get pregnant again tonight. I'm not on any birth control. You willing to take the chance?”

“I could have Rakoto deliver a condom. He knows what we are doing. It may take a while because of the traffic and the rain. Isla, I love you more than anything, and I will love any children we have. Mila would like a little brother or sister.” I meant it.

“Do you think the withdrawal method would work?” she asked.

“No, Isla, not for me; I will deposit my semen deep inside you.” No statement has ever been more accurate.

Isla had a question. “Paul, what does a man do when he pulls out in time? How does he get his pleasure?”    

“Well, in adult movies, he ejaculates on the girl's stomach. If he's quick enough, he tries to ejaculate on her face,” I answered.

“Gross.” She stuck out her tongue.

Isla kept talking. “Always the rhythm method; I think we are safe tonight.”  

Nothing on earth would have kept us from consummating our relationship that night.

She took off her panties. I took in her full nude beauty. After a long kiss on her lips, I moved down, kissing her breasts. I ran my tongue over her nipples. I heard her moan—such a warm embrace, so welcoming to my touch. How would this almost virgin-like girl like me tasting her pubic area and kissing the most private area of her body?

I moved myself down the bed and opened her legs—the warm female smell. I used my tongue to lick her outer lips softly—her breathing quickened. With each lick, I pushed in a little further. Isla responded quickly. Soon I was kissing her inner labia. Her arousal fluid oozed freely. She held my head in her hands; I kissed her swollen clitoris. This was too much for Isla, and she pulled my head back.

“Now, Paul, please, I am ready for you,” Isla panted.

I positioned myself between her open legs. Even though fully aroused, I managed to slowly push my hard cock into her pussy. I wanted to make this almost-first-time unforgettable for Isla. I began to thrust into her slowly. It took a lot of effort not to finish quickly. I paused several times to hold off ejaculating. Please keep going, Paul!  She kept her eyes closed; Isla's hands clutched the bed sheets. Our breathing quickened and fell into sync. She called out my name.

“Paul, Paul… oh, oh… just a little more… Ahhh… oh, dear god…”

Her pussy squeezed down on my thrusting cock. I knew I could never pull out in time. Isla moaned, covering her mouth with her hand so she wouldn't wake Mila. My endurance was nearing its end. Two more quick thrusts; muscle memory took over. I pushed myself as far as I could into her love tunnel. A wave of pure pleasure engulfed my shaft. I began pumping semen like never before. My normal 3 or 4 shots of cum became 6, maybe 7. This was real lovemaking. Not what my experiences with Sue had become. We held this position for a few moments. Our breathing returned to normal. I eased my softening penis out of Isla. I looked down between her legs, her pussy overflowing with my cum. We lay together, holding each other. Rain fell steadily outside the window. I pulled a blanket over us, and we fell into a deep sleep.

Just before dawn, we both used the bathroom. Isla checked on Mila. Still asleep.

“If you want to make love again, we’d better get going before Mila wakes up,” Isla whispered.                            

I lay on my back. Isla took my cock in her right hand and stroked it with fascination.

“Paul, I am not so sure about sucking it right now, but I will kiss your favorite part.”

After a few soft kisses and one lick, I was fully attentive. Isla lifted her leg and swung her body over me. Slowly, she lowered herself. My very firm erection slid easily into her warm, wet womanhood. Isla rocked back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm. I held her around the waist to support her. After several wonderful minutes, she moaned and lay down against me. I pushed myself into her a few more times and released myself into her again.  

“It would be nice if we could stay in bed all day,” I said, grinning, though I was sure Mila would be up and about soon, as any child her age would be.

And she was; a little later, Mila let her mother know it was time for breakfast. I decided to order room service for breakfast. I ordered Mofo Grasy, a sweet pancake, rice porridge, coffee, and milk for Mila.

Isla and I married 2 months later. The US Embassy said our marriage was legal in the US and that Isla could apply for a Green Card in about 6 months. I offered to take us to New Zealand for the ceremony, but Isla declined. Although her parents were happy, they weren't thrilled that she was marrying a ‘Yankee’. They didn't attend. Her older sister, Emma, did attend, bringing her husband and twin boys. Of course, Rakoto was there! The ceremony was small and held at Isla's school.

In the months that followed, Isla became pregnant. I was very happy. Mila would rest her head against Isla’s belly and talk to the baby growing inside. Soon, my wife gave birth to a daughter, Ruby. The following year, we welcomed a baby boy, Noah. We decided 3 was enough, and if I was to get laid again, I'd best get a vasectomy.

Life moved on. The company relocated me to the Netherlands, specifically to the Port of Rotterdam, Europe's largest container port. Our children and Isla learned Dutch; I tried, but I didn't do very well. I was so happy and proud of my family and of how things had turned around for both of us. Isla and I had our disagreements, as all couples do. Mila remained strong-willed. Our two younger children each had a distinct personality.

Years later, just two months before Mila’s wedding, I took Isla to Portland for her first visit to the US. The company was celebrating the opening of a new addition to the Port District, and several city officials were in attendance. Of course, they discussed the importance of expanding Portland’s Port. When they introduced the mayor, my jaw dropped; it was my former wife, Sue! PHP had launched her political career.

Cheekily, I placed my arm around Isla and whispered, “That’s Sue, my ex-wife!”

“Really?” Isla sounded surprised.

“Yes, really,” I answered.

“Not how I expected her to look,” Isla said.

“I hope she is as happy as I am with you, our children, and our future grandchildren,” I whispered.

We listened for a few minutes. Mid-sentence, Sue stopped speaking. For a moment, our eyes met across the audience. I hugged Isla tightly. After a brief pause, the mayor resumed speaking.

I whispered into Isla’s ear, “She may have a whole city, but you are my world.”