Accra

This is the second story in the series (following "London"). Though the adventures can be read in any order, the character develops a bit over the series.

...

As I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac in Accra, the heat and humidity reminded me -- as if I needed it -- that I was near the equator. The air was so moist that it felt like there was no oxygen left, only water filling my lungs. I gasped. As we entered the terminal, it was not much better. Yes, I guess the building was air conditioned, but not very well. Clearing customs, I exited to the meeting point where I looked for someone holding a sign with my name.

I was in Ghana for a meeting of African central bankers. As a professor of economic history, my specialty is financial crises. Since 2008 I have been much in demand, and am often called upon to lecture on the lessons of the past for the problems of tomorrow. I don't think anyone listens to my admonitions, despite the large honorarium I get for this service. Nearly everyone in the audience sits there thinking financial meltdowns won't happen again. They've fixed this or that regulation, this or that practice. In actuality, they've just made the system even more opaque and fragile, one in which its harder to see the problems until they blow up in our collective faces. The power of denial is strong, especially when the audience's profits and income-- as the comedian Will Rogers once said -- depend on their not understanding it. Nonetheless, I feel like I should try to get them to listen -- and thus I fly around the world, accepting nearly every invitation to make my voice heard. The money doesn't hurt either.

This was my first time in Africa. I was scheduled to give a keynote address at the luncheon the following day, and I had treated myself to a few extra days to experience the vitality and troubles of Ghana for myself. As a guest of the central bankers, I had enjoyed first class all the way from California to London, where I had then connected to Accra. It had been one of the longest trips I've taken, but I only had one layover and I had slept well on the plane, a rare event. I was looking forward to the next few days.

Waiting for me at the meeting point was a strikingly beautiful, tall, lithesome woman holding a placard with my name in large block letters. I hung back in the crowd and took a moment to admire her before approaching, thinking I might not get another chance to do so discretely. Though she was wearing a suit in the hot weather, it was easy to see that she was near perfectly proportioned. Good sized bust, tight waist, rounded hips. Her face was long and narrow with full lips. Her long braided hair -- my favorite look on Black women -- fell to the middle of her back. Yes, Ghana looked very promising. By now, I had fully adapted my thinking -- and my conscience -- to my 3,000 mile rule. Whenever far enough away from home, I became a visitor, a tourist, who could seek out all this or any country had to offer. I would see where this adventure would take me.

Stepping towards her, I extended my hand and introduced myself.

"Angelica," she responded. "Very nice to meet you, Mr. Charles," an odd but somewhat endearing formalism using my given name. "I am here to assist with all of your needs for the entirety of your visit." I don't know if she caught or even intended the double entendre, but it pricked my imagination. "Your driver, Francis, is just outside," she continued. "Do you have your bags? Shall we go?"

With a "yes" to both questions, she insisted upon taking my roller bag while I carried my backpack with my computer and other things necessary for tomorrow's lecture that, if lost, would ruin the purpose of the trip. As we stepped out into the heat, Angelica waved over an even taller and muscular man who immediately took the roller bag and reached for my backpack. I declined his assistance. We got into an older Mercedes, well worn by California standards, which looked to be the nicest car by far at the airport. With Angelica and me in the backseat, Francis started the trek from Kotoka International Airport into town. Although it's not far, the heavy traffic and poor roads made for slow going.

When we arrived at the Tang Palace Hotel, the nicest in Accra, Angelica ran ahead to start the check-in process. I retrieved my bag from Francis, who then turned it over to a bellman who would not be convinced that I could carry it myself.

"I will be parked outside this evening in case you want to go out," Francis declared. "I shall be with you for the next four days whenever you need me. Just use this" -- as he handed me a newish-looking cellphone -- "and, as you see here," he showed me, "Angelica is number one and I am number two on your 'favorites' listing. We will do everything possible to make your visit to our country memorable," he concluded in impeccable English with a slight British accent.

By the time I had gotten to the front desk, Angelica had done all the essentials and gotten a room key. All that was needed was for the clerk to make a copy of my passport. As everything was being billed to the Ghanaian central bank, no credit card or anything was required. Easy sailing, as they say.

Angelica insisted on accompanying me upstairs to my room. It was a nicely appointed suite. She quickly glanced around the room to ensure it was to her satisfaction, and then -- without my saying a word -- called down to the front desk for more towels and an extra bottle of water, explaining that I was dehydrated from the trip and would need more fluids.

