AUTUMN SUN ROSE BEHIND, cresting white-capped peaks of the Swiss Alps and casting an intense bright morning light across a shadowed valley before me. The snow-capped Le Coeur, a jagged spire thrusting into the heavens across the valley, caught the morning sun, glowing like a white-hot Olympic flame against the remnants of the deep blue night sky. Below, the valley was filled with a blanket of milky cloud obscuring Aigle. My breath condensed in the cool morning air, the warmth of the autumn sun not yet strong enough to chase away night's chill that lingered at this high altitude. Steam rose from the mug of morning coffee clutched in my hands for warmth while leaning against the wood balcony railing, a little shiver passing through my body.

In the distance I heard the faint clanging of cow bells ringing a discordant morning song, a uniquely Swiss sound. Sipping coffee I wondered what the day would hold, what further surprises, as if I hadn't had enough already.

Glancing back over my shoulder, I looked through the sliding glass doors. She was still there in my bedroom, in my bed, curled up under the thick white quilt, her dark mop of hair against white pillows the only visible part from where I stood. In my mind I could smell her aroma, an intensely alluring and innocent scent. Just thinking about it made my blood flow south.

Turning back to the stunning view, taking another sip of caffeine, a dark Arabica roast with an intense flavour, black with no sugar, I smiled. I was intensely happy, unreasonably so. I guess I should thank my cantankerous old-fashioned father. If he hadn't . . .

Chapter 1

Blistering heat burned down from a fireball sun, turning the massive sand dunes into huge heat radiators, their reflective brightness painful to my eyes. I could feel the hot sun like a blowtorch on my head searing me through my keffiyeh. Without a breeze my dishdasha, my long white robe, was not keeping me cool enough to be anywhere close to comfortable. I missed civilization, air conditioning, cold water, ice, no sand; pretty much everything.

To top it all off, the camel smelled like two-week-old rugby socks that had been worn long past the game's end and stored in an air-tight gym bag to ripen, something vaguely cheesy and rotten. The rhythmic sway of the contumacious animal was making me slightly sea-sick and I was tired, deathly tired from a long journey.

It still amazed me that these barren sand dunes hid rare earth minerals underneath. Looking at the vast expanse of dunes, all marching like regimented sea swells, I smiled to myself. I wondered who discovered what was under them. I mean, just how did that happen? I had a picture of a lunatic man with spiky unkempt hair and thick black-framed glasses building a massive sand castle with a small plastic bucket and spade, pants rolled up to just below his knees, dress socks and dress shoes, a knotted handkerchief on his head. Maybe British; one of those odd characters. I pictured his surprise when he hit the underlying strata, his hopping dance when he realised what it contained, his shriek, Eureka! No. I doubt it was that. But the vision made me chuckle; maybe I was suffering from heat stroke.

Either way, I guess I should be grateful. The massive wealth Father had received from mining rights had let me escape this little hell on earth. But he was such a traditionalist, insisting on spending two months of the year out in the wilderness of his property. And I suspected he might be a little nuts; he always picked mid-damn summer. If he wasn't nuts, he sure as hell was eccentric.

My flea-bitten camel spit, broad hooves softly padding in the loose sand as it blindly followed the one in front. Mohammed, on the leading camel, seemed to know where he was going which, all things considered, was probably a good thing. I'd no doubt wander around in circles and never know it. These sand dunes were incredibly skilled at imitating each other; nature's little joke on us humans.

I'd gotten the message while on a trip to Hong Kong. 'Your Father requests your presence immediately. Please return at once'. It was a nice little handwritten note on thick cream paper handed to me by a compact little Asian man. I'd had notes from Father before. Father had taken to modern conveniences like a house cat to a swim in the mid-Pacific. He didn't care about cell phones, the Internet, or even old technologies like the fax machine; his most modern appliance was a corded telephone. Then again, he didn't have to care. He had a couple of servants to help him, Mohamed currently leading me through the proverbial wilderness, and Farhad, a wizened old goat who at sixty-eight was still spry and sharp-tongued.

As we wended our way around yet another dune, I caught sight of tents; three large tents arranged facing a centre fire. Finally, we'd arrived. But that brought me no feeling of relief. I was pretty sure there would be no running water, so no refreshing cool shower. Father had obviously decided an oasis was too civilized. Bloody hell. Ah well, at least I'd be able to get off this crabby camel.

I think it liked me as much as I like it based on the attempt it made to bite me as I walked away. Yeah, me too buster, I thought, and gave it the finger.

A tent flap pulled aside and Farhad emerged to greet me. "Ahmed, welcome" he said with a welcoming smile. I hugged him, kissing both cheeks.

"Farhad, good to see you. How've you been keeping?"

"Good, good," he said.

I'd known Farhad all my life. He was my silent protector. He'd been the one to sneak me back into our house without telling Father, nurse my hangover and protect me from Father's wrath. At thirteen I would have been in considerable trouble for being out late, being out without permission, being too young to prowl the city at night, being too young to consume alcohol, and generally being too young for anything. Father was strict and old-fashioned. A Muslim underage son drinking alcohol would have brought out his less-than-civilized side.

"Your Father will see you this evening for dinner," Farhad said leading me towards a tent.

Well, wasn't that typical. Haul my ass halfway around the world and Father would see me later. "Does he have visitors?"

"No Ahmed. It's your Father's way. You know that," he said with a grin, displaying his tobacco stains proudly.

I sang in the shower, luxuriating in the cooling Niagara-like downpour of cold water. Not. I bathed with a damp cloth soaked in lukewarm water and changed into the only other set of clothes I had brought, assuming I wasn't going to be here long; in fact, praying I wasn't going to be here long. At just past six, with long shadows being cast by the large dunes and the sun finally releasing us from its relentless heat, I pulled the entrance to Father's tent aside and stepped in. Yet again I wondered what this summons was all about.

"Ahmed! It's good to see you."

"You too, Father" I replied, giving him a hug and kissing both cheeks in a rare show of affection. Father was a large burly man, silver streaked long beard that started high on his cheeks, flinty black eyes that saw everything, and a long nose that sat rather prominently on his face. Unfortunately I'd inherited that nose.

Dinner was served, simple mutton stew, mint tea, couscous, flat bread, and a multitude of raw vegetables. I ate quietly waiting for him to start talking. That's the way it was with Father, one waited for him, never the other way around.

As he wiped up the last of the gravy from his mutton stew, he burped loudly showing his appreciation and sighed, leaning back against the cushions.

"Son," he started. Oh no, not a good sign. That 'son' thing meant he was going to make me do something he knew I wouldn't like. "You're twenty-seven now. A man. It is time for you to be married and have children."

Damn. That old argument? He hauled me halfway around the world for that old argument? "Father . . ." I began, interrupted when he held up his hand.

"No, Ahmed. It is time. I have arranged it."

Dread suddenly poured through me. Arranged it? Oh shit. "Father . . ." I started again with more force.

He held up his hand again, looked at me with those flinty eyes and bent forward. "Son, I have arranged it," he said, and in a lower more determined voice, "You will not shame me by trying to find an excuse."

Allah help me. The old sod was serious.

He continued as if he didn't notice the shock on my face, which, given he missed nothing, meant he didn't care. "She comes from a wealthy business partner in Oman," continuing in a serious tone, "an important business partner."

"But Father," I tried again, "how can you expect me to marry someone I haven't met? We may not like each other." Probably won't I thought, visions of a dumpy woman with a natural moustache and hairy legs coming to mind.

"Bah!" He waved a hand in dismissal. "If you don't like her get another. You will marry this girl. I am told she is beautiful and a virgin. What more do you need? Two weeks from now, Ahmed. Two weeks." Then he grinned at me, stark white teeth suddenly appearing, his finger pointing at me. "Until then, you shall stay here with me."

Well, SHIT! And this time I couldn't even call a taxi to escape.

Chapter 2

As is custom, I waited on the bench at the front of the large reception room facing forward. The wizened old Mullah sat facing me patiently as we waited for the bride to appear. Guests murmured behind me as they commented on the lavish decorations, thousands of blooms decorating the room as befitted the Sultan's son's wedding; that's me, the forlorn idiot, in case you hadn't guessed.

My hands were damp with nervousness, my heart thumping unpleasantly in a constricted chest. This was not one of my better days. And Father had actually lost his temper with my constant recommendations on how a modern business relationship should be treated; asking if he'd ever heard of that modern business tool called a contract; how accepting a woman as a sign of close business ties was downright old fashioned, let alone arranged marriages being barbaric, that one getting his dander up.

There was a sudden hush in the room. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the first of the veiled flower girls make an entrance. Courage fled me and I turned back and stared ahead. I couldn't believe in this day and age I was going to marry someone I'd never set eyes on, never heard speak. Images of a screeching debutante with airs and attitude crashed in on me. Sweat trickled down uncomfortably from under my arms. One thigh muscle started twitching. Shit!

I mentally groaned when I heard the tone of murmurs from the guests behind. A dog was walking up the aisle, I was sure. That tone was not one of awe or appreciation; it was one of surprise, perhaps pity for the unfortunate groom. Now my head was bowed and I actually started praying; an extremely rare event given I didn't believe in God.

I thought I was in trouble. But that was nothing, nothing. When the flower girl sat next to me I was confused for all of a minute and then proceeded to have heart palpitations. Despite the white veil, I could see the girl, no more than thirteen years old. Holy Shit! I hadn't even asked how old. I mean who would? Weren't there laws?

If I had any role in the ceremony I might have been able to derail it. But unfortunately a Muslim wedding had nothing to do with the groom. My role was to sit, all financial arrangements, the dowry and the marriage contract, already completed. I sat in stunned silence as my bride responded to the Mullah, refusing to accept me in marriage the traditional three times. Despite my praying for her to refuse a significant fourth time, I was officially married to a child eight minutes later. I damned Father in my mind.

The only saving grace to this disaster was when the child finally removed her veil. She was actually an okay-looking girl, shy smile, large dark brown, almost obsidian eyes heavily made up with eyeliner, thick black hair braided and a well-proportioned face. My heart broke from seeing the hesitancy in her eyes, her discomfort, her worry. If I was devastated, how must she be feeling?

As tradition required, I took her delicate hand in mine. And as tradition forbade, I whispered "Hi, Aisha," since I wasn't supposed to talk at this point, and squeezed her hand, damp as mine I noted.

Laughing and clapping erupted behind me. The ceremony was over. Aisha, pronounced ah-ee-sha, was led away with all the women as tradition dictated and I was surrounded with men congratulating me, back slaps, cheeks kissed, hugs, all the usual guff. I wasn't feeling as festive as everyone else. No, I felt more . . . depressed.

Glancing around the now loud crowd, absent-mindedly shaking congratulatory hands and air-kissing endless cheeks, I looked for familiar faces. Against the wall I saw Mohammed and Farhad, both with silly smiles on their faces. To the right I spotted . . . nope, didn't know him. Ah, there was Father surrounded by equally old men. And there, that must be . . . no, didn't know him. Nor him . . . or him actually. Hmmm, three. In the two-hundred-odd people it seemed I knew three. Oh well. Weddings were never for the groom.

I watched Father, waiting for my moment. He looked so pleased, chest puffed out, surrounded by a coterie of fawning friends. I suspected he was having a ball, unlike his son. Yet despite the feelings I was having at this moment, not particularly affectionate you understand, I couldn't help but admire him.

With massive wealth you'd think he'd be like most other Arabs, laden in gold, excessive opulence, a bevy of kowtowing servants and sycophants coming out of his rear end. But Father was remarkably restrained, no gold, no rings, only two life-long servants that he treated more like family, and dressed in an understated fashion. His robes didn't have gold stitching. No. Simple white with traditional sky-blue patterns stitched along the edges. Very simple, and for that I felt pride. I had inherited his dislike of ostentatious wealth. "Ahmed, showing off is for fools. Never let money cloud your mind or influence your conduct, it is unbefitting," he'd reminded me more times than I could remember. And in all honesty, one just had to look at some of the idiot guests to see what he meant. There was something vaguely cheesy about grown men wearing diamond rings on several fingers.

Seeing a small break in the crowd around him, I excused myself and went to him.

"Father," I said quietly, "can I have a word?" adding, "Privately please."

We stepped into the small side room. Father was still smiling and proud.

"Father, you did not tell me Aisha was so young."

He looked surprised. "Young? Ahmed, she's a woman."

"But Father, she can't be more than thirteen," I said with feeling.

"Twelve Ahmed, she's twelve. But she's had her menses. She's a woman."

