Message-ID: <55458asstr$1174237802@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com From: "C. Stanton Leman" <csleman.story@yahoo.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Original-Message-ID: <592384.96227.qm@web58909.mail.re1.yahoo.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 18 Mar 2007 09:25:23 -0700 (PDT) Subject: {ASSM} Child Brides of India X-Original-Subject: Submission Lines: 6738 Date: Sun, 18 Mar 2007 13:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2007/55458> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: Sagittaria, dennyw Please post these chapters of my story to the week-by-week indexes. Thanks, C. Stanton Leman --------------------------------- We won't tell. Get more on shows you hate to love (and love to hate): Yahoo! TV's Guilty Pleasures list. <1st attachment, "Child_Brides_of_India_1_Intro_1_.txt" begin> Child Brides of India By C. Stanley Leman Introduction I'm a new author posting my first story, and this is the first piece of fiction that I've written since college. If you're looking for a quick stroke story, look elsewhere. For my first attempt, I'd like to concentrate on the development of the characters and their motives, and it starts out very slow. This story contains elements of "legalized" consensual sexual contact between adults and prepubescent/pubescent partners, as one of the main talking points of my story: can a child/young teen reasonably give consent even if understanding and care is given to obtain it, and what of the motives of the adult(s) in question? I've tried to write a story where love, cultures, customs, religion, and laws both secular and religious are the catalyst and moving factors. Add to the mix, the parties own insecurities, need for love, and circumstances, I hope, make for an interesting story. Although the main character is Muslim, I am not. Therefore I've done extensive research on Muslim customs, prayers, ceremonies as well as Islamic laws mentioned or discussed within for this story. However, not being infallible, a mistake or two may have possibly made. It must also be noted that various sects, denominations, and regions have slightly different interpretations and practices also. If I have erred in these areas, it's not my intention to offend anyone but purely an unintentional mistake. Many events in history, and some degree in people's personal lives, can be motivated by adherence to fervency of religious practice, or cultural customs, and the internal struggle of character and ethics within us while trying to confront and control the demons each of us struggles with called desire and lust. With justifications, 'reasons', and rationalizations, sometimes we aren't even quite certain ourselves what motivates us to do the things we do. This entire story is a figment of my imagination, and is fictional. Any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is purely co-incidental and unintentional. I do not condone or advocate any acts contained herein: it is an erotic fictional tale. They are illegal in many countries. There is no excuse to abuse a child or use a child for one's own needs or fulfillment. The story codes for this entire story haven't been completely finalized, but are basically, slow, rom, ped, cons, Mg, Mf, Mfg, fg, Mgg, oral, anal, ws, in varying arrangements, but will be listed with each chapter. Any and all criticism can be sent to csleman (dot) story (at) yahoo (dot) com. Drop me a line and give me some feedback as to what you think: should I continue or move on to something else? I would really like to extend my gratitude and thanks to Daibhidh and Uncle Sky for their editing help, encouragement and support towards a new author! Child Brides of India By C. Stanley Leman Chapter 1: Old Friends/New Horizons (set-up, no sex) I guess my story begins while on my way home from college. My name is Sean Michaels, I'm an academic prodigy with a BE in computer engineering, an MBA in international finance and a PhD in engineering systems analysis all from Princeton. I am what many have jokingly called "the kid with everything and nothing to lose": looks, money and brains. Now, at 18, I'm 6 feet tall, weigh about 190, with medium blonde hair, blue eyes and a fit, cut physique. I never really thought my looks to be personally advantageous, although throughout high school and college I was referred to as the "hunky kid geek". Being born too smart for my own good, I was always several years younger than my peers at school. I dated occasionally, but nothing serious, not even a high school romance. Well, that's not entirely true. I did have one very close friendship that lasted a year, with a girl named Marie. We parted when her father's job transferred him to Paris. She was a fellow Mensa student in high school. I was 15 and she was twelve, and we were drawn to each other because we both felt the pressure of being surrounded by peers that were older and more socially adept. Our relationship was one of close friendship that kindred spirits share where we could talk of anything under the sun, seeing most things with the same perspective, the same fears and insecurities. I was attracted to her, but her tender age (and my shyness) kept me from trying to advance any intimate relationship further than holding hands, a mutual hug, and an occasional kiss. It was mostly a friendship of the heart in which we both relied upon each other for emotional support and understanding. While in high school, girls my age were in middle school, and high school girls liked upper classmen that were jocks-with cars. Besides, ever since I started public school, kids my age were far below my academic and interest level. College was even worse. College girls were dating men of twenty years and up while I was just getting my driver's license: hard to compete even for a genius. I was always the nice "boy" that was asked to tutor and always "just a friend": the kiss of death, I learned, for any guy regardless of age. Physically, I tried very hard to compensate for my age by working out, swimming, golf, running track, and in college rowed. Although I enjoyed the activities and the results to my physique, they did little to enhance my chances for any real relationship. As I once overheard someone comment in the library, "...a man's body, but still a kid." I did manage to get laid a few times, so I guess you could say it wasn't ALL for naught. The last two (money and brains), were assets and gifts I just had, and never made any apologies for having. My father, John, was a wildcat computer engineer that started his own private company during the DOT COM era and struck gold. He had purchased 3000 shares of Microsoft for me on its initial IPO to start my portfolio, and now I'm worth a more than most people make in a lifetime. I've never told anyone the extent of my financial holdings, but people that know me, know I'm affluent and being groomed for the corporate world. My mother, Joan, was an educator who gave up formal teaching when I was born. She home schooled me until I reached the age of 12, when she said that she felt that she was failing me, holding me back from achieving my "full potential." She felt I could easily have entered high school much earlier. She also felt it was time for me to meet other kids and acquire the social skills I lacked with fellow students. As for brains, I liked being smart, intelligent and advanced: it was just the way I always was. Two years for high school, two for my BA, one for my masters and one for my PhD. I did however, have the insecurity of feeling somewhat alienated from my surroundings and social settings due to my age difference. I instead embroiled myself in my studies to acquire the necessary education and techniques required to assume control of a portion, at first, them all of my father's company when the time came, and continue on to build my own empire. Although my insecurities in personal relationships with the opposite sex where there, I learned to be very socially adept, tactful, and communicative- even if only for survival in my surroundings with peers and academics. Aside from girls, I was always in control and appeared to be at ease in any setting. I snapped out of my introspection when the cab came to a stop at my front door. With all my credentials for success in hand, I arrived home to a welcome-less, empty family estate in Clarksville, Maryland, a wealthy suburb of Washington, DC. I paid the cabbie, gave him a generous tip, and walked through the front door. My parents (really, my Dad) didn't feel they needed to be at my doctorate graduation because, as my dad put it, "It's just fluff on a cupcake." Don't get me wrong, as an only child, my parents love me dearly and I them. They're in India right now where dad had moved our manufacturing plant to New Delhi, making the arrangements for me to begin taking over the plant as senior VP of Operations. Hauling my baggage up to my room, I dropped everything on the floor, and flopped on the bed with a sigh of relief thinking, "Boy, it's good to be home, even for just a coupla' days." As I lazily stared at the ceiling, it finally sank in that my life had reached a major turning point. The point being, now, I'm not fighting for grades, class ranking and degrees any more, now it's all about dollars, millions of dollars: my father's dollars, and my dollars. It's now about the profit/loss statements, P/E ratios, dividends, and NOI that are the standards by which the financial world will judge me brutally. The financial press has gotten an inkling of the move, and had a quiet, watchful eye on the company (and me) trying to decide if this will be a good move for the company or simply a case of nepotism as usual. Trying to lighten up my mood and prime myself into an optimistic frame of mind for the future, I bounced off the bed and headed to the kitchen to raid the 'frig. "Hmmmm," I thought, looking around the empty kitchen, "I wonder where Abby is?" She's our housekeeper/maid (more like my second mom). "Oh well, you're a big boy now, you can certainly feed yourself," I muttered, scolding myself. Sitting at the breakfast bar with my PB & J's and a glass of milk, I wondered, "What's India really like?" I'd done my research about the financials and the government corruption, but what of the people, the culture(s) and language(s)?" Being a new convert to Islam two years ago, I recalled reading that there is still a lot of unspoken animosity between Muslims and Hindus, with Muslims coming up short on the political and economic end of things since Hindus are the more predominate and therefore the ruling faction. I still didn't understand about their complicated caste system, but I DID understand the prejudice concerning skin color even among religious and economic equals. It's the same in America, only now it's become subtler. Women: now that's an issue. Although somewhat more equal and better in the educated and more affluent of society, they are still second-class citizens. As for children, being the lowest in the food chain right down there with the family's possessions, their seemingly nonexistent rights were constantly being trampled underfoot. I began to think about how all corporations, large and small, have implemented equal opportunity laws with regard to hiring, salaries, and workplace etiquette... "What if we, as a company, used the same practices in India? Wouldn't THAT turn a few heads? It might cost more to implement, but once in place, it could possibly pay huge dividends in higher productivity, quality and employee loyalty in the end. Besides, isn't good business ethics simply good business? Hmmm, something to consider and run by Dad." Moving on to lighter fare, I decided that a few laps in the pool, get loosened up and then a workout in the gym would be more realistic and beneficial than hulking around the house trying to scheme how to change the world in my first move as a corporate leader. I changed, I did a brisk 10 laps in the pool, then toweled myself off and headed to the gym for a few 'reps on the nautilus. After an hour-long workout and cool down, I headed to my room and a shower. After a refreshing shower, it was almost dusk, so I laid out my prayer rug and began my evening prayers. Before finishing evening prayers, because my life would begin a new journey and direction, you know, that uneasiness we all feel when our lives embark in a new direction, I finished up my prayers with my du'a supplication for guidance and reassurance from Allah: "Oh Allah! I seek Your guidance by virtue of Your knowledge, and I seek ability by virtue of Your power, and I ask You of Your great bounty. You have power; I have none. And You know; I know not. You are the Knower of hidden things. Oh Allah! If in Your knowledge, my journey and endeavors in India is good for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs, immediate and in the future, then ordain it for me, make it easy for me, and bless it for me. And if in Your knowledge, these endeavors and the course of my life because of these endeavors is bad for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs, immediate and in the future, then turn it away from me, and turn me away from it. And ordain for me the good wherever it may be, and make me content with it." I felt a noticeable peace about things after I'd finished my prayers. Calmly, and in a peaceful, more cheerful mood, I then headed to the kitchen to scrounge up dinner, when the phone rang. I glanced at my watch; it's 7:05pm. If it's dad on the phone, it'll be about 5:30am there: "Boy! He always was an early riser." I thought shaking my head and reached for the phone. "Hello?" "Hi son, I see you found your way back home alright. How's the old homestead?" "Empty, but still here. Even Abby seems to have left me to my own devices. In a way though, it's kinda nice to have the run of the place." "I know what you mean. I do my best thinking in quiet surroundings, that's why I get up so early. Kinda mentally plan out my daily routine and psyche myself up, if ya know what I mean?" "Ditto Dad. What's up, anything in particular, or just calling to shoot the breeze at extravagant rates?" "Well, I not only called to say hi, but also to talk a little about something in particular that I haven't yet wrapped my head around. Do you remember meeting that Indian government official at an Indian embassy dinner in Washington DC last year? You know, the Muslim man you spoke with at great length shortly after you converted to Islam?" "Oh yeah, I remember... a Mr. Haaseem, I think." "Yeah, that's him. Adib Haaseem. Since then, he's become an invaluable close personal friend and business ally. He works in the Indian Office for Foreign Business Affairs, and he's the only one I've met that can cut through all the bureaucratic bullshit and corruption to get me all the licenses, permits and approvals to get and keep things moving here in India and for our upcoming expanding facilities. He's an honest and trustworthy man who's never asked for a bribe or perk of any kind. Anyway, he's known about you coming here to India to take things over and we met in my office yesterday for quite a while discussing the upcoming events. At first, we spoke strictly of business matters, and he made the suggestion that since you had to acclimate yourself with your new surroundings: you know geography, culture, food, and things like that... Well, he suggested that I give you a couple of months to get your feet planted. He even pointed out that Ramadan would be coming up in a couple of months after you arrive noting Muslim practice here in India is more strictly observed and practiced than in the U.S. I thought about it for a moment, and agreed that his was probably a good observation, and that you'd adjust better without the pressure of having to "jump right into the fire" so to speak. I agreed with him that a little time with the cultural learning curve was indeed a sound move. But then, the conversation took a different tone. He became more reserved... almost humble and turned to what he called "a matter close to his heart." I can usually read a man by his eyes, and his are usually bright, clear and open, but all of a sudden, I couldn't really get a good feel for his mindset. He then looked me right in the eyes, more softly and said that he'd never asked a personal or professional favor of any kind before and that he deeply valued our friendship. He asked me if I would be willing to arrange a meeting with you for a personal matter close to his heart, not business." "What did you say to that, Dad? How am I supposed to help him with a personal problem when we've only spoken once? I don't really know the man." "That's what I was thinking, so I asked him 'what kind of personal matter?'" but he replied, that if he told me, would I agree not to disclose the nature of the matter to you before you two met. I told him that I didn't feel right in arranging a meeting on a matter that obviously was of great importance to him without giving you at least some idea of what he and you were to discuss. "Thanks for watching my back." "No problem. What's a Dad for? Anyway, Here's the kicker, son. He then looked straight at me, and it looked almost like he had tears in his eyes, and said, "I would like for Sean to meet my daughter, Sarah" "WHAT? Did he really say that?" "Yeah. At first, I didn't fully understand what he was really trying to say, I simply laughed and said, "Is THAT all? Sure! We can have you and the family over for dinner one night and he can meet the whole family! It is a little strange that we haven't done it sooner. I still haven't met your wife and daughters." He shook his head slightly and told me, "You don't fully understand what I have asked. I would like to ask Sean if we," At THAT I thought 'we?' "Could introduce the two of them so that they may, how do you say, 'get to know each other'. It would also give your family and mine a chance to meet and get better acquainted." I was astonished! I said to Adib "If I'm not mistaken, you've just asked me to help you begin arrangements for my son to marry your daughter: is that what your asking me?" "That's exactly what he's trying to say, Dad." "Are you positive? Listen. He then sat back in his chair saying, "It's more like an... introduction. I am not asking for anything more than that they meet, and that we all meet as two families in a social setting. If he and Sarah express a 'mutual interest' at the end of the evening to get to know each other better, then they can agree to spend more time together to become better acquainted. If either Sean or Sarah feel that they aren't interested- for whatever reason, then their meeting is nothing more than two families having a sociable dinner. Again, I'm not asking for anything more than for the two of them to be introduced to each other and talk. It's neither my intent nor desire to force my daughter or your son into something that either of them do not want or are uncomfortable with. My only request of Sean is that he and Sarah meet: nothing more." "Dad..." "I still couldn't believe what 'my friend' had just asked me." "Daad?" "Stop interrupting! Let me finish! So I asked him, "Why Sean? Why now? I don't keep track of his personal life, and I'd never try to 'suggest' to my son whom he should or shouldn't meet: it's just not in our culture to do these things. He's a grown man, and free to make these decisions on his own. So, I again ask you: why Sean?" Adib went on to tell me, "For several reasons. First, they are both Muslim, BUT..." and with this he raised an eyebrow and continued, "Muslims with similar interests in life: they're both academically advanced, both being of a higher IQ, although she's not to the degree as Sean, and advanced in studies above their peers, along with the some of the same insecurities that go along with that. Sean is an honest man who has shown to be in control of himself, of amiable temperament and with an open mind. He is also helpful and understanding with a gentleness beneath his outward confidence." A little shocked, because it appeared that he was speaking about my son with the intimate knowledge of a close friend or someone who'd spent a lot of time with you, so I cautiously asked him, "How do you know so much about Sean?" Adib went on to tell me, "I was impressed very much at our first meeting and conversation, and I have, of my own confession, 'followed his progress' since then." I figured that I'd heard enough for the moment, and told him, "I'm a little taken back by your admission of having 'followed Sean's progress,' and I'm not quite sure what that means, but I cannot and will not give you any assurance that Sean will meet with you on this topic or even agree to your request. Even if, after approaching him, he chooses not to, will this impede any further relationship with me, my son or future business dealings?" Adib warmly smiled saying, "My dear friend, our friendship will certainly endure, as will my admiration of you and Sean. I will respect Sean's decision either way. I've done what I feel is my duty as a father and have made my request known for consideration. If it's the will of Allah, it shall all come to pass. I will take my leave for now, good friend. May the peace of Allah be upon you and yours always." All right. Now you can give me your take on the matter and say your piece." "Dad..." I began, as I tried to string facts and get my thoughts together, "Yes, I'm a Muslim, but a rather new convert to the faith and not fully versed on all of the workings of certain aspects of the faith: one of those is namely, courtship and marriage. If my understanding of some of what I've heard from other Muslims is true, they don't 'date': not like westerners think of dating. The parents are the primary catalyst for the marriages of their children both men and women, and most children won't marry someone their parents don't approve of. Parents select potential spouses for their children based on criteria other than physical attraction. Namely, attributes of faith, education, personality traits, social standing and status, and things like that. Kinda like these new online dating services that advertise 'compatibility' profiles. Any way, after the parents select a suitable suitor, they approach his or her parents to arrange an 'introduction.' This is all done in a closely controlled and chaperoned environment. To the parents, physical attraction is NOT a consideration, but a plus and use it to get the couple to want to know more about each other, but its not necessary because primary attention is given to whether they both like each other's qualities as a lifetime partner to ensure a life long marriage. This is what should decide whether or not the couple actually does marry. Both parties, meaning the potential couple, must agree and consent to a 'courtship' and mutual consent to marry each other or the marriage is declared invalid. I really do believe Dad that devout Muslims don't force their children to marry against their will. From what I've just told you about my understanding of Muslim courtship, Mr. Adib Haaseem is politely asking me to consider his daughter for marriage, going through you, the head of the family, as is the custom. Does this make sense to you, Dad?" Silence... "Dad?" Still more silence... "Dad? Are you there?" "Yes son, I'm still here, just totally shocked: un- fucking-believably shocked as a matter of fact. Aren't you? Damn! What now? They don't teach THIS shit at Princeton business school!" "Well Dad, I'm not sure why I'm not shocked: quite surprised as to why me and the timing, but not shocked. That's probably why he engineered you into that 'cultural learning curve' idea, with a detour to get to know his daughter. Don't get me wrong I agree with the learning curve idea, but it's also a win/win situation for him. He didn't exactly lie to you about the arranged marriage part, he just redirected the conversation. Let me ask you Dad, just how good a friend is he? How sincere do you think his motives are?" "I feel he was truly sincere and to answer your question, he's a very close and steadfast friend. That's why I'm so floored by this: I thought I really knew him better than that. I never saw it coming. How could he do this to me?" "My first adult glimpse of fallibility in my father! I think he truly believes he's doing the right thing for his daughter and family. That motivation makes people do strange things sometimes. Well then, just for the sake of conversation, what would it hurt to simply meet the girl, what's her name? Oh yeah, Sarah. The least that can happen is that we have a nice sociable dinner together, I meet her, and that's that. The 'worst' that could happen, is that I get swept off my feet. Ha, Ha! But then again, do you think that the tension around the 'unspoken event' wouldn't make for a reasonably comfortable setting for both our families?" "I can tell you this son, all eyes and ears would certainly be, either directly or indirectly, on the two of you with every gesture, expression and word scrutinized and analyzed! I was so floored by the conversation that I didn't even get any info regarding his daughter: ya know? What she looks like, age all that other stuff." "He probably wouldn't have given you much anyway. Like I said, they're more concerned about the qualities that make a good spouse, not the physical aspect. Dad? Do you believe in love at first sight?" "I certainly do, but I also believe that even though it happens a lot, it's not a common thing -- not true love anyway." "So what are the odds? A thousand-to-one? A million- to-one? I say we play the odds and accept his request, we make a dear friend happy, and leave it at that. You always told me I needed to adapt to ever changing circumstances. I'll meet many more people under strange situations before my life is over. Why shy away from it from the start?" "It's up to you son, I'm not going to tell you yes or no. Yes, he's my good friend, but you're a man, and it's your decision whether this is the right thing to do or not." "Tell you what. I'll pray about the situation, and think it over. I'll be leaving day after tomorrow and I'll give you my decision when I get there. How's that sound to you? Make sense?" "Makes good sense to me, son. Whether you pray to Jesus or to Allah, praying to God never hurt any man's cause." "Good. Now, how's Mom: does she like it there?" "Mom's fine. She's having a great time! Spends most of her time sightseeing and spending a lot of my money of Indian art objects. Son, do you want me to..." "Yeah Dad, tell her about it. She needs to know. If it happens, she'll be as much involved as everyone else in the room. Besides, I'd kinda like to hear what her take is on all of this." "Yeah, OK son. I can hear her now. She'll have a golden cow! By the way, I'm sure I've got your flight information somewhere, or my secretary does, but give me a call before you take off with the your arrival time and flight number will ya? "Sure Dad. And Dad? Don't worry about this too much. Like he said, it's all in Allah's hands. If it's ordained to happen, it will. Tell Mom I love her, and may the peace of Allah reassure your heart and hers. I love you Dad." I love you too son, God bless, and I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye now." "Bye Dad." I hung up the phone, and then turned to resume my task of making myself some dinner. As I took out some veggies and began to dice them up for a quick stew, I began to mull over the strange conversation I'd just had with my Dad. I wondered, "Why?' Behind every action is a motive. What was Adib's motive? Was it simply to arrange a marriage for his daughter because he truly felt I was a good candidate? Was it power? He seems to have plenty in the Indian government. Was it money? Getting a daughter married to a wealthy American definitely has its advantages, and maybe using this as leverage for yet other motives. He has definitely proven himself a cunning, patient man: he sure stood Dad on his ear and that's pretty hard to do!" I decided to follow the route of my potential adversary: with patience and cunning. I'll meet with Mr. Haaseem, and try and use this 'matter close to his heart' as a pry bar to try and see what was under his proverbial rock. With that, I piled all the veggies in the pot, set it to boil, then decided