She then turned to me and asked "Is there anything I can do for you? Is there anything you would like to do this evening?"

Since I had slept on the plane and was not immediately ready for bed, I said "I need shower and, then, likely some dinner. Is there someplace nearby the serves good local cuisine?"

She frowned a bit. "You most likely don't want what the locals eat. Most foreigners don't, even at the nicest places," she responded.

"No," I insisted. "I really do want to try Ghanaian cuisine."

"Not tonight," she responded calmly, as if to a petulant child. "If dinner doesn't agree with you, you will be off your game for the lecture tomorrow. If you want, I will make reservations at our finest local restaurant tomorrow night. But for this evening, I strongly recommend one of the European restaurants in the city."

"Alright," I yielded. "But only on the condition that you join me for dinner. I hate to eat alone," I added.

With a grudging smile, she nodded her assent. "I will go downstairs and make arrangements," she said.

"You are welcome to use the phone here in the living room, if you'd like while I shower," I suggested.

"No, that would not be proper," she stated, and immediately withdrew. On her way out, she asked "When would you like to go out?"

"How about in 45 minutes," I indicated. "You can take it from there."

"Good," I heard as the door closed. Tough nut, I said to myself.

The hot shower felt lovely.

...

When I emerged from the elevator, Angelica was waiting for me. Taking me by the arm, she walked me to Francis and the waiting car. Odd, I thought, after being rather cold upstairs she was now being a bit forward and considerably warmer to me. Also odd, I thought, I asked her but not Francis to join me. That seemed right, as she was my "minder" for the next few days, but so was Francis in his own way. Dismissing the thought from my mind, I decided that it would be indecorous to invite him as well. Besides, I would much rather stare at Angelica than share her beauty and attention.

After we got in the car, Francis drove us about four blocks. Jeez, we could have easily walked I said to myself. "Thank you," I chimed cheerily as he ran around and opened the door. Again, Angelica took my arm and we walked into the restaurant -- a French place, I gathered, from the name over the door.

"This is one of my favorites," she said, as we were shown to a table for two.

The waiter immediately appeared and asked "What would Sir like to drink?"

"What do you have in a nice red wine," I inquired, not really knowing what was available in a country like Ghana and not yet having studied the wine list? Angelica jumped in and proceeded to order a bottle of Chateauneuf du' Pape, at a price I noticed from the menu that was considerably above what I would have felt comfortable ordering on the bank's dime. She also insisted on two large bottles of sparking water. "Whether you know it or not, Mr. Charles," she said, "you are undoubtedly dehydrated from your long trip. It's in both our interests to ensure that you have plenty of fluids" she said with a smile. Again, I wondered at the double entendre. Either her command of English -- while apparently good -- was not complete enough to catch the double-meanings of her solicitous phrases, or she was incredibly subtle.

Letting her take command, I commended myself into her service and asked her to order for the two of us. She had obviously been there before, knew the menu, and knew what was good. I was happy to rely on her expertise. I then tried to learn all I could about Ghana, the financial structure of the country -- Angelica was well informed, and also Angelica herself. She was in her late 30s, though like women everywhere she demurred when asked for a more specific estimate. With a degree in Economics, she worked for the association of bankers in Accra in public relations. No kids, recently divorced, healthy parents, two siblings, yada-yada-yada.

After a pretty good meal -- not Paris, but not Ghanaian street food, I guess -- we exited to find Francis again waiting for us at the door. What service, I said to myself, as we drove the four blocks back to the hotel. Three hours of Francis's waiting around to drive us a total of eight blocks. How weird?

Angelica sat considerably closer to me in the backseat on the short ride back. Now in the dark, somehow the car seemed to grow more intimate.

"Would you like an after dinner drink at the bar?" I asked?

"No, not tonight," she said in a near whisper. "We will both have a long day tomorrow."

With that, I said good night, wished Francis a good evening and told him I would not be going out again, returned to my room, and eventually went to sleep dreaming of what was under that fine suit Angelica was wearing.

...