He didn't seem to understand my discomfort. "Father, I . . ."

"Enough Ahmed. Aisha is not much younger than your dear departed mother was, may Allah keep her well. She'll keep you young, give me many grandchildren, and if you need someone else more to your liking, take another wife."

And that was that. Father turned and left me standing.

AISHA SAT ON THE couch, the chatter, laughs and squeals of women around her unnoticed. She stared at the intricate henna patterns on her hands and arms, hating them. Her ornate gown was far too heavy with all its garish gold threading and beads. Ugly too, she decided.

She thought back to her father, the arguments she'd had, yelling at his stubborn refusal to see how barbaric marrying her off was. He'd been immune to her plea to marry someone she loved, something she'd dreamed about. He'd been immune to her argument that she was just a child, although she didn't feel like one. And even worse was her mother. She'd accepted Father's dictates like a mute cow, just as she always did. It wasn't fair.

The pure fear she'd felt walking through the reception room had made her palms sweaty, her heart beat painfully. She'd answered the Mullah robotically and said all she was supposed to, trepidation making her voice tremble.

But the only good thing, the only bright spot, was seeing Ahmed, her now husband, smile at her with such kindness and understanding. She liked his quiet break with tradition by whispering to her. Thank goodness he wasn't the lecherous old goat she'd had visions of. In fact, those dark expressive eyes, regal nose and gentle smile were really kinda nice. But still, married at twelve? It wasn't fair.

And as the women celebrated, all separate from the men, fear started gnawing at her. Her wedding night; she was supposed to have sex tonight. Sure she'd dreamed of love and sex, and her Amah had been completely honest in explaining the mechanics. In fact, she'd sounded quite enthusiastic about the whole thing, describing how to satisfy a man and joyfully explaining all the places you should let your husband stick his penis in. Some of Amah's colourful descriptions had made her shudder. But in her dreams she was seventeen or eighteen when she gave herself to someone, not twelve! It just wasn't fair!

As the evening wore on her nervousness increased, peaking when she was led to the bedroom and the door closed quietly behind her. It was surprisingly simple, not like the rooms at home. There were no flourishes, ornate furniture, heavily brocaded cushions or excessive silver knick-knacks. She liked the simple furniture, dark wood floor, and even the large bed was plain; white silk sheets, fluffy-looking pillows and a white bed cover. The only colour in the room came from vases with blossoms set tastefully here and there. To the right she saw the bathroom and, from where she was stuck standing just inside the closed door, it looked as though everything was white in the bathroom as well.

The only ornate items in the room were the window shutters, dark wood with intricate carvings providing openings for the cool night breeze.

Aisha spotted her nightgown laid across a couch to her left. Walking over she let her fingers feel the silk. It too was simple, plain white. She smiled to herself. If she'd had to pick one herself, it would have been just like this one. The simple but elegant taste demonstrated by the bedroom and nightgown reassured her somewhat. It matched hers. But butterflies flitted, nerves tickling. It was her wedding night.

Picking up the nightgown reluctantly she went to the bathroom, hoping to scrub off some of the annoying henna.

I WAS FINALLY SHOVED out of the reception room at close to midnight. With no alcohol served it had been a long affair. But walking up to the bedroom had me somewhat unsettled. Exactly what was I supposed to do with a twelve-year-old wife? Sex was completely out of the picture. I mean really, twelve? I didn't care if she had periods. That was not a sign of maturity. She was a child.

Inspiration hit me and I made a quick detour before cautiously opening the bedroom door, peeking in. The sound of running water came from the bathroom. With some relief I entered and sat on a couch, waiting for Aisha to emerge.

She shocked me when she walked out of the bathroom. This was a completely different child from the one downstairs. Gone was the distracting ornate gown, gone were almost all the henna designs, gone was the heavy eye makeup, and gone was the tightly braided hair.

What emerged from the bathroom was someone completely different. A slender girl in a simple white silk nightgown, spaghetti straps over slim shoulders; a slender girl with thick lustrous dark hair that cascaded heavily down her back; a slender girl with large magnetic dark obsidian eyes that demanded attention, radiating personality and intelligence; a slender girl with a delicate Egyptian nose, naturally dark red lips, and a stunningly attractive shy smile. It was impossible not to notice the small swells of young breasts that broke the plane of her silk gown, nor the slight flare at her hips, or the swell of her bottom. I couldn't complain about being married to a dog; that was for sure. But she was still a child, albeit attractive.

AISHA WONDERED WHAT AHMED was thinking. She could feel her stomach muscles twitching with fright. His gaze was so frank and open, assessing her, looking very closely, studying her. His penetrating eyes showed surprise, a pleasant surprise, and for some reason that made her feel good.

She decided he had a kind face. But when he smiled at her, she felt faint from relief. It was warm and welcoming, not lecherous. It seemed considerate and concerned, and as bright white teeth emerged, as a grin spread, she decided she could have done a lot worse.

WITH A GRIN, I said, "Hello, Aisha," liking the way her dark eyes widened and dominated her face.

"Hi."

Reaching into my robe I pulled out a deck of cards, holding them up. "Care for a game of poker?" I asked. I'd needed something to break the ice, so why not gambling, something strictly frowned upon by Father. Her grin hit me hard somewhere inside. It lit up her face bringing out character with a hint of impishness. Quite attractive I thought.

"Poker? What's that?"

"You've never played poker?" I asked with mock astonishment. "Well, let me tell you Aisha, you have not lived unless you've played Texas hold 'em."

It was an interesting evening. Already late but both of us too nervous to sleep, sitting on the floor teaching her poker turned out to be a remarkable way of gaining insight into her. Aisha was a very quick study, grasping the rules fast. She was smart, asking intelligent and well-thought-out questions. Her only weakness was a complete abandon when it came to betting. She seemed to have trouble grasping the subtleties of faking the opponent out, revealing her strong hands with large raises. I tried to explain bluffing to her, unsuccessfully.

She also had a heart-warming laugh, sometimes soft, light and musical, other times deep and strong from the belly. Until then I had shuddered when hearing children giggle, finding it annoying in the extreme. Yet when she won a hand and giggled, I couldn't help but smile. It expressed such an innocent enjoyment it was hard not to like it.

I thought, given the atrocious circumstances of an arranged marriage, perhaps Aisha might not be the worst that could have happened. She was awfully cute. In a few years . . . perhaps. Who knows?

AISHA WAS SO, SO relieved. Playing cards with Ahmed was fun. But it revealed so much about him. He was so patient as he taught her and never talked down to her. And he cheated, too! Once she understood the rules, he'd cheat, and cheat blatantly! That grin of his when she'd catch him was endearing.

But of all the surprises she'd had that day, the biggest was watching Ahmed come out of the bathroom in a long night-robe, her nerves strung tight again as she sat waiting in the big bed. He grabbed a blanket and settled on the couch.

SETTLING DOWN AND PULLING the blanket over me, I said, "Goodnight, Aisha. Sleep well."

"You're not coming to bed?" Aisha asked in a small voice.

"No. Not tonight, Aisha. Pleasant dreams." I had no intention of getting into bed with her. None. I didn't care if she was now officially my wife, or that she was good company or cute. She was twelve.

Chapter 3

"Father, it won't work," I insisted over breakfast of strong coffee, flat bread, goat cheese, honey and fruit.

"Ahmed, I don't understand why not."

It was another argument. I'd completed my degree at the London School of Economics and for the last two years been slowly trained in managing Father's investments. His insistence that I now live in London and assume full control was partially pleasing. The fact that he trusted me to handle the funds was nice. But living in London was not my idea of fun.

"Ahmed, I will buy you a home in Belgravia; a wedding gift. It will be large enough for you and Aisha and you'll be close to the financial markets. Why will it not work?"

"Father, first of all the taxes will be punitive. Secondly, how do you expect me to live with Aisha? It is against the law in Britain to marry anyone under sixteen."

"So don't tell them."

We argued and debated all morning. Eventually the old sod, and I say that lovingly and with respect, the old sod realised that advanced communications meant I did not have to be physically present in the financial markets to manage his investments. That opened another whole new problem.

It took all afternoon to convince him I should not live in his home. I had to resort to arguments about living with a new wife and building a relationship to convince him. "No, Father, a separate wing would not be acceptable." Besides, I felt sure I was allergic to heat. It brought out this awful reaction in me, sweat.

Just before dinner, exhausted with mentally wrestling with him, I breathed a sigh of relief when the old codger reluctantly agreed Switzerland would be an acceptable compromise. Ah, the cool Alps, cold snow, cold winters, cold water, and nowhere near dear old Father, heat or sand. Perfect.

Besides, with the Swiss so assiduously polite and their fanatic devotion to privacy, living with a twelve-year-old might be easier. Maybe I wouldn't be arrested. Luckily Aisha would not have to declare her relationship to me on her passport; they'd just assume she was my sister . . . hopefully.

Over dinner, a private affair with Aisha, I told her of the plans to relocate to Switzerland.

"I've never been. Is it nice?"

If Father had had a connection to the Internet I would have shown Aisha some images. But instead I made a hash of describing the beauty of mountains topped with white snow, the deep lush valleys, the thrill of driving on winding mountain roads along drop-offs that fell hundreds of feet. In fact, my enthusiasm in describing the adrenaline rush of speeding and the potential for death inches away seemed to cause Aisha concern for some reason.

That night, after playing more poker with Aisha, I slept on the couch again, too scared of my father's reaction to move to another room. It wasn't comfortable. Perhaps I'd ask Farhad for a bedroll.

AISHA LAY IN BED listening to the quiet sound of Ahmed sleeping, her mind replaying the day. She'd been lonely most of the day, left to her own devices. Exploring the house had been interesting. Ahmed's father's taste was so different than her family's. Instead of wealth and power being blatantly displayed through ornate overbearing furniture, excessive decorations and expensive accessories, this house was simple, almost plain and austere. Yet the simplicity made the home nicer, more comfortable. The gardens were lush with plants, and the scent of blooms in the air was wonderful. She liked the honesty of the home; it spoke to her about Ahmed.

And despite her growing discomfort with the idea of driving on the edges of steep valleys, she couldn't help grinning at Ahmed's enthusiasm. It was contagious.

Aisha giggled quietly remembering Ahmed cheating again at poker. He was so obvious about it. But with a smile of pride, she replayed cleaning him out, the pure joy of taking his money, even if it was only pretend. She liked how upset he was trying to figure out how she was doing it. He looked proud too. What he didn't know was he gave everything away in his eyes, everything. Who needed bluffing? His eyes were so expressive he couldn't hide anything. They were also magnetically attractive.

She thought she might just like Ahmed.

Chapter 4

"Slow down Ahmed!" she yelled, clutching the door and the seat, her stomach dropping like a stone. There was something frightening about driving so fast and not being able to see the ground next to you. It just dropped, disappeared. And that flimsy metal railing didn't look as if it could withstand a hard kick, let alone a car hitting it. "Ahmed!"

AS I TORE UP route 11, a winding two-lane road that hugged the side of the mountain, curving sinuously and doubling back with thrillingly sharp corners, I wished I had an Aston, or a Pagani Zonda, or even a Ferrari. But that would be too ostentatious, too typically Arab, definitely not my style. However, I'd found the perfect car for these roads; a car you could drive slowly and still feel as if you were racing the Dakar Rally. Yup, the humble Mini Cooper, a perfect little car, extra zippy because I'd bought the John Cooper Works version.

Aisha had laughed when we picked it up in Geneva. "It's so small Ahmed," she'd said, thinking it was so understated, just like she'd expect from Ahmed. But it was cute!

"Ah, Aisha. This is a marvel of engineering," I'd replied with respect in my voice. "Don't be fooled. It has just under 300 brake horsepower, a low-back-pressure exhaust system, and a stiffer sport suspension. Just look at those 17-inch light alloy rims and the low-profile performance tyres, things of beauty don't you think? And check out those Brembo performance brakes," I'd said pointing. "Not only that, Aisha, it has BMW's dynamic stability control and Dynamic Traction Control with Electronic Differential Lock Control, a special 6-speed Getrag manual transmission, and even more exciting is the . . ."

She'd laughed at me! Honest! She laughed! Who wouldn't get excited about a dynamic, exciting and sexy little package like that?

"Ahmed, slow down!!" This time said with even more force.

"Fine!" I said with a grin, totally enjoying the look of fear on her small cute face.

"You're crazy!" Aisha declared. But looking at that silly little-boy grin on his face made her smile. He was more of a kid than she was when he was driving.