to check out what's on the tube. Finding nothing worthwhile on TV, I decided to eat and hit the sack early. I awoke with a start when the alarm went off at 6am. I lay there for a minute until my head cleared enough to focus, and then started to move. Groggily, I rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom for my morning ritual of relief, shower and shave, then got dressed for morning prayers. At the conclusion of my morning prayers, I repeated the du'a I had made the evening before, again asking for guidance about things and events associated with my move to India. Again, when I'd finished I felt a strange calm about everything. I cautiously thought to myself, "Either Allah IS in total control, or I'm a fool walking into the lion's den..." Feeling the pangs in my stomach, I headed down to the kitchen for something to eat. Abby, right on time like the old days, was setting a plate of eggs and home fries on the table with her usually cheery "Hi, sleepy head!" I smile and look at her for a moment with a sudden fond remembrance and reply, "you're always there for me aren't you?" "Always am, always will be. Look sweetie, I hate to cut you short," talking while removing her apron, "but I've got a lot of things to do today, so I better get an early start, so if you don't need anything else, I'm off. Oh by the way, there's a fresh pot of coffee on the counter. Bye, love ya, see you later." I sat holding my fork, grinned and shook my head and said, "Love you too, see you late...r." She was already out the door. My day was pretty much preplanned, namely, packing and getting ready for my flight to New Delhi early the next morning. I did several loads of laundry: underwear, socks and a lot of casual stuff, folded it and got it packed. I'd get a laundry service over there to iron what I wanted later. Thankfully, Abby sent a couple of my favorite suits to the cleaners and they were hanging in the laundry room along with a couple of light weight suits I had ordered online, ready to pack. With the majority of my packing finished, except for some minor last minute things, I said my evening prayers, ate a friendly dinner with Abby, discussing my future plans, then decided to call Dad with my flight arrangements before turning in. Dialing my Dad's number, the phone rang three times when a woman answered, "Hello? Michael's residence." I asked for my Dad, and the voice on the other end responded for me to please wait a moment. "Sean? Good to hear from ya again. Are ya packed and ready to go? Yeah, Dad, just a few last minute things to put together. I called to give you my flight info. I'm flying Northwest, but the last leg is handled by KLM. I take off from BWI at 7:30am tomorrow, and land in New Delhi on Sunday evening at 10:30pm with an overnight layover in Amsterdam on Saturday. My flight number is 2345. I hope the late hour doesn't pose any real problem for you." No problem, son. Mom and I'll be there to pick you up. Any last minute jitters?" Nah, Dad, it's just I hate those long flights. In a way though, it'll be a good thing: give me some time to think, ya know?" Well, not to rehash to same thing over again, I'd say you've got some thinking to do." "It won't be that big a deal, Dad. Like I said, don't worry about it too much. Everything will work out fine." That remains to be seen. Well, I'll let you go to get some rest for the big trek tomorrow. We'll see you at the airport, OK son?" "Sure, Dad. See you Sunday night. Love you, tell Mom I love her too, and let the peace of Allah reassure yours and Mom's hearts." "See ya, son, we both love you too. Have a safe trip. Bye, now." "Bye Dad." With that, I went to bed. Continued in Chapter 2... <1st attachment end> <2nd attachment, "Child_Brides_of_India_2.txt" begin> Child Brides of India By C. Stanton Leman Chapter 2: Best Laid Plans (slow, no sex) While my Dad and I were discussing his conversation with Adib Haaseem on the Thursday before I took off for New Delhi, there was another set of events happening at the Haaaseem residence in New Delhi... "Assalamu aliakom," Salima, Adib's wife said when answering the phone. "Wa aliakum asslalm," replied Adib to his wife, "Have you been preparing Sarah for the meeting? Praise Allah, peace be upon Him, I believe that Sean will agree to meet with her, although it may be a little awkward because both of the families will be present. I still have to await a call from either John or Sean." "Yes, husband, I have Sarah and Priya at the dining room table discussing how and what takes place at an introduction." "Why is Priya there?" "She is of marriageable age by Islamic law, and she'll need to learn this at some point in time. I felt it better to explain some of this to her as well, so that when the time comes for her, she won't be so shocked by the suddenness of it all as with Sarah. What I'm teaching them now is just the formalities, the gestures, posture, how to speak, reading the man's body language: things of that sort. Besides, if our hearts are right in this, it's my duty as a mother to educate Priya also. This way, Priya feels included, even if indirectly, and sees it as a mother explaining what lies ahead for both of her daughters. Being secretive and paranoid about things only invites resentment from her. Frankly, I don't think Sarah is emotionally and mentally mature enough: she's only two years ahead of her class, nor does she have the physical presence and appearance to attract an American with Sean's attributes. She has a fuller figure than most Americans like, and she's not as quick witted. When she gets nervous, her English also begins to falter. If she can't allure him at first glance, I'm afraid things will go downhill for her from there." "Well, Salima, once you get her alone, you need to impress upon her that we have diligently searched our hearts with Allah's help and believe that we've found a suitable husband and lifelong partner for her." "Adib, I just hope we're not putting too much pressure on Sarah. You know how she gets when she feels she's tasked to perform. She needs your reassurance and confidence in her abilities. I'm afraid that she kind of feels that this is some sort of test she has to pass to win our approval -- especially yours. She'll likely take a rejection very personally, even if she feels she's trusting completely in Allah on the outcome." "Reassure her that all is in Allah's hands, and to be at peace with the results Allah presents to her. She needs to pray for guidance and dispel her fears. I will also do what I can to put her at ease. Your job is to assure she knows how to act: chaste and humble. Does she realize that we feel that we've found in Sean a man capable of fulfilling all of her needs: emotional as well as material?" "Yes, but all of that doesn't matter if he doesn't want to pursue her. Any girl, regardless of her faith, would take a rejection personally in varying degrees. When a girl lays herself open to inspection, who and what she is, especially in a room full of people watching their every action, and she's rejected -- for whatever reason -- that's all she has to offer. She has no experience with boys, much less a man... Sean may be the right man for her, but if the time isn't right for her, Allah, peace be upon Him, may, in His wisdom deny your wishes for her." "That may be true, but I also think Salima, we need to help her present her physical flaws in a more pleasing manner. Give her less to worry about. What do you think?" "I think you're treading on dangerous ground here. You know what the Koran states regarding dress. She's not allowed to enhance or accentuate her physical appearance: good or bad. It would be like prostituting herself. You know very well, if he finds her attractive as a person, her physical flaws are immaterial." "I don't mean openly displaying her charms in a favorable light, but listen for a moment. For example, if we dressed her in a black sari, it would give her a slimmer appearance, and it is an acceptable color. That's not displaying anything: good or bad. We could dress Priya in white, which would make her skin color appear darker than it really is. This could draw Sean's eyes to Sarah's fairer complexion." "Adib! I can't believe you just said that! Attempting to make either of your daughters 'appear' any other way than honestly is a sin! Besides, how could you do that to Priya? You'd injure the heart of one child for the sake of another? You know how Priya has suffered because of this!" "Look. Although she's darker than you, you found a loving husband in spite of your color didn't you?" "Yes, but my father was as pained as I was because I suffered the same indignities as Priya: and still do. How can you rationalize your thinking to accommodate such a thought! My father took great care to try and shield me from it as much as he could. He also took great pains to find me a husband that saw past my color to see the real person inside. My love for you and yours for me had giving me the strength to overcome my pain. He would NEVER try to accentuate my pain in any way as a means to an end. I feel hurt that you'd even suggest this! You need to reconsider this carefully." "You just have to find a way to impress upon her that this is Sarah's time: hers will come when Allah and her parents feel so moved, and we will try as hard for her as we are trying for Sarah. She just needs to sacrifice a little for her sister, she'll understand. Do as I ask and explain things to her. I'll talk to her also.' "I will do as you ask, and take the girls out tomorrow and buy the saris, but there is a bitterness in my heart for my child that will NEVER leave until she has found a man who will shield her from these indignities. You have wounded my heart, Adib, and I fear we bring Allah's wrath upon us for this deed." "What does Sarah have to say about the whole process of meeting a man for the possibility of marriage?" "That's another thing. She feels unsure and a little frightened by the suddenness of the whole thing. Because of the very 'flaws' that you speak of, she's like many girls her age. She not only feels insecure about her body, and also her sister's better academic achievements, but also in your love for her right now. She's thinking you may be trying to 'marry her off,' or get rid of her because she's not pleasing in your eyes. I've tried to reassure her and reinforce the idea that it's because we love her immensely and are looking for a lifetime of happiness for her. But the more we discuss this, the more I fear she's not emotionally ready for the separation from us: and especially you. She really does crave your approval and love. I am also beginning to have doubts about Allah's, peace be upon Him, wisdom in this. This should be a time of expectation and happiness with a clear conscience and conviction that we're doing the right thing. I fear that if you try to force these events, you'll end up hurting not one, but both of your daughter's hearts and drive them away from us. I need to find a way, and the strength to try and explain your wishes to Priya... I fear I'm about to commit a sin against my daughter." "Don't cry, Salima. Neither child should see any tears or confusion from you. I truly believe that I have Allah's, peace be upon Him, blessing in this endeavor. If things don't work out, we simply continue to look for suitable husbands for our daughters. If it's ordained to be, then it shall come to pass, don't you agree?" "On that last statement, I do agree. I shall pray and encourage the girls to pray also more fervently on this matter for guidance, peace and reassurance." "We still have several days to ease the girl's minds and prepare them for the evening. I think you need to concentrate on Sarah and her fears. I'll do the same. Priya is a very intelligent and empathetic girl, and understands her sister's insecurities much more than you think she does. She'll be alright." "Yes! It's her tender and empathetic heart that will make this pain all the worse! You're asking her to verify all the indignities to advance her 'fairer' sister's cause! It shall be on your heart if she's hurt by all of this." "I'll be home tomorrow evening by 6, and we'll have a nice family meal together, and put things in their proper perspective. OK?" "Fine. But I have to tell you, I'll do what I can, but you'll bear the brunt of making this right. I am slowly loosing my conviction, and being as close as I am to them, I'm not sure I can truly hide my feelings. How this all turns out may have an effect on our relationship... I hope you know that." "Salima. We've been married for 18 years. I love you and my family more than life itself. In all those years, have I done anything to put any member of my family in jeopardy? Would I drive a wedge between us? Do you really believe that?" "No, not consciously, but sometimes, in our desire to do the right thing, we can set into motion a chain of events we can no longer control, and with unexpected consequences. This is all I'm saying. Be absolutely certain of your motives: if they're pure, all will work out. If you try to force the will of Allah, we can spent the rest of our lives in painful repentance to no avail." "I love you Salima. I'll see you and the girls tomorrow evening. Assalamu aliakom." "Wa aliakum asslalm. I love you too." After evening prayers and further discussion with the girls over dinner, some of it fraught with tears and pleadings followed by reassurances of love and support, the three of them retired early, each to her own prayers and supplications. After morning prayers and breakfast, the three headed to the seamstress to purchase Sarah and Priya's saris. Sarah's would be a black sari with the pallu trimmed in gold, with a black petticoat and choli, finished off with black beaded slippers. Priya's would be white with a pallu trimmed in light blue with a petticoat, choli and beaded slippers of powder blue. (NOTE: I later learned these terms, but a sari is one continuous piece of material of 5-6 yards. Underneath, a skirt called a petticoat is worn which is waist-to- ankle length, and tied at the waist with a drawstring along with a blouse or choli. The long choli extends to the waist, where a short choli ends right below the bust. The sari is worn by tucking in the plain end onto the petticoat at the right hip, and a number of pleats are made and folded. These pleats are tucked into the petticoat using the naval as a center, wrapping the fabric again around the waist and then draping the fabric over the left shoulder. This draped material and remaining material becomes the pallu. The remaining material can then be either wrapped under the right armpit or over the shoulder, wrapped around the back, over the left shoulder (or used as a head covering), and the remainder draped around the bust over the right arm. It can be wrapped to either hide or accentuate the figure. Sorry for the interruption.) Both girls were excited about buying such beautifully detailed dress saris, but at the same time, quietly subdued. Each knew the significance of the choice of colors, and while Sarah was thankful for the flattering color, she guiltily felt what was on Priya's mind. Priya was outwardly as happy as she could bring herself to be. She felt, however, betrayed by her father's actions, and tried to hide the sting in her heart. Salima looked at Priya and thought, "Oh, my dear child! Your eyes cannot hide what your smile tries to cover. I know all too well your pain, and I pray to Thee, O Allah, my strength and my hope: Please turn my child's pain to joy, let her heart be quieted by Your gentle reassurance." With purchases in hand, they all returned home to await Adib's return for dinner and discussion. Continued in chapter 3... <2nd attachment end> <3rd attachment, "Child_Brides_of_India_3.txt" begin> Child Brides of India Ch 3 By C. Stanton Leman Chapter3: Arrival: Advice and Consent (slow, no sex) I was one of the last to clear airport customs. Mom and Dad were there, waiting for me with smiles, hugs and kisses all around. We got my luggage loaded in the limo and headed for what was now to be my new home. We first talked of inconsequential things: the house back home, the end of college, my unexpected 'cultural learning curve' sabbatical, and the upcoming challenges I might face in a few months. Then, my dad broke the ice about our earlier conversation. "Well, son, have you given any thought to what you'll do about that matter we discussed?" My Mom jumped in and said, "John. First off, we're all family here: there's no need to be so cryptic. Second, why not let him get home and settled in before discussing anything specific. Let's have this conversation in more comfortable surroundings when we have time to devote to the issue." "Thanks, Mom," I replied, "But to give you the short of it, I have given it some thought and prayer, and I'd like to get some advice from an Imam about what my duties and responsibilities are during the meeting with Adib, and the 'introduction,' if I choose to agree to it. I believe there is a type of protocol or decorum that is required, and what do I do about my decision afterwards -- either way. There's just so much I'm not clear about, and I don't want to offend anyone, or worse, not correctly follow the teachings of Islam in this matter. Does that make any sense?" "Makes perfect sense, son," my Dad said cutting in, "You need to get all the information you think you need to make an informed decision. I just regret that I've put you in this position." "Good!" My Mom chimed in, "Now we can put off arranging our son's wedding to another day, and I can have him for a couple of days all to myself!" "Gosh, Mom, you're sure taking this pretty lightly aren't ya?" "No, in a way, it's kinda exciting to actually see the workings of other cultures first hand, especially where women are concerned, but in another, I guess it's my way of coping with a strange situation that could affect all our lives. Don't let the humor fool ya: your happiness is my first and only concern." "That's why, Mom, I want to get this right the first time. IF and when I do decide to marry, I'll have to follow Islamic precepts to do so: no matter whether I marry here or anywhere else." We'd pretty much talked the topic out for the time being, and I began asking mom about her cultural excursions and spending spree. Soon, we were pulling up to the house, and me to a chance to work off the jet lag in a real bed. After recuperating a few days, and acclimated myself to the time difference, I used the services of my Dad's Indian secretary in an attempt to set up an appointment with the Imam of the Jama Masjiid mosque, the largest mosque in India, which also happens to be in New Delhi. It took her several days, but she was able to arrange for me to meet with him through a Muslim translator that Thursday, two days hence. I arrived at the mosque in time for evening prayers, and afterwards, with a Muslim colleague of my father's translating, the Imam and I made our introductions, and so we began our meeting. "Assalamu aliakom," I spoke as I placed my hands together in front of me and slightly bowed... I hope this is correct, I wondered. "Wa aliakum asslalm," he replied with a smile, and with that, he extended his hand, which I shook respectfully. He, seeing my apprehension as to how to start, quietly began, "I understand you are a new convert to Islam, and would like to discuss a matter of concern to you. Praise be to Allah, peace be upon Him. You are seeking direction regarding the correct practice of courtship and marriage according to Islamic law, is this so?" "I think so, Imam," I replied, I then went on to repeat, in detail, the conversation I'd had with my father regarding Mr. Haaseem's proposal for an 'introduction' to his daughter. I also explained what my understanding of the custom as I had related to my dad. I then asked him, "Is this a formal request by him to meet and consider his daughter as a possible bride?" "Yes, it is," he replied. "Matters such as these are spoken of politely and indirectly as a matter of custom. Otherwise, it might be taken in offense. It is important to understand that during conversations such as these, respect is shown to all persons concerned: especially the woman. If she's a virgin of legal age or not, she's usually never present at the father's first request, and sometimes neither is the intended male suitor. Many times, these initial requests are made between the fathers of the intended couple. I take it from the events you've just explained she's a believer?" "Yes, Imam, She is from a Muslim family. Mr. Haaseem has requested to meet with me personally (through my father). Is this because I'm of legal adult age and have the right to make my own decisions?" "The first step is verified in that it's preferable that you marry a Muslim. You must remember, my son, that legal age in Islamic law doesn't necessarily mean fully grown. In Islamic law, when a boy reaches 15 years of age, or becomes sexually potent, he is considered a man. But there is also the concept of Rashd, which is translated as "a mature ability towards sensible conduct." This is to insure that he is capable of maturely discharging his duties as a husband and to his family. For the girl, the term Rashidah means the same thing. The normal acceptable minimum age, in Islamic law, for a virgin girl is, by interpretation, to be 8, or having reached puberty with menarche being the indicator. At that age, she must still be able to demonstrate a certain level Rashidah. If she demonstrates the maturity to consent, with her guardian's consent, to marriage, and being able to know what it means and to consent to consummation of the marriage, it is a valid marriage contract" Now, it was MY turn to be shocked, as I interjected, "Are these marriages actually legal in India? Isn't this a form of pedophilia? How can a child of 8, who still plays with toys, have the mental and emotional maturity to properly examine the consequences of such a decision on her life?" After a moment of silence (I guess to calm the conversation), he began again. "Each case is different, as are people. And yes, Indian law recognizes many of these marriages. Although the usual norm is to marry someone more to one's own age, there are parents who arrange marriages for their virgin daughters at an early age. In any event, the girl must consent, or the marriage contract is invalid." "What do I do if this girl, Sarah, falls into this category?" "Then each man decides for himself. If the girl's age is unacceptable to you, then terminate any further meetings. If she does demonstrate maturity beyond her years, then look at her qualities more critically, because people, especially the young, change over time." "God forbid, that I be attracted to a child..." "Whatever her age, Allah, peace be upon Him, has your bride handpicked, and will present her to you when He deems all is ready to be ordained." "So, what questions may I ask the father concerning the girl in order to decide on meeting her?" "Let us back up for a moment," the Imam said looking at me seriously, "Are you considering taking a wife? Have you prayed about this? Or is this a matter that has been thrust upon you by the girl's father by his request?" "That's part of my problem," I said. I then went into detail about the prayers and supplications I'd made regarding my coming to India, my new job and any direction these events may take my life, and the feeling of peace that I'd experienced after praying. I also went on to tell him that I'd prayed about this meeting and introduction and what it might bring, and again, I had no misgivings or feelings of negativity about any of it. In light of this, I interpreted my feelings as Allah having not yet revealed His will for me, but had no fear of agreeing to the idea. I just needed guidance on how to properly proceed according to Muslim law. "If what you're telling me is true, I'd say, after meeting with her father, and you are satisfied by your initial inquiries that she is acceptable for you to meet, then meet the girl. It may be that Allah, peace be upon Him, has a help-mate for you in your new journey." "Alright then," I went on, "Again, what questions may I ask the father concerning the girl in order to decide on meeting with her?" "General questions, such as, her name and age. You may ask general questions as to her physical appearance such as height, does she have any physical or mental deformities. Her health: can she bear children? But do not ask pointed questions about physical appearance so as to determine her physical desirability, how do you in the west say, her sexiness: this is forbidden. Most important is her other qualities: how strong is her faith? Is she of strong character: can she act in your best interests, forsaking her family in deference to her husband? Is she good-natured? How well does she get along with her siblings? Her parents? With others? Is she family oriented? What of her schooling and education? When you talk to her, does she seem like you and she would be compatible: is she easy to talk to? Can you talk freely to each other or is it strained? Is she prone to secrets? It is a sin to mislead or lie to each other. Islam considers marriage a holy contract, and not to be taken or entered into lightly. By evaluating the qualities of a woman for marriage, you must ask yourself, does she possess the qualities that are complimentary to mine that will ensure a lifelong partnership." "I see," I replied while trying to digest all he'd said, "And what if I feel we have no 'connection:' not so much a physical one, but a mental and emotional connection that sees qualities she might possess that are yet to be revealed by getting to know her better?" "Then, compliment her in the name of Allah, and truthfully tell her that you feel it is not meant for you to be her husband. Women are fragile creatures, and as such, you are admonished to be kind and gentle to her, and show her respect; even though she may feel rejected, that pain is far less than an unhappy marriage. If Allah ordains the marriage, there will be something about her that will move your heart to seek out the source. Deep within her where that source resides, you will find your bride. The rest is up to you and your personal walk with Allah, Praise and peace be upon Him." "What if we make that 'connection,' and we're both moved to get better acquainted?" "Your understanding of Muslim courtship is correct. The Prophet Mohammad, peace be upon Him, has stated "Not one of you shall meet a woman alone unless she is accompanied by a relative." The Prophet, peace be upon Him, also said, "Whenever a man is alone with a woman, Satan is the third among them." These admonishments are to prevent lust from being a factor. We must always follow the commands in the Koran, which tells couples to "lower their gaze and protect their modesty." This may be evidenced by the girl only glancing at you momentarily, and not looking you directly in the eyes for any length time. Both of you are to look at each other with a critical eye, not a lustful one. If both of you wish to continue, want to know each other better, and start the 'courtship' phase, then the two of you can arrange to meet, in the presence of one of her relatives to talk and spend time together for the purpose of getting to know each other better, but it will always be chaperoned. If the two of you are seriously considering a possible marriage, you both should seek Allah, peace be upon Him, for help, guidance and peace before proceeding, this is done by praying a prayer for guidance. It is called the salat-l-istikhara. I will send the text of it to you. Then, if both agree, they pursue the final steps toward marriage. I believe I've given you enough direction as to how to proceed -- either way, for the immediate future. If and when the time comes, we can meet again and discuss the procedures for Nikah, or the actual marriage contract and ceremony. Go in peace, and all praise and honor be to Allah, the Knower of all unknown, be your strength and guidance. Assalamu aliakom." "Thank you, Imam, for your time and guidance. Wa aliakum asslalm." With that, we parted and I made my way home, contemplating all that had transpired these past seven days. Both of my parents must have been anxiously awaiting my return. They were sitting in the study, stating that they'd held dinner until I got home. With that said, we headed to the dining room to eat. Dinner began uncomfortably quiet, but again, it was my father that broke the silence. "Well? Are you going to say something, or do we have to pull it out of you?" Mom looked at Dad, and then placing her hand on his, she said, "John, calm down. He'll speak when he's ready. I think we already have an idea what he's going to say anyway." "Mom, Dad, I'd like to discuss this in more detail after dinner, but I've decided to meet with Adib and meet Sarah." My mother, trying to relieve some of the tension said, "There now, it's all out in the open. Now can we have a nice, friendly family meal?" My father didn't look so accepting. With a cryptic look on his face as if contemplating for a moment, slightly nodded, smiled and said, "Sure." After a somewhat more relaxed dinner, thanks to Mom (the perpetual mediator), babbling on about her delving into Indian and Muslim culture. She said that she had needed to learn more about her son's faith and new lifestyle. After dinner, Dad asked the maid to serve coffee in the study, where we then proceeded. Dad sat behind his desk, Mom on the couch, and I sat in an armchair, turning it so I was semi-facing them both. I sat for a moment collecting my thoughts, then began... "Dad, I know you somehow feel responsible for all of this, and you're obviously concerned: both about meeting with Adib, and with his daughter. First of all, it's not the end of the world. Second, I know you feel a little 'betrayed?' by your friend -- is that the right word? Anyway, I've prayed about it, thought about it, sought the advice of the Imam, and I feel a strange calmness about the whole thing. I'm not shocked, frightened, or put off by any of it. Without trying to sound too religious or pious about things, only God knows what the future holds: for me, my family, my future, and also for Adib and HIS family. I do know that I haven't had any heartfelt feeling that this is a bad thing: either religiously or personally, to do. Try to put yourself in Adib's shoes. If you felt something or some action on your part was in my or our family's best interest, you'd probably do the same thing: no matter how strange it may seem to anyone else. Right? So try not to be too hard on your friend." I went on to retell of my meeting with the Imam, and without repeating word for word, told them that the Imam said that it was a plea on Adib's part to meet with Sarah for the consideration of possible marriage. I also told my parents that simply meeting for the first time is only the first step, and that many of these introductions don't go any further, and that both the man and woman must agree to all the steps along the way. My mother looked at Dad, then at me, then back at Dad. I guessed that she was chomping at the bit to say something, but was deferring to my father to make the first comment. Dad, rocked back in his chair, and began. "I've given this a lot of thought, and there are a lot of 'what ifs' about the whole thing. For example, 'what if' she's a minor? What's her age? They marry girls -- even children here. Their customs are not ours. They view these things differently. 