The next day was like others before it. I had a late breakfast at the hotel, knowing that I would be talking while others took their time to enjoy their lunch. Francis picked me up in plenty of time to get across the city center for the meeting. I was greeted by the head of the Ghanaian central bank, introduced to a bunch of other local bankers, and then ushered into the private meeting room where lunch would be served to some 60 plus African central bankers and more of their staff. As soon as the entrees were mostly done, my host introduced me and I began my standard lecture on financial instability and banking crises in underdeveloped capital markets, with some minor alterations to recognize the current state of African debt. Everyone nodded at the appropriate places. Most laughed at my practiced jokes about Economists and bankers. A few even took notes. It's impossible to know what kind of impact one lecture might have, but I gave it with enthusiasm and, I must say, a bit more than my usual panache. All-in-all, I felt the talk was well received and that I had earned my substantial honorarium. I got a warm round of applause, shook hands with my Ghanaian hosts, and prepared to return to the hotel to start the fun part of the trip.

As I left the dais, Angelica was there to meet me, once again wearing a form-fitting suit but of a different color. Bankers are so predictable, I thought to myself. Angelica was excited. She thought the lecture was marvelous. All smiles, she explained that she had been in charge of selecting me as the keynote speaker for the conference, recruiting me, and was overall responsible for my being there. That the talk had gone well and been well received -- as she had already been told by her boss -- reflected very well on her. Indeed, her superior had complemented her for a job well done, and asked her to ensure that I enjoyed the rest of my stay. With this, she gave me a warm embrace that lasted longer than necessary, a huge smile, and a slight wink that might be an offer of more.

As Angelica escorted me to the waiting car and Francis, she asked what I might like to do that afternoon. At this I paused, and decided to go for it. Either I would offend my guide and spend the next few days getting the cold shoulder -- or worse -- or get an even better bargain. Throwing caution to the wind, I said "I'm afraid the travel and the lecture are catching up with me. I wouldn't mind returning to the hotel for a bit of a nap -- that is, if you'd join me." She simply smiled, again, took my arm and led me to the car.

....

In the car, Angelica called ahead to the hotel and ordered a bottle of champagne to be brought up to my room. "We should celebrate," she commented. As we disembarked, Angelica went to the trunk and Francis gave her a small suitcase. "I brought several changes of clothes," she responded to my unasked question, "just in case you felt like exploring." As we reached the hotel doors, she turned, looked me in the eye, and said "at the very least, I assumed we would want to get out of our suits." Again, the double entendre, but this time I was pretty sure she said exactly what she meant.

Leaving poor Francis at the car, on call, we popped open the champagne in my suite and toasted a successful "affair" as I believe she called it -- leaving it agonizing open, again, as to whether she meant the luncheon or what was to come. After a glass of bubbly, I said I was not used to the heat and humidity, even in our short time outside from car to building and back again, and that I would like to take a quick shower to freshen up before we decided what to do next. Angelica nodded, and I went to the bedroom but left the door slightly ajar.

As the water washed over me, the shower door opened and in stepped the beautiful and naked Angelica. Stunning was the word that leapt into my head. Braids piled high on her head, creating a mass of thick, sensuous hair, large breasts floating firm and high on her chest with even darker areolas and pinkish nipples, a tight, muscular stomach, a well-groomed bush, and long legs that extended as far as the eye could or would want to see. An amazing sight. We slipped our arms around each other, kissed deeply and passionately -- sharing our tongues as far as they could reach, and ran our hands over each other's wet, slick body. With a bit of soap, we washed away the heat and sweat.

Diverting the spray and then dropping to her knees. Angelica drew me deeply into her waiting mouth. With her tongue and firm grip, she sucked my already hard cock to full manhood in seconds. She then licked her way back up my body to my waiting lips, which were once again put to work battling with hers. I reached down with my right hand, gently parted her legs, and slide one finger into her dripping gash -- crooking my finger and rubbing her g-spot in one fluid motion. God was she wet.