"Almost there anyway" I said. And indeed we were. Driving through Leysin took all of two minutes. It was quintessentially Swiss, small stores, cobblestone main street, chalets everywhere with bright painted eaves featuring intricate wood patterns, steep-sloped roofs, painted shutters, completely Swiss.

We climbed through the town until, at the highest elevation, I turned left into a steep drive. Around a small curve our chalet appeared; pretty much a twin of any of the others in town. My little retreat, my used-to-be vacation home, was now my permanent residence.

AISHA STROLLED AROUND THE chalet in awe. From the outside it had looked like all the others. But inside it was modern and had the same simple elegance that Ahmed's father's home had, except in the den there was a huge TV, and downstairs, a study filled with electronic stuff she'd never seen before. "My office," he'd said when she asked. And the view! Jeez, it was spectacular. She felt as though she was on top of the world, the mountain dropping to a faraway green valley and, rising across from them, pine-covered slopes of another mountain range with white peaks. In the distance she saw the majestic Alps, one white-tipped range after another disappearing into the late day haze. It was breath-taking.

WHEN AISHA CAME IN from the balcony, I asked,"So, what do you think? Are you going to miss all that sand?"

Aisha grinned. "Nope."

"Hungry?"

"Yup," she said with a smile.

"Don't get so verbose on me Aisha. A simple yes or no will suffice," I told her with a grin.

She grinned back at me. "Kay."

Cute, very cute. Ah, dinner. Now what shall we have?

THE LARGE, ELABORATELY EQUIPPED kitchen included a beautiful distressed-wood table, solid and aged. Really nice looking Aisha thought, although the hard wood chairs were somewhat uncomfortable; needed cushions she decided. For all the things she was beginning to like about Ahmed, she'd found something she didn't. He was an awful cook! Even worse, he didn't seem to know it!

TAKING ANOTHER LARGE BITE of my meal, I encouraged Aisha. "So, eat up. Pretty good, if I say so myself." The steak was pleasantly challenging, requiring a firm chew. But the flavour, well, a bit of HP Sauce made it eminently palatable in my opinion. However, judging by Aisha's facial expressions she clearly didn't concur with my positive assessment.

"It's terrible," Aisha said, politely removing another mouthful of half chewed beef.

"It isn't," I declared feeling a bit put out. "You're too used to foods that have been cooked for hours, all the character taken out."

"No, Ahmed. It's terrible."

"Fine! If you think you can do better, go ahead," I said with a challenging nod towards the stove.

Well I never! The omelette was exquisite, fluffy with melting Brie and diced spring onions delighting the palate, and on the side, a warm baguette from the oven. Bloody hell, maybe I couldn't cook after all!

"Delicious Aisha," I mumbled as I stuffed another forkful into my mouth, a chunk of warm baguette poised ready to follow.

AISHA GRINNED. WHAT a dope. It was only an omelette; eggs. Anyone could cook eggs. But watching him scarf down the omelette, eyes bright with enjoyment, made her feel warm. Ahmed was sort of charming, she thought. He sure was polite, sort of cute, and that was nice.

At bedtime Aisha was surprised when Ahmed led her to a room. "This is your room Aisha. I'm across the hall there," he said pointing. "See you tomorrow morning. Sleep well."

She was even more surprised when she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. It was deathly quiet, too quiet. She realised she missed the sound of Ahmed's breathing that she'd become used to over the last month. Slipping from bed, she grabbed a blanket and stole across the hall.

WARM SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE sliding glass doors woke me. Yawning and scratching my hair vigorously, I rolled out of bed. Walking to the bathroom, just as I was about to scratch my groin, something caught my attention in the corner of my eye. Turning, still sleepy, I stood staring at Aisha curled up on my couch, blanket clutched to her, dark mussed hair spread all over. What the hell was she doing there?

In repose her features were softer, younger. I noticed for the first time how long and thick her eyelashes were, large against her cheeks. Relaxed, her mouth seemed almost sultry with those dark red lips. In fact, her mouth was remarkably attractive. Aisha was a very pretty girl in a delicate sort of way.

But what the hell was she doing on the couch?

When her eyes opened suddenly and looked at me it startled me. But seeing her blush reminded me I was stark naked. Shit!

"Oops!" I said, turning and making for the bathroom, shutting the door behind me rather forcefully.

AISHA WAS SLIGHTLY SHOCKED to open her eyes and see Ahmed standing naked in the middle of the room. Circumcised, she noted involuntarily before grinning at his hasty retreat. A lot of pubic hair too, and, as he shut the bathroom door firmly, decided he had a nice tush, too.

Chapter 5

"Ahmed stop! Get out! I'll do it." Why didn't he understand he couldn't cook worth a damn?

I WAS ONLY TRYING to help. I mean turkey breakfast sausages are pretty easy, aren't they?

"Will you stop?" Aisha demanded again, shoving me away from the stove with her hip, reaching to turn down the frying pan heat with one hand, wafting the smoke with another.

I didn't appreciate her unspoken opinion of my culinary skills. "Listen Aisha, I was . . ."

"Ahmed, go away. Jeez, how did you ever survive?"

"Well, takeout was . . . and restaurants, you know . . . and . . . Now just a minute young lady! I have fine cooking skills," I stated with false conviction, adding under my breath, "as long as there are instructions or a microwave."

I did not appreciate her laughter so I retired, left the kitchen in a bit of a huff.

I was back two minutes later; forgot my coffee, an absolute necessity in my life. Without saying a word, I sat at the kitchen table and watched Aisha. For twelve she was remarkably graceful and competent. And in jeans and a T-shirt with bare feet, quite . . . No, don't go there Ahmed.

"Where did you learn to cook?" I asked. "Didn't you have cooks at home?"

GLANCING AT AHMED, AISHA smiled. He needed to brush his hair, and looking down she noted, put socks and shoes on. She'd never seen him so casual. It was nice. "I didn't like sitting in the living room chatting with guests and didn't like hiding in my room or being with my older sisters, so I hung out in the kitchen."

Huh. I watched her competently cook the sausages and put them aside.

"How do you want your eggs?" Aisha asked, opening the fridge door. She'd never seen a refrigerator so well stocked, nor one with a glass door for that matter.

"Eggs?" I asked. "Fried. How else do you eat them at breakfast?"

Straightening from inspecting the fridge contents, she looked over. "Poached, soft boiled or scrambled."

"Really?" Go figure, this girl really knew how to cook. "Eggs Benedict then," I suggested, my favourite when staying at hotels.

She really liked his grin, cute, boyish yet handsome. "Okay, go get the English muffins. You eat pork? You'll need to get Canadian bacon, too."

"Speaking of which, care to elucidate me on the couch thing?"

"Do what?" Aisha asked somewhat confused at his sudden change of subject. Were we talking about a couch? She decided on fried eggs since the frying pan was already out.

"Elucidate, Aisha, throw some light on. You know . . . you, the couch, sleeping?"

"Oh. It was too quiet in my room," Aisha answered, cracking eggs.

"Try turning the radio on."

"Okay."

AISHA SURPRISED ME AGAIN when I found her on my couch. This time I went to the bathroom with clothes before she woke up. I couldn't figure her out. Why on my couch? Wasn't it uncomfortable?

AS AISHA STIRRED AWAKE, she thought about last night. She'd tossed and turned with the absolute quiet, finally giving up and turning the radio on. It had done nothing but keep her awake with some harsh commentator interrupting harsh music every couple of minutes. Being away from home she wanted comfort, and having Ahmed near, hearing him breathe, had become comforting. But the couch sure as heck wasn't.

Getting up, she returned to her room, preoccupied. She still didn't want to have sex, so sleeping in his bed was out of the question. Still, she wondered what it would be like to sleep with someone, not sex, just sleep. In the shower, as she soaped her body, she began to wonder about sex again. Perhaps with . . . Nah. Still didn't want to. But if she did Ahmed might not be a bad choice. She liked how respectful he was towards her and those eyes, that smile . . .

CHASING A MOUTHFUL OF freshly baked baguette with a sip of delicious, rich coffee, I expounded to Aisha, "So. I think we should introduce you to the delights of Switzerland."

"Like what?" Aisha asked taking a remarkably large bite of baguette with unsweetened butter and blackberry jam.

Grinning, with pictures in my mind, I answered, "Skiing!"

While I might shun ostentation, I had no problem doing things that wealth afforded, and I could afford all sorts of hobbies, skiing being one.

AISHA PAUSED. SKIING? SHE wasn't sure about that. And besides, it was summer. Thinking he was kidding from the twinkle in his dark eyes and his sly grin, she agreed. "Sure, why not? Is it fun?"

I LEFT HER AT the ski shop to be outfitted while I dropped by the bank, Credit Foncier, the local one I was using to hold funds for living expenses. Twenty minutes later I returned.

My hard laughter was not appreciated. Aisha's angry frown and blush only made me laugh harder. She looked like the Michelin Man with so many layers of down-filled clothes. "Jeez Aisha, it's summer, you could ski in a bikini." Now there's a . . . No, don't go there Ahmed.

"It was their fault," she said in a huff, nodding at the two grinning sales ladies.

"Très drôle," I told them, "ça suffit. Bottes et skis seulement, s'il vous plâit."

It took a while for Aisha to forgive my laughter, but still, it was funny. Seeing her clump along so ungainly in ski boots was funny too. I was quite enjoying myself at her expense. I introduced her to another unusual Swiss tradition, eating a chocolate bar inside a freshly baked baguette, enjoying her cautious assessment before taking it from my hand. It was funny watching her wait for me to take the first bite, as though she didn't trust me. I wondered why?

AISHA SAT WITH HER face pressed to the glass as the cable car rose. Despite herself, she grinned at Ahmed's laughter. It was so contagious. The view was spectacular. Pine forests covered the slope with clear cut ski runs, bare in summer, cutting through the Pines sinuously like rivulets of rain on a window. As they gained altitude she saw the vast expanse of snow-topped Alps in every direction, the valley looking Lilliputian and the eastern end of Lac Léman like a puddle. It was awe-inspiring. Distracted with the view, she absentmindedly took the final bite of her chocolate bar and baguette, licking her fingers. Gooood.

Glancing at Ahmed she saw him grinning.

I COULD SEE THE amazement in her eyes, her smile radiant. Very, very attractive. "Ah, here we are." The cable car stopped. We'd arrived at the summit; Berneuse, 6,563 feet above sea level.

During summer there was a small glacier on the back side serviced by a small T-bar lift. It was mostly locals that came up. Not much to write home about and not a very long run, but enough for the diehards.

Teaching Aisha to ski was pure comedy. Getting her into the skis was a time-consuming process. Every time she'd successfully get one boot secured she'd fall over trying to get the other in, knocking the first out. My peals of laughter didn't endear me to her either. I found her excessive muttering charming. It even sounded as if she called me an asshole. How fun was that! I was becoming quite enamoured with Aisha.

Seeing her bent at the waist, ski tips together in a snowplough formation, poles firmly planted in the snow and inching along at a snail's pace with a frown of concentration on her cute face was giving me stitches in my side.

"Shut up!" she yelled for the umpteenth time, frowning at me. Yes, damned cute.

I thought things were going well for her first time when she actually straightened her skis. Being on the baby slope I was fairly, if fatally, relaxed. Suddenly the skis took off on her and, screeching and waving her arms wildly to keep her balance, Aisha slid down the slope. It was a rather comical sight.

My concern started when she picked up speed. "Fall over!" I yelled out loudly.

"What?"

And that was that. She took off like a banshee, screamed and tumbled head over heels. Skiing over to her quickly, my sarcastic comment died on my lips. Aisha was holding her leg, tears in her eyes. Fuck.

"Where does it hurt?" I asked frantically.

"My leg! My leg!"

Chapter 6

One thing the Swiss excel at is first aid and accident response on ski slopes. Thus, forty-five minutes later, after a noisy helicopter ride, I was holding Aisha's hand as she lay on the hospital bed getting a cast put on below her knee.

She'd been fortunate, a hairline fracture. Nevertheless, I felt pretty bad. Maybe I should have found a certified teacher. I was beginning to feel guilty about the enjoyment I'd had at her expense.

The surprise of her fall and unfortunate surprise of a fracture were only the beginnings of the surprises in store for me.

When all was done I refused to let her use crutches. The doctor had given her some painkiller and she looked a little woozy. Instead I carried her to the car. It was a new experience for me, another surprise. I realised that my physical contact with Aisha had never been more than holding her hand. Carrying her I was surprised at how light and petite she felt. Her height, five two, had given me the impression of a more substantial body.