'What if' she's still in school? Do you want to get involved with a schoolgirl? Would a marriage like this be recognized as legal back in the States? 'What if' she being coerced in some way to get married? 'What if' you and this girl 'hit it off' and decided to... what do you call it -- court. How's this going to affect the real reason why you're here: namely, to run a company... or have you forgotten that?" "Whoa, dad, slow down, you're starting to hyperventilate! Let's take things one at a time. You seem to forget that even though I'm a college graduate with a PhD, I'm still only 18 years old. If she's say, 16 or 17, that's still an acceptable age range for dating and marriage in the US. If she's younger, I'm not sure what US law is regarding such marriages, but I do know that the US government usually recognizes a legal marriage made in a foreign country by an American as being legal. As to her being a schoolgirl, if she IS 16 or 17, she will still be in school, as would probably an older girl because she'd be attending college. College students marry all the time." Now for the shock part... I went on to explain what the Imam had revealed to me regarding Islamic interpretation of legal age and requirements, the conditions of 'a mature ability toward sensible conduct' towards marriage by both parties, and how that might apply to a very young girl. Finally, about the need for the girl's consent for a valid marriage contract. Also, that these marriages were recognized as legal in Indian secular law. Once I finished these revelations, I waited for the hammer to drop... All I saw were open mouths, and silence. Mom spoke first. "What if this girl is 8 or 9? What will you do then? What if she's 11 or 12?" I looked at both of them and said, "Having those examples to deal with, not having yet met the girl, I'd decline an introduction. I cannot imagine a scenario where I'd pursue a girl of that age: and it makes me shudder to think of a child of 8 in any intimate context. If she were, say, 11 or 12, she'd have to be my equal, in the sense of being very mentally and emotionally advanced in education, interaction with older peers, and a history of demonstrated ability to adapt in an adult environment. I'm using myself as a gauge: does that make any sense? If I am, at 18, considered in the eyes of older peers-- you, Dad, being one, is old enough to run a company, then there are certainly young women who have the same abilities as I: don't you both agree?" Not waiting for an answer, I continued, "Look, let's put this age issue to rest for our purposes: if Sarah is below the age of 16, which is only 2 years my junior, I will not proceed with an introduction as Adib has requested. Having said that, she'd still have to demonstrate maturity beyond 16 in order for us to be compatible anyway. I see no problem meeting him or his family in a purely social setting such as a dinner or a public function. Does that alleviate your fears?" Dad then spoke up. "OK, son. I agree with what you said about the age issue. I guess everything will now hinge on what Adib has to say about his daughter." Mom kinda lowered her head and mumbled something that dad and I could make out, and dad asked, "What is it you have to say: get it all out now, or you give up the right to bitch about it later. Come on, out with it!" Mom looked at the ceiling, as if for inspiration, then looking at each of us in turn began: "Not all of my 'excursions,' as you call them, John, have been cultural. Because I was an educator, and Sean's teacher, I have also been observing their educational system here also. One fact stands out, and that is, there are an awful lot of kids, boys AND girls, that are like Sean: pure geniuses. A lot of these kids put ours to shame! I was just remembering this, and thinking, that meeting a girl such as Sean describes is within the real realm of possibility here. What if, by the will of God, or Allah, or whatever Higher Power that's controlling our lives, were to put Sean in such a position. I mean, with the right girl, say 11 or 12, at the right time, and their hearts connect: what then? Do we dismiss those same qualities that we hold so special in Sean simply because she's a girl?" Her voice was slowly gaining volume and force while she continued her diatribe, "Were we right in our duties as parents to allow Sean to grow up, assume responsibility for his actions and decisions at such an early age? And what now? He's 18 and going to run a company! Your company! Is he more responsible because he's YOUR son?" Having finished, she relaxed and sat back putting her hands in her lap. With that, I looked at Dad, who was chewing the inside of his cheek, and back at Mom, who had an imploring look on her face waiting for his response. I wanted to hear what Dad's answer to that would be, and I wasn't about to put MY two cents in ... not just yet. He looked at Mom, and slightly turned his head as if to work out a kink, then replied softly, "When the hell did you become an advocate of child marriage? Laying the love issue aside, there are real legal ramifications to consider here! What if the US doesn't recognize such a marriage: could he be prosecuted in the US? These questions will need answers if this kind of scenario comes to light. Legalese aside, what you say is true about recognizing the same qualities in someone other than Sean, but I have to say, she'd have to be pretty damn special for me to go along, or even consider it!" I guessed it was time for me to put in my 'two cents' worth, so a said calmly, "I agree with you Mom, in that, although you and Dad are Baptist, and I'm Muslim, we all agree that God's will for us is unknown to us except the day we're living in. Yes, anything under the sun is possible, though not very probable. I don't know what God has in store for me, I just trust in my faith: isn't that what you've both taught me? I believe we've covered the 'what ifs,' pretty well, but the purpose of this discussion, I believe, has come full circle. As I said at dinner, I've decided to meet with Adib, and discuss Sarah, and I'll try to get as much information about her as I feel is necessary to make a decision. There's one guideline we all agree on, and that's if she's under 16, the deal's off. Agreed?" Mom said, "Agreed." Dad's reply was "Amen to that." I then looked at Dad and said, "Now for the next step: give Mr. Haaseem a call, and set up some time to meet. I'd appreciate it if you'd to be there also." "I wouldn't miss this for the world!" "OK Dad, make the call." With that, Mom and I both rose, and started to leave the room. When we reached the doorway of the study, I turned to close the door, and I could hear my Dad say, "Hello Adib? Yes, it's me, John..." Continued in chapter 4... <3rd attachment end> <4th attachment, "Child_Brides_of_India_4.txt" begin> Child Brides of India Ch 4 By C. Stanton Leman Chapter 4: Meeting Adib (slow, no sex) Last night, after my meeting with the Imam at the Jama Masjiid mosque, and a heated discussion after dinner with my parents, my Dad called Adib Haaseem to arrange the long debated and awaited meeting between Mr. Haaseem, my father and I to discuss the 'introduction,' as it was now called, between Adib's daughter, Sarah and I. Because the 'Sabbath,' for lack of a better word, for Muslims is Friday, we agreed to meet Saturday morning at 10am here, at our home in Dad's study. He did request that my mother not be present, because these matters were customarily handled between men. My mom was a little insulted, but acquiesced, deferring to Islamic tradition. Dad said that Mr. Haaseem was elated, praised Allah for answering his prayers, would pray for a cordial 'meeting of the minds,' and would see us promptly at ten on Saturday. This gave us a full day's respite tomorrow which my mother proclaimed as a 'mother/son day' to begin after morning prayers and breakfast. My father said that was fine, he had business matters to attend to anyway. It was the middle of June, and the weather was warm and humid. New Delhi, like many other ancient Asian cities, has the juxtaposition of ancient and modern architecture in close proximity. It is, in a lot of places, dirty, dusty and filled with throngs of people going about their daily lives. We started out our day by seeing a couple of Hindu temples, had a pleasant lunch at a sidewalk café, and visited a few shopping bazaars. While we were walking in a local park, my mother got quiet all of a sudden. We stopped to sit for a moment, and she looked at me and smiled. She placed her palm to the side of my cheek and said, "I fear I'm going to loose you to this strange and mysterious land... You know... you're my single most precious contribution to this world. You, my son, are my greatest accomplishment in life! I know that your father helped mold you, along with your incredible mind and education, but I gave you life. You are of my flesh. I can sometimes actually feel what you think and feel. I know you better than anyone, and I'll always be there for you: always. I feel something is going to happen to change our lives forever. I don't know what, but for some strange reason, I strangely feel a calm about it. Maybe it's silly women's intuition gone awry, I don't know... just a feeling is all." With that, she wiped a tear from her cheek, composed herself and looked at me with a smile. Softly wiping away an errant tear from her cheek with my finger, I said lovingly, "Mom? I don't know what to say, except that I love you. With all the outward appearances of a confident brainiac, I have insecurities that I couldn't have dealt with if it hadn't been for your understanding and support. No matter what happens here, or anywhere else in the world, I know you will always be there for me and I for you, if I can. I love you mother, I deeply, deeply love you." On the way home, our conversation in the park wasn't mentioned again as talk returned to the exotic sites, sounds and surroundings. Upon arriving home, I showered and prayed my evening prayers with all the special supplications for the events to follow. I went to the study, where mom and dad were watching a movie, told them I wanted to retire early, and went to bed. Restless, I laid awake thinking of Sarah, and what she must be going through. At 18, I have a lot of insecurities when it comes to meeting women, and she's undoubtedly feeling the same, if not more. I then decided to ask Adib for a 'variance' in the actual method of our introduction, if there was one. I would suggest that instead of the two of us going off to a corner of the room, within earshot of all present, that we take a more informal, less stressful approach and work the verbal 'feeling each other out' into the normal, casual conversation normally encountered in a social setting. In this way, I could gauge her demeanor and carriage in an adult environment, along with social and verbal skill. It might also alleviate some of her tension and stress level--it wouldn't hurt mine either. After my morning ablutions and prayers, I donned a business suit, and then went downstairs to awaiting parents for breakfast. Dad, being more nervous than either my mom or I, was rambling on about staying calm, keeping your cool, not making rash decisions under emotional stress, and on, and on... My mom finally said "John. Shut the hell up and eat your breakfast!" Shortly before ten, I asked my father to let me take the lead and do most of the talking. I continued by saying that he could sit back, watch the dynamic and critique me later. This initial interaction would have a direct bearing on what tone our future working relationship might take on, and he agreed. Mr. Haaseem arrived promptly at ten, ringing the doorbell. I walked behind my father to the door to formally greet the man I'd met for the first time over a year ago in Washington, D. C. We exchanged greetings, handshakes, and all the other pleasantries of etiquette, and then proceeded to the study. Dad asked Pita, our maid, to bring a pot of tea. Mr. Haaseem was as I remembered him. He had a wheatish, ruddy complexion, not too tall: maybe 5' 10", and carried a little weight on him with a slight stomach, probably about 190 pounds. Slightly balding, he had black, wavy hair that was starting to grey at the temples. He was personable with a warm, friendly smile that came easily. Standing next to him, in contrast, my father stands 6' 4" tall, an average Caucasian complexion, medium brown hair speckled with grey throughout, and maybe 220 pounds with a solid - not heavy, but solid frame. We sat, dad on one end of the sofa, Adib on the other end, with me in an armchair between and facing the two. My father broke the awkward silence of waiting to see who'd begin by saying, "Well Adib, here we are: you, me and Sean, just as you requested. Before we go any further, I make one request of you, my friend, be completely open, honest and forthright in this matter-- just like we do in business. I know this is, using your own words, 'a matter close to your heart,' but I feel the time for subtlety is over. Let's discuss this with open hearts, open minds, and open communication. Don't you agree?" "Yes, John," Adib began, "I agree. I first must apologize for the way I approached the matter. I was thinking more about our custom, and not properly considering your customs in these matters. I should have approached you in a more understanding way, and again, I apologize. We have been friends a long time, and regardless of the outcome this morning, we, I hope will continue to be good friends. Sean, you are new to my country and the business, and my feelings toward you are the same as toward your father. I have great respect and admiration for you, otherwise I wouldn't have even considered making such a request of you." I began, "Mr. Haaseem--" He cut quickly cut me off saying "Adib. Call me Adib." "Adib," I began again, " just so there's no misunderstanding culturally or otherwise, please tell me exactly why you want me to meet Sarah, and what do you hope will come of our meeting?" "Again Sean, I apologize for abruptly raising the issue, but in all openness, I would hope that your meeting Sarah might lead to a courtship and possibly marriage." "Good!" My Dad said. "Now it's truly out in the open." I started again, "I think I have a pretty good sense as to why you may feel that I might, in some way, be a compatible spouse for your daughter, since you've had the advantage of 'following my progress.' Anyway, I have no such knowledge of Sarah, and I feel that today's discussion is for me to basically get a sense for who Sarah is. Am I correct in saying so?" "Yes, it is." "Before I proceed, if I make a mistake, or offend you in any way, please forgive me. Even though I've met with an Imam for instruction and guidance on these procedures, if I err, it is unintentional." "I'm sure you'll be guided by Allah's wisdom, peace be upon Him," Adib replied. "Let's just talk generally about Sarah. How old is she, and if she's still in school, what grade is she in?" "Sarah is 16, She's an advanced student, she will finish high school this year." With that, I glanced at my father, and I could see a sigh of relief on his face. "So, what little I know of the Indian grade structure, that means she's about 2 years advanced academically?" "Yes, that's right." "What I'd like for you to do now, is simply talk about your daughter as if your talking to a new friend, and being the proud parent, explaining how you feel about her and the qualities she has that make you so proud of her. If I want to ask a question, I'll jump in. That way our time together won't seem so much like a question/answer session similar to a police interrogation. By doing things this way, I feel that we're treating Sarah with more respect, and not so much like something to be 'negotiated.' Don't you agree?" "You are most kind, and I thank you for thinking of her so graciously. Now, where to begin?" "Just talk about Sarah." "Well... Sarah is my first born of two daughters. She's 16, had a good mind and is an excellent student that gets high marks at school, is 2 years advanced in her studies, and she will graduate this year from secondary high school. She's about 5' 6" tall with dark brown, shoulder length hair, warm, friendly brown eyes. Although she is of a... fuller figure, she's not what you would call heavy: maybe, how do you say it, athletic perhaps? Sarah is close to all in her family, does her chores and helps her mother willingly and without complaint She's a good natured, quiet girl who is pious, humble, and chaste. She has not been allowed to 'date,' as you call it, but has several girl friends. As you may well know, being younger than her classmates, she is somewhat shy. This is one of the reasons I have considered you because you are acquainted with such feelings." With that, I motioned that I wanted to ask a question. "How well does Sarah interact with her older, fellow students and adults? Does she accompany you and your wife to adult social functions, such as the one where you and I first met?" Adib replied, "As I said, she is somewhat shy, but adapts and makes an attempt to fit into her surroundings, and yes, she has accompanied my wife and I to several functions." "And how does she fit in at these types of functions, and more immediately, how comfortable with a situation like the one we're here to discuss?" "She is somewhat... reserved. By that I mean, she sometimes finds it awkward to inject herself in conversation. Let me say in all honestly, that this may very well be a result of our faith, which encourages a women to defer to males, other adults unknowingly overlooking her because of her age, and unfortunately, here in India, women are usually more passive in conversation: especially when men are present. To be specific about the two of you meeting, my guess, as her father, would be that she's a little apprehensive. Not because of being around adults, it's just that she understands that this will be the first time she actually will be having one-on-one conversation with a male, and possibly discussing matters that reveal more of a personal side of herself." "I see. Do you know her feelings about meeting a possible spouse? By that I mean, has she prayed about this? Is she ready, do you feel, for this, or is it a situation where she is following your advice because you feel I'm the right person at the right time in her life, and by custom, the parents are usually the ones to take the lead in these matters?" 'Yes, she has prayed: both in solitude and with my wife concerning this matter. As with all parents who have discussions with their children of matters that are of an intimate manner, Salima, my wife, has lovingly explained the reasons and process every Muslim girl goes through to become acquainted with and joined to a man for lifelong marriage. Sarah is also aware that, with her entering the concluding years of her education, it is time for her to consider these matters in her life." Adib paused, as if waiting for my comment. I then leaned forward in my chair a little with my hands clasped together and said, "I'd like to ask you a few final questions, and then, possibly a few observations and comments and I'd like you to be painfully honest. OK?" Looking me straight in the eyes, he replied, "I will do my best." "Alright then." I began again, "If you were to go home today, and tell Sarah that I didn't wish to proceed with a meeting for the purpose of a possible marriage, how do you think she'll feel? What do you anticipate her reaction to be?" "You are candidly asking me to reveal her weaknesses aren't you" He knew what I was asking. How will she deal with an adult topic, for the first time concerning a man; with the adult reality of life that comes with rejection? My thoughts genuinely turned to Sarah. I vowed to be kind and respectful of Sarah, regardless of what I wanted to know, so I replied, "Believe it or not, I am thinking of her mental and emotional welfare. I THINK I may understand what she might feel, this being her first experience with the process of courtship and marriage, but I'd like to hear it from one who knows her heart." With this, Adib eased a little in his chair and said, "You are a kind and gracious man, and my respect and admiration of you is increased ten-fold. To answer you frankly, I believe that a rejection today would be harder for her to bear. I say this because Sarah might feel that she hasn't been given the opportunity for you to really see her as a person, and then, having had a glimpse of one another, deciding that it was not in Allah's will, peace be upon Him, for any further relationship." "Adib, I thank you for your candor. I feel I have enough information to make some decisions. Before you jump to any conclusions, let me finish what I have to say, alright?" "Yes, I understand." "Let me begin by saying, that unfortunately, I do not believe that Sarah and I would make a very compatible couple, and here's why. Although Sarah is two years advanced in school, we are nowhere close to being academically compatible. Being only two years younger than her peers, this should not, in my experience, pose any real alienation from them. In America, boys and girls of this age range are more than capable of meeting as relative equals both academically and socially. The insecurity she is experiencing may simply be she lacks the confidence to inject herself to demonstrate her equality with them. As for dealing with adults, you are aware that a person, regardless of age, has to WANT to participate in social interaction if they are to be acknowledged and included. Since I will be taking over my father's assets here in India, I will need a spouse who can show a maturity--regardless of her age--to stand on her own in these adult social settings and contribute to her husband's endeavors. Having said that, I vowed to myself, and made a promise to Allah, peace be upon Him, that I would genuinely look upon Sarah as a person, and treat her with the dignity and respect one should give a woman of faith. In keeping with these promises, I will agree to your family's introduction of Sarah and I for a couple of reasons. First, I truly believe that you feel Allah, peace be upon Him, has moved your heart to be where we, meaning your family and mine and specifically Sarah and I, are at this point in time. For that reason, Sarah may feel this way also, I don't know if she feels Allah, praise be to Him, has led her heart in this direction also. If she feels so moved, she may, at our meeting, with God's help, exhibit a strength, maturity and decisiveness that she hasn't before displayed. Who can know the will of Allah, peace be upon Him? Finally, I'll treat Sarah as a person, with respect and not dismiss her as we would a business proposition that should be shelved. With that said, unless we, meaning you, your wife, my parents and I can see the movement of God's hand in all of this, there will, in my opinion, be no courtship or marriage. Does this seem fair and reasonable to you?" "Again, Sean, My heart soars with admiration and respect for you in this matter. You have clearly shown a maturity and sensitivity beyond your years. You have endeared a lifelong friend in me." I smiled and looking at my father, who up to this point had surprisingly kept absolutely quiet, smiled also. I know what he was thinking: a win/win for everybody. To finish up, I again began. "Now that we've agreed to an introduction, I have a favor to ask of you, dear friend." Adib smiling, said, "If it's in my power to grant, anything." "To make things less stressful, especially with both families looking on, I'd like to request that, instead of Sarah and I going off to a corner of the room within earshot of everyone, that we get to know one another more casually in the mood befitting a dinner between families. This can best be determined by our initial conversation before dinner, If she's too nervous about a one-on-one situation, we can use the informal approach. Questions and answers can be easily carried on by normal conversation before, during and after dinner. This might help keep Sarah from feeling self-conscious and less intimidated in the presence of a man. What do you think of the idea, or is it too... breaking with tradition?" "You have given my daughter great respect with your thoughtful kindness. I agree, I think it best as you have suggested." "Fine." I said, standing up and extending my hand to close our meeting, "Now with that out of the way, when do we meet each other's family for dinner?" Sarah, with me and my family are at your convenience." I looked at Dad inquiringly, and he said, "I can't wait to finally meet your family! How about tomorrow evening? Say, seven o'clock?" Adib, shaking my father's hand said, "Seven it is!" Making our way out of the study to see Adib out, we praised Allah and made our obligatory farewells. When Adib had left, we proceeded to the kitchen for lunch, and I turned to Dad and said, "Well?" He smiled and said, "Considering the subject matter under discussion, I couldn't have done better myself. In fact, I could never have anticipated or even planned that outcome. I'm very proud of you son: very proud. Now, let's get some lunch and fill your mother in on the details: she has a dinner to plan." Over lunch, I filled Mom in on the details of our meeting with Adib. She took everything I'd said rather calmly, and praised me for my concern for Sarah's feelings. But about the resulting dinner that we had set for tomorrow evening, my mother jokingly said she was going to punish both of us for such an impromptu gathering. She said that we had 'volunteered our great organizational skills' to help organize everything so that we all, at least, had time to dress and get ready. After lunch, Mom quickly made a list of the necessary items needed for the dinner, then began barking out orders and handing out assignments like an assembly line foreman. She was used to performing this task considering the many times she'd had to entertain my father's prospective and current clients. And so it was, each of us off to do the 'master's' bidding. Continued in Chapter 5... <4th attachment end> <5th attachment, "Child_Brides_of_India_5.txt" begin> Child Brides of India Ch 5 By C. Stanton Leman Chapter 5: Introductions and Dinner (Mg, rom, no sex) Under Mom's calm but firm direction, everything for dinner was fished by five pm. The extra maid, chef and waiter were assigned the job of completing the meal preparations as we all went our separate ways to begin to get ready. After completing my bathroom ritual, I said my evening prayers, and again, fervently asked for guidance and help to see Allah's will in all of this. After finishing my prayers, I began to get dressed. I chose a navy blue pin striped suit with a pale blue shirt and matching tie, then headed downstairs to give any last minute help Mom might need. I found Mom in the kitchen, giving last minute instructions to the staff. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, and simply gazed upon my mother. She had decided to dress the culture. She had on a turquoise colored hand painted sari with gold trim. Underneath, she wore a dark blue petticoat and long choli. Her hair was put up, using the remainder of the pallu as a headscarf. For the first time as a man, I looked at her as a woman. She seemed oblivious to my presence, busy with details, but I looked at her with deep, loving emotion. She stands about 5' 9", with medium blonde hair like mine. She has light blue eyes and an easy, friendly smile. As I looked at her, I noticed that at 42, except for the usual fullness that comes with age, she had a very nice figure and ample breasts. When I looked at her face, I saw that her age had given her a noble, patrician beauty that one would admire in a mature woman. I was broken from my trance when she finally noticed me, stopped and smiled. Walking over and straightening my tie, she said, "Dad will be down in a minute, he had to wait on me to finish primping. Well, how do I look?" "Lovely, simply lovely. I love you Mom," I said. "Well, lover boy, you ready for your date?" "Mom," I said, "Why is this all so funny?" "I think it's kinda cute that a 16 year old girl will have her first 'date' with my manly son who appears just a tad bit nervous himself! Besides, why be so serious? You've already decided she's not your cup of tea, so relax and enjoy the conversation, company and this nice dinner your mother slaved over, huh?' "You're right Mom, you're always right." "Yeah? Well tell your father that! We'd better head to the living room, it's almost time." With that, we walked arm in arm towards the living room, as Mom yelled upstairs, "John, its almost time." "Just a minute honey, I'll be right down," was his distant reply. With all three of us standing in the living room, my dad looked out the window, and said, "They're here, lets move to the foyer." The foyer is rather small for receiving more than two, maybe three people at most, so we all stood in kind of a curved line on the left hand side in the hall, where the foyer empties into the hallway. We stood with my mother closest to the wall, me in the middle and my father to my right. The doorbell rang, and I took a deep breath. My mother squeezed my hand as Dad moved to the door. My father answered the door, greeting Adib with a handshake, motioning him inside. Adib entered and stepped towards me with outstretched hand. Because of the restricting width of the foyer and his size, I could only get a glimpse of the rest of his family, but all the women appeared to have their heads covered. I took his hand, shaking it and said, "Assalamu aliakom." He replied, "Wa aliakum asslalm." I thought he was going to stand and introduce his family, but my father, either out of nervousness, or simply having a brain fart, wrapped his arm around Adib's shoulder and led him to the veranda, speaking lightheartedly to him as they moved. Then I saw Salima for the first time. It appeared that Sarah was behind her, followed by the younger daughter. Salima was, to my surprise, a very beautiful woman for having had two children, which might put her, I guess to be about 38. She is very short, standing only about five feet tall, and petite with a slender build, dark olive complexion, with friendly brown eyes, and medium length black hair. She had high, somewhat smallish breasts proportional for her frame. With my hands folded in front of me, I bowed slightly and greeted her by saying, "Assalamu aliakom. I'm Sean, and this is my mother Joan. You must be Salima, I'm very pleased to meet you." My mother smiled and said, "Hi, I'm Joan, it's a pleasure to finally meet you and your daughters, Salima" Salima replied, "Wa aliakum asslalm. I too have been looking forward to meeting both of you. Please, let me introduce my daughters." With that, she gently motioned for Sarah to step forward. "This is my eldest daughter Sarah. Sean, Sarah. Sarah, Mrs. Michaels." With my hands folded in front of me, I slightly bowed, and greeted her by saying, "Assalamu aliakom. It's a pleasure to meet you." My mom then took her hand and greeted her. Sarah, to my surprise, was prettier than the picture her father had painted of her. Her height, weight and complexion seemed accurate, at 5' 6'' and about 120- 130 pounds, but she didn't look 'full' to me. She had an average frame for an athletic girl, showed no signs of fat, and had a nice figure with ample sized breasts. Although she had respectfully bowed her head slightly, she had a cute face. She looked up at me briefly, smiled a pretty smile, which she shyly covered with her hand and blushingly said to me, "Wa aliakum asslalm. It's a pleasure to meet you and for you to invite us into your home." My mother said, "Sarah, it's our pleasure to have you here, and your comment was very sweet." My mother stepped towards her, taking her arm, led her a little ways into the hall to make room for the last of the introductions. Motioning her forward, Salima said, "and this is our youngest daughter, Priya." Again, with my hands folded, I slightly bowed, and greeted her by saying, "Assalamu---------" Everything within me instantly exploded! It felt like a white-hot spear had pierced both of us at the same time, right to our cores. I gasped "Oh!" I know she did also because I could hear it above my own, Salima also had to have heard it. Seen it. Did mom? Or Sarah? As she slowly came into view and as I bowed to greet her, our eyes met: and I cannot describe what is beyond words to explain, but I was looking directly into the most innocently beautiful, dark, and sensuously captivating large black eyes. The windows to her soul, like pools of molten obsidian: so deep, dark and mysterious... slowly pulling me into the soul I instantly knew I would someday be mated to. I so desperately wanted to slip inside and wrap myself in their warmth forever. Although our glance lasted but only for a few, brief seconds, time seemed to stand still. When this seemingly endless gaze ended, she slowly began to smile. As her lips parted and widened, her smile seemed to light up her face. "Oh, to have that smile in my life every day," I thought. Her color darkened ever so slightly as she raised her hand to cover her mouth. I noticed her tiny hand, her slender fingers and nails, and the pink of her palm... My 6' frame towered over her like Gulliver and the Lilliputians. She was a young - very young pixie of a girl at about 4'9 or 10, about 80 to 90 pounds with a pubescent figure. She had a very slender- not skinny- build with the slightest outline of a curve to her hips, but from the front, I didn't notice any swelling of a breast. Her shiny blue-black hair was pulled back over her tiny ears. She had skin the color of light milk chocolate that was absolutely and perfectly flawless. This entire sequence occurred in a matter of seconds. She then gracefully covered my incomplete greeting by saying, "Wa aliakum asslalm. I am very pleased to meet you, and you also Mrs. Michaels." As she passed by me to step into the hallway, I could see her light blue covered torso through the fine, white pallu, and then got a glimpse of a hint of her right breast, which appeared to be about the size of a small apricot, and through the scarf, her long, waist length black hair was set in a French braid. I was momentarily stunned, embarrassed, confused... I was lost in another world! I regained my composure as quickly and as best I could, and looked at Salima. I was expecting to see anger, rage, disgust, but instead, she gave me a Mona Lisa-like smile. Mom broke the gaze by saying, "Please, let's join the others on the veranda for refreshments and tea." For the first time in my life, I felt as if I was ready to emotionally break down: I had never experienced such a strong feeling of a lack of control. I quickly composed myself to continue what was, apparently, going to be an arduous night. Me? What about Sarah? Oh God above, what's come over me" Needing an additional moment to recover completely, as graciously and innocently as I could, I said, "Let me check on the refreshments." As I turned to go to the kitchen, I saw Salima pull up Priya, who was by mom's side, to speak to her. I didn't see Sarah, so I assumed she continued on to join our fathers. I stepped through the kitchen door and leaned against the wall with my head down. I shook my head, and mockingly said to myself, "Hummf! The ever-in control super whiz kid! God truly is the great equalizer!" Just then, my mother walked through the door. She smiled and laying her hand on my cheek said, "Loose something out there, super kid? Maybe your heart?" She paused for a moment and finished. "Perhaps I should ask Priya if she's seen it," then gave an attempted tension-breaking chuckle. I turned to look her, and with an unpleasant gaze, looked her in the eye, saying nothing. She then said, "Look, you asked and prayed for Allah, peace be upon Him, to show you His will. Well, He did. Now, what are you going to do about it?" I said, "What, are you turning Muslim?" She said, "No, I'm showing respect for your faith, and I expect you to follow it! Listen to me. Allah, Christ, Jehovah, Shiva, Buddha or whoever the hell is on duty tonight, has knocked you on your ass and given your heart to an eleven year-old girl, and hers to you. Yes, she's eleven-and-a half years old! Now... pick yourself up by the bootstraps and play the hand that's been dealt you. If this is truly meant to be, we'll work out the details later. Everyone is beginning to wonder where we are, so follow your heart, trust in your faith, and let's get going!" With that, we both picked up a tray of drinks and headed out the door to the veranda. Upon entering the veranda, we found everyone was standing together in light conversation. Mom and I finished serving drinks all around, then we began to split up into groups: my dad and Adib, then mom, Salima and Priya, which finally left Sarah and I to begin our one-on-one conversation. Feeling the age-old insecurities around women resurface, there were shy glances and smiles (covered by a hand on her part) for a few moments, then I began with, "So, it seems that this Muslim courtship thing can be a little awkward, don't you think? It kinda feels like we're in a fishbowl with all eyes on us: even if, when you look around, it isn't really true, doesn't it?" She looked around, giggled and said, "Yes, I was thinking the same thing. Excuse me if my English isn't very good, I'm a little nervous, but this is the first time I've been allowed to actually speak alone with a boy -- I mean a man, outside of a group setting." "Don't feel too self conscious about it, it's hard for men and women to first meet, even when people around them seem not to notice them." She then said, "Thanks for understanding, I don't feel so scared, now that we've begun to talk. Maybe my English will be better. How do you like India? I told her I very much liked what I've seen, which hadn't been much, but I really did enjoy praying at the Jama Masjiid mosque, and meeting with the Imam had been very enlightening. Even some of the Hindu shrines were very beautiful. As for the culture, I've learned very little: only what I've obtained by observation. She went on to explain a little about life in India, and the surprising fact her that her family not only spoke English, but also Tamil, Hindu and some Urdu. She also talked about a few of the customs, and general topics which she seemed more comfortable talking about, but then she said to me, "I know you and Papa have met, and he's already told you quite a bit about me, but I don't really know much about you." I replied, "Well, to put you mind at ease, actually seeing and meeting you is much better than the girl (did I just say girl? I should have said woman) I had pictured in my mind: honestly. He didn't tell me that all of you spoke 4 languages!" Smiling, she said, "You're very kind, but India is a country of many languages." I continued to tell her my age, a little about my interests, hobbies, my educational level, and why I came to India. I didn't think it right to try and describe my personality traits, since I wanted her to make those judgments on her own. We had been talking for about ten minutes, and I kept trying to discreetly gaze at Priya as often as I felt comfortable with doing so, when Mom announced that dinner was being served in the dinning room. We all proceeded into the house and on into the dining room, where mom announced the seating arrangements. Because of the unequal numbers in each family unit, mom sat dad at one end of the table, with Adib at the other. The side seating arrangements were a 3-2 setting with Salima sitting to Adib's right, then Sarah, then Priya on the end, next to my dad. On the other side, Mom had split the side into thirds, with her sitting slightly away, but to the right of my father with me to mom's right. This placed me in a position as to be able to look almost directly across at Sarah and her mother with Adib to my right. Once seated and the first course being served, Mom, being the gracious hostess, turned diagonally towards Adib and Salima, and began the dinner conversation with, "I am so very glad we have the opportunity to finally meet each other as families. Although business and friendship are important, families are what are most important to all of us. I hope everyone enjoys the meal." Adib replied, "Mrs. Michaels, you are the consummate hostess, and you have done it again with a fine atmosphere and setting for our families to meet on such a short notice, my hat is off to you." Salima added, "Yes, I am impressed that even though on short notice, you have been very sensitive to our Muslim faith and culture. I find it enlightening to meet westerners that look upon us in such friendship." Mom said, "Well, Sean had a lot to do with that. Loving our son as you do your girls, when Sean converted to Islam, we have honestly tried to understand his faith, even though some if its customs and precepts are so different from our Baptist, Christian faith." Although Adib knew pretty much as to why I converted to Islam from our initial meeting in Washington, and he'd filled Salima in at some point in time, I'm sure, for the benefit of the girls Salima asked me, "Sean, why DID you convert to Islam?" I explained that 9-11 had a lot to do with it. I had several devout Muslim friends, and how they actually wept, as did we, over the events, prayed for the survivors, and for peace for those lost and their families. I went on to explain how they enlightened me that real Islam is a faith of peace, and the desire to live a harmonious life with all of God's people. That having different beliefs gave no one of any faith a license or sanction to kill other human beings indiscriminately. I went on to explain that their discussions drove me to start reading the Koran to learn more about the teachings of Allah, and from there, I decided that those teachings were a path I'd like to follow, and so, I converted about two years ago. I then tried to direct the conversation towards Sarah, so I asked her, "Sarah, I understand you're several years advanced at school: have you decided to go to college, if so, what would you like to major in?" She looked up, and around the table then replied, "I think I'd like to go to medical school, and possibly become a pediatrician. There are so many children here in India that don't have basic medical care." Dad finally spoke up saying, "That's a well thought out and noble endeavor to undertake. I applaud you for it. Would you like to go to medical school here or in the US?" "I haven't thought too much about it yet." Mom, I guess, in an attempt to make this a double 'introduction,' first continued my father's praise by saying, "It hurts all of us the most to see children suffer," then asked Priya, "And what about you, Priya, what are your educational plans?" Priya looked up, wide-eyed and surprised, I guess because she'd been called upon, recovered and looked around the table at each of us and said, "I'd like to enroll at the India Institute of Technology and get my degree in computer engineering." Dad exclaimed, "Bravo! A girl after my own heart! You're thinking quite a bit ahead for still being in middle school aren't you? What would you like to specialize in?" Sarah, I assumed, trying to deflect her insecurity of being academically much slower than her sister, troed to cover it with pride for her, offered the revealing fact by looking at Dad saying, "Oh no, she's actually in the eleventh grade, one below me." After a few perked looks at Priya, both attempting to deflect any embarrassment to Sarah by her sister's revelation, and based on the response received from Dad, she didn't miss a beat. She must have instinctively found what button to push with Dad, because she quickly interjected, "I'm not sure yet, what types of services does your company engineer for its clients?" With that, she coyly indirectly looked over at me, then at Mom and definitely darkened slightly (is that how a chocolate girl blushes?), and then looked again to my father. I felt my face flush a little also. Jackpot! Dad then went into a ten-minute diatribe about the services we engineer for all acumens of engineering design and research, such as nano technologies, robotics, medical R & D, and cutting edge medical procedures. Priya again glanced at me, gave me another 'chocolate blush,' and returned to her plate. I looked at Sarah, who quickly turned her sight to her plate taking a bite of food, then to Adib, who had a shit-eating grin on his face, and Salima, still with that same Mona Lisa smile. In a way, I felt ashamed. Ashamed at the fact that I was supposed to be so mature and adept, ashamed because I felt Sarah was being hurt: both by my insecurity and what I was now feeling for Priya, Priya's obvious superiority over Sarah-- and this evening, over me. It was beginning to become obvious to everyone who was 'stealing the show,' and what was being said between the lines with body language and gestures. I felt uncannily outclassed by my newfound, 11 year-old heartthrob. I think Sarah sensed this in me, and deflected the conversation back upon me by asking, "Sean, how do you feel about taking over your father's company here in India?" I did indeed, now feel humble, and replied, "I'm looking forward to the challenge, hoping to make some changes for the better, especially for the employees, and to working closely with your Father. Having been here only a short while, I have found India to be interesting, and very revealing." Salima looked at me, and her smile changed from the mysterious to one of coy acknowledgement and replied, "Yes... India can be a sensuously mysterious land." My mom, not hesitating a moment, put in with "Yes it can. Indeed... it surely can." Adib, momentarily caught off guard by the obvious double entandre made by his wife then quickly said, "I am looking forward to it also. In just the short time you've been here, Sean, you have convinced me that you are your father's son." Dad nodded his appreciation to Adib from across the table and said, "I really appreciate the compliment, especially from a friend as close as you," and raised his glass to him. Salima spoke again in the direction of my mother saying, "I also am very pleased that our husband's friendship has now been increased to include both of our families." Mom, I guess, not to be outdone in the double entendre department said, "And I'm sure our friendship will become even closer over time." The three males looked at the women, and I think we were all of one mind in thinking "When did we loose control?" The women, both young and old are the ones directing this show!" There is an observation in business management that states: "He who speaks last in an exchange, leaves with the power." My mom showed she was no slouch when it came to exchanges, and not wanting Salima to rebut, quickly followed her remark with, "Well, it looks like we're all about finished with dinner. Dessert anyone?" The men, desperately looking for a change of scenery, quickly indicated full stomachs, and we all agreed to adjourn. Standing, Mom said, "Since no one is in the mood for a heavy dessert, we'll serve tea and cakes in the living room." With that, we all filed out to the living room. Once in the living room, everyone was standing, more or less in a loose crowd exchanging pleasantries about how good the meal was, how nice an evening it had turned out to be, then we drifted back into small groups: again Dad and Adib, Mom, Salima and Priya, and as if by some conspiracy,, Sarah and I. Sarah was facing me with her back turned to the other women, and the women were standing such that Priya had her back to me, with Mom and Salina facing me. Dad and Adib had retired to the study. We were talking about what life was like in America in comparison to India, when I noticed Priya again. I tried to be discreet, but I had the repeated urge to look at her, even if only her back. I was doing quite well at glancing without Sarah's (apparent) knowledge, and I saw that Priya had slipped her right foot from her slipper. She had her foot curled back so that the top front of her arch and toes were resting on the carpet. For a quick moment (or so I thought), I stared at her lovely foot. It was tiny like the rest of her. Like her palms, the underside was a lovely shade of pink. She had a little heel, with a slender arch that was slightly wrinkled due to the curvature of her foot. Her little toes all in a row against the carpet like a string of tiny, round, pink pearls... When I broke my gaze to look at my mom, both she and Salima smiled at me, Priya, was unaware that she was even being watched. I thought to myself, "Boy, you've been a complete ass all night!" We had been talking for about ten minutes, when Dad and Adib returned to the living room. Sarah and I were finishing our topic of discussion, when she said, "Excuse me Sean, I'd like to speak to my father a moment." "Sure." I replied, and watched her take a few steps toward her dad. I overheard her ask him, "Papa? May I speak to Sean in the dining room for a minute? You can see us from here, OK?" He looked at me then asked her, "Is everything OK? "Yes Papa, everything's fine. I'd just like to talk privately for a moment. I'll explain in a few minutes, OK?" "OK Sarah, if everything is fine. Just sit where I can see you." "Yes Papa, I will. Thanks." She turned and stepped towards me and said "Can we speak quietly in the dining room for a moment?" "Sure," I said, and we walked to the corner of the table that was visible in Adib's view and sat: my back to her father and her facing towards him. She looked slightly embarrassed as she bowed her head, and then slowly raised it as she began to speak. "Please, don't say anything until I'm finished, will you promise me?" "Yes, I promise. What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong, Sean. In fact, everything is finally right. For the first time in my life, I feel certain that everything is right. I have been very nervous and anxious about marriage, meeting you, whether I'd measure up to the expectations of others: Papa, Momma, Priya, and you and your family. I have fervently prayed for Allah to quiet my heart and speak to me about you, me, marriage, everything." She sighed, took a breath and continued "And He has." Then, a single tear dropped onto her cheek, which she didn't wipe away. I assume that at that point, Adib had seen her tears and started towards us because Sarah raised her hand as if to motion him to stop. I wanted so much to dry away that tear, but knowing it was forbidden to touch, held back. She continued... "You and I, and everyone present tonight know that it's not Allah's will, peace be unto Him, that we are meant to be." I said, "I'm so sorry Sarah, the last thing I ever wanted to do was to hurt you. I feel so terrible about what you've been through tonight. It really breaks my heart to see your tears, tears that I've caused---" She cut me off by saying, "Oh no! You don't understand. These aren't tears of sadness, they're tears of joy! For the first time in my life, I've heard and felt the will of God, and I feel an incredible peace -- a peace I cannot understand. It wasn't the will of Allah to come here tonight with my family on my behalf, but for Priya's. It was so that you and Priya would meet! Don't you see? You and she are super smart, confident, so sure of who and what you are. The two of you are a perfect match. From the moment both of your eyes met, He ordained it! I feel joy! Joy for Priya. Joy for you, and the joy of feeling that I have been used by Allah to fulfill His will! And I Have peace: a peace in knowing that Allah is watching over me. It's not my time, it's Priya's. Mine will surely come, and Allah will choose it for me, just as He's done for Priya and for you. Don't feel sad or sorry for me, I have been an instrument of God. I will always remember this night in my heart, and never doubt God's love for me. OK? Let's return now, there's one last thing to do to bring the will of Allah to fruition." With that, she rose and smiled, and walking side by side, we entered the living room." While walking back, I couldn't help but remember my words to Adib yesterday about Sarah, realizing how prophetic they were. She had been moved by God and is demonstrating a newfound maturity, grace and conviction to act in such a decisive manner, but they weren't to attract me, they were to bring the events of the evening out into the open. Once inside, folks were arranged in the room differently. Mom sat on the far end of the couch, Priya in the middle, with Salima on the near end. Dad was sitting on the arm of the sofa, next to mom, and Adib likewise next to Salima. Sarah stepped up to face her father, and began, "Papa, I know that you have sought the will of Allah in searching for a pious and righteous husband for me, and you did it out of love. You hoped to bring your daughter here tonight as a potential bride, and you have: but it wasn't me... it was Priya! Oh papa! I have heard His almighty voice in my heart and am filled with joy and peace. Joy for being His instrument. Joy for Priya, and joy for Momma. Just look at her Papa, look at Priya. See how she shines? She's been given a heart, and surrendered her own, can't you see that?" Looking around at all in the room then continuing, "Can't you all see that? I am so happy I could