Virginity Lost on Vacation

Of course, my mother was quite beside herself and would spend her time being critical of me not finding the right Jewish man in my life, as well as being fat and talking too much. It was a terrible catastrophe, her 25-year-old daughter being single with no man in sight, when her older and younger daughter had no trouble finding the right men for them. I don't know what she thought she would achieve by repeatedly saying that how could I not find a suitable man when I was fat and pretty, when young women who were fat and unattractive were dating, getting engaged and marrying. During one visit, Mom showed me the wedding pictures in the newspaper where a young Jewish woman who was at least 100 pounds bigger than me and extremely plain in looks had married a suitable young Jewish man who was a doctor. If a girl like that could get married to a doctor, why couldn't I?

Mom freaked out about a few things. When I adopted my cat, Mom worried incessantly that I would end up a crazy cat lady who lived alone in squalor with more than 100 felines. When I introduced her to Michelle, a friend from the bank who had short hair, Mom freaked and thought that Michelle was a lesbian, and that I too was a lesbian. Even when I explained to Mom that Michelle was engaged to a man and showed her a photograph of the two together, I don't think she was all that convinced.

Worse was when one of my aunts purchased for my mother as a birthday gift a medical book. I didn't think the medical book was a very good idea, fearing my mother would use it to self-diagnose herself with having every disease known to man. I was wrong about that, instead my mother used it to diagnose problems with me. Being a fat, single 25-year-old girl who had never been on a date should have, according to Mom should have caused me to be deeply depressed, yet I was always bubbly and happy. Using the medical encyclopedia, Mom determined that I was manic depressive and tried incessantly to make me see a psychiatrist. It was a similar story when I felt ill after a family lunch one Sunday and went to the bathroom to vomit immediately afterwards when something I had eaten did not agree with my tummy. Bulimia, according to the medical book, was the only explanation for this.

Work was one place where I could avoid my mother's well-intentioned but misguided advice, however one day in the spring my boss called me into his office and said that I had three weeks leave I needed to take. That night, I sat at home in my apartment barefoot and in my long light yellow pajamas watching television and eating ice-cream, I thought about how my friends were now in relationships and had plans that did not involve the very single me. If I took the three weeks leave, what would I do?

Then, as if by magic, a travel agency commercial came on the television, advertising an African safari that went through northern South Africa to the famed Kruger National Park. My ears pricked up. Africa had always fascinated me, all the beautiful wide open plains and the wild animals. I jumped to my feet, got a pen and paper and jotted down some details.

Not wasting any time, in my lunch break the next day I visited the travel agency, and got all the information. I went back to my office and spoke to my boss about my holiday plans. I think this might have been one of those times where I talked too much, as when my boss herded me out after approving my leave 45 minutes had gone by and he seemed very, very keen for me to go.

Returning to the travel agency on the way home I booked the flights to and from South Africa; three nights in Cape Town and tours, return flights between Cape Town and Johannesburg and most importantly, the eight night safari from Johannesburg to the Kruger National Park. I went home with a higher credit card balance, but all excited. I rang my friends, talking to each of them about how much I was looking forward to my safari vacation in South Africa. Then the telephone rang and my mother's voice was on the other end of the phone, confirming I was coming for dinner on Sunday, also asking if I could reprogram their VCR. Mom and Dad had never been able to work out how to do it, so it was left to me or Hannah or Rebecca. My heart sank. I would have to tell Mom of my vacation plans.

I had good reason to worry about this, based on past experience. Two years earlier, three friends and I had planned to go on an inexpensive, seven night cruise on the East Coast. Upon hearing about this, Mom was horrified, convinced that the ship would share the same fate as the Titanic, the Lusitania or the Estonia. Even if I did not meet my end in a sinking, there was a strong chance I could fall overboard, be murdered by a serial killer hiding aboard or get severely ill from Norovirus. Did cruise ships even cater for Jewish people? And what was I doing being frivolous and taking cruises anyway when I should be looking for the right Jewish man? The subtle guilt attacks continued, but to my mother's relief, two of my friends had to pull out and the cruise plans fell through. Now I had to tell my mother I was going on a vacation to Africa.