I was also surprised at how attractive her painkiller-softened eyes were. They loomed large in her face, dark, black obsidian in the night, and surprisingly alluring.

Putting her down gently on her bed brought a conundrum out. The Doctor had sliced her jeans up the leg to treat her fracture. It was immediately evident she was not going to get those jeans off over the cast. Inspiration wasn't needed to solve the problem. A pair of scissors would do just fine.

"Here," I said handing her the scissors. "You'll need to cut your jeans off. Call me when you're done, okay?" And with that I closed her bedroom door gently behind me to wait. Listening to her grunts and mutters, unintelligible from behind the door, I grinned at the mental image of her wrestling with the jeans. She really had a personality I thought, and my grin broadened when I caught what sounded like a swearword or two.

"Ahmed!"

Opening the door, I looked in and saw a deep frown on her pretty face. "Can't do it. You have to help," she pleaded.

And thus, the next surprise was revealed, literally revealed. Careful to not cut her, I sliced her jeans up to her waist and without waiting, Aisha started tugging them off. I sort of stood dumbfounded, half bent with scissors poised in my hand as I stared at Aisha's panties. I'd always appreciated lingerie and their allure, but it had always been thongs, or silky French-cut panties, never plain white cotton. And yet there they were, full cut, plain as an Amish, and virginal white. Not only that, but Aisha's struggles seemed to make her panties behave in an entirely unacceptable way; for a twelve-year-old that is. Her pubis strained at the cotton and, with elastic leg bands digging into deep creases at the sides, it appeared startlingly full. As she struggled her legs parted and closed alternately emphasizing a rather obvious plumpness between her thighs and, with legs closed, a fatally alluring pudginess in the front, the thin cotton showing a shadow hidden underneath.

I made a rapid exit from her room when I felt a certain physical appreciation, mentally castigating myself for unacceptably staring at a twelve-year-old girl's privates. It was unforgivable. I'd been almost mesmerized by her panties.

When she'd assured me she was decent, I brought her a cup of hot chocolate and left her for the night. But my surprises weren't over. At eleven-thirty Aisha woke me.

AISHA WAS TIRED, YET still too wound up from the day's events. With the painkillers softening her mind she replayed scenes that had imprinted themselves in her memory; Ahmed's worry when she'd fallen, so clear in his gaze; Ahmed holding her hand in the hospital so tenderly, watching her with such concern, eyes soft and sexy; Ahmed carrying her, his strong arms around her, looking at her with those dark soulful eyes, his nice scent suddenly strong; and Ahmed staring in wonder at her panties as she tugged her jeans off. The new, strange look in his eyes sent exciting chills through her and made her tingle pleasantly. How interesting. He liked them!

As she lay in bed, she decided she liked all of those memories. In fact, she liked Ahmed more and more. She smiled at the memory of his laughter. He laughed with such complete abandon, face radiating his pleasure and magnetic eyes twinkling. At first when she'd met Ahmed, she'd thought she could have done worse than being married-off to him. But those eyes, that compassion and concern, the softness and gentleness, it made her think perhaps she couldn't have done better.

And as she let those thoughts percolate through her, she was surprised by two more thoughts. Suddenly the idea of sleeping with Ahmed felt okay, no fear, no trepidation. In fact, it was sort of exciting. She was sure he'd be gentle with her. And even more surprising was the warm flush she felt when she remembered Ahmed was her husband; Ahmed, her husband! That actually felt good for the first time.

I HEARD HER CALL, loud and waking me. "Ahmed!"

Rising quickly with concern, I went to her room thankful I had put on boxers this time. "What's wrong Aisha?" I asked. "Do you need something? Are you all right?" Aisha looked small in the large bed. The covers pulled up to her neck emphasised the delicate features of her face and thickness of her dark, dark hair. My pulse spiked as I studied her naturally dark red lips, the alluring shape of her mouth and dark attractive eyes. What would it be like to . . . No, definitely don't go there Ahmed.

"I can't sleep, Ahmed. It's too quiet."

"I'll turn the radio on, okay?"

"No. It's not. It doesn't work," she replied.

"Sure it does." I made a move towards it.

"No, Ahmed. I mean, it keeps me awake. I want to sleep in your room."

"Aisha the couch is uncomfortable. You're better off here," I told her. She was, especially with that cast.

"Then I'll sleep in your bed," she announced with a firmness I hadn't noticed before.

That brought me up short. I actually considered it for a moment, just a moment. "No. You won't." I was not going to sleep with a twelve-year-old in my bed. Absolutely not. Especially with the growing attraction I was feeling. "You'll be fine here, Aisha. Just relax and let the painkillers work. Before you know it, it'll be morning."

And with that I left her room, conscious of an unusual look in her eyes, something I had not seen before. I was all too soon to find out what that look was; determination, stubbornness, and a look she'd get when she thought I was wrong. I was going to see a lot of it in my future. I was also to discover just how much my spine had deteriorated since getting married. It seemed to have developed an unpleasant weakness.

In fact, it was twenty minutes later when I found out. The tapping of crutches was the first warning of my physical deterioration. Seeing Aisha struggling into my room was the second. Watching her stop at the foot of my bed, stare at me and then tell me in no uncertain terms, "I'm sleeping in your bed, Ahmed," was the third and last. And in all honesty, seeing her determination, which I admired in anyone, and her fierce look, which was sort of attractive in her small face, I felt the unpleasant weakness in my spine and my willpower seeped out of me like a slinking cat disappearing down a darkened alley. It was quite humiliating to concede defeat to a girl.

Nevertheless, I rationalised my acquiescence by convincing myself that, with her leg in a cast, no harm could come. Oh, how naive one can be.

I held open the quilt in capitulation and felt unreasonably happy when she smiled at me. I had a vision of a puppy wagging its tail from a 'good boy' after he successfully peed outside. That's pretty much how I felt. Dumb; a helpless puppy.

With Aisha settled, thank goodness wearing a longish nightdress, I slept making sure there was an appropriate distance between us, no chance of body contact. I was very, very conscious of her next to me.

It turned out I had a wonderful sleep . . . well, actually not. Dreams are dangerous things, and my advice is to avoid them at all costs. In dreams, there is no judgement, no right or wrong, no disapproval. Dreams are just that, flights of fanciful thoughts. But dreams can also be seductive, can worm their way through protective walls of morality carefully built during a life. It only takes one crack for the damage to be irreparable.

And so it was with me. The seductive little dream that found a crack was a soft, gentle hand holding my erection. In my dream there was no sight, just sense, the sense of touch. A hand held my shaft ever-so-carefully, the thumb stroking the underside in an intensely arousing caress. Every so often, the thumb would stop. I'd bemoan its loss, and sigh when a soft hand gently squeezed. Then, like the welcome return of Spring, I'd welcome the return of that seductive thumb, enjoying its caress once again.

As the crack in my wall widened, I began to desire more, wishing for a long stroke, a touch of my crown. And as dreams have tendency to do, it refused my desire, rejected me, and slowly faded away. Wakefulness dawned and reality hit rather abruptly.

Reaching down I gently pulled Aisha's hand from my erection. "No. Don't," I said quietly before rolling out of bed.

AISHA FROWNED WHEN AHMED pulled her hand away. It was her first touch of a penis and, in many ways, much more exciting than she'd imagined it would be. It was accidental. A twinge of pain in her leg made her reach out to grab something. When her hand landed on Ahmed's penis she'd jerked it away, embarrassed from having touched such a private part of him.

But the feeling of touching it kept her awake. And the more she thought about it, the more her curiosity grew. She debated with herself for a while, wondering why, when not too long ago she'd shied away at the thought of any sexual contact, she now found the idea of touching his penis exciting. Now the thought of touching him sent pleasurable little pulses from her nipples to between her legs. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad?

Touching her stiff nipples gently, her arousal stirring higher, curiosity got the better of her. Feeling the flush of heat in her face from embarrassment didn't stop her, her curiosity too strong. Tentatively she reached out again. Ahmed's penis, his erection she corrected herself, was hard. She used her fingertips to trace its shape under his boxers; long, flaring at the tip, rigid. Carefully she tried to hold it but the boxers got in the way. As she tried though, she felt the opening of his fly.

Another debate took place. Should she? A spike of excitement overcame her reserve and, breathing a little faster, she explored the opening, inhaling quietly when she touched his erection, warm. Her courage built and little spikes of excitement made her nipples pucker. Gently she curled her hand around it, fingers not quite meeting, thick. A soft tug and Aisha had his erection through his fly. She explored it with her thumb discovering a ridge along the shaft, while her other hand gently squeezing her aching breast almost unconsciously. This was very exciting, she thought.

Until he removed her hand, Aisha marvelled at the firmness, the soft skin, its warmth, and how it seemed to pulse when she squeezed gently. Without realising it, her pussy had become moist and she was squeezing her thighs together in time with her hand.

Watching Ahmed go to the bathroom keeping his front turned away from her, she wondered what it would feel like to have Ahmed touch her, the thought inducing a nice pulse of arousal, a throb in her crotch.

That day she dwelled on her experience while Ahmed worked in his home office downstairs. That touch seemed to change everything, everything. Now she wanted to explore, to touch him again. Inside she could still feel the excitement and she wanted more. Now she didn't feel twelve was too young. Now she wanted so much more. She wanted to feel more of those arousing feelings that were storming her body, feel his touch. She wanted to be kissed. Now picturing herself in bed with Ahmed brought on an immediate heat inside her.

And, perhaps the biggest change of all was the warmth that suffused her when she thought of Ahmed as her husband. It felt good. She liked him. She liked his personality which was even more important. Those thoughts brought on more. With a delicious thrill she realised she was his wife, and as his wife wasn't it up to her to satisfy him? How exciting. What would he like? What turned him on? Ooo . . . exciting.

All day she could feel the damp spot in her panties, a gentle throb, and pleasant pulses of arousal.

That night she climbed into his bed again, thinking 'I'm his wife, this is my place, will he touch me?' But Ahmed simply said goodnight and rolled away from her. And in the morning he removed her exploring hand gently.

"No. Please don't" he told her quietly.

And for the next four days, Ahmed's continued rejection to her touch built her frustrations. What was wrong with him? She was a woman, her body maturing, fertile. He liked her, she could tell. He was so bright when she'd be with him, full of smiles, very attractive smiles. Was it her? Was she behaving incorrectly or sending the wrong signals?

Chapter 7

Aisha's frustrations grew through the week, annoyed he wasn't accepting her advances. It didn't seem right. At dinner she decided to have it out. She was his wife! He was her husband!

I WAS IN HEAVEN. AISHA had made an exquisite lamb shank, rich sauce, meat that flaked off the bone so tenderly it only needed a fork. The rice dish, full of herbs, was fragrant and a perfect accompaniment to the lamb. After my first bite of lamb I'd stopped to open a bottle of Brunello, a rich red wine with a heavenly body; perfect for the meal. I'd offered to cook given her condition, but the look of horror that crossed her pretty face put me in my place rather quickly. I was feeling quite happy about that now.

"Fabulous, Aisha. Absolutely fabulous," I said somewhat dreamily. I wondered why she didn't smile.

"Is there something wrong with me, Ahmed?" she asked.

SHE WAS PROUD OF how he was so clearly enjoying the meal. Mehdi the cook had taught her, telling her with a sly grin, 'Don't tell anyone, but the bottle of red wine is the secret'.

PAUSING TO SIP THE sumptuous wine, I asked, "No. Is there?" Muslim's had it all wrong, I thought. This was nectar from Allah himself, although I didn't really believe in Allah, or Jesus, or God, or Vishnu ... or Buddha for that matter.

Her frown caught my attention, eyebrows narrowing together, eyes almost black. Oh-oh. What had I done? Probing my memory I couldn't isolate anything in particular, just my usual goofs.

"Why don't you find me attractive?"

Oh shit. This was one of those catch twenty-two's. If I said I did, I was screwed; if I said I didn't, I was screwed. I actually felt my heart thump!

"Aisha," I started cautiously, "you are a lovely girl. There isn't anything wrong with you." I felt rather pleased with my answer. It danced nicely around that catch twenty-two I thought.

AISHA WAS NOT MOLLIFIED by Ahmed's answer, although having him think she was lovely was nice. But it wasn't what she wanted. "Then why haven't you kissed me, or even hugged me?"