just dance! Everyone present has tried all evening to avoid what is common knowledge, for my sake. We have seen the hand of God! Can't all of you see? We've all been part of a miracle! A miracle of love: what greater gift can we hope for from our God?" Adib, with tears in his eyes, lovingly enfolded his daughter in his arms and wept. Salima held her face in her hands sobbing. Priya, with tears on her cheeks, looked me straight in the eye -- and never looked away. I felt that she was looking for affirmation of the love her sister openly extolled, and up to now was openly unacknowledged. I looked at her with all that I felt in my heart, gently smiled, and mouthed the words "I love you." She gave me another chocolate blush, and looked to her mother for affirmation and then to her father. Mom was sobbing as if Sarah war HER daughter. Dad looked at me, then looked at Priya, and simply sighed and shook his head. When everyone seemed to be regaining control of themselves, Salima went into a prayer of praise to Allah: "O Allah, you have heard the painful cries of a mother for her child! You have sought to lift up my brown- skinned daughter and carry her above all the indignities and pain of her life! You have brought her a love: a love that covers her shame! Praise and glory be yours forever!" Priya sat, with hands folded in her lap, and silently cried as her mother's prayer brought back the memories of society's indifference and indignity her complexion had heaped upon her. Things quieted down and Dad stood up and asked Adib, "May I speak to your daughter directly?" Adib replied, "Yes John, you may." Dad looked at me and said, "Son, is this really what your heart desires? Do you wish to seek Priya's hand in marriage?" "Yes Dad, I do." He then turned to Adib and said, "Adib Haaseem, do you agree for Sean to seek Priya's hand?" "I do John, if that is her desire." He lastly turned to Priya and said, "Priya, is it your desire to begin a courtship with Sean?" "With my father's consent, I desire nothing more." Dad stepped back for a moment, then began to address everyone by saying "First Adib, I suggest that you take your family home, I'm sure you have a lot to discuss, as do we. Because of Priya's age, there are issues -- legal issues - to be addressed and dealt with. I suggest that we all meet here on Tuesday evening, say about seven? After having time to discuss things with our families separately, we can then decide how we will proceed. Sean, Priya, this doesn't mean that you two will be able to proceed toward a marriage, but it doesn't prevent it either. We just need to be absolutely positive and clear about any decisions we make. Do we all agree?" Everyone nodded and said, "Yes." With that, everyone rose to get ready to part company for the evening. After saying our praises to Allah and the obligatory farewells, I stood at the door and watched as they left. Priya, walking next to Salima, turned and gently smiled before turning to get in the car. I closed the door, quietly whispered to her and myself, "I love you Priya," and then headed to the living room, anticipating my father's uncontrolled sentiments on how he REALLY felt. Continued in Chapter 6... <5th attachment end> <6th attachment, "Child Brides of India 6.txt" begin> Child Brides of India By C. Stanton Leman Chapter 6: Decisions, decisions (slow, rom Mg, no sex) After saying my goodbyes, Priya and her family left for the evening. I paused in the foyer before heading to the living room to hear Dad's real feelings on what had transpired this evening. I didn't know what to expect from him, but I knew he had a bad habit of privately blowing off steam before settling down to a calm, coherent discussion. How was I going to explain it to him? Hell, I didn't fully comprehend what I was feeling: One thing I did know was that I had to have Priya in my life! Knowing less about her than I did Sarah, I still felt that she was my soul mate. Armed with this, I walked to the living room to face my parents. When I entered the living room, Mom was sitting on the sofa and Dad was pacing back and forth in front of her. He stopped, and they both turned to look at me for a second. My father motioned for me to sit next to Mom, which I did. Without speaking, Dad began pacing again, Mom just looked at me with a look that said, "Get ready, here it comes!" Dad stopped, faced us and began, "Just what the fuck happened here tonight? Whatever happened to the 'I could never picture myself pursuing a girl that age' line of crap? What the fuck are we going to do about THIS? No! Don't anyone answer that yet! If I don't get this shit out of my system now, I'm liable to say something I'll really regret later." Looking at me, he began again. "Don't you realize what this will do to me?" Mom interjected, "John, this isn't just about you." He spat back "That's exactly what I mean! When I say me, I mean me, you, Sean, the company: our future! People go to jail for this shit back home! Even thinking about it would bring everything to ruin. Not counting the fact that Sean, and possibly anyone else that considered, aided or abetted what we're talking about could be prosecuted and go to jail! Sean, could you really, possibly even think about fucking an 11 year-old girl?" Mom spat back, "John! There's absolutely no need to talk like that about her!" Dad looked at Mom with defiance and retorted, "Shut the fucking hell up! It's a valid question." I looked Dad in the eye and firmly stated " I can certainly imagine making love to her, but not simply fucking her, as you put it." "Well, if memory serves me right, whatever kind of gloss you what to put on it, making love requires a certain amount of fucking!" Trying to defuse the situation before he and I got into verbal fist-o-cuffs, I said, "Why don't we discuss this when you can have an objective conversation without being crude and offensive?" With that, he seemed to calm a little, then began again, "Look son, my delivery might have been a bit crude, but it's still a valid point. That point, or should I say points, being: One, marrying an 11 year- old girl; two, consummating that marriage and maintaining a conjugal relationship with her; three, no matter how smart or mature she may seem, the law will see it as a form of controlling and taking advantage of her, contributing to the delinquency of a minor for carnal motives, and four, any other shit that comes along that we haven't even thought of! Sean, I know this must be as hard on you as it is on us, but how do you feel right now? How do feel-- exactly--about her?" I thought for a moment to try and best vocalize things I hadn't had time to really sort out, and began slowly, "I feel consumed: totally and helplessly consumed. Consumed with love and desire, of a desire to have her with me to love her forever; a desire to share my life and that love with her, a desire that... it's so hard to explain right now. There's a passion and a deep desire to express these things intimately, but I wouldn't call it lust: more like a primal need that only she can fill: does that make any sense?" As I was revealing all this to my parents, and acknowledging it to myself for the first time, I began to vividly picture Priya my mind: her dark, seductive and mysterious eyes; her radiant face, the warmth of her smile, her small hands, tiny frame and hips, her budding breasts all the way down to her delicate feet. All of her wrapped up in a tiny, petite package of pure innocence contained within the warmth and flawlessness of her light, chocolate skin... my breath quickened within me and I started to become erect. Yes' I wanted her, every single cell of her. As I hardened, I accepted my primal, carnal need to have her, to consume her in every way possible to consume a woman. Her age and innocence, I now realized, was an added elixir of desire that somehow, fanned the flames of my passionate need-- and love-- for her. Was I a 'closet pervert?' Was I kidding myself, or rationalizing? Was I using love as a 'reason' to think with my dick, confusing love with lust? I know little of love between a man and a woman, but I think physical desire or maybe even lust are all mixed up and a part of it all: I can't imagine having one without the other if I'm desirous of an intimate relationship, can I? With tears in my eyes, I looked at Mom, then Dad and said, "I need her... God help me, I so desperately need her." Mom started crying and hugged me, while dad just simply shook his head. I suddenly remembered the words of the Imam while describing finding something within her. I told my parents that the Imam had said something I didn't really notice, at the time, would be all too prophetic in describing tonight's events. As if, like a distant voice instructing me to repeat him word, word for word, I said, "The Imam told me 'If Allah ordains the marriage, there will be something about her that will move your heart to seek out the source. Deep within her where that source resides, you will find your bride. The rest is up to you and your personal walk with Allah, Praise and peace be upon Him.'" My father, although not denying the hand of God in tonight's events, didn't openly acknowledge it either. He simply said, " If this is truly meant to be, then we need answers immediately. First, Sean, you'll have to contact that 'I-maam' or 'I-mom' or whatever he's called tomorrow. Find out all you can about the legalities of these kinds of marriages. I'll call Adib in the morning about any marriages like this being legally sanctioned by Indian law, and I'll also call the US Consulate and see if INS will recognize such a marriage: if it ain't legal, it ain't gonna happen! Got That! Love or no love, you aren't going to go to jail just because your sweetheart is 11 years old! I can't fucking believe that I'm even considering this!" Mom spoke up and said, "Sean, I agree with your dad. I think this is our only avenue to take. I don't really care what our religions beliefs are, if it's not a marriage legally sanctioned in India's courts, and you can't obtain a legitimate marriage license, then to me, it's not a real marriage sanctioned by God. Let's go to bed, and tomorrow, do what we need to do to resolve this one way or another." Dad said, "I'm not sure how much sleep any of us will get, but your mom's right. Let's go to bed." With that, Mom and I rose, then we all said good night and headed upstairs to bed. The next morning, after my morning rituals, I said my morning prayers with even more fervor, pleading for assurance and guidance. I then headed down to what I fully expected to be a tense breakfast, which it was. Mom and Dad said very little, but Dad was discussing the day's duties as if we had a business deadline to meet. To me, this was normal for him, and the best way to organize our 'research.' I did manage to get an appointment with the Imam at 1:30 this afternoon, and was sitting in the study when Dad told me to call the US Consulate. I left to do his bidding while he called Adib. I called the embassy, and was finally connected to the consul in charge of K-1 fiancé and K-3 spousal visas. He told me that the US would accept a marriage as legal if there was a valid certificate of marriage registered with the Indian government in the Marriage Certification Book in the district in which the marriage took place. Muslim or Hindu religious registrations of marriage aren't considered valid and legal by the Indian or US government unless they are validated by government registration. Dad had finished talking to Adib about the same time I finished my call, and we compared notes. Dad said that Adib had told him the same thing, and basically the procedure to get a valid marriage certificate. One of them being, a 'notice of intention to marry ' had to be recorded in a Marriage Notice Book for 30 days. If no objections to the marriage were made within this time, a legal marriage could take place. Adib assured dad that whomever Priya married, she would follow the law and get a legally registered marriage license, although he would have to 'pull some strings' because of her age, but that didn't pose any problem for him. With Mom present for all of this, she seemed to be optimistic about the chances for a legal resolution, when dad said, "Well, at least we know you two will be 'courting' for at least 30 days. That should give us some time to get to know whether or not you two have what it takes to get to that point. I'm tellin' you boy, she'd better be worth her salt!" Mom agreed, but added, "She sure wrapped you around her finger last night didn't she?" then added a chuckle. Dad just gave Mom a slight smile and a "Hmmmf." Leaving that one alone. I asked Dad whether he thought it was necessary for me to still meet with the Imam, or put it off until we were closer to an actual marriage, and he agreed. So, I called the Imam back, and thanked him for making time for me, but that it wasn't necessary to meet just yet, and he was ok with it. It seemed that by 2pm, we were finished with our 'research.' All we had to do was wait until tonight to meet with the Haaseems. I went to my dad's country club for a swim and to work out in the gym. I hadn't done any exercise since arriving, and needed to work off some tension anyway. While working out, I kept getting distracted thinking of Priya. What would life be like, having such a young and tiny bride? Does my size frighten her in any way? Waking up each morning, her to school and me to run a company. Even though, like she, I was 'advanced' at the same age, I still relied a lot on my mom: would she need to be near hers? I was amused to think that one of my 'husbandly' duties would probably be to help her with her homework. Thinking of intimacy, I had a vivid picture of the shape of her face in my mind, and what made her face so beautiful was, it seemed to me, that it looked perfectly symmetrical. I began to wonder what it would be like to kiss such a small mouth, to touch her small tongue with my own. She has a beautiful mouth, with that warm and inviting smile. The shape of her lips is not thin, but neither too full, sort of like a Nicole Kidman mouth. She's like a miniature woman in the making: her tiny frame, small hips, her budding breasts: what would it be like to feast at her tiny developing nipples? What does the vulva of a chocolate girl that young look like? Feel like, smell like or... taste like? Does she even have any hair there yet? Would she enjoy making love, or would she be frightened or terrified by our size difference? Could she accommodate me? Could a girl of that age harbor a passion for me as I do for her? Can she even climax? I was getting hard thinking of her body in such intimate terms, and tried to quell the feelings within me that thought of her in such a way. I headed for, and indeed needed a cold shower! I arrived home in time to say evening prayers; I had dressed in a casual pair of khaki pants and a long sleeve shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled up. We pretty much ate in silence, none of us knowing what the evening ahead would bring. The Haaseems arrived at 7. The mood was polite, but not as informal as last night. We made our obligatory Muslim greetings, greeting Adib, Salima and Sarah politely and friendly, and moved to the living room. When I greeted Priya, she smiled with her chocolate blush, and I said to her "Assalamu aliakom. I've missed you." She answered, "Wa aliakum asslalm. I've thought of nothing but you." Our parents stood by and watched us greet, then motioned us into the living room. My Dad started by saying, 'I am not going to pretend that I know your usual custom in these situations, but here's what I have in mind. Since what we decide tonight will affect all of our lives forever, then all, and I do mean all: including Sarah, Priya and Sean be present and have their input, do we all agree?" Sarah said, in a mild tone, "I believe that this is between all of you. Everyone knows how I feel, and I haven't changed my convictions at all since last night. I'll just sit on the side and listen if that's OK with you?" Dad said, "Fine. As you wish, but if you have a point to make, speak up, OK? "Yes sir," she replied. "Adib? Salima? Is this acceptable to you?" Both looked at each other and nodded. Dad went on to explain what I'd learned from the US Consulate, and Adib said that he wasn't surprised at all, pretty much knowing what they'd say. Dad summed up the talking points by saying, "So, we all agree that if Priya and Sean begin this courtship, before they get married they need to file a 30-day notice to do so, is that correct, Adib?" "Yes, that's correct. I will handle all of that on my own, but the two of them will have to accompany me to the registrar's office to sign the notice and pay the fee." "Alright, what kind of timetable do all of you feel we should follow? Let's brainstorm here and hear comments from everyone. Priya, you go first. "Well sir," she began, "do you mean that I can freely speak my mind as an equal with you, Sean, Mrs. Michaels and my parents? "That's exactly what I'm saying Priya. It's your life we're talking about. If you're old enough and mature enough to even consider marriage, then you're entitled to speak with equal weight and consideration, and without any recrimination." "Then I will speak plainly without any fear. I believe that if the facts bear out what my heart already knows, I feel that we could possibly file our notice of marriage about the middle of next month, maybe sooner. That would allow us to marry right before Ramadan. Possibly before school starts in September." Priya looked at me and smiled (and blushed again), then back to look Dad straight in the eye. "Sean, what do you have to say?" "I feel that Priya and I speak with one heart and mind. If our minds can verify what Allah has revealed to our hearts in a moment, then it won't be long at all." As I said this, I looked at Priya and smiled. "Adib? Salima? Your thoughts please." Adib began by saying, "John, Sean, Joan, last night we shared with Priya all of our thoughts and observations that we've made over time regarding Sean when we were considering him for Sarah's introduction. Because of this, Priya may know much more about Sean than he does of her. I believe that this is the reason for her quick timeline. Do you agree, Salima?" "Yes, I agree. I also believe that all of our observations of their courtship will also either confirm or deny any attempt to rush things by them." My dad put in, "Adib, what Joan and I can't understand, is that if Priya was a more suitable partner than Sarah as far as academics and maturity, why not introduce Priya first instead of Sarah?" "John, I felt--and still do feel Sean is a man worthy of my daughter. I, and I speak for Salima also, feel that at the time, because of her tender age, felt we was not moved by Allah, praise be upon Him, to offer Priya. We never thought of offering either of our daughters at such a young age. It is Allah, in His infinite wisdom who has chosen Priya." "Why?" "Because we believe that Sarah's account of the events of last night is correct. Allah provided a miracle and answered many prayers that night. We as well as Priya have joy and peace about her becoming a bride." Dad knelt down eye-to-eye with Priya, and said, "Priya, you are such a young girl. Do you have any fears? Do you fully understand how your life will be changed forever? Marriage is forever, for life, sweetheart. Sometimes, decisions such as these alter our hopes and dreams: they can be replaced with bigger and better ones, or all that you've ever dreamed of may be lost forever, do you understand this?" Priya calmly smiled and replied, "Father. I have a papa, but if I leave my parents home to live in this house, you will cherish me and protect me as a father, so I will call you 'Father.' Father, although I am young in years, I am not a foolish baby. Yes, I do have fears: just like anyone else, and I will help my husband in all his endeavors, but in return, he must help me achieve some of mine. Before I agree to marry any man, he must be willing to help me try to be what I am capable of being: otherwise, how may I help him prosper? I want to finish my education and get my degree. I want the world to see that a brown skinned Muslim girl can contribute something of value to the world. If a man can have a wife and do these things, why can't I? THAT is my greatest fear: that marrying a Muslim man who won't treat me as a person, and will snatch my dreams away. Maybe I think in a more western approach about women, but being Muslim shouldn't keep me from my dreams, nor should marriage, should it?" As my father- in-law, would you want any less for me as a daughter? We all sat in awe of this little pixie! She'd done it again. With every word she spoke, my love for her deepened. Yes, she'd done it again and wrapped my father around her little finger like toying with a strand of her hair. Even though she'd opened the door to his heart and walked right in, he still couldn't comprehend a child bride, and he asked her, "What of the duties of a wife: the intimate duties? The things men and women share that are sacred unto themselves?" She blushed, smiled, and then proceeded. "I am capable of having children, and I'm a normal young woman, with the normal thoughts, feelings and desires of a young woman. The fire that Allah has lit burns deep within my heart and will certainly grow. When I am married, it will burn just as deep in my womb for my husband. You will have to wait for me to give you a grandchild, but I promise you, I will." I saw my father's tears. This was the first time in my life I had seen my father shed a tear--for anyone or anything--but he cried. He reached for her, and then stopped abruptly looking at Adib for permission. Adib nodded, and my dad held her in his arms, and said, "My dearest child, with your words, I do believe I've been touched by God." My father, not accustomed to being so emotional in front of others, coughed, as if to clear his throat, stood, and said, "Well Joan, does it appear that we're going to prepare for a wedding?" Mom, wiping the tears from her cheeks smiled and said, "I think Salima, Sarah and I can do a better job with the wedding that you MEN can do with introductions!" With that, everyone simply broke apart in uproarious laughter. With the weight and brevity of uncertainty and indecision behind us, we again retired to the veranda for refreshments and conversations of plans for the future. Priya and I stepped a little ways off, and I said to her, "We will help each other achieve our dreams together!" With tear filled eyes, she nodded and smiled. Priya then looked shyly submissive at me and said, "I know the answer in my heart," lowered her head as she continued, "but I need to hear it from your lips..." she paused, then looked up at me and asked, "Does my skin color make you ashamed of me?" I smiled at her and said, "It's a part of you and you're beautiful. I do love you completely, but to answer your question, I especially love how you do wear it so beautifully." With that, she gave me a nice 'chocolate blush,' and giggled sweetly. The hour was getting late, and Dad said that he and Adib had to work tomorrow, unlike the rest of us, so we called it a night. Priya asked her mother if I could come over tomorrow at 10am to begin our courtship, and Salima chuckled to my mother saying, "They don't waste any time do they?" My mom laughed and said, "When you get sick and tired of him, send him home to Momma!" With that, all the girls had a laugh at my expense. Priya, said casually to me, "I'll dream of you tonight, my blonde haired prince." Salima gently grabbed her arm and said, "remember child, be chaste and humble before Allah, peace be unto Him, for what He giveth, He may also take away." "Yes, Mama," she replied meekly, but she still gave me a tender smile while saying it. As she started to get in the car, I watched her turn and smile before Salima directed her inside to leave. Returning to the living room to join Mom and Dad, we sat for a while drinking tea, and dad said, "Sean, as happy as I am for you, and as much as I look forward to having Priya as a daughter-in-law, I can't feel totally at peace until I see a valid marriage certificate in your hands." I replied, "You will Dad... you will." Continued in Chapter 7... <6th attachment end> <7th attachment, "Child_Brides_of_India_7e.txt" begin> Child Brides of India By C. Stanton Leman Chapter 7: Courtship (slow, rom, Mg) After my morning ritual, I ended my morning prayers with the supplication given me by the Imam if I was contemplating marriage: "O Allah! I intend to marry. Therefore destine for me the most chaste of women and one who would, for my sake, guard herself and my property. Who shall be most auspicious for increase in sustenance and bounties. Then from her womb bestow a pure child who would be my sweet reminiscence in my life and after my death." The only word I changed in my supplication was the word son. I felt that a child, of either sex, would be my sweet remembrance in life. I arrived at breakfast to smiles, and teasing looks, with my mom being the usual agitator, saying things like, "Sean's gotta girlfriend, dah-dah-dee-dah-dah," giggling all the while. Dad, only slightly amused, just shook his head, and continued reading the paper while he ate. Finished with breakfast, Dad headed off to the office and I was about to leave also when Mom said, "Sean, all kidding aside, don't rush things, and be understanding of her and her family, OK?" "I will Mom. I'm kinda nervous, like the first day of high school. Silly isn't it?" "No son, it isn't. Just like then, I assure you that you'll be just fine. Now go! You're keeping a beautiful girl waiting! Bye! Love you" "Bye Mom, love you too." With that I left for Priya's home. I arrived at Priya's a little before ten. They lived in a housing complex supplied to government workers. It wasn't anything like our big home, kind of like an American townhouse: neat, simple, but basic. I rang the bell, and Salima answered the door and invited me in. We exchanged the obligatory Muslim greeting, and Salima directed me to the dining room, where Priya was sitting at the table. Their home was comfortable and clean, but spartan. We gave each other the salaam greetings and sat. Salima told me that Sarah had gone to her grandmothers for the week, and then said she'd get us some tea and stepped to the kitchen. Where we were seated at the table, we were in plain view of her mother while she worked. Priya sat with her head slightly bowed, but said nothing. I silently gulped, thinking "OK chicken, I think she wants you to start talking." So I sat up in my chair and said, "So," (great start asshole!), "You'll have to excuse me, but I'm a little nervous." She said, "But why? I won't bite you... yet," giggling at the end. "Whoa!" I thought, "I think I'm gonna be a henpecked husband!" That got me moving, so I said to her, "I don't mind, just be gentle with me, promise?" She replied, "I'm sorry for being so forward. I'm nervous too, and it just slipped out. I really meant nothing by it. Sometimes I try to overcompensate for my insecurities." "Forget it. I do too. As for insecurities, after seeing you on several occasions, I haven't noticed any insecurity problems. In fact, I'm beginning to think you are more adept and secure than I am." "Oh, but you're wrong! I'm very shy and insecure inside, its just that all my life I have had to be tough on the outside to hide my pain and fears to keep from having more taunts heaped upon me." Looking down, she continued, "Ever since I was a little girl, and went outside to play with other kids, I have been teased because of the color of my skin, and it continues until today. I've had to work harder, and try my best to prove to those around me that I'm smarter, quicker, and more assertive to convince others I'm a good and decent person despite being dark. One of the reasons my heart is filled with joy and love for you is that you see right into my soul. My soul is the real me. Inside, there is only a girl with love to give. Sean, please don't be displeased with me for speaking so openly from the heart, but that's how I feel, and it feels I'm bursting out and can be totally free with you without shame." I looked at her and said, "I know your skin color has