To my astonishment, Mom said little to this. She asked me some details about flights and where and when I was going, but only commented, "That's nice," as we finished the call. I was unsure what to make of this. Was Mom improving, or was this too much of a shock for her to react straight away? Over the next few days, I waited for Mom to call me to voice her worry about my African Safari plans and trying to guilt me into changing my mind, but no phone call came.

I hoped my mother had finally accepted the fact that her daughter was a grown woman who could make her own decisions in life, and that is why she wasn't creating a drama about this. Also, Mom had recently found something else to worry about recently that did not involve me, namely what would happen at the end of the year when the clock ticked over from 11.59 on 31 December 1999 to 12.00 on 1 January 2000. Mom believed that all computers would crash from the result of this dreaded Y2K bug sending the world into chaos, and no amount of persuasion from Dad, my sisters or I that precautions were being taken to fix any problems before the millennium would convince her otherwise.

Sunday came, and I drove over to my parents' house for dinner. I greeted Dad on my way inside, but Mom was nowhere to be seen. I needed to go to the bathroom so went in there, closed and locked the door, lifted my long, floral, ankle-length skirt and pulled down my panties, before sitting down on the toilet and began to urinate. All was quiet apart from the sound of me peeing. I got toilet paper and dried my damp pussy, then moved my bowels. As I again reached for the toilet paper, the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom was shattered by knocking on the door, and my mother's voice. "Abbey, is that you in there?"

"Yes Mom," I called back.

"Good, because we have some important things to discuss."

"Mom, I'm going to the bathroom. Can't we talk after I've finished?" I didn't want to have an in-depth conversation with my mother through the bathroom door while I was sitting on the toilet.

"Abbey, you spend about half your waking life on the toilet and the other half talking. I really don't think you have anything to complain about here."

I sighed and shook my head. "Mom, I think that whatever you want to talk to me about could wait another five minutes or so."

"Abbey Rosen, you are without doubt the most selfish girl I have ever met in my life. How could I have raised a daughter who turned out so selfish?"

I was getting increasingly irritated. "Selfish? Because I want some privacy when I'm on the toilet? I can't go with you standing outside the door talking to me."

"Don't be silly, Abbey, just go to the toilet. I'm your mother, you aren't doing anything I haven't encountered with you before."

"Mom!" I could feel my face flushing bright red as I looked down at my lowered white cotton panties.

Mom was unmoved. "The reason you are so selfish Abbey is that you have gone and booked a vacation to Africa without thinking once about me."

I shot back a sarcastic response. "I'm so sorry Mom, I didn't know you wanted to come too. Why don't we go the travel agency this week and arrange it?"

"Don't be a smart-ass, Abbey. You know what I mean. I haven't been able to sleep a wink since we spoke on the telephone during the week, both your father and I are sick with worry. Do you know how dangerous Africa is? How could you put us through this trauma, after all we've done for you? First you fail to make any effort to find a man to marry and deny us grandchildren, then you put us through hell by choosing to go to the most dangerous place on the planet. Selfish Abbey, selfish, selfish, selfish. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Mom, you already have grandchildren," I reminded her. "Hannah's son and daughter, remember?"

"Yes, but you should also be married and having children of your own now, instead of jetting off to Africa and putting me on the verge of a nervous breakdown," Mom asserted. "I've said this before to you Abbey, and I'll say it again. You may be fat, but you're also pretty, and it breaks my heart in half when I see girls fatter than you and without your looks getting married. Sometimes, I think you don't even try to find love."

"Who knows Mom, maybe I might meet a nice single Jewish guy from on the safari?" I hoped to get my mother away from the bathroom door so I could use the toilet in privacy.

"I don't think that is going to happen, Abbey. What you will find is hundreds of criminals and dangerous wild animals waiting for naïve young Canadian Jewish girls to get off the plane and present them with an easy target to attack."

I loaded my reply with as much sarcasm as I could. "Really? Criminals and wild animals in South Africa spend their days waiting for naïve Canadian Jewish girls to get off planes? Do they target non-Jewish Canadian girls? How about Jewish girls who aren't from Canada? Do they attack all naïve girls, or just naïve girls who are Jewish or from Canada? Or is it only naïve girls who are both Jewish and from Canada who have to worry?"