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN in a car crash? You know, the slow motion terror? You can feel the loss of control, the wheels lose traction, you can feel the skid, you can see what's about to happen and have absolutely no control; panic builds. That's sort of how I felt. Being an accomplished and talented driver I knew I needed to steer into the skid and regain control. But what did I do? Like a bloody novice I wrenched the steering wheel.

"Aisha, if you're asking what I think you are, forget it. You're only twelve years old."

I tasted that tender lamb with its seductively rich sauce again. Unfortunately, it wasn't from my fork. Nope. Aisha clearly didn't like my answer and demonstrated it by throwing her plate at me. And, as I sat frozen in shock, she hobbled out of the kitchen, telling me I was an idiot under her breath, and not affectionately either.

Obviously I had underestimated something. With a food stained shirt, I contemplated what it might have been. Perhaps I had underestimated her feelings? Or insulted her by referring to her age? Was it my categorical no? Feeling somewhat bemused, I realised there was only one course of action. Regardless of my continued confusion, I'd have to apologise. Shit. Why couldn't I have said 'in a couple of years or so I'd be more than happy to let our relationship grow'? Or, 'I'm not quite ready yet'? Or, 'as much as I want to, we have to wait'? What a doofus.

Unfortunately, when I heard her crying in her room as I approached, my courage fled again and I made like a mouse and scurried away. Half an hour later, fortified by a couple more glasses of deep delicious Brunello di Montalcino, I tried again.

I don't often make mistakes but when I do, they're usually big and it's usually made with some presence of alcohol in me. It doesn't take much to bamboozle my thought process. Thus, I happily and ignorantly proceeded to make a mistake. In my defence, I was worried about Aisha.

"Aisha?" I knocked on her door.

"Go away, Ahmed."

"Aisha?" I knocked again.

"Go Away!"

And so I didn't. Twit. Opening the door I entered and sat on the side of her bed. She'd rolled away from me but at least she wasn't crying. Or so I thought.

Putting my hand on her shoulder, I pulled. "Aisha, I'm sorry. Can't we talk, please?"

Seeing her tears fall silently, her face so sad, stabbed me in the heart, a sharp pain in my chest. And without thinking, I did exactly what she'd accused me of not doing. I pulled her to a sitting position, gathered her in my arms, and hugged her. She felt so delicate in my arms and her scent wafted into me in an unfair attack, finding another crack in my wall.

When she turned her face up to look at me, I did another thing she'd accused me of not doing. But how could I resist? Dark eyes, pools of warmth and affection, hypnotised me, singing a siren's song of need. Dark eyes looked into me, reached down and touched my heart. I couldn't resist. Her sweet allure was too strong. I felt like I was facing a tsunami hoping to stop it with the palm of my hand. The tsunami hit. My hand didn't work.

I succumbed to an irresistible urge and gently bent and kissed dark red lips, stunningly soft lips. I actually felt someone melt. Aisha seemed to melt against me, slender arms slipping around my neck. I felt like I was being pulled into an eddy, unable to fight the current. I was pulled under with the touch of a tender small tongue, and I drowned at her soft moan.

Aisha kissed me so seductively I forgot she was only twelve. That's my excuse for opening my mouth and I'm sticking to it. It took a slight probe of her moist tongue to have me turgid, my erection tight in my pants. My spine, already weakened, broke when Aisha took my hand so tenderly and placed it over her silk blouse. I felt a small mound, a firm and curvaceous little mound with a hard tip. I felt a perfectly formed breast, just delightfully diminutive; one that seemed to sit high on her body, a perfect cone in my hand.

As rational thought fled faster than rats from a sinking ship, I picked up my child wife, petite and light in my arms, and carried her to our bed. Her kiss seemed to grow more passionate with each step, her delicate sensual tongue probing my mouth, small body wriggling seductively in my arms, burrowing into me. It sounded like Aisha was purring, an intensely arousing sound.

I was not immune to her increasing fervour. I was aroused from her kiss, excited by her wriggle, bewitched by her scent. I was unbelievably turned on by her slender, barely pubescent body; unbelievably turned on.

I lay Aisha down on our bed, wanting nothing more in this world then to make love to her. She looked gorgeous, thick glossy hair spread on the white pillow and dark seductive eyes shining with passion and excitement. The way her silky rose-coloured blouse draped over small, well-formed mounds had my heart palpitating, a desire to uncover them, to reveal them, surging through me. And for some strange reason I really wanted to lift her pleated cream-coloured skirt and see her panties, see her alluringly plump vulva coddled by demure cotton.

But the sight of her arms and slender legs, one in a cast, reminded me of her youth.

I was no innocent when it came to sex. But I was a definite innocent when it came to sex with a child, for Aisha, despite being so attractive and desirable in the full blush of pubescence, was still a twelve-year-old child.

AISHA HAD FELT DIZZY from Ahmed's kiss, her mind buzzing with how exciting it was. When he carried her to his room, delicious pulses of arousal ran through her body, her pussy throbbing. Ahmed's kissing me! And, as he lay her so tenderly on his bed, her body was thrumming with excitement, panties moist from her arousal, higher than she'd ever felt or believed possible. Now she wanted to experience sex, she wanted Ahmed to undress her, touch her and caress her, and she desperately wanted Ahmed to soothe the ache deep inside her.

But her passion-clouded mind cleared slightly when Ahmed stood at the side of the bed, looking at her with such heat burning in his expressive dark eyes and not moving as though he was frozen in place. Why? Why did he look confused of all things?

"Ahmed," she asked softly, hesitantly, "what's wrong?" Even though she said it softly, a voice in her mind was pleading, 'Please, don't stop now!'

I WAS STILL IN a nowhere land, torn between my desire for Aisha and her youth. I was hard, desire battering at me. But Aisha . . . Aisha, so young.

"I . . ." Words failed me. I tried again miserably. "Aisha, I don't know how." No! No you idiot! That's not what I meant! "Um . . . I mean . . . I know how, just not how."

Shit! Try again you senseless idiot! "No, not that. It's just I . . . well, you're so young." Damn! Blast! Bugger! I'd never felt so tongue-tied. And then I proceeded to bring even less clarity to my problem. "No. I mean you're not so young . . . well, you are, but that's not what I mean."

I gave up. Hopeless, I was hopeless. Trying to explain I didn't really know how to make love to a young girl, that somehow I thought it had to be different than an adult, and that I'd never had sex with a virgin and didn't want to hurt her, was clearly beyond my fine communication skills. And realising that I actually wanted to have sex with her, a child for goodness sake, I felt heat in my face.

AISHA WATCHED AHMED STRUGGLING, at first confused at what he was trying to say. But when she saw spots of colour in his cheeks, she grinned. Look at that! Ahmed's embarrassed! How cute is that!

"Would you like me to start, husband?" she asked, her grin broadening at a now clear blush. Moving, Aisha sat on the side of the bed reaching up to undo the buttons on his lamb-stained shirt, still grinning. Imagine, look at me. So forward! As she unbuttoned him slowly she desperately tried to remember what her Amah had said.

"Aisha, a man only cares for one thing. He wants release. But if you want pleasure, you have to take it. Otherwise all a man does is use your body. It will be up to you to teach your husband what you want and as long as you give him pleasure, you'll both find joy."

"But how, Amah?" she'd asked.

"Seduction, Aisha, the art of love. Here's how."

When the last button opened Aisha stood, slightly swaying from her cast. Ahmed's hands moved to her waist steadying her. They felt warm and gentle, good. Opening his shirt, she combed her hands through the soft hair on his chest, feeling how silky it was. When her hands slipped down to his belt, she heard him inhale. Looking into his magnetic eyes she smiled.

"Let me," she whispered, blushing slightly before looking down. Little pulses of arousal flitted through her body at the sight of his erection straining against the front of his pants. More pulses shook her when she opened the button and reached for his zipper, panties now damp, nipples aching. Undressing Ahmed was surprisingly arousing.

Lowering the zipper she pushed his pants over his hips letting them fall to the floor. Her complete attention was on the tent in his boxers. She squeezed her thighs together automatically when she noticed a damp spot at the tip. She heard her Amah speak in her mind, "a sign of a man's arousal Aisha, it will ease his penetration."

Pushing Ahmed's chest lightly she moved him back. "Look," she whispered demurely, "no man has ever seen me."

I HAD BEADS OF sweat at my temples, my heart racing as if I was competing in a Grand Prix. Being undressed by Aisha was arousing enough. But I was feverish and painfully erect when she said no man had ever seen her, painfully erect. I'd never seen buttons on a blouse opened so seductively, Aisha's delicate fingertips undoing pearl buttons slowly. Her downcast eyes only added to my agony, so chaste and innocent, contrasting sharply with her actions.

When the last button was released, her rose-coloured silk blouse fell open to reveal a delicate white lace bra, a small bra. As she slipped the blouse over her slender shoulders the full magnificence of her petite breasts appeared. Twin mounds of adolescent beauty, widely spaced, conical with dark dusky areolae clearly visible. Aisha had prominent nipples that pushed at the lace. I felt the tip of my erection wet from precum and knew it was making a large wet spot on my boxers. I could not tear my eyes away from Aisha.

Her petite, fully formed breasts pressed seductively against the white lace when she reached behind her. The sound of a snick in the air was unnaturally arousing, just a sound and I was pulsing. But Aisha wasn't done with me yet. Oh no. An arm slipped around to hold the bra, a bra I wanted to fall rather desperately.

Holding her lacy bra against her, Aisha looked up at me, a gentle yet bashful smile on her face.

"For you, my husband," she whispered, her arm falling.

Lust battled care, a war raging inside me. I felt care for this girl, for this child. How could she seem so demure yet so damned sexy? I felt lust for her. Her small, pubescent breasts were stunningly attractive, proud mounds with dark crinkled areolae and large stiff nipples. But it was the 'my husband' that did it. It was the way she said it. It seemed to stab through my chest. My wife, man, that sexy little angel was my wife!

Before I could reach out and grasp her, Aisha's hands slipped behind her again, now looking at me with her dark eyes glistening. The sound of a zipper cut the silence.

Her cream-coloured skirt fell in a swish to her ankles. The simple, small, white cotton panties hugged her tight. Her mons loomed large and prominent pressing against soft cotton. The panties were tight, a camel toe outlining her cleft. They were tight, elastic sinking deep. They were tight, hugging her vulva, a seductive mound between slender legs. God so sexy.

I felt pain in my chest, my arousal was so high. But Aisha hadn't finished punishing me with her intensely exciting display. She gave me a sweet seductive smile. Not fair!

"Only for you," she whispered, her fingers slipping under the waist at the sides. With big dark eyes watching me intently, white cotton slipped down with gentle, sexy hip movements, falling to join her skirt.

It felt as though there was electricity in the air. The hairs on my forearms stood up and I stared. I stared at Aisha's pussy. I'd never seen anything so desirable. Her pussy seemed so protuberant and the delicate sprinkling of shiny jet-black pubic hair, newly formed pubic hair, only emphasised the seductive curves, the deep creases, and the startling sexiness of her cleft. Aisha's arousal was plainly evident from her reddened clitoris gently nestled between plump labia. Seeing a glisten of moisture was almost fatal for me. My erection strained hard and I felt veins throbbing in my temples.

"Aisha, you're stunningly beautiful," I said with absolute conviction. I'd never imagined pubescence could be like that, so intensely desirable.

AISHA FELT THE HEAT of her blush, but not from Ahmed's comment. The absolute awe in his voice and intense passion in his eyes had made her pussy clench. She felt moisture slipping coolly down her thigh she was so, so aroused and it embarrassed her. It got worse when he slipped his boxers down and she saw his straining erection for the first time. It jutted out from his thick black pubic hair, the tip glistening, the shaft pulsing. Thick, it was thick. And instead of it scaring her, another twinge of pleasure hit her when she wondered how it was going to feel inside her. Without thinking she grabbed her pussy.

WHEN I WATCHED AISHA cup her pussy as she studied my erection, such a sexy gesture, I reached my limit. I needed Aisha. I wanted Aisha and I didn't give a damn if she was only twelve. She was my wife and I wanted her more than any woman I'd ever met.

Moving forward, I brought Aisha into my arms, my erection poking her soft stomach before sliding up. Bending, without words spoken, I kissed my child bride, kissed her hard, tongue probing forcefully into her small mouth. God I was aroused. When her arms slipped around my waist, I turned slightly and pushed my leg between hers, feeling her seductive mound press against my thigh.

And of all the things I'd ever imagined for my first time with a wife, what happened was never one of them.