Turning off the water, we left the steamy confines of the shower, dried each other off, and moved to the bed. I landed on top of her, kissing her amazing lips, then starting lower to her neck, sensitive nipples -- upon which I lavished appropriate attention, and then across her toned stomach to her flowerily snatch. Just as I was about to take a taste, Angelica flipped me on my back and sucked my cock into her mouth. On top and in control, she continued with the brief blowjob she had started in the shower. Lick, suck, deep-throat, pump, repeat. She pushed me to climax with enthusiasm, occasionally looking up, catching me eye, and smiling as she returned to her task. Soon, I felt that familiar swelling beginning to form deep inside as my impending orgasm began in the toes and proceeded to the point of exit. Gentleman that I try to be, I warned her "I'm going to cum," which simply encouraged her to redouble her efforts. As I peaked, I spewed a full load into her waiting mouth as she continued to pump me with her hand. Withdrawing me, she once again looked up to be certain she had my attention -- and then swallowed deeply. She crawled up next to me and we held each other for a few minutes while I regained my senses.

Coming to, I wanted to reciprocate and, of course, taste her myself. I began kissing her from the mouth on down, tasting the last vestiges of myself on her lips. Once again, I kissed and nibbled my way to the breasts, at which I paused for several minutes -- bringing forth an array of sounds from her as I licked and sucked her apparently sensitive nipples. Kissing her taut stomach, I returned to the cleft at the top of her long legs. A strong musky odor permeated my senses, as I realized she was oozing her own secretions. I lapped at her pussy lips, pausing to wiggle my tongue in and out of her gleaming hole. Studying her, I was fascinated by the pink of her insides surrounded by the deep black of her skin and her short-cropped and kinky pubic hair. Focusing my attention on her clit, I quickly sensed by the resulting moans that she preferred direct stimulus on the sensitive tip. Lick up, suck gently, release, seemed to be what was getting her off. So I did. Bringing her quickly to near orgasm, I stopped just before she peaked, waited until she had come down a bit, and then started again. By the fourth time when I finally let her cum, she was beside herself -- quaking, trembling, nearly out of her mind. Peaking and now finally sure I was not going to deny her release at the last minute, she gave in, pouring a stream of slightly salty liquid over my waiting tongue.

I held her as she endured a series of aftershocks, and then crawled up her body to embrace her. As I reached for her lips, she demurred -- apparently hesitant to taste herself. I excused myself, cleaned up, and returned to bed, after which we held each other, kissed, rubbed ourselves together, and overall enjoyed a few moments of calm and emotional intimacy. As we chatted and discovered what felt good about each other, our passion began to build once again. As she started to rub my cock, I returned to full mast. Rolling on top of her, she guided me into her body, first rubbing my cockhead on her lower lips, and then holding me back and allowing only my head to enter, then a bit more, then a bit more after that. Although she was still quite wet, and I could have easily plunged in in a single stroke, it was a slow and sensual joining as I felt my cock enveloped by her warmth half-inch, by half-inch more.

After several minutes of leisurely, tentative stroking, I began to pick the pace, albeit still slowly and gradually. She felt wonderful. She, too, began to reciprocate my increasing tension. As her beautiful breasts began to jiggle with each increasingly forceful thrust, I paused and sucked the succulent nipples, nibbling and then biting the increasingly large and rubbery nubs. With this, we rolled over, giving Angelica control as she straddled my torso. She set a moderate pace with deep strokes, riding me up until my cockhead was almost entirely exposed -- with only the tip brushing against her wet lips -- and then riding me down until I was entirely within her. Up and down. Out and in. With her breasts dangling in my face, I kneaded them with my hands, sucked on her nipples, and smothered my face in her cleavage. As we had both just recently cum, we were in no rush, taking our time to enjoy each other's body yet with a steadily rising passion.

As her eyes shut, and her tremors increased, I could nonetheless sense that she was tiring on top. Withdrawing all the way, causing her eyes to pop open, I slid out from under her, grabbed her by her hips, and prepared to take her doggy style. Before entering her however, I played with her clit with my fingers, coating them with her copious juices. Finally, taking my cock in one hand, I entered her again and, simultaneously, slipped my thumb into her ass. Yelping in surprise, she did not insist that I remove it, so I did not. I set a new pace in which my cock and thumb drove in and out at the same time. In this position, she was incredibly tight. Fucking both her holes simultaneously elicited far louder moans. She pushed back against me with increasing urgency. I could tell her orgasm was starting to build. With my thumb still in her ass, I thrust harder as well. Finally, she burst, bellowing out a loud wail as her orgasm ripped through her body. As she collapsed onto her stomach, my cock was suddenly free -- which shocked me as I was now exposed to the air rather than being engulfed in her warmth.