"Oh, don't be so silly Abbey," came my mother's response. "I see I'm not going to get any sense out of you at the moment."

"Gee, I wonder why that is?" I asked, looking down at my lowered panties and fidgeting with the sheets of toilet paper I had unwound from the roll but not used thanks to my mother's intrusion.

"Again, don't be smart with me young lady. I will leave you alone for now, but don't think for one moment Abbey that you have heard the last of this."

"I'm sure I haven't," I muttered sarcastically, sighing in relief as I was able to resume using the toilet in the quiet of the bathroom. When I finished and flushed the toilet five minutes later, I was sure that my mother was going to be on my back as soon as I pulled up my panties, washed my hands and exited the bathroom. However, Mom obviously needed me to reprogram the VCR, so I was left alone to do this.

As soon as Mom, Dad and I sat down for dinner, Mom launched into her tirade about how she wanted me to cancel the vacation to South Africa, and the terrible angst I was putting both her and Dad through. Dad looked like he was indeed experiencing some angst, but more because he wanted to eat his dinner in peace.

First, Mom's arguments that I should not travel to South Africa were geographical. Cape Town, Johannesburg and Durban were all high crime cities, and I would be lucky to last there five minutes. Even when I pointed out that I would not be going out alone especially at night, and was not even visiting Durban, Mom was not convinced. I would be a prime target for thieves or murderers, or I could be abducted and sold into slavery in some lawless state in Central or West Africa.

Then Mom changed her tactics to pointing out why South Africa was zoologically unsafe for me. The sea around the country was filled with sharks, and I would be sure to meet my end if I dipped so much as one foot in the water, even though I assured Mom ocean swimming was not on the travel agenda. Then there were the reptiles; deadly snakes such as Black Mambas, crocodiles and Komodo dragon lizards. I pointed out to Mom that Komodo Dragons were from Asia not Africa, but she dismissed it by asking how was I to know what dangers lurked in the African bush?

Arthropods were her next concern; Africa was full of aggressive bees, wasps, deadly spiders and scorpions. Birds were also a worry; one kick from an ostrich would finish my days, and then the vultures would eat my lifeless body. Last but not least there were the aggressive mammals.

Herbivores were not safe. I could be gored to death by buffalos, rhinos or elephants, be attacked by a warthog or trampled by stampeding giraffes, zebras or wildebeest. And as for hippos, they killed hundreds of people in Africa every year, and if I went there, I was sure to add my name to that list.

And of course, there were the carnivores. Hyenas that would eye a fat Canadian girl as an easy meal, and packs of wild dogs with the same idea. I would also be an easy target for lions, leopards, cheetahs and tigers. As I had with the Komodo dragons, I pointed out that tigers lived in Asia rather than Africa, but Mom claimed that possibly somebody had released some into Africa at some stage, and that it would be too late when I realized that.

Out came Mom's medical book, and another one she had borrowed from the library about tropical diseases. I could contract malaria, dengue fever, yellow fever, Ebola, dysentery, typhoid or hundreds of other nasty ailments. If I cut myself, I could die of tetanus or lose a limb to gangrene. And if I broke an arm or leg, it was a near certainty that I would need an amputation.

Talking about exotic diseases and gangrene did achieve putting me off my dinner, but it did not deter me from taking my vacation and I held firm, much to Mom's indignation. Mom was definitely a woman who believed that if at first you don't succeed, try and try again and over the next few weeks engaged numerous guilt trips and other tactics to put my off my South African trip. She even offered to pay me the money it would cost me to cancel it, but I stood my ground.

Finally, the day of departure arrived, and Mom and Dad insisted on driving me to the airport. We dropped my cat at the boarding kennel to enjoy her own little vacation, then it was on to Toronto Airport to catch my flight to Cape Town.

Dad seemed cheerful enough, saying he hoped I would have a great time, but Mom was more aloof, maintaining an offended air, sulking that I had not given into her and cancelled the holiday. When my flight was called, we walked towards the departure gates. I held my boarding pass in one hand and my carry-on bag in the other, trembling in nervous excitement.

"Take care Abbey, have a great vacation and make sure you bring back lots of photographs," said Dad, as we embraced.