Aisha moaned as we kissed passionately, rubbing her sexy pussy against my thigh. Suddenly she inhaled through her nose, her body jerked against me, and she thrust her small tongue into my mouth, moaning loudly. God, Aisha was climaxing! It was so intensely arousing, without shame, as her arms held me tight and she rubbed her pussy on my thigh, I came too, semen surging up my painful erection to spurt hot between us. It was my turn to inhale sharply through my nose as I spurted in glorious release. I pushed my straining erection against Aisha's sexy body as my climax overwhelmed me, pleasure pounding me with each hard spurt, relief, sweet relief.

I was still kissing Aisha, albeit much more gently, when we calmed. She giggled into my mouth. It broke the kiss and, with total amusement making her eyes shine, we both broke out laughing. It was damn funny. I'd reacted to her like an adolescent teen.

Aisha had aroused me more than anyone had before. That boded well for my future I thought. I loved the brightness of her laughter, so completely heart-felt. I loved the amusement and pleasure glinting in her dark attractive eyes. I loved how she rubbed her body against me spreading semen between us. And my laughter died suddenly as I realised I loved Aisha, really loved her; every smile, every grin, every giggle, and every glint in her eyes; the way she moved, the way she looked at me. I actually loved my wife! How novel was that?

AISHA WAS IN SEVENTH heaven. Ahmed's kiss had been so passionate and demanding. His firm thigh had felt so, so good pressed against her aching pussy. And her abject horror when she'd felt herself involuntarily climax had evaporated, disappearing completely when she felt Ahmed spurt on her. His erection, throbbing and shooting hot semen on her stomach, had intensified her climax. She was amazed at how good it made her feel.

But luxuriating in Ahmed's soft kiss afterwards, she wondered what her Amah would think of what just happened; she'd never mentioned anything like this. It made her giggle, the giggle turning into laughter. But Ahmed stopped her suddenly when he stopped laughing, intensity burning in his sexy eyes.

"Aisha," I said quite honestly, "I think I love you."

I STUDIED THE PLAY of expressions cross her face, eyes narrowing slightly with doubt, eyes opening wide, unshed tears glistening with realization of the truth, and finally an impish grin, one that hit me deep.

"Good. I'm your wife. You should love me."

Well yes, that too. But that wasn't what I meant. Nevertheless, I was happily back to being a satisfied puppy when she suggested a shower, trailing after her, watching two sexy buttocks form a wonderfully desirable little bottom. Her hobble made perky flesh jiggle so delightfully.

Helping her take the hardened plastic cast off let me study her very sexy pussy, which I proceeded to expound on to sounds of her giggles.

"It's quite stunning, you know Aisha. I don't think I've ever seen such a pretty pussy. In fact, I'm sure it's pouting because I haven't kissed it."

She shoved my head away as I tried to follow comment with action.

"It has this delicate aroma that arouses one so nicely," I added, enjoying her light blush. "And I indeed look forward to exploring it in depth, so-to-speak," which brought on a furious blush, very attractive.

With her cast finally off, unfortunately, we rinsed off in the shower. It wasn't a playful shower as she couldn't put one leg down without a twinge of discomfort, and she didn't like me putting the cast back on after the shower either. But there you have it. I was hoping to be quite physical in bed now that my worries over her age seemed to have taken a bunk. I thought the cast might be needed to prevent further damage. I also decided a return engagement in the shower, once her leg was healed, was absolutely needed. I particularly enjoyed watching the water cascade over her young body, running in rivulets that showed me every sexy little curve, outlined remarkably pert bosoms and, when turned around, sent a flash-flood through the sweet valley of her buttocks. I had visions of some frisky play with soapy hands.

Since I hadn't carried my bride over the threshold, I took the opportunity to make up for my oversight by carrying her to our bed. Her weight and size in my arms reminded me how young she was. But unlike before it actually pleased me. Imagine; legal sex with my wife, a sexy twelve-year-old! Perhaps there was something to this barbaric custom of arranged marriages.

I discovered an interesting thing about Aisha. Her blush didn't seem to affect her behaviour in any way. I'd always assumed a blush was from shyness or embarrassment and that most people would be hesitant when they blushed. But not Aisha. She kept going regardless of what she was feeling, which was very exciting. I also discovered I was much more virile than I'd thought. And that too was very exciting, so-to-speak.

Here's how I found out.

When I slipped under the quilt, kissed Aisha's sexy mouth and finally, finally got to hold one of her perky little breasts, I got an erection! Immediately! I'd imagined I was going to have to work at it, but nope. I can't take all the credit though, it was her breast. Aisha's petite breast was very sexy . . . as was her kiss. But her breast was soft and seductive . . . mmm, as was her kiss. But her firm breast yielded deliciously to my caress . . . hmm, as did her tongue. Okay, so both can take credit, a seductive little breast and a very animated tongue. Both quite delicious; intensely arousing.

When I told her she had gorgeous breasts and her stiff nipples were a marvel of nature, she blushed. But here's how I discovered about that whole blush thing.

"So kiss them, Ahmed," she said rather forwardly, cheeks flushing more. Well yes, I decided that was a champion idea. So with her hands providing guidance I didn't need, I kissed her lovely breast then licked softly feeling the crinkles of arousal. Encouraged by a gentle moan and hands on my head, I opened my mouth and sucked gently. Wonderful, simply wonderful.

Moving down I paid tribute to a sexy navel and the silken warm skin on her tummy. I paused briefly to remove the quilt so I could once again see her incredible pussy; my erection throbbing rather badly. The delicate sprinkling of glossy jet-black pubic hair was very arousing, especially as it hid nothing from view. Her pubic hairs were aligned, all seemingly towards her cleft, drawing attention to it. Up close I picked up her aroma again, the youthful scent of her arousal, and it was thrilling.

I had a plan. Kiss that pouty little pubis, follow that little cleft towards her well of moisture, pausing briefly on the journey at her reddened clit, perhaps massage it with my tongue, and then plumb her depths and taste her arousal from the source. I liked my plan a lot, it was very exciting. And I pretty much executed my plan . . . well not much. I did get to kiss that sexy plump pubis and then got side tracked.

AISHA FELT HER BODY burning up from Ahmed's attention to her breasts, her nipples stiff and painful, her breasts heavy and aching. It felt so wonderful to have him touching her, stabs of arousal were pulsing from her nipples to her pussy. She could already feel her pussy slippery from her excitement again; Ahmed seemed to make her so wet. Shocks went through her body when he sucked on her aching breasts. By the time he kissed her belly button she was breathing hard, and began feeling dizzy when he kissed her pussy. She wanted nothing more than to have Ahmed continue. But the voice of her Amah came back to her.

"Every husband likes his erection to be complimented. They like to think it's large and that you love it. They also like to have their women take it into their mouths. Aisha, it isn't what you think. Taking a man's erection in your mouth can be very exciting. But don't let him start it. If he does, he might be rough. It's better if you start it and show him what you like, and don't forget to . . ."

Aisha blushed furiously at the memory and pulled Ahmed's head up. "Lie back, Ahmed," she said pushing him on his shoulder. Moving her cast around awkwardly, she partially rose, bending to hold Ahmed's erection, her fingers unable to surround the shaft.

"It's so thick," she whispered as she squeezed gently. She stroked it once, noticing the bead of clear liquid ooze from the little hole. "And long," she whispered. Bending, she licked the tip carefully, tasting pretty much nothing. Encouraged by his moan, she grinned in satisfaction, bent further, opened her mouth wide and slipped it over the flared head, stretching her lips, slipping down until the head popped in. Pulling back she kept her lips tight until it popped out. "Big," she whispered and bent again. This time she felt more liquid ooze out into her mouth. Pulling back she whispered "Delicious, Ahmed, you taste delicious," and squeezed his shaft. Next she was going to caress the head and feel the ridge with her tongue when it was in her mouth. Apparently she was to stroke him gently with one hand, cup his testicles with the other and suck the crown. Actually looking forward to it, she bent.

AISHA'S MOUTH, SO WARM and moist was too much for me, way too much. "No, Aisha," I gasped as she moved to take my erection into her mouth again; too close, I was too close. Pulling her up I rolled her on her back, rose and shuffled down between her legs, need and desire thundering through me. I had to have Aisha now! She seemed to drive me into a feverish state. I don't know how she did it and I didn't care. I wanted her now!

Shuffling up I lifted her legs over my thighs, being extra careful with her cast. Aisha's seductive little pussy flowered open as her legs parted, showing her long clitoral hood, the intoxicating glisten of her arousal and below, at the confluence of her plump labia, the small, small dark opening of her vagina. It looked impossibly tiny and for some reason I found it thrilling.

I had to push my erection down I was so turned on. Watching it slip through her cleft was amazing. But it also reminded me she was small, especially next to my flared head; it seemed to fill her little cleft. I lodged the tip at the entrance and let go. It popped up. I could see Aisha's arousal, her sexy pussy shining with moisture.

AISHA GASPED QUIETLY, A hard pulse of pleasure coursing through her. "Hurry, Ahmed," Aisha whispered breathlessly, her climax already close from feeling his erection rasp across her sensitive clit, urges deep inside her demanding attention, crying painfully with need for release..

GRIPPING MY SHAFT, I leaned over her on one arm and lodged my straining erection back against her moist, silky entrance, holding it and pushing slightly. Aisha inhaled sharply and grasped the arm supporting me, yanking me suddenly. I fell forward from the unexpected tug and as I did she jerked and cried out, her arms wrapping around my neck in tight, tight hold.

I became conscious of the crown of my erection being squeezed almost painfully by a hot silken grip. I'd taken her virginity without feeling it, distracted by her. But oh, what a feeling it was to be inside her.

I still had my knees up, her legs up over my thighs, her perky breasts tickling my chest hair. Aisha kept tugging my neck.

"Down Ahmed," she moaned. "Please lie on me."

With the tip of my erection lodged in her pussy, I straightened my legs, the action immediately making my penis slip deeper, now feeling like half my erection was inside her tight velvet sheath. God she was tight.

Slipping my hands under her arms I held her slender shoulders. She felt so delicate under me, so damned exciting. "Let me know when you're ready" I whispered hotly in her ear, inhaling her aroma deeply, excitement and desire punishing me.

"I'm ready, Ahmed," she answered immediately, reinforcing it by pulling at my neck.

Holding Aisha firmly, I pushed and in one glorious move, I felt her internal walls part seductively as my erection slipped into a tight silky heaven. Aisha was wet and very slippery with arousal and I loved it. I loved that she was so turned on. I pulled out and gently pushed back into her. Aisha moaned and curled her pelvis up, pushing me deeper, all the way, I was completely sheathed and throbbing like mad, her pussy holding me so snugly.

Time faded as we started moving, Aisha's hands finally letting my neck go to grab my waist. She guided the pace as we writhed against each other, starting slow, letting passion build, slowly moving faster, slowly becoming more demanding.

I was lost in the sensation of her velvet pussy milking me, so tight. It felt like it was actually massaging my pulsing erection. I'd never experienced anything like it. Our pace increased; sweat formed between our bodies as we thrust against each other harder, more urgently, Aisha's pelvis undulating against me. I could sense my climax awakening from heaviness in my groin and pressure building inside me. The sounds of her little gasps and groans filled me with amazement. Her hands tugged at my waist with surprising strength.

Stroking into her incredible pussy, feeling like I was in heaven, Aisha started whispering, soft, under her breath, almost hisses. "Yes, yes, yes." Her legs wrapped around my thighs tugging insistently. And then it hit her.

"Oh, Ahmed!"

Her body surged up under me, slamming her groin against me. It triggered my climax. I came immediately, came explosively. Semen released suddenly, surging up to jet out in a painful spurt.

"Oh God, Aisha."

I came, shoving hard and deep, straining to ejaculate, pleasure punishing my body, my back arching as I tried to go deeper. I came as roaring filled my ears, stomach cramping. I came hard, hard, spurting desperately, chasing pleasure, chasing my orgasm, riding it all the way to paradise.

Chapter 8

I dreamed beautiful dreams that night, peaceful dreams of girls naked and frolicking in a garden. I dreamed of them smiling at me with sexy eyes, all with petite little bodies, perky little breasts that bounced delightfully, sweet little bottoms that jiggled seductively. The sun was warm on my naked body as I admired each little nymph.

I could feel soft grass on my naked back and tickling me between my buttocks. My erection lay on my stomach and the gentle pulses of arousal felt good. I dreamed of my little nymphs giving me seductive little peeks of flashing pussies, barely pubescent pussies with different stages of growth, that one there hairless, over there a light blond dusting, oh, and look at that one, silky jet-black pubic hairs glossy in the sunlight.