been your greatest burden. I'm overjoyed that you know I love you anyway, But let's put this issue to rest and look forward. I don't ever want you to feel again that your color affects how I feel about you. In fact, I think your skin color is beautiful. I can't imagine you being any other way. Besides, I simply adore your 'chocolate blushes'!" (A beautiful chocolate blush!) Moving on to lighter fare, we talked about school, our perceptions and experiences academically. I learned that we had pretty much the same issues and insecurities, particularly that having to compete and interact with peers much older than ourselves. I was surprised to find out that her family had only one old computer that the girls used for homework, and I couldn't believe that it ran on Windows '98! I vowed to correct this, and soon. We were on a roll, joking and laughing about similar incidents in our academic life until I asked her about her mental aptitude. I asked her if she knew what her IQ was, and she halted, and then softly said, "Does it matter?" Puzzled, I replied, "It's not a big deal, I was just curious, that's all. Mine is 142." She looked down submissively, and said, "Mine's kinda higher." "145?" "Higher" "149???" Almost audibly, she softly said, "A little higher." "151????" "152. Oh Sean, please don't hate me!" I laughed, which made her look at me puzzled when she said, "Why is that so funny?" Still laughing, I said, "I'm wondering what it'll be like trying to keep up with you for a lifetime!" (I KNOW I'll be henpecked!) Yes! Another chocolate blush! Then she said, "You really don't mind?" "Why should I mind? My mom always said 'Behind every successful man is a smart woman telling him what to do!'" With that, Priya, and even Salima, burst out laughing; she'd been eavesdropping the whole time! The three of us ate lunch and Salima told me a lot about Priya's childhood, how she's always been very sensitive and empathetic towards other, and being so sensitive, is the reason she blushes so much. I saw pictures of her as a baby and growing up. With each new detail I learned about her, my feelings for deepened. I told Priya, with her mother present, that I also would like to see her get her degree. I told her that I would put it in our prenuptial agreement, which would basically be her dower from me to her, that we would also forgo having children until she had completed school. She had tears of happiness when I'd promised her this. She was embarrassed a little when Salima told her that she'd made an appointment with her doctor on Saturday, three days hence, to have Priya put on birth control immediately so that she's be safe in time for the wedding. It was getting close to dinnertime, and I thought the last topic of discussion was enough for the day, so I asked Salima if she and Priya would like to come over to my home tomorrow at about the same time, and they agreed. The rest of the evening went pretty quietly, at dinner and afterwards. I asked my mom about tomorrow, and she was delighted, so I bowed out for the night, said my prayers and supplications and went to bed. Sleep came quickly and very peacefully. Priya and Salima arrived at ten am with the usual customary greetings and we headed to the veranda to talk. My mom pulled out a couple of family albums she carries abroad with her. She said it was like carrying a piece of home wherever she went. So now, it was Priya's turn to see photos of me growing up, and to my embarrassment, Mom (being the stinker she is) showed a blushing Priya my first nude photo (at two moths old). I kinda got 'weeded out' of the conversation when it turned to female chat about children and upbringing, ways to organize a home and such. I just sat there taking it all in, with an occasional reply when called to do so. Mom, again poking fun at the men folk said, "Men are harder to train than the children; sometimes they don't play well with others, throw tantrums, and they require a lot more nose wiping and cuddles." Leave it to Mom... The next day was Friday, and our holy day of prayer, so Priya and I didn't meet. On Saturday, Priya had her doctor's appointment. We'd made arrangements for me to come over on Sunday, so I went shopping. I'd earlier called our company's computer supplier and told him what I needed. I bought a high-end desktop with a 22" flat monitor, a multifunction printer, a compact computer desk, and two super fast laptops with high speed wireless cards: one for Priya and one for Sarah to use for and at school. All the computers were fully loaded. I needed a cell phone; so again, I went to our company's supplier and got Priya and I new cell phones with all the bells and whistles. I felt like a little kid in a candy store: Sunday would be a 'Muslim Christmas!' When I arrived at Priya's about ten am, Adib answered the door. After our greeting, I asked him to help me carry in some boxes. He quizzically helped with the booty, asking "What's all this?" After greeting Priya and her mother, I turned to Adib motioning everyone to look, "This, is the American custom of Christmas--in-June!" I asked Salima to tear the paper covering off the boxes, and the room filled with gasps and cheers. I then handed Priya her two gifts to unwrap. When she saw the picture of a cell phone on the box she "EEEEKKK'ed" and fumbled, trying to open the box. "I'll show you how to use it in a minute," I told her, "Open the other package." She tore the paper away like a 5 year-old on Christmas day! When she realized it was a laptop, without thinking she leapt to her feet and wrapped her arms around my neck in a strangling hug. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her. She was so small, my arms went completely around her, and I had a tiny, soft breast in each hand. Feeling a twitch in my loins, I quickly started to firm. I caught my self, and lowered my arms to her waist, just reveling in holding my little pixie, Adib smiled, then with an "Ahem," Priya realized what she'd unconsciously done, and there it was; a nice, deep, 'chocolate blush!' I told Adib that I'd have an IT guy from the company over to do any necessary wiring, and that I'd make sure I got him a high speed connection also. I pulled Adib aside and told him that Sarah's present was also a laptop for school, but to let her be surprised. After spending about 5 minutes showing Priya how to use the phone, she set it aside to fire up the laptop and play. While Priya was engrossed with the laptop, I explained that we all understand what education means, and that the proper tools mean better results. He wanted me to take it all back, but I told him it was a gift to my new family, nothing more. The next morning, after arriving at Priya's, Salima told me that Sarah and her grandmother (Salima's mother) would be there soon. There, in a corner of the living room sat the new computer desk, complete with computer and printer. We'd been chatting for about 30 minutes, when Sarah and her grandmother arrived. Salima introduced us in the usual customarily Muslim fashion and I studied her. I immediately recognized where her mother, but more precisely, Priya got their looks. She was a mature woman of about 60 with a complexion slightly lighter that Priya's. She had the same large, black, expressive eyes; and the same radiant smile as Priya. She too was only about 5 feet tall and with a petite, but slightly rounded figure. She was dressed in traditional Muslim dress with a hijab (a headdress that covers the head and neck, only showing the face). With the introductions complete, Priya and I returned to the dining room table, sat and began to talk. The three other women were quietly talking and giggling, with occasional glances in my direction, so I guessed what their topic of discussion was about. Priya said, "They're talking about you. Your blonde hair, blue eyes, and how handsome you are." It was my turn to blush, and I said, "Yeah, I guess my features can be a novelty." The three women quieted down, and began speaking in hand covered whispers, and then, Salima and Sarah started to head (I guessed) to Sarah's bedroom with her bags. Priya's grandmother looked at us, then followed the others. I realized, that at the moment, Priya and I were alone and unchaperoned for the first time. So did Priya! She quickly, as if on a lark, smiled demurely leaned over, pulled me to her with her left hand behind my head, and gave me a soft, lingering, closed mouth kiss on the lips with our eyes locked on each other! I was surprised (and suddenly hard), but then her eyes got as big as silver dollars, and were looking towards the living room. She slowly broke the kiss, and with her head down, sat back down in her seat. I waited for the end to come... I was suddenly filled with a wave of horror expecting that this would be the end of our courtship, and that, because we had crossed the line, we'd broken the trust that her family hand in her... and me. I was lost. The softness of her tiny lips overwhelmed me, and I reacted with passion, only to be followed by sadness in the realization that I might never taste her again. Her grandmother walked over to stand between us and looked at Priya, who now had tears in her eyes. She put her hand under Priya's chin and lifted her face to look at her. After a moment of silence, she softly said to Priya, "You've been a naughty girl." "Yes, Me Ma, I'm sorry." Priya whispered bowing her head down again. "You, child," she began, "Are just like your grandmother." Priya looked up in disbelief, and her grandmother, now with a Mona Lisa type smile continued, "And like your mother too -- but I didn't tell you that did I?"" With that, Priya giggled, blushed, and shook her head no. She went on, "An old woman needs a little fun in her life so we set you up. I caught your mother when she was courting, as did mine, and we thought it humorous to continue the 'tradition.' My advice to you would be to be more careful next time," her voice becoming more serious continued, "But don't make a habit of this, do you understand? Your mother trusts both of you to do the right thing." Softly smiling at her grandmother, Priya said, "Yes Me Ma, I understand." Priya's grandmother looked at me, pinched a cheek in each hand smiled, and said, "I've never kissed a beautiful, blonde-haired boy before," and then proceeded to gave me a soft peck on the lips! I was stunned! Priya stared at her me ma with open mouthed shock, then her grandmother looked at her with a devilishly child-like grin and said, "Now, we've BOTH been naughty, haven't we?" she giggled, and blushed (So that's where she gets her chocolate blush from!) She then went to the 'frig to remove some mangos like nothing happened. Priya and I sat in silence for a moment, trying to recover, when the other two women suddenly entered the kitchen: Sarah, with her hand covered mouth giggling, and Salima with her classic Mona Lisa type smile. They stopped, there was a moment of silence, and then everyone broke out in laughter. After refreshments and lighthearted conversation, Priya gave Sarah her present. Perplexed, she opened the package, and quietly began to cry, She was very humbled and appreciative for the gift, thanking me profusely while slowly running her hand over the box. She set it aside out of politeness, waiting to indulge herself later with her new present. Shortly thereafter, I said goodbye to the ladies and headed for home. At dinner, I related Sarah's reaction to her new laptop and the 'surprising' events of the day. After I'd finished telling the story, both my parents laughed, and my mom said, "I like that woman!" After dinner, I excused myself early, completed my evening ritual and went to bed, dreaming of our first kiss. Over the next week and a half, Priya and I talked of everything under the sun; about our families, differences in cultures and customs, our tastes in food, but also seriously about our fears and insecurities, and the things all of us hid from the outside world. We both admitted a strong reliance on our mothers, and that we'd definitely have a marriage where our families were an integral part. She stated that she'd like to major in medical engineering and be a part of bringing new treatments and procedures to medicine. We agreed that waiting to have children was best for both of us; her for her schooling, and me, because I didn't feel ready to be a father yet. At the end of the second week of courtship, I told my parents at breakfast that I (and I was certain that Priya felt the same) felt that it was time to ask Adib for Priya's hand. My dad said, "Are you certain this is what you want, are you absolutely certain?" I replied with conviction, "Yes Dad, more than anything else in the world!" Mom, with tears in her eyes said, "Oh Sean. I'm so happy for both of you!" I called, trying to catch Adib at home before he left for work, and was fortunate: he answered the phone. We expressed our salaams, and then I began, "Adib, is it possible for you to make time for us to talk about Priya and I?" He replied, "I could go into work late, if you'd like to meet this morning." "You're more than kind," I said, "I can be there in about thirty minutes, is that alright with you?" "I'll be waiting," he replied. We said our goodbyes, and I left to meet with my future father-in law. After arriving, Adib and I exchanged greetings. Priya was sitting on the couch with her mother. Adib motioned me to the kitchen table, while Priya and Salima remained on the couch. Now, things would become a ritual of formality and custom where only the men talked of a young virgin's future. We sat, and I, silent for a moment was trying to dislodge the frog in my throat when Adib laid his hand on mine and smiled. I began, "Adib, I have come to you this morning to humbly ask for Priya's hand in marriage. I haven't asked Priya yet, thinking it improper to do so without your permission, but I feel that we're of one heart." He replied, "I give my consent and my daughter to you in marriage. Have you considered what dower you will present to Priya that will be acceptable for her to accept your proposal?" "Yes sir, in order to make my offering legally binding, I thought I'd make our prenuptial agreement and Priya's dower one in the same. I will stipulate in our agreement that I guarantee to pay for, and she will be allowed to complete her education until she gets her degree. I also promise not to burden her with children, so that she may concentrate on her studies. I will set aside a trust fund for her in the amount of ten million US dollars (audible gasps from the other room) to have and use as she sees fit. She will not, while we are married, ever have to touch a penny of this money to support any part of her life unless she so chooses. Furthermore, I will support her and our children completely. Any interest this trust gains is hers to keep, even in the unlikely event we divorce. I will amend my will to name her as sole beneficiary to my estate in the event of my death if we're still married at the time of my death, but will amend my will as necessary to include any and all children we may have. Any and all children, boys or girls, will be provided for equally in my life and in my death. As a special wedding gift, I request that I be allowed to pay for Priya's wedding clothes and those of Sarah and her mother. Is this dower an acceptable gift to Priya in your eyes?" "As her guardian, if Priya accepts your proposal of marriage and dower, I give my consent. It is her decision, not mine, to either accept or reject the offered dower. Priya? Come here." Priya entered the kitchen with her hands folded in front of her and looked down submissively and said, "Yes Papa?" He took her hands in his, and looked up into her eyes and said, "Priya, have you heard Sean ask for your hand?" "Yes, Papa." "Do you accept the dower he has offered, or does it fall short in your eyes?" "I accept, Papa. The proposal and the dower, it is pleasing to me. I consent to marry." From the around the corner, we heard a joyful squeal (I guess there's more than one eavesdropper in this female tribe!) Adib, with his chest out in pride, called to Salima and said happily "Salima, come here." Salima entered as her daughter did, and said, "Yes Adib?" I spoke up and said, "I ask all of you to indulge me for a moment and let me do this the old fashioned western way." I looked lovingly at Priya, and said, "I know the formality is over, but I want to ask you personally." I got down on one knee with Adib, Salima and now Sarah watching. Looking up into her eyes, I continued, "Priya, I cannot imagine a day in my life without you. I love you with all of my heart. Will you honor me with your love and marry me?" Her face was beaming a warm smile, her tearful eyes wide and bright with joy as she replied, "Yes! Yes Sean, I'll marry you!" With tears streaming down her cheeks, Salima said, "Our daughter is getting married!" I again sat, as did Priya, Salima and Sarah, and I jokingly said to Adib, "Well, besides buying the rings, what do we do next? I've never even been to a Muslim wedding!" Adib said, "First thing is to go straight to the registrar's office to post the notice of marriage. While waiting for you, I called him and he knows we're coming. Then, you and Priya may go purchase your rings, alright?" I said, "Fine, let me call home with the news." I pulled out my cell and dialed home. When Mom got on the line and I told her it was official, she let out an ear-piercing cry of joy. I had a company chauffeur driven car waiting outside, so Adib, Priya and I left for the registrar's office. On the drive there, Priya was on her cell prattling on a mile a minute in Tamil (I think) to her mother. We went in to the registrar's office, signed the notice and paid the fee. Leaving the building, Adib said he was going to walk the block to work and left us. Once in the car, Priya flung her arms around me and kissed me hard, nearly climbing on top of me! When we came up for breath, she pulled back in the seat, and with the joy and anticipation every woman has about shopping said, "Can we go home and pick up Momma and Sarah, then pick up your mom also? They're going to help me pick out my rings!" "Sure, why not make it a family affair," I said resigned. Needless to say, I spent the afternoon being dragged around looking at rings. They were like a bunch of teenage girls at the mall with daddy's credit card! I was occasionally asked my opinion, but with women, this was their show, and I was only there as the token groom. Priya finally settled on a beautiful 1 caret, round cut diamond solitaire in a platinum setting, and a platinum wedding band with a row of diamonds across the top. She (they) picked mine out, also in platinum that matched hers. We waited while they sized our rings. On the way back to Priya's home, she was too busy swooning over the ring on her tiny finger, flashing it and tittering with the 'girls,' with me sitting back and amusingly taking it all in. Mom and Salima agreed to a family dinner tonight at eight to begin the planning of a Muslim wedding. On the ride home, Mom squeezed my arm and said, "Oooh! This is going to be such fun!" Continued in Chapter 8... <7th attachment end> <8th attachment, "Child_Brides_of_India_8.txt" begin> Child Brides of India By C. Stanton Leman Chapter 8: The Wedding (slow, rom, Mg) After a whirlwind day, beginning with me asking Adib for Priya's hand, my proposal to Priya and her acceptance of the Maher (dower, or gift to the bride), signing a formal notice of marriage with the Indian registrar's office, and culminating with the purchase of our rings (Dad's eyes had popped when he saw the ring), both families met at our home for dinner. The atmosphere was one of joy and anticipation. As soon as we were seated for dinner (Priya seated across the table from me), I recapped the day's events to Dad and explained what I had offered, both as a prenuptial agreement and a dower, I asked him if he could get his lawyer here to draw up the legal documents and he agreed. I also explained my wedding offer to the Haaseem women, and he was proud that I had offered. We learned that in India, the cost of the wedding, and receptions (one for both families to meet, and the formal wedding reception) is borne by the groom. Salima went through the various steps of an Indian Muslim wedding, and it sounded surprisingly very similar to a western wedding. My father asked how soon Adib could furnish him with a guest list for both events, and Adib replied, "About a week." Adib injected a temporary jolt of reality when he said, "We can set a date, but it will be contingent on the fact that no one responds to the notice and objects to the wedding." After a moment of silence he added, "Don't worry, like most all governmental notices, both here and in the US, people are usually oblivious to such things." Everyone warily agreed and were soon again in high spirits. It was now the first week of July, so we set the tentative date for the 26th of August, a Saturday, for the big event. This would have us married right before Priya returned to school. Dad said reserving a place for both functions wouldn't be a problem; he'd just use the facilities the company used for last minute functions. Mom said she'd contact a wedding planner and caterer for planning the menus. She also said that the tailor who had made her sari told her that they also made custom traditional clothing for any occasion, so the women would start there for the clothing. Adib said he'd get the guest list together and let Dad know as soon as he could. The whole time, I'm wondering what's the groom supposed to do? When I asked, Mom (the perpetual stinker) said, "Get your credit cards ready, 'cause the girls are going shopping! Oh, and worry! Worry about what you'll do when your pretty little wife puts a ring through your nose and starts training you! Remember," wagging her finger, "I know all your weak points!" This brought a chocolate blush, and hilarious laughter all around. So, I assumed (with my great intellect), that trying to argue with three women was wasted energy, my job would end up being, the 'go-fer.' Having a little under six weeks to put everything together, Mom, the consummate hostess, said that she didn't see any real problems, excluding the gowns. I was surprised to learn that the bride never wears white. White is a no-no for the bridal party, family or guests. In India, white is the color of mourning. Instead, the bride wears a bright color: usually red, pink or blue. It's a sign of prosperity and good luck. Salima said Priya would wear a wedding lehenga (a waist to floor, flared and pleated heavy skirt, with intricately embroidered designs, beads, and rhinestones), a long choli, and a dupatta (or scarf- like veil) and sandals. She would also need a dress for her 'henna party,' and one to change into before coming home. She went on to explain that the other women could wear the same or choose saris, but could not be dressed as elegantly as the bride. I, the lowly groom, would wear a Sherwani (a jacket- type outer garment going to just below the knee) with matching pants and shoes, and a kufi (a flat type hat). I could wear a business suit to both receptions if I chose. We learned that both of Adib's parents were dead, and so was Salima's father, so I told Salima to include her mother in the shopping (naughtiness sometimes has its rewards). Adib has one brother and sister, while Salima has two sisters and their children and some cousins. My side had both sets of my grandparents, some aunts and uncles and their children, Abby and her husband, some of my mother and father's very close friends and a few of mine. We estimated the wedding reception to be about 50-80 people. The men gravitated to the study while the women in the living room shivered with anticipation, dollar signs in their eyes. I figured that I was 'on standby' until I got further orders (maybe I shouldn't have got her that cell phone!), so I asked Dad if I could finally go to the office with him and begin to earning my paycheck; if Mom is involved, I'll start married life out in serious debt! He thought that was a great idea and agreed. I would also arrange a meeting with the Imam to request he perform the ceremony and ask his advice about Muslim marriage procedures. Anyone who's gotten married can imagine what the next three and a half weeks were like: controlled (mostly) chaos. Priya and I were sweating bullets (as was everyone else) as the 30-day deadline for objections to be filed approached, and there was an unspoken tension about it. The day of reckoning came, and the morning after was like suddenly knowing a great weight had been lifted away. The Saturday of the week before the wedding, my Dad had all of our invited relatives, plus Abby and her husband flown in and put up at the Crowne Plaza hotel in New Delhi. That Monday, both of our immediate families met at a restaurant my dad had made arrangements with for the family pre-wedding reception. Priya wore a shimmering aqua colored mermaid cut evening gown and matching headscarf and was drop dead breathtaking! Mom wore a blue custom sari, as did Salima in red and Sarah in emerald green. The men wore suits. During the course of meeting everyone (even some of my own relatives), I introduced Priya to my first cousin Elizabeth. She's my mom's eldest sister's daughter. She was accompanied by her seven-year-old daughter, Emma, whom I'd never met. Liz introduced us to Emma, a lovely little girl, not quite four feet tall with shoulder length blonde hair worn in ringlets. She wasn't overweight or plump, just kinda fleshy. Her face was slightly round with a cute button nose and a sprinkling of light freckles across her high cheekbones and nose, all laid upon alabaster skin that framed her sweet, pink-lipped smile. She was dressed, surprisingly, in a little dress sari in Pastel pink. Her sandaled tiny pinkish white toes poked out of the bottom of her sari. She looked at up at Priya with silver dollar eyes and said, "You're sooo bee-uuu-tee-ful! Can I stay with you? Momma, can I git married too?" We all laughed at her childish innocence, and Liz said, "Someday baby, someday." Priya bent over a little to her eye level and said, "Sure you can stay with me! I'm a little scared meeting all these people, would you hold my hand and be my best friend tonight? Would you like to meet my momma?" Emma jumped up and down, clapping her hands saying "Oh yes! Let's go! I'll be the bestest friend ever!" With that, Priya and Emma giggled off hand in hand towards Salima and my mother. My Dad came over about the time Liz had finished introducing Emma to us, and said, "How's things going Liz? How do you feel?" "I'm fine, John, thanks for asking. I have my good days and bad ones too." Dad explained, and I was sad to learn that Elizabeth was trying to raise Emma by herself after Jack, her husband, died six months ago and was also fighting breast cancer at the same time. He said that Mom had Emma's sari made to brighten her up and make this trip a memorable experience. Despite a few cultural faux pas, it was a warm and friendly evening and really nice to meet Priya's relatives. Even though our side was already informed of Priya's age, there were a few initial gasps at her size and color. These quickly faded away with Priya's ever charming way of dealing with these issues: she'd been doing it all her short life. She took it in stride, moving effortlessly around the room with Emma glued to her side, holding her hand. As I lovingly watched Priya with Emma by her side, I not only reveled in Priya's beauty, I also couldn't help but notice that she was just a little taller and not much bigger than Emma. They were both beautiful girls, but totally opposite in their beauty. The contrast was striking; Priya's milk chocolate brown- skinned hand holding Emma's alabaster white, Priya's long blue-black hair against Emma's shorter, soft cream-colored blonde. Then, I wondered... why was I even thinking of such a thing: comparing a normal, 7 year-old little girl, totally innocent of adult things to an intellectually and emotionally precocious 11 year-old lolita? But then, would it be that much of a stretch to make love to a child such as Emma? Would I, or more importantly, could I desire such a thing? Am I trying to rationalize or justify some deep, dark, unknown perverted desire? This