"I will, you take care too Dad," I said, before turning to my mother, who embraced me lightly, dismissively, possibly hoping that I would turn back at the last minute and fail to take the flight.

"Take care, Abbey," she said.

"I will Mom," I assured her, before waving at my parents as I went to join the line for customs.

I watched my parents turn to leave, before my Mom suddenly turned, hurried towards me and called out, "Abbey, I nearly forgot to give you these." She reached into her shoulder bag and to my absolute horror produced a packet of sanitary pads and a packet of toilet paper containing two rolls.

"Mom!" I exclaimed, my face going bright red as everyone looked over at the fat young woman whose mother was giving her feminine hygiene products and toilet tissue just before she boarded her flight.

Mom was unmoved. "Now Abbey, I know you tend to get overly-excited and overlook things, so I thought it best to give you these. This toilet paper is extra-soft, super-absorbent, triple ply tissue as you will probably get diarrhea when you're in Africa. And I know you were only menstruating last week, but going to such a different place may well affect your monthly cycle and cause you to get your period earlier, so you will need these maxi-pads."

"Thank you, Mom," I said sarcastically as I took the items from her with great reluctance, my face as red as a tomato.

"I'm glad you appreciate it, Abbey," Mom said with equal sarcasm as she turned and left with a most satisfied look, her work done, her aim of completely embarrassing me as revenge for not heeding her advice of not travelling to Africa achieved. Game, set and match to Mom.

Still blushing, people looking at me I struggled to put the period pads and toilet paper in my carry-on bag as I went through customs and a short while later, boarded the flight.

Flying to Cape Town took ages, but I sat next to a nice, married, middle-aged South African couple and got talking to them, which seemed to pass the time. Unfortunately, I think I once again put my mouth in overdrive and my brain into neutral, and talked their heads off during the flight, as they seemed just a little too keen to hurry away from me when we landed.

After a few enjoyable days in the beautiful and scenic city of Cape Town, I boarded the internal flight to Johannesburg to join the safari to the Kruger National Park. I had called Mom before departure to let her know everything was okay, Mom saying that she was glad that I was the one calling her, not the Canadian consulate to advise her of my death, disappearance or abduction.

When I joined the tour group, I wondered if what I had said to Mom weeks earlier -- that I might meet a nice Jewish guy from Canada -- might come true. However, this was not to be the case. There were eleven in our group, and it seemed I was the only single traveler. There was a married couple from England named Mr. and Mrs. Jones aged about 50, a honeymoon couple from Sydney Australia, an engaged couple from Los Angeles and a Chinese couple, with two seemingly gay German men rounding out the group.

I took my place on the tour bus towards the front, as two of the guides got everything organized. Sitting waiting, I could feel my vagina reacting at the sight of the man in charge, a very tall and fit guy aged about 30 with blonde hair, wearing a light brown shirt and shorts. 'Yum' was all I could think of as I watched him go about his work, his strong, clipped Afrikaans accent making him all the more hot. I hoped my panties would not get too damp, as I was wearing light-colored cargo pants, and I obviously did not want a pussy stain between my legs.

The second guide was also tall and good looking and aged about 30 but with red hair rather than blonde, like the first guide spoke in a strong Afrikaans accent and wore the same colored shorts and shirt, but did not hold my attention for the obvious reason that she was female.

With everyone organized and seated, the good-looking male guide spoke in his strong South African accent. "Welcome aboard, my name is Johannes." The man paused and said deadpan, "Johannes from Johannesburg, many people think that is funny, but I am not one of them."

The female tour guide stood next to Johannes, who introduced her. "This is my wife, Erin."

"Good morning," said Erin in her Afrikaans accent.

Inside my panties, my vagina stopped getting wet at the knowledge that Johannes was married. Not that I thought anything might happen given I was 25-years-old and had never been on a date and Johannes was so good looking, but it seemed somehow wrong to fantasize over a married man with his wife right there.

"Now, here comes our third guide David, he's just finished hooking up the trailer," said Johannes, as my attention turned towards the front of the bus as the third guide climbed aboard, and my vagina immediately began tingling again as my eyes took in the sight of David.