I liked my dream, my little lovelies. It was very exciting to see one particular girl, a cute young thing with long black hair that cascaded thickly down her back. Yes I liked her, sweet perky pubescent breasts almost conical they were so young, dusky areolae and nipples. And look! She liked me! Look at that sexy smile.

I was very happy when she stopped dancing and stood at my feet. She had an angelic expression of delight as she studied my erection. I liked the way her smile broadened too. She was a sexy little thing, all girl in perfect pubescence. The little tease grinned at me and moved up slightly, stepping on either side of my legs, revealing the full glory of her pretty pussy.

Oh yes I liked my dream; her hesitant shuffling up, her delightful blush, bashful smile, arms behind her body, turning side to side. The sun suddenly felt hotter; my erection harder, now pulsing.

Go ahead I urged with my eyes, then pleaded with my eyes, then begged. Just a touch? Please? The little nymph grinned at me, bent and gently held my erection. Looking into my eyes with her dark eyes gleaming with amusement, she bent her knees and lowered her sexy little bottom. Lord it was exciting to see her little pussy get nearer, see her little cleft slowly open, the pinker insides shining with moisture.

And, oh, it felt good, that first touch, the tickle of sparse pubic hairs, the soft warmth of silky labia. I liked this dream; even more when plump labia spread and a snug velvet sheath descended, warm and moist. Lord but I liked her smile. I could feel my erection swelling rhythmically as this angel of mercy's small buttocks settled on me, her sweet pussy holding me in a tight vice, labia spread widely hugging my shaft. I felt pressure on the tip of my erection and, with mounting excitement, realised I was pressed to her little cervix.

I really liked this dream!

In fact it was the best dream I'd ever had. And it got better when my barely pubescent little nymph started rising and lowering, silkily massaging the length of my penis, grinning at my sweet agony. And it was agony not to reach out and hold her small waist, thrust hard; agony. But I couldn't seem to move.

I felt a climax approach and somehow she knew it. I saw it in her eyes, a flit of mischief, and she stopped moving and pulled off, the little minx. Don't stop, I pleaded. With a seductive little smile she resumed, slipping her tight pussy over just my crown then pulling up, teasing me as she toyed with just the tip. It was agony. I wanted to sink into her, be buried in her heavenly pussy. She smiled when she heard my groan of frustration and, thank goodness, showed compassion, sinking down in a delicious smooth move, once again surrounding my throbbing erection. Then agony intensified. Rising slowly, sinking slowly, she teased with an angelic smile.

It was too much, too much. My climax burst, erection swelling as semen pulsed up. My cry of pleasure woke me.

"Fuck me!"

And she did! With a damned grin from ear to ear! Aisha rhythmically bounced astride me on her knees, fucking me as I exploded in her tight pussy, my erection spurting each time she dropped herself. I grabbed her slender hips and bounced her harder, cumming blissfully until I was shooting painful blanks, dizzy from the orgasm pounding me.

"Good, huh?" she asked as I lay panting in stunned silence waiting for my eyes to uncross.

Good? Good? "Jesus Aisha, you can wake me up like that any time you want!" I mean, damn!

Looking at where we were joined, my erection wilted in complete, complete satisfaction. She grinned again as she felt me shrink. "You came a lot." And she proceeded to prove it. When she raised herself, milky semen gushed from her reddened pussy.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, eagerly feeding a big breakfast hunger with Aisha's delectable smoked salmon and Rösti potatoes, a Swiss fried-potato cake. She'd added a thick sour cream laced with diced spring onions as a condiment. It was unbelievably good.

"So," I started between mouthfuls, "what brought that on this morning?" Adding very quickly with a grin, "Not that I'm complaining you understand. No, not complaining at all."

AISHA HAD SLEPT LIKE a log, completely passed out. When the morning light woke her, she'd immediately thought of sex, immediately. It had been so intense a climax, way beyond anything she'd achieved on her own; a totally different experience. She'd loved it. And remembering her Amah telling her how men were always horny in the morning, she'd blushed and reached to see if it was true. It was! Still naked from making love last night, she'd held Ahmed's erection. Another of Amah's comments had come back to her so, already aroused, she decided to see if it was true; see if he could climax in his sleep.

"It was my Amah," Aisha said. "She was the one that explained all about sex and pleasing a man. She told me about how to turn men on, sort of like last night. Remember? How I undressed?"

"Uh-huh," I nodded for her to continue, taking another large bite.

"So she told me all these ways to satisfy my husband. I think I'd like to try them," she said with a teasing little grin.

"Well, fuck me," I blurted inadvertently.

"I did!" Aisha exclaimed with a big grin, blushing beautifully before I could excuse my language.

I choked, coughing and gasping for air.

"Are you okay, Ahmed?" Aisha asked with concern. Ahmed had turned a reddish purple colour.

WHEN I COULD FINALLY breathe I asked, "Aren't you, I don't know, um . . . embarrassed, or shy, or anything?"

She considered it for a moment. "Why? You're my husband. And Amah told me that good sex was important for a good marriage. Isn't it?"

I was in love, totally in love. Yup. Thar she was, my ideal, my goddess, every man's dream . . . well, my dream. Come on, a sexy little nymph like that? So open, so honest? Yes, I was in love, or lust, or love. Never-mind. Either made me very happy.

With curiosity now killing me I asked, "What else did your Amah talk to you about?"

Aisha smiled a seductive little smile, blushed prettily and coyly answered, "You'll have to wait and find out."

Shit!

AISHA WOKE SLOWLY, FEELING Ahmed cuddled up behind her, his warm breath stirring her hair. She smiled as she thought back over the last couple of weeks. Now she wondered what she'd been so worried about, why she had thought sex should wait until she was older. Sex was fantastic and she couldn't get enough of the intense pleasure she felt. Sometimes she thought she'd pass out from the intensity of her orgasms. God, she'd never have believed Ahmed's tongue could make her climax so hard. Even better was how he seemed to love how wet she'd get. She no longer felt embarrassed by it.

Warmth pervaded her body as she thought about Ahmed's tenderness. She was proud at how she could drive him into a frenzy, how his dark sexy eyes would burn with desire. It amazed her she could elicit such passion in him; that he found her so sexy. But best of all, she loved his attention after making love. She loved how he'd hold her tight, kiss her so tenderly, his soft sighs of delight. His every action after sex shouted how much he loved her. And she loved him. She knew it without a doubt, she loved him passionately. She knew how lucky she was.

She felt her nipples pucker at the thoughts drifting through her mind. When she remembered the first time she'd felt Ahmed ejaculate in her, the hot wetness of his semen pulsing into her, she squeezed her thighs together, putting a nice pressure on her pussy. There was something so satisfying about feeling Ahmed's semen leaking from her pussy after sex. She liked it, refusing to wipe herself. It was a deeply pleasing sign of her sexual appeal and his satisfaction. A spark of arousal pulsed in her pussy, her nipples tightening.

Squeezing her buttocks to clench her now aching pussy she felt Ahmed's morning erection poking against her bottom. She thought back to her Amah. "Men are so horny they'll ejaculate in their sleep."

With a very, very quiet giggle, she wondered if it was true. Last time she'd tried, she'd been too active and woke him up. Hmmm.

Reaching between her legs she searched for his erection, shivering slightly when she held the thick shaft. Carefully she lifted her leg to rest back over Ahmed's thigh and, bending slightly away from his chest, guided his morning erection to her crotch. Another shiver of excitement went through her when his flared head touched her pussy.

Determined not to wake Ahmed this time, she let the tip press slightly against her cleft, holding it there, little tremors of arousal shaking her. She used micro movements of her pelvis to apply just a tiny bit of pressure to the tip, and slowly she felt her slippery moisture spread. A bolt of excitement made her inhale sharply when she felt his silken precum leak between her labia.

Suddenly everything was slick, her pussy pulsing with need. Cautiously, still not wanting to wake him, Aisha pushed back, almost groaning aloud as she felt the entrance of her vagina begin to stretch, a deeply arousing feeling. Having Ahmed's large erection penetrate her so slowly was a different experience; a very nice experience. Feeling herself stretch, stretch more, and even more as his flared ridge neared her entrance was intensely erotic. She had to clamp her mouth closed to bite back her gasp when the head suddenly popped in, the stretched feeling easing to be replaced by a feeling of fullness.

She could feel her opening sealed tight around his thick shaft and the bulbous crown filling her deliciously. It was extremely hard not to shove back, feel his incredible erection shoved deep to touch her ache.

She paused, waiting for herself to calm down, nipples now painfully stiff. Letting his erection go, she held her small breasts caressing softly, pinching her nipples between her middle and ring fingers. Gently she started rocking her pelvis, little shudders hitting her as Ahmed's penis slowly slipped deeper, stretching her insides as it burrowed towards her ache. Aisha was now horny as hell, her climax not too far away. It was just so exciting.

Ahmed slept behind her as she clenched her vagina, feeling so full, so beautifully stretched. Reaching between her legs, unable to stop herself, she caressed her sensitive clit, rocking her pelvis, Ahmed's erection slipping out an inch, slipping in an inch. Her rhythm was set, out an inch, in an inch, out an inch, in an inch, so good. The gentle movements rubbed the ache deep inside, her passion building, building. Now she was wet, his erection gliding smoothly, her clitoris throbbing.

Aisha's eyes closed as her climax neared, trying to hold it off, waiting to see if her Amah was right. She had a burning desire to shove herself back, pull forward and shove back. And as she reached the point of no return, Ahmed's erection swelled inside her, stretching her even more, and finally, finally, he started moving his hips in his sleep, fucking her in short strokes as his erection swelled, hot wet semen bursting into her. Moaning, eyes squeezed tightly shut, her orgasm crashed into her, body shaking. She shoved herself back against his spurting penis, hot wetness flooding her as she climaxed hard, stars bursting, heart pounding, finger rubbing her clit hard, good, so good, oh Ahmed, so good.

Exhausted, as Ahmed's erection softened inside her, Aisha drifted to sleep with a smile on her face; Ahmed still asleep behind her. She wondered if he had dreamed. Was it a good dream?

Chapter 9

THE RECUPERATIVE POWER OF youth proved itself with the Doctor declaring Aisha's fibula healed after four weeks. To celebrate I took her to Germany for a long weekend, to Nürburgring. I had an ulterior motive. Aisha seemed to become rather flustered with my driving for some reason. She really didn't like the squeal of rubber in the tight corners, swearing at me and muttering about my insensitivity, something that was apparently unique to males; at least she seemed to think so.

Now, I was an accomplished driver, it was my passion. I couldn't have Aisha not appreciating one of my finer talents, could I? No.

Starting early on Friday morning I picked up the rental, a Ferrari Scuderia Spider 16M, kept just for idiots like me, idiots with too much money and no brains. I fit the bill perfectly. It helped that I had a racing license. The Ferrari was way too showy for me but there was nothing like it for responsiveness and pure bliss when used on a dedicated track. I'd never want to actually drive it on the cobble stone streets in Leysin, it would bruise my bollocks.

Aisha looked lost in the helmet, which made me laugh and her frown, too cute. I started slow, I had a plan. I'd discovered in our many poker games that Aisha had a fiercely competitive streak which I loved. I was going to take advantage of that personality quirk.

Driving around the track, I let other cars and motorbikes overtake me at will. In the Ferrari, the lap record was seven minutes thirty-nine seconds, which I'd never approach; at least not with Aisha in the car.

The track is a wonderful place to put a car through its paces and test its capabilities. It's also a fantastic place to feel the pure excitement of driving. Lateral g-forces tug you right and left with sweeping corners and, even more exciting are the vertical g-forces, being pushed into your seat as you bottom out on a dip and start rising, followed by the thrilling weightlessness as you crest a hill. The faster you go, the more magnified the amazing sensations are. And, when you combine them in a twisty part of the track where altitude changes meet cambered corners, rubber squealing on the edge of adhesion well, heaven reveals itself.

Our first lap was a stately twelve minutes twenty-nine seconds, enough to feel the wonderful forces at play. I held that waiting for her little quirk to come out, and it did, on the fourth lap.

"Ahmed, they're all overtaking us," she said with what sounded like frustration as a motorbike zipped by.

"Would you like me to go a bit faster?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded.

I dropped the lap time to just over ten minutes, enough to get some good g-force in the turns. Initially she held on tight then complained again, "They're still overtaking us, Ahmed."

"Should I go faster?"

"Yuh-huh!" she said with some force and a nod of her helmet.