whole train of thought was very distracting and unsettling, so I banished it from my consciousness and continued the evening. With the family party behind us, Priya was excited and looking forward to her Mahendi, or henna party. A few days before the wedding, the men meet at the groom's home for an evening for conversation and fun, while at the bride's home, her female family members and cousins meet to apply turmeric paste to the bride to bring out the glow in her complexion. A family member or an artist paints intricate and detailed designs on the bride's hands and feet in henna while the bride and woman folk sing and dance to traditional songs, and have an evening of frivolity. The bride and groom can no longer communicate until the wedding, and the bride cannot leave the house until her wedding day. One of the bride's cousins applies a dot of henna to the groom's palm. This would take place on Thursday, two days before the big day. All of the relatives that Dad put up in the hotel enjoyed a few days of sightseeing before the wedding. Thursday evening, about seven, I drove Mom over to Priya's for the henna party. Mom was excitedly welcomed into the house, but a little pixie pipsqueak about five or six abruptly stopped me. She stood at the door with Sarah behind her. I tried to get a peek at Priya, but Sarah and said pipsqueak stepped outside and closed the door. Sarah said, "I'm the translator, and this is my cousin Aleeya." I looked down (almost straight down) at a tiny little Indian girl with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. She was looking straight up at me with a smile and her hand behind her back, so I smiled back and said "Hi!" She said something in Tamil (I think), and Sarah said, "She says you're not allowed to see her, so stick out your hand." Poking a little fun at the bossy little imp, I said, "Why, what's in your hand?" Sarah translated. She lowered her head a little and looked up at me through her lashes with a devilish grin, and spoke again. I looked at Sarah, who laughingly said, "She says she's not gonna tell you, but if you don't do as she says, she'll stick a big, fat cobra in your hand!" Laughing, I said, "Well, we don't want any cobras do we?" I extended my right hand to her. She took it, turned it palm up and pulled my fingers open. With the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth, she concentrated in painting a nice dime-sized dot in the middle of my palm. When finished, she looked up at me and grinned, spoke and turned to run into the house. Sarah said, "She says bye cousin, see you later." With that, Sarah curtly spun and disappeared inside leaving me standing outside, with my hand extended and an open palm of wet henna. I marched myself, open palm and all to the car and went home to my evening of frivolity. The evening's festivities ended around midnight, and Mom got home around one. Dad and I were sitting in the study talking. Mom came in all giggly and happy, when Dad said, "Well, did you girls paint her up good?" Mom said, "You bet! Yep, she's a painted Indian alright!" We all laughed at her pun. Dad said, "Well, what else did you all do?" Mom still bubbly said, "Oh, we sang songs, danced and had a wonderful time picking on the bride, especially by her grandmother. I really like that woman! She may be up in age, but she's as naughty as schoolgirl!" "What do you mean?" I asked. Mom went on, "Well, when the little ones went to bed, we were teasing Priya about her wedding night. You should have seen her, Sean: she was a continual blush! Anyway, all the girls were asking her questions like 'have you held hands?' and 'what's he kiss like?' but Priya would just blush and wouldn't say anything. We all let her alone about it for a few minutes, then, out of the blue her grandmother said, 'Just looking at him, I bet he's got soft lips!' She must of caught Priya right when she was thinking of Sean and she swooned out 'Yes, very soft lips!' Well, with that, Priya was embarrassed and blushed into oblivion that she'd revealed kissing you, and we all cracked up. Priya's grandmother wouldn't cut her any slack. Salima and I saw that twinkle in her eye, because after the laughter died down, she said, 'Ya know...' then she looked up like she was going to give some wise grandmotherly advice and said 'Ya know what they say about a man with soft lips, don't cha?' Playing along, we all slowly nodded with Priya looking wide-eyed all around waiting to find out what everyone else pretended to know. Her grandmother said, 'Salima! You didn't tell her, I'm ashamed of you! Well Priya, I guess I have to break the bad news.' She shook her head a couple of times going tsk, tsk, tsk and then said, "Well... they say a man with soft lips has a tender heart,'" and my mom held up her hand with two fingers about an inch apart imitating Priya's me ma and said, "and a teeny, weeny pee-pee!" Well, with that, I almost pissed myself!" Dad nearly fell off the chair laughing, while I just shook my head and smiled. I then had to laugh knowing it was a harmless joke about my manhood; and it was funny! After my parents had dried their eyes, and reseated themselves, Mom said, "Seriously though, you should see the artistry and intricate detail of the designs: it's absolutely phenomenal! Sean, you're in for a big surprise on your wedding night! They painted both of your names in her hands, and you don't get to sample the goods until you find 'em both! Good luck pal, you may not be getting any!" After some more ribbing, Dad exchanged some of the men's ribbing to mom. He said, "Yeah, they did some of the same to Sean." Mom, like a giddy schoolgirl said, "Oooh, do tell!" Dad said, "Adib didn't think it was as funny as everyone else, but he took it in stride." Mom said, "John, out with it, will ya?" "Well," Dad started, "Adib's brother Mahmoud, was teasing Sean about Priya's skin color. At first, Sean started to get upset, then Mahmoud said, 'Be lighthearted Sean, we all love Priya, and wouldn't insult her, just joke a little.' with that, Sean seemed to lighten up. He put his arm around Sean's shoulder and said, 'You know, there's a reason we've all married light skinned women; do you know why?' Sean says "I don't know, but I guess you're gonna tell me.' And Mahmoud says, 'Well, it's like this...' he then took a drink of tea and continued, 'A long time ago there was this feared Indian prince. He was well renown for his sexual energy, and had 100 concubines. One night, one of his wives displeased him so he divorced her. The next day, he ordered a search throughout all of India for the most beautiful woman in the land. After months of inspecting young virgins and rejecting them, they finally brought him a beautiful young, dark skinned girl: just like Priya! The prince said 'She is truly lovely, but why is her skin so dark?' His servant cunningly whispered, 'Because she's a goddess of desire; her desire burns so hotly within her, it has darkened her skin!' The prince was amazed! He said, 'If this be true, I may have no need of 100 concubines, true?' 'Yes,' the servant replied. So the prince married her immediately and took her to bed. Once naked and in bed, she delighted him into a trance. Her soft, tender touch masked her ability to tie him hand and foot to the bed. For 30 days and 30 nights all throughout the palace could be heard her moans of ecstasy and the prince's pleas for sexual release. She rode him like a Bedouin slicing the desert wind on his noble Arabian steed. When they finally emerged from the bedchamber, he crawled out on all fours with her astride, as if riding a horse. She rode him to the throne room where she sat upon his throne with him at her feet, sucking her toes.' Mahmoud finished his tale, 'And THAT my new nephew, is why we don't marry dark skin girls. Do you understand?'" By now, Dad wad beginning to laugh, almost unable to continue. He calmed himself enough to continue and went on, "Well, Sean just looked at him and said, 'What? I don't get it.' Mahmoud, clasped Sean's face at the ears with his hands, and looking directly into his eyes, said, 'My nephew, you are wealthy and have a company empire to run, do you want your eleven year old, dark skinned goddess turning you into a toe sucking pussy and taking over your fortune?'" With THAT, Mom fell off the chair laughing and clasping her crotch with both hands exclaimed, "Oh God no! I'm pissing myself!" When we had stopped laughing enough to coherently talk, Mom said embarrassingly, "Well, I think I should take me and my wet panties upstairs and get ready for bed." She was still shaking her head and laughing. Dad rose from the sofa, took hold of Mom's hands, helping her up said, "Boy Joan, you really made a mess! Just look at the carpet, there a big wet spot!" She replied playfully, "If you promise not to punish me Daddy, I won't turn you into a toe sucking pussy. By the way, I already have your fortune!" That started the laughing fits all over again. We all silently agreed that they had milked as much frivolity out of the evening's festivities as they could, so we all went off to bed, with Mom walking up the stairs, wet from waist to toe. The day of the wedding, as with all weddings the world over, was hectic. The ceremony and reception were both being held at a reception hall that Dad had arranged for through the company. The ceremony itself was to begin at four pm. I had to be at the hall about two to go over the final details of the Nikah (formal wedding ceremony) with the Imam, so I paced and fidgeted around the house until about noon, then decided to shower and get ready. Mom had dressed in a beautiful silk lehenga/choli of lime green with a matching dupatta and looked radiant. She had left with my father to go to the hall earlier to ensure all was right with the arrangements. I met with the Imaam, and we went over the ceremony ritual. He told me to be certain that in the declaration and acceptance, they must both be made in perfect tense, or the contract would be invalid. Around three, people were starting to arrive, so the waiters were holding all of the groom's guests outside the hall. I gathered Mom and Dad, and we went outside to greet them. Priya arrived with her family and quickly went inside so fast that I only caught a glimpse of her. Salima and Sarah were dressed as Mom was, but Salima was in red, and Sarah in dark blue. A small band of musicians appeared, and began to play, at which point the groom's Baarat (or family entourage) are welcomed to the wedding hall. For the formal Muslim ceremony, the women and men were separated. As is the custom, the sister of the bride, Sarah, was welcoming my family by going around tickling, teasing and poking the guests with a flowered baton. Usually, the bride's brother and the groom share a glass of sherbet, but Mahmoud, Priya's uncle stood in. Priya stepped forward, and I saw her for the first time: she looked like a princess of a lost Indian dynastic age. She was wearing a shocking pink lehenga and long choli with intricate embroidery work encrusted with silver sequins and stones that shimmered like diamonds. Her head was covered with a pink, translucent crepe dupatta with a border matching the same color and craftsmanship of her lengha. On her henna painted feet, she wore sandals that also looked jewel encrusted. Through the dupatta, I could see her pink tinted smiling face and a headpiece with what looked like a single string of diamonds ending with a ruby hanging from the center of her head and dangling in the center of her forehead. She had dangle earrings that looked like a bangle of diamonds with a center ruby on each ear. She was also wearing a necklace that had large diamond hoops, with diamond stringers hanging in front at varying lengths to form a "V" in the center of her chest with a ruby at each stringer's end. Her wrists were adorned with bangle bracelets of silver and jewels. I started to cry she was so beautiful, and all in our family's party were gasping at the vision before us. Little Emma tried to run to her, but was caught by my Mom and returned to Liz's side. A veil of flowers was then placed on each of our heads, and then we were led to the area where the ceremony would take place. The Imaam waited until the room was quiet, and then began. Priya and I were positioned about two feet apart with Priya to my left, and Adib standing next to her on her left. The Imaam, addressing the crowd, said, "Since Muslims are aware of the steps and precepts of a Muslim wedding, there's no need for explanations, but for the benefit and understanding of our non-Muslim guests, I will offer an outline. The official Muslim marriage is legalized in two steps: the declaration and the acceptance. Since the bride is a virgin and underage, she cannot make a declaration; it has to be made for her by her guardian, but she must give her acceptance of her dower and consent to be married. Once this is completed, and the bride and her guardian, groom and witnesses sign the dower agreement. Once this is done, then the groom, guardian, followed by the two witnesses and the bride will sign the Nikaahnama, which is the document that registers their marriage. After this is completed, then the rest of the ceremony is very much like western weddings. Alright then, let's begin." After a litany of prayers and readings from the Koran, Imaam looked at Adib, he said, "Today we will witness a solemn pledge between Sean Michaels and Priya Haaseem. I ask you now in the presence of God and this congregation to declare your intent." Adib began, "I have given my youngest virgin daughter, Priya Haaseem to Sean Michaels in marriage." Imaam to Priya, "Do you accept Sean Michaels as your husband with the dower that you have agreed upon?" Priya replied, "I have accepted and espoused myself to him." Imaam to me, "Do you accept Priya Haaseem as your wife?" I replied, "I have accepted." Priya then stepped forward with her father, and Adib, followed by Priya, signed her dower/prenuptial agreement, then I signed, the witnesses signed and I returning it folded and in the envelope to her. Then, I signed the Nikaahnama, then Adib, followed by our witnesses, my Dad and Mahmoud, and finally by Priya. Imam said some more readings and the blessing of the rings. He nodded to me, and I took the ring from my dad, and repeated after him: "Priya, I give you this ring as a symbol of our vows, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you. In the name of God, The Most Gracious, The Most Merciful. With this ring, I thee wed." Priya then took my ring from her father and said "Sean, I give you this ring as a symbol of our vows, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you. In the name of God, The Most Gracious, The Most Merciful. With this ring, I thee wed." After some more readings, the Imaam finished with, "In as much as you have each pledged to the other your lifelong commitment, love and devotion, I now pronounce you husband and wife, In the name of God, The Most Gracious, The Most Merciful. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder. God bless you and the congregation." With that, everyone clapped and cheered. All the guests were separately seated for dinner by sexes, and the women of Priya's family immediately fetched us both. We ate the lavish meal my Mom had so beautifully and expertly planned. Then, Priya and I were snatched up by Priya's women folk and seated on pillows about three feet apart with the Koran placed between us. Priya's grandmother said "Don't look directly at her," she then handed me a mirror and said, "Use only the mirror to view her," then moved away. Under the direction of Imaam, all the women prayed for me and offered their salaams and I returned their salaams. We then stood, and Adib took Priya's hand and placed it in mine, and said, "Son, she is my baby, take good care of her." I replied, "I promise Adib, I promise." It is ceremony, according to the Koran, for the groom to take his bride away after dark. The bride's mother- in-law is supposed to open the door to her new home, and hold the Koran over her head as she passes through the door to begin a new life. The sun had set outside. It wasn't black out, but considered fit. My mother got into the car in front of our limo, and left for home to be waiting. All the wedding guests followed us out to the car, cheering us on as we started a new life. I opened the curbside limo door and let Priya climb in and spread her lavish skirt out then went around to the other side and climbed in. She lifted her veil, and I saw my new bride's face for the first time uncovered. We looked at each other and smiled, but something seemed out of place: she was too subdued. As I looked in her eyes, they welled up and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She then, without saying a word, looked down. I gently put my hand under her chin and lifted her face to look at me. I leaned down and kissed her small quivering lips. It was a loving and chaste, lingering closed mouth kiss. I said, "What's wrong my little princess bride?" She was looking and toying with her rings, twirling them with her henna painted fingers and said, I'm married... I'm really married and your wife." "Yes sweetheart, we're really married. Are you OK?" I asked her softly. "Father was right: things ARE forever changed." I suddenly remembered her telling my dad that she'd call him father, and that he'd told her that marriage was forever. I said to her, "Yes, everything has changed. There are verses in the Bible that say, 'There's a time and a season for everything: a time to cry, a time to laugh, a time to love, and a time to marry.' It's our time now to begin a new life... together." She said, almost whispering, "I will never go home again and sleep in my bed, or feel the comfort of my own pillow, or say goodnight to Sarah, or to Momma and Papa." "Do you want me to get your mother? Do you feel you've made a mistake; are you afraid that it's not yet your time?" "No, I haven't made a mistake. I made a covenant with God and pledged my love, my life, my body and all that I am to you! I love you my husband, and would die for you, and I will die loving you. It's just that I realize that in order to begin my new life with you as your wife, I must close a door and leave my childhood and family behind. Please don't be angry with me, or think of me as a foolish child." Trying to ease her distress, I softly laughed and said, "But my dear, for all your precociousness you are still a child in more ways than one. I'm not angry, nor am I disappointed in you. I only want you to be happy and look forward to your new life with joy and hope, knowing that we look to each other for the things we sought from our parents. There are things in our hearts we've kept from our parents, but we're soul mates, we're now one person; when one of us hurts or is sad, the other feels it, when one of us is happy and joyful, the other shares that also. There will always be doors in our lives that we, and only we, with Allah's help, can choose to open or close. You and I reached one of those points today. I closed the door you're facing now the moment I first looked into your eyes, and I did it with joy. Look into your heart Priya, at the love that Allah has blessed us with and moved you to make the vows you proclaimed to God, to me, and our families. If that love burns true, Allah will still your heart with His peace, and if you look deep again in your heart, He will have already closed the door for you." Priya then crawled up in my lap, put her arms around me and pressed her tiny mouth to mine. She then relaxed, and her lips parted, and I felt her little tongue pressing my lips. When I parted my lips, her tiny mouth opened and I tasted the nectar I'd so desperately desired. She tasted like the sweet, sweet taste of purity and innocence... and yes, the sweetness of pubescent passion. I became erect with desire and pulled her to me gently. When I swept my tongue under hers, she gave a soft moan and shuddered. She broke the kiss lightly, and pressed forward again swiping her little tongue across my teeth then pulled away. Her face was hot and her cheeks had slightly darkened, She laid her head on my shoulder and said softly, "I love you Sean, I am yours, but please be patient, let's wait a little bit longer. I've closed a door, but we must wait. The next door, we shall enter together will be opened by your mother. Please, just hold me" I held her, stroking her hair and cheek for the remaining minutes of the ride home. I pondered our conversation, her childish fear clinging on to remain a child, if, but for a few moments more. With the license to have my child bride and indulge myself with her innocence, I knew that I loved her beyond words, but there was more. A need. A deep, dark need. It poked its gnawing head from the closet of my unconscious mind as I remembered watching her and Emma together. Is there a demon lurking within; watching, waiting, searching for a way to consume and destroy me? As I again pushed my gnawing unsettled feeling back into the closet of my unconsciousness, I asked myself. "Is there a Jekyll and Hyde part of me that I'm trying to deny exists?" All I can think about right now is that I want her. I so desperately need her, and soon, I shall have her. Continued in Chapter 9... <8th attachment end> <9th attachment, "Child_Brides_of_India_9.txt" begin> Child Brides of India By C. Stanton Leman Chapter 9: Wedded Bliss (Mg, rom, cons, oral, ws, anal) As the limo pulled onto our street, Priya settled herself back on the seat and straightened her Lengha. She turned to me, and her warm, inviting smile had returned. She giggled, and then gave me a quick passionate kiss, finishing by gently biting my tongue. She then said, "I love you, Sean Michaels!" I replied, "And I love you, Priya Michaels!" Finally! Her first, married 'chocolate blush!' As we pulled up the drive to the house, Mom opened the door, and stood with the Koran in her hand. Once stopped, I exited the limo and went around and opened the door to retrieve my new bride. Priya took my hand and stepped out of the car and smiled, first at me and then at Mom. We walked hand in hand to the porch, she let out a startled squeak when I scooped her featherweight body up in my arms and said, "Its a western custom to carry the bride over the threshold." "That's nice," she replied, "You can carry me anytime!" I stepped to the doorway, and Mom held the Koran over her head and we stepped through. Mom kissed Priya on the cheek and said, "Priya, welcome to your new home and a new life!" We kind of struggled, the three of us, getting into the hallway from the foyer with Mom back pedaling, still holding the Koran over Priya's head, but we managed. We were all laughing when I settled Priya on her feet, and then we went into the living room. Mom had made some tea, and we drank as she prattled on about what a beautiful bride Priya was and how moving she thought the ceremony was. I knew Priya probably wanted to change into something more comfortable, so I took her upstairs and showed her to our bedroom. She blushed when we entered and she saw the bed, so to make her feel more at ease, I showed her where her clothes had already been put away. I then said, "I'll let you change, I'll be downstairs with Mom, OK?" She replied, "Thanks for being so patient with me, I'll be down in a few minutes. I love you." "I love you too," I replied. I then left the room closing the door behind me and headed downstairs to the living room. Talking with Mom, I related the events in the limo on the way home. She was visibly concerned and said to me, "Sean, be very, very patient with her. She may not be ready tonight, so take it slow and be gentle with her. I want you to make her first time something she'll cherish. Make this her night and about pleasing her. I'm sorry son, but I can't give you any advice about making love to a girl this young. If she's ready, and as long as you're patient enough to get her aroused, going through puberty with her hormones raging, she'll react like any normal woman: maybe more passionately. Just don't push her, do you understand?" "Yes Mom, I do." "Good. She's your wife, Sean. Kindling the passion that will last her entire life begins with tonight. Hush, I think she's coming now." Priya stepped into the living room wearing an emerald green, hand painted sari with sandals on her henna painted feet. Her hair was still pinned up, and I couldn't wait to see her luxurious long hair down for the first time. Priya came and sat next to me and laid her hand on my thigh, and said, "I know this may sound funny, but I just realized something." Mom said, "What's that?" Priya giggled and said, "I just realized, I don't need a chaperone any more!" We all laughed, and Mom put in, "That's right baby, you can be as naughty as you want! Just like your Me Ma!" Priya giggled, blushed and said, "Yes, I'll have to find out if what she said is true!" Mom busted out laughingly said, "You go girl!" By the way, doesn't Sean have a task yet to perform?" Giggling, Priya said, "Yes he does." Looking at me and upturning her painted palms, she said, "Before you can ravage and defile me, you have to find both of our names: one on each palm. Ready to start?" "Sure," I said, "How hard can it be?" Both women looked at each other and smiled. The artistry and detail of the designs was mind- boggling! Have you ever tried to find a brown button, on the forest floor during full-blown autumn? I looked and I looked. I was looking for half and hour before I found Priya's name in her right palm, and it took me another 15 minutes to find mine in her left. We all laughed, and I jokingly said to Priya, "The task is finished, and I await the prize. Are you ready to be ravaged and defiled?" Playfully swooning and laying her forearm across her face, she looked at Mom and said, "Oh dear Madam! Is there no one present to protect this child and her virtue?" Mom and I looked at each other, and I think we both realized at the same time that Priya was initiating a charade to conceal her anxiety. Playing along, we then both looked at her and said, "Nope." Bowing her head between her outstretched, crossed arms as if a slave, she said, "Doom, O doom! I am to be speared and my honor torn asunder! Please be merciful and use a small dagger instead." Chuckling, I dastardly replied, "Me thinks I shall use the broadsword instead, off with you now to the bedchamber!" With that, I grabbed her outstretched hands and pulled her to the floor. Continuing the charade, I slowly pull her to the stairs with her walking on her knees. When we reached the living room doorway, she jumped to her feet and into my arms, laying her head in the nape of my neck, she softly said, "Carry me please." Mom had tears in her eyes, and she simply gave me a nod, and I turned to carry my bride upstairs. Once in our bedroom, I sat Priya down on the love seat in the attached sitting room. I kissed her and said, "Are you ready to consummate our love?" She touched the side of my face with the palm of her hand and softly replied, "I'm a woman in name, and now, I'm ready to become a woman in life," then gave me a nice 'chocolate blush' and shyly smiled. There is one last Muslim tradition concerning the wedding night. The groom washes the bride's feet in a washbowl, and then sprinkles some of the water around the room. Then both the bride and groom say some specific prayers. I arose and went to the bathroom to retrieve the washbowl and towel, and then returned to her in the sitting room. As I removed the sandals from her tiny feet, I remembered how I had memorized every detail of her tiny foot the first night we met. The tops of her feet were now covered with intricate henna designs, and I couldn't help thinking that they looked even more erotic, in an exotic kind of way. I kissed her left foot on the top of her toes, and then removed the sandal from her right foot, and repeated the kiss. I then lowered her feet into the washbowl, slowly massaging each foot with a hand. I then dried her feet with the towel, and as I sprinkled the water around the bedroom, I said the following prayer: "O Allah! Bless me with her affection, love and her acceptance of me; and make me pleased with her, and bring us together in the best form of a union and in absolute harmony; surely You like lawful