"Okay." I dropped the lap time to under ten minutes then dropped it again when she complained. Finally she was frustrated.

"Ahmed, can't you go faster? Why are you letting them overtake?" she asked with determination, a sexy frown on her pretty face.

I pulled off the track at the end of the lap.

"Hey! Don't stop now. They're beating us!"

Grinning I asked, "Are you sure? I'll have to go quite fast to beat them."

"Well hurry up! Go fast!" she said with a determined frown, her voice quite serious and her little finger jabbing towards the track.

And, to the sounds of shrieks of frightened joy, I muscled the Ferrari around in eight minute laps, just over if truth be told. But there were no cars that Friday that could match us, so Aisha shrieked her way into a competitive frenzy, gladly giving a little finger to every car we passed. By the time we finished, her eyes were sparkling with glee, just so damned cute, God I loved her. I expected she might not complain about how I drove the Mini anymore.

AISHA HAD NEVER KNOWN going fast could be that exciting, so breathtaking, and overtaking everyone, well that was fantastic! She'd never known Ahmed was such a good driver too. The whole thing was thrilling she decided. Maybe Ahmed would like a reward for overtaking all those cars? A fragment of the conversation with her Amah came back. Hmmm. That should be interesting. She grinned.

"So, Ahmed," she said as she stepped from the hotel bathroom, "I think you deserve a reward for winning."

"Winning what?"

"Beating all those cars. It was fun!"

I KNEW THAT LOOK. It was the one where she had mischief in mind, my favourite type of mischief, bedroom mischief. Grinning I encouraged her, "Absolutely. I was fantastic, I was fast, I was unbeatable, I was . . ."

"Shut up," she said grinning.

And I did when she let that damned slinky gown slip to the floor. Aisha had these sexy little white bikini panties on that hugged her pubis so tightly her camel toe was sharply outlined. With a sneaky smile, dark eyes shining in excitement, she slipped her panties down. I held my breath, unable to breathe. Aisha's pussy was bare, hairless; she'd shaved!

I had an immediate erection. "Jesus, Aisha. What happened?"

AISHA SMILED, A SLIGHT tremor of excitement hitting her. "Do you like it?" she asked. Amah had told her with a smile, "Aisha, it feels much better for you without hair and it makes you look more virginal and younger, they like that. Husbands find it exciting to imagine you're very young. It makes them so vigorous, too," she'd added with a grin.

I COULDN'T BELIEVE HOW sexy it was. I'd never have imagined it. But man she looked even younger now and that just thrilled me! There was something about seeing her with a ponytail, perky little breasts, gentle flare of her bottom and slender thighs, and that gorgeous hairless pussy that made me almost drool. I loved it!

"Aisha," I finally said in a hushed voice, "it's so sexy."

AISHA'S SMILE BROADENED INTO a grin. Ahmed's tone was almost worshipful. How fun was that? And clearly he liked it; his erection was bobbing up and down on his stomach. Good. Now for the next part. A stab of arousal hit her thinking about it. What would it feel like?

I WAS QUITE EXCITED as she crawled onto the bed from the foot. In fact, I felt sort of like that damned puppy again, happily panting and tongue lolling as I contemplated what delights my little Aisha had in mind. My first excited thought was oral sex; that brought to mind as she held my shaft, bent and kissed the crown before giving me a sexy, sexy smile. Staring at me, she opened her dark red lips and slipped my erection into her small mouth, lips stretched. A little mind-blowing suck and she pulled off, shuffling up, knees at the sides of my legs. My next excited thought was cowgirl; Aisha riding me like a stud horse, 'giddy up!' But she grinned and moved to my side flashing that sexy hairless pussy at me.

Panting happily like a stupid puppy, I watched Aisha swing her leg over me. Oh goody! Reverse cowgirl. I liked seeing her compact little bum. In fact, I was getting rather heated as she held my erection, slipping it seductively through her smooth damp cleft. It felt amazing and I was quite looking forward to seeing my erection slip into her sweet little pussy.

But no. My little nymph surprised me. No, not surprised me, shocked me. And all the puppy could do was groan in ecstasy as Aisha nestled the tip of my erection to her little bum. I did nothing to stop her, nothing! Too excited by half.

"Ready?" she asked with a smile as she looked over her shoulder.

I of course responded. "Uh . . . Um . . ." and finally, "Uh-huh," accompanied with a furious nod, my eyes riveted on her little bottom.

It was a uniquely arousing sight to see her small buttocks separated by my seemingly large erection. It was intensely arousing to see the head flatten as she pushed down. I had trouble believing her tiny ass could stretch enough. But seeing hold her little buttocks, pull them apart and feeling her small butt slowly dilate, the head oozing into her, was unbelievable. She did it so slowly, an almost painfully tight ring squeezing over me. Suddenly pressure eased as she accommodated my crown, her ring now tightly sealed on my shaft, buttocks spread wide.

I did nothing to help her, too stunned with her adventurousness. Aisha let her bottom go, soft seductive buttocks hugging my erection as her hands rested on my knees. And I did nothing but groan in pure delight as Aisha slowly, exquisitely slowly, worked herself down until two silken cheeks rested against me and a hot, buttery rectum gripped me. For two minutes we did nothing. I luxuriated in the feeling of being buried to the hilt in her bottom, my erection throbbing.

"Are you okay, Aisha?" She hadn't moved, although she was clearly testing the sensation in her bottom with occasional clenches.

Her thick ponytail shook from her nod. "Full Ahmed. You feel really big in my bottom."

I was at a complete loss, not knowing if I was supposed to help her and, if so, just how? She solved my dilemma by rising slowly, pulling up off my erection until the flared ridge oozed out of her, then reversed, sliding me deep in an exquisitely arousing stroke.

"Good?" she asked looking over her shoulder.

Good? Bloody hell, fantastic! My grin must have been enough encouragement because Aisha turned back and proceeded to fuck me silly, long strokes driving me insane. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. Grabbing her small waist I helped her move faster, pushing my hips up as I pulled her little sexy bottom down to slap into my groin. My climax raced at me. "Aisha," I warned her with a gasp as my erection swelled, semen tearing up my shaft to blast into her little bottom. The flood gates opened and, with dizzying pleasure wracking my body, I came explosively in an intense orgasm, thrusting up her rear, spurting semen into her tight bum in complete joy.

There was an interesting small detail that was revealed to me after. When I'd asked her, quite intrigued, if she'd climaxed, she'd said no. But with the sweetest smile she told me how she like feeling me cum. "And I like how excited I can make you," she said enthusiastically.

Well, yes. Me too.

Chapter 10

Over the next couple of months life with my child bride settled down. But Aisha continued to amaze me. She totally demolished me at poker every night; it was becoming embarrassing and she wouldn't tell me how she was going it, just giggling at my increasing frustration. And I couldn't even cheat! She'd catch me every time. Bloody Hell!

She also slowly meted out the secrets her Amah had passed on. And it seemed each one brought a uniquely erotic experience with it. When not working, I reverted to being that damned puppy; I just had no way to combat Aisha's charm and I hoped I never would. She seemed to think my pleasure was more important than hers. It wasn't, and I went to extreme lengths to prove it to her, often ending up giving me inordinate pleasure too. It had the effect of us developing an unrestrained sexual relationship, one where we didn't fuss if either of us remained unsatisfied. Eventually we knew our turn would come.

But the hardest orgasm I experienced happened one morning, Saturday, three weeks before her thirteenth birthday. I'd woken up before Aisha, which was unusual. Normally I was the sleepyhead. But for whatever reason, I was awake just as the first light of dawn was filtering into the bedroom.

I rolled onto my side and, with my head supported by my hand, I watched Aisha sleep face down with her head resting on a pillow, her small face so sweet and innocent, small nostrils flaring with each gentle breath. It started with a deep, deep feeling of love for her. And, as I slipped my hand onto her back and caressed her gently, marvelling at my good fortune, the quilt slid down. I looked at her slender back, studying the slope of her spine, her sharp little shoulder blades, and felt her silky warm skin. My hand moved down further and suddenly I felt the sensuous swell of her compact little bottom. I caressed cool buttocks and lightly slid my fingertips through her butt crack. Aisha had a glorious rear end that I'd grab and fondle at the drop of a hat and, when opportunity allowed, do much, much more.

The seductive curves of her buttocks aroused me. I'd always been an ass man and Aisha had perfect buttocks, compact, firm, petite and pear-shaped. When I pushed the quilt to her legs the majesty of her bottom was revealed, twin globes sweeping up from her back and curving beautifully into slender, shapely thighs.

That was it. Just looking and I was horny, hard, and needing to feel that sweet bum nestled to my groin. Rising, I lay over Aisha's small body, slipped my legs between hers, nudging them apart as my erection nestled into her butt crack.

Aisha stirred as I let some of my weight down feeling her glorious globes against my groin. She wiggled her bum and clenched her petite buttocks before opening her eyes. "Is my husband horny?" she asked with another clench, a smile growing.

"Well my sexy little nymph, as a matter of fact I am. I have gluteus envy and may I say yours are quite spectacular."

She smiled and clenched, precum suddenly leaking, her hands slipping up under her pillow.

Slowly I drew my erection back and pushed, lubrication making her butt crack sensuously slippery. She wiggled her bum, a highly erotic action. I pulled back and, with my heart rate ticking up, let the tip slip down to press against the warmth of her cleft, spreading lubrication as it slid along her hairless closed labia.

I was horny as hell and her sexy little wiggles were driving me nuts. Reaching down I held my shaft and, with a groan, moved the tip in tiny circles, pushing plump labia aside as I searched for and found her moist entrance. Aisha sighed and, Lordy, curled her sweet bottom up. And just like that, with no fuss, my erection slid into her moist velvet grip. I was in heaven as I started to withdraw lazily, thrust slowly, enjoying every millimeter of her silky sheath. It gripped me so tightly, so snugly. Morning sex was just so wonderful.

Gradually, still with gentle strokes, I fucked her deeply, so tight. I felt my orgasm rise, delicious tension in my balls, pressure in my groin. She moved her exciting little bottom in such a seductive dance it had me swelling inside her. Tight, so tight.

"Ahmed?" Aisha whispered so quietly I almost missed it. Leaning down close, her sexy little buttocks pressed to my groin, Aisha reached back, pulled my head near and whispered in my ear.

I groaned loudly and with her words echoing loudly through my mind, my climax crashed into me uncontrollably, penis swelling beyond anything I'd felt, almost painful. With a roar I thrust into Aisha, thrust hard trying to penetrate her deeper than I'd ever gone, shoving her into the pillow. Semen burned up and exploded into her. Crying out I thrust frantically and came, shooting semen with every desperate deep penetration, jerking her small body under me with each hard shove, flooding her little womb. It felt like I was spurting everything in my body, pleasure pounding me. I thrust until there was nothing left and still I thrust, agony tearing through me and I was helpless to stop, a primeval fire driving me. My climax was so intense, so painful, I could feel tears prickling my eyes until finally, finally, it released me from my agony and my body could relax.

Autumn sun rose behind me, cresting white-capped peaks of the Swiss Alps and casting an intense bright morning light across a shadowed valley before me. The snow-capped Le Coeur, a jagged spire thrusting into the heavens across the valley, caught the morning sun, glowing like a white-hot Olympic flame against the remnants of the deep blue night sky. Below, the valley was filled with a blanket of milky cloud obscuring Aigle. My breath condensed in the cool morning air, the warmth of the autumn sun not yet strong enough to chase away night's chill that lingered at this high altitude. Steam rose from the mug of morning coffee clutched in my hands for warmth while leaning against the wood balcony railing, a little shiver passing through my body.

In the distance I heard the faint clanging of cow bells ringing a discordant morning song, a uniquely Swiss sound. Sipping coffee I wondered what the day would hold, what further surprises, as if I hadn't had enough already.

Glancing back over my shoulder, I looked through the sliding glass doors. She was still there in my bedroom, in my bed, curled up under the thick white quilt, her dark mop of hair against white pillows the only visible part from where I stood. In my mind I could smell her aroma, an intensely alluring and innocent scent. Just thinking about it made my blood flow south.

Turning back to the stunning view, taking another sip of caffeine, a dark Arabica roast with an intense flavour, black with no sugar, I smiled. I was intensely happy, unreasonably so. I guess I should thank my cantankerous old-fashioned father. If he hadn't . . . Well, lucky for me the old sod did. With a smile I remembered his words, "She'll keep you young, give me many grandchildren." Yes, Aisha will. I replayed her whisper, flushing with fatherly pride.