things and dislike unlawful things." Priya then repeated the same prayer (substituting "him" for "her"). I then placed my hand on her forehead and prayed again: "O Allah! I have taken her as Your trust and have made her lawful for myself by Your words. Therefore, if You have decreed for me a child from her, then make him or her blessed and pious from among the followers of the Family of Muhammad [peace be upon him and them]; and do not let Satan have any part in him or her." I then picked her up and walked into the bedroom. I set her down on the edge of the bed. She was now looking down, obviously very shy and a little uncomfortable, so I took off my sherwani and shirt. I sat on the bed next to her and then took off my shoes and socks. I again stood and removed my pants leaving me only in my boxers, and then sat beside her on the bed. She looked at me indirectly with a blushing smile and an embarrassed little giggle. I took both her hands in mine and pulled her to her feet and positioned her about 2 feet in front of and facing me, and then let her hands fall to her sides. Priya then looked at me and shyly smiled, then slowly began to unwrap her sari, her eyes never left mine until she had to untuck the end from her petticoat. She then folded the cloth neatly, stepped to the chair and laid it over the back. She then, with her back to me, unbuttoned the choli. As she slowly slid it off her shoulders to reveal her training bra, she looked over her shoulder at me. She then folded it and put it in the chair. With her back still towards me, she reached around to her back, unclipped her bra, and slowly let it fall from her shoulders. I gazed at her tiny frame, her small shoulders and her smooth, flawless, milk chocolate colored back. At this point, I was so hard it actually hurt. She then, with both hands reached up to the back of her head, and began to unpin her hair. It fell in pieces until the last few pins were pulled. Her hair fell, cascading down her back to her waist like a blue-black cloak, covering her entire back. Priya leaned her head back and shook her head back and forth a couple of times, spreading her long wavy mane across her back. She then unfastened her petticoat, slowly lowering it with one hand to the floor and stepped out of it one foot at a time placing it folded in the chair. As the petticoat began to slip from her developing hips, I could see her perfectly shaped tiny, round butt come into view, hidden in a pair of lacey, white panties. As she bent to step out of her petticoat, I could see the small outline of her panty covered pussy lips peeking out from between her legs just below her little butt cheeks. I don't know if it was out of fear, or shyness, whether she did it intentionally or by accident, but the slowness of her unveiling was so intensely erotic to me, I had to summon all my strength not to step over to her and fling her onto the bed! Priya stood there for a moment, reached up behind her head with both hands, and parted her hair in half; she then pulling it over her shoulders to conceal her breasts, and slowly began to turn to face me. Throughout her entire disrobing, she didn't utter a word. With her head and eyes down, either out of shyness or submission, she slowly walked toward me and stood in front of me where she had begun with her hands folded in front covering her panty covered jewel. As she stood before me, I drank in every single inch of her, starting at her dainty, henna painted feet and slowly followed her slender, shapely legs upward. Her thighs were thin, but well shaped, and even with her legs closed, there was a triangular space at the top of her thighs just under her vulva. Her hips were just beginning to develop, and tapering slightly to her waist. When she saw I was looking at her center, she slowly unfolded her hands and moved them to her sides. Although covered, it appeared that she had a prominent, fleshy mons venerus, with plump lips that were clearly discernable through her panties. Her flat, smooth stomach was accentuated with a dimpled, "innie" belly button. As my gaze traveled upwards, her blue-black hair covered her torso and chest completely. I saw her slender shoulders and then her face. She smiled at me with a look of longing in her eyes as if hanging on the edge: waiting, watching, and even needing my approval. I smiled softly at her and said, "I love you with all my heart! You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen! You're stunning Priya!" She smiled gently and as her tears began to drop to the carpet, she softly said, "I love you Sean, and I'm ready for you, but I'm frightened. I don't know what to do, and I'm afraid I won't be pleasing to you. Standing before you, exposed to you, I'm aware I'm still a girl, not fully grown, and want so much for you to be pleased with me." I took her hands in mine and placed them on my shoulders. I then put my hands on her hips, pulled her slowly to me and then moved my hands up her smooth back as she neared. She wrapped her arms around my head as I placed my head between her hair-covered breasts. She cradled me in her arms like a mother comforts a child. Once embraced, I kissed the side of her hair-covered breast and said, "You are, my love, more than enough woman for me. I have burned so deeply for you, and it grows with each passing moment." I looked into her eyes and continued, "Don't worry, my sweet, all I ask of you is to withhold nothing from me. Tell me what you're feeling, what you want, what you like, don't deny or hold back what you feel, and release yourself to experience things without restraint. Tonight is about you: making YOU happy and pleased. If you can do that for me, you'll give me more pleasure than I can imagine. OK?" "I trust you, my husband, and I promise I'll try to do as you ask," she replied, looking down at me with a smile. "May I see your breasts?" "They're small and immature: I've only started to grow this past half year." Gently pushing her away, I raised my hands to her shoulders, ready to part her hair to her back. As I started to slowly pull her hair away to expose her chest, I said, "What you have is enough. I accept you as you are, and I love you." I didn't know what to expect. I'd never seen the developing breasts of a pubescent girl and had only fantasized about their shape and color. What I saw made me gasp in wonder and a low groan escaped my lips. Priya's breasts were truly just developing. She had about an inch of actual breast pad that conically tapered sharply to a bulbous, puffy, dark brown areola that was slightly tubular in shape with a rounded top, and her unseen nipple was laying flat against the surface of her areola. Just the palm of my hand could cover her entire breast. I brought my shaking hands up her stomach to cup her tiny breasts, and when I passed the pads of my fingers across her areola, two tiny, pencil eraser-sized nipples immediately hardened and popped out. They looked like two quarter sized, dark chocolate Hershey kisses sitting on her chest The moment my fingers made contact with her nipples, she instinctively leaned against my hands inviting more contact, and looking down said, "Oooh, that tingles!" I tweaked her nipples a few moments longer and her breathing quickened. As I brought my mouth to her left breast, she enfolded my head in her arms and pulled me to her. I sampled her candy like breast with several licks: first around her areola, then across the nipple itself before engulfing her entire breast in my mouth, circling my tongue around her entire breast. She moaned "Oh, God!" And I feasted some more, moving to her other breast. She hugged my head to her chest hard, as if trying to pull me into her with her head down and her hair completely covering my head. She was breathing heavily through her nose while quivering every so often, and I felt her knees begin to weaken. Regrettably, I left her breasts and pulled her onto the bed to my right. I crawled up to lay beside her and kissed her passionately. I broke the kiss and looked into her eyes. Priya dreamily looked like she was in a far away place and softly uttered "Uuum. Momma never said it would be like this." I chuckled and said, "I guess she wanted you to find out on your own. Your breasts may be just starting to grow, but they sure are sensitive, aren't they? Are you ready to continue?" With her eyes closed and a smile on her face, she softly replied, "Ravage and defile me, you dirty beast!" I started laying little kisses all over her face: her eyes, forehead, the tip of her nose, and cheeks. As I kissed her chin, Priya moved her arms up and laid them above and framing her head. I then moved down her throat and around the base of her neck leaving a trail of kisses and little love nips. I lightly ran my tongue up the side of her neck to the back of her ear, and then nipped her earlobe, and Priya responded with a soft, deep "Hmmm." While I was planting my kisses, my hand was gently caressing her shoulders, collarbones and the upper part of her chest area above her breasts. Circling my hand from under her left armpit, I noticed a couple of fine hairs starting to grow there. I moved to the underside of her left breast and encased it with my hand. As I pressed her breast with the palm of my hand in a circular motion, she lifted slightly to increase the sensations she was feeling with an "Mmmmmm, I like that." I moved to her right breast tracing her areola and nipple with feather touches for a few moments and her breathing deepened. Starting at her sternum with my fore and middle fingers, I lightly traced a line straight down and began to circle her navel a few times, kissing her passionately and again returned to suck her entire left breast in my mouth. I gently laid my hand flat on her solar plexus and moved downward. When my hand reached her mons veneris, the leading edge of my middle finger slipped over the fleshy padded precipice of her public bone, and it naturally fell to lie at the top of her crease. She immediately rolled her hips down into the bed, clamped her legs together with a surprised "Oh my!" I again kissed her deeply and she relaxed, she brought her pelvis back up and opened her legs enough to give me the access I desired. I cupped her whole vulva in my hand and she moaned in my mouth. She was now breathing deeply through her nose in quick, deep breaths. I then began to stroke up and down her entire vulva with my middle finger pressing into her crease and my fore and ring fingers on her outer lips. Priya broke the kiss and was panting audibly and began a slow sensuous rocking of her pelvis: upward as I moved to her panty covered vaginal entrance and gently pressing inward, and then she'd rock her pelvis downward to increase the pressure on her little clit as I brought my hand back up. After several strokes back and forth, her panties were noticeably wet, so I brought my hand up and under the waistband and down again to her grotto. Priya's mons was very fleshy, prominent and indescribably soft with a small tuft of baby fine hair at the center, right above her crease. I could feel the pronounced upside down teardrop opening that exposed a protruding clitoral hood with her little button peeking out. When I touched it, she pressed upward, quivered, and gasped. As I slid my three fingers down the length of her lips, they felt as soft as cashmere! She was so slick with her juices, my middle finger slipped easily into her folds. I pressed downward all the way to her little starred anus and circled it. She let out a gasp and then said "Oh my! There too? It feels nice." I circled her anus a few more times, traced my finger back up her perineum to her entrance and pressed in gently. She let out a small "Ow." I felt her hymen about a half-inch inside her entrance and pressed against it gently. It gave a little, and I thought it might not hurt her too much when I broke through, and I then backed out, dragging her juices up to her clit. When I brought the pad of my finger across her clit and began to draw circles around it, she had lifted her hips, quivering with each couple of circles. Her breathing was now coming in short, deep, panting gasps, and she was covered with a sheen of sweat when she managed to utter, "Oh my God, I'm going to explode!" She grabbed my hand with both of hers, and went rigid letting out a low guttural "Uuuuuhhhh." I cupped her vulva and gently pressed, in a circular rubbing motion. Still rigid with her legs clamps shut, she flinched while grunting "Unngh" about three times, then fell limp back to the bed. I had given my eleven year-old bride her first orgasm. Priya had let go of my hands and hers were resting on her thighs. She was licking her lips and panting in gasps with her eyes still closed, trying to recover from her first taste of orgasmic bliss. As she regained her breathing and began to calm down, she was saying something in Tamil in a very low soft tone. I lifted her head and gave her a couple of sips of water. She then opened her eyes and looked at me, still in a fog, and said, "What was that? Did I pee myself? I'm soaked down there! I saw lights and then it felt like everything inside me exploded!" I told her, "No sweetheart, you didn't pee yourself, you wetness shows you're very excited and ready for intercourse. That, my dear, was called an orgasm, or cumming. How do you like your ravaging so far?" With a giggle, Priya rolled over on top of me straddling me and said, "Oh God Sean, I never ever expected to feel anything like that! I like cumming a lot!" She then must have felt the iron rod poking her between her legs because she pushed herself up on her elbows, looked down and said "Oh my! Is that what I think it is?" I smiled and said, "It sure is! I think he wants some attention!" With childish inquisitiveness, Priya looked at me and said, "Can I see it?" She rolled off of me onto her side and propped her head up on her arm. She looked down at my tented boxers and began tracing my cock up and down with her hand. Looking back up at me she said, "Can I ask you something?" "Sure, ask me anything." "Momma told me something last night that I didn't understand. She said that I must never show you disrespect and spill your seed carelessly on the ground: what did she mean?" I'm not sure, but I think she meant for you to take it into your body." "Does that mean that if you, what's that word again-- cum? That I have to make sure it goes into my vagina every time" There's more than one way to do what you mother suggests to receive it, baby." Tell me, how else can I show you respect?" There are three ways you can receive it. First, there is oral sex: that's when you put me in your mouth and suck me, and when I cum, swallow it. Second, you can receive it during intercourse, in your vagina, or, there's also anal sex." "Anal? You mean you put your thing in my butt?" "Yes, some couples do that, and some women enjoy it if it's done carefully and gently." "Will we do that?" "If you'd like to try it." "I'm not sure if I'd like that, but... if it feels good, I'd like you to teach me every way there is to please you." "Before we get any further, I think that now that we're married, we can speak in terms and use words that may sound dirty or vulgar if spoken outside the bedroom, but is acceptable with lovers." "Oh, you mean the nasty words like fuck?" "Yes, that's one of them, but there's also others that describe body parts. Such as tits or titties, your vagina can be called a cunny, cunt, or a pussy. And your back door is an ass or ass hole. "I think I like cunny or pussy best." "OK. A man's penis is called a prick, dick, cock and a bunch of other names. "I like cock or dick." There are also terms for various sex acts such as with oral sex. When a woman sucks a man's dick, it's called fellatio or a blowjob. When a man licks a woman, it's called cunnilingus or eating pussy." "Can we, I mean I talk like that to you?" "Sure, what's said between you and me is private." "OK... Sean, can I now see your... cock?" Who was I to deny an inquisitive child? I just smiled and nodded. Priya jumped to her knees and scooted down the bed. She looked at be with a sheepish grin the slowly reached for the waistband on my boxers. I lifted my hips as she slowly pulled them down, catching the head of my dick in the waistband. She giggled and pried my boxers over my dick and it sprang free. When she'd gotten my cock into full view, she stopped and said, "Oh my God, Me Ma was wrong! How's that g-g-going to fit in my little p-p-pussy? You'll split me open!" "Don't worry too much, I think it'll fit." She looked at me with a 'Yeah... right' kind of look and finished pulling my boxers off. She then slowly approached my cock with a little trepidation; she slowly reached out with her hand and encircled it with her tiny fingers. She played with it a few minutes, felt all around my balls, lifting them as if to weigh them, and then returned to slowly jerk me up and down. "I don't think this spear with fit in my butt," she said with a sly grin. "You'd might be surprised," I said. 'What's that clear stuff coming out of the end?" "That's precum, it helps lubricate things for intercourse." With that, she leaned forward, and with a slow, tentative swipe of her tongue, licked the drop off. She said, "A little salty, but I like your taste." Priya looked up at me and said, "What do I do now, tell me." I told her, "Lick it like a lollipop all around the head; the underside of that ridge that comes to a "V" is very sensitive. When you put it in your mouth, be very careful with your teeth: cover your teeth with your lips." Priya then stuck out her tongue and slowly licked around the head, and licked up another drop of precum. Holding the shaft about midway down my 7" length, she then slowly opened her mouth to take me in. When her opened mouth was directly over the head of my cock, I felt the sudden warmth of her breath on my wet, cool member, and I almost shot off before she took me in! She placed her lips about midway over the head and slid me into her mouth, and I felt her stop as her lips slid over the helmet of my glans. I was in sensory shock! Shock in feeling Priya's warm mouth engulfing me, and the shock in knowing that it was an 11 year-old girl doing it! Although about 7" long, I'm only about an inch and a half in diameter, not what one would call thick. Priya must have gauged how much she could fit in her small mouth because she lowered her mouth about 3 inches to the top of her hand, and slightly gagged. I told her, " Don't take too much at first, it takes time and practice to take more." She nodded with my cock still in her mouth and slowly began to swirl her tongue around the head and back down. I noticed (and felt) her applying a small amount of suction as she pulled out by the slight concave shape of her cheeks. She responded when I softly said, "A little faster," and she picked up a little speed. I felt my nuts start to tighten up and I was going to warn her I was about to come when she suddenly stopped and pulled her mouth off of my cock! She looked up with wet lips and said, "How will I know when you're gonna shoot it out in my mouth?" I was THAT close! Damn! Gasping, trying to catch my breath, I said, "The head will get slightly bigger in your mouth and if you cup my balls, you'll feel them sort of draw up into my body. When you feel that, I'm gonna shoot: just pull back, leaving the head in your mouth and swirl your tongue around the head." Well, there's a good side and a bad side to everything. The bad part was, I was close, and now, had to build back up to the peak. The good side was I got to do it all over again! Priya then seemed to sense my frustration because she lowered her mouth and starting slowly, and quickly had me on the brink again. I again felt that tingling in my balls, and my legs start to tighten, and I said, "I'm gonna cum! Priya went "Hhhhhmmmmm," and with the vibration of her reply, I fired the first shot into the back of her throat groaning loudly, and a white light flashing in my eyes. I guess she didn't expect me to shoot with that much force, and she heaved a little, some escaped her lips before she could swallow when the second salvo hit her and a third right after that. She'd recovered and I could feel her mouth tightened as she swallowed three or four times, she then slowly pumped the remainder into her mouth and swallowed. I lay there, panting trying to speak, and Priya had her head on my stomach with my cock in her mouth gently sucking the head. I had to push her off my oversensitive glans; she looked up and said, "I'm sorry I spilled some." She then began to lick my shaft and her hand to retrieve what she'd spilt. She then looked up at me and said, "Gosh, you sure squirted a liter of that stuff! Did I do it right? Did I make you happy?" Still zoned out in post-climactic shock, I replied, "If it was any better, I'd have gone to meet Allah!" She giggled, climbed up to me and kissed me. I could taste myself on her lips as we lay there just holding and kissing each other. I was stroking her back and moved down to encase her left butt cheek in my hand when I realized she still had her panties on. Something came over me as I reached inside her panties to hold her little bare butt cheek, my fingertips coming in contact with her pussy lips. I was filled with such a sudden and powerfully consuming feeling, and then it suddenly became very clear to me. Although I loved Priya more than my own life, I was now going to feast on a child. I was going to taste every inch of her, and take her innocence and I would have her two remaining virginities before this night ended. And I knew... at that moment, I knew... I knew I would never, ever want to live without the physical love of a child. Would my love for Priya overcome this realization, as she got older? Would I take another wife? And another? Being so close, would Priya sense or know or comprehend this newfound realization? Is this who I really am? Has the devil led me to convert to Islam, and here to India, to legally dine on the innocent charms children? It's amazing how quickly one can conjure up fictitious and insidious rationalizations to lie to the mind to motivate us to do what we know consciously is wrong. I used the rationalization of my love for Priya as my excuse to continue: I was doing it out of love for my wife on our wedding night, and that was the truth in my motive. The worst lie of all is the one served on a dish, marinated and garnished in truth, but what is to follow? With that, I again, slowly closed that creaky door to my consciousness and buried it the cellar of my mind. I rolled Priya onto her back and kissed her passionately on the mouth. Her tiny mouth was almost wide open to match my partially parted lips. Her tiny tongue danced with mine as we sought each other's taste. I began kissing her on the right shoulder and moved across her upper chest leaving wet tongue trails until I again latched onto her left breast. She was cradling my head in her hands as I feasted first on the left breast, sucking, licking and nipping her nipple, and then moved to the right one. I then began to kiss my way down her torso to her stomach, and circled her navel with my tongue, stuck my tongue inside and licked it, and she giggled. I began to kiss her in a straight line until I reached her panty covered mons and laid a lingering kiss right at the precipice with my bottom lip resting at the top of her crease, and she let out an audible squeak, rolling her hips upward to increase the contact. I then moved to her right hip and began kissing her down the center and inside of her thigh. Priya opened her legs, expecting me to move to her center, and I saw the gusset of her panties was soaked. I lifted her leg and began to kiss my way down her calf until I reached her ankle. I kissed all around her ankle and the top of her henna painted foot. Priya's foot was so small I sucked all of her toes into my mouth, and began alternating between sucking and licking in between them. When I licked the sole of her foot, she pulled back a little giggling saying, "That tickles!" I then lowered her right leg and began to administer the same to her left foot. I kissed up her left calf and circled her knee with my tongue, and then began a zig zag kissing and licking trail from the top of her thigh to the inside, kissing her thigh right alongside her left cunt lip until I returned to the center of her mons. I placed my hands on her hips and reached for her waistband. As I hooked my fingers inside and began to pull her panties down, out of shyness, she covered her eyes with her forearm and slowly lifted her hips. When her mons venerus appeared, She was completely bare save the little tuft of soft fine black hairs right in the center above her crease. As I pulled her panties down, her vulva came into view. Her fleshy mons sloped downward between her legs with smooth, hairless, plump, puffy pussy lips that were a slightly darker brown than her surrounding skin color. At the top of her slit was a pronounced coral pink hood, with the tip of her little nubbin peeking out. I pulled her panties off of her feet and she placed her feet together flat on the bed, under her butt with her knees slightly bent. I gently pulled her legs open and she let them fall to the sides, with the soles of her feet almost touching. Her plump lips were still mostly closed, and with my hands on the inside of her thighs, massaged upward, and rubbed up and down alongside the crease where her thighs met her pussy lips. Priya was now breathing heavily through her mouth, with her forearm still covering her face. With the flat of my tongue, I licked her smooth pussy lips from her perineum to her mons. She let out a gasp, and when I touched the tip of her clit with my tongue, Priya gasped, shuddered and at the same time said, "Oh God, yes! Right there!" Her pubescent pussy looked like a chocolate peach, with the feel of a cashmere pashmina! With my thumbs, I peeled open the petals of her flower to reveal a bright coral pink interior. Her inner lips were thin and faded away to nothing at the sides at her virginal opening, with no excess of skin. I licked her perineum and started upward, pausing at her little hole. It was a pinkish red opening about a quarter inch in diameter and was weeping a milky white, translucent almost clear nectar than ran down to her ass. I licked the ambrosia, pressed my tongue inside sucking up her nectar and gently pushed against her hymen. She squeaked a soft "Ouch, it hurts a little." She then wrapped her legs around my neck and draped her legs behind my back. I continued licking up to her clit and began tracing circles around her little nubbin. She exhaled deeply and rotated her hips upward to feed herself into my mouth. I then sucked her entire clit: hood and all, into my mouth and began flicking my tongue across her clitty with a vengeance. With her hands in my hair pulling me into her, she gasped, bucked upward, and in a deep groan from within her, she panted out, "Oh my God, I'm cumming!" As she bucked upward, she locked my head in a vise-like grip and went rigid. She flinched three times uttering a "Uuuhh" with each shudder, then went limp on the bed. Priya lay there with her eyes closed, her little breasts heaving, while still panting through her mouth. She still had her legs splayed open, and her little cunny was wet from my oral ministrations and her juices still weeping from her grotto. I rose up and placed my hands on the bed, one on each side of her chest and supported myself. I placed my steel hard cock inside her crease with her pussy lips surrounding my cock and began to slowly slide up and down her crack, rotating my hips down and then up to stimulate her clit with the head of my cock. Priya responded by wrapping her legs around my waist, grabbed my forearms and rotated her hips downward on my upstroke to increase the pressure. She was breathing in a heavy pant, when she said very, very softly, "Please put it in." I said, "What did you say, darling?" "Please Sean, please put it in me." I reached for the tube of KY on the nightstand, and although she was sopping wet, I coated my cock and placed the head against her entrance and gently pushed until I could feel the pressure against her hymen. I asked her, "Are you ready my love?" She looked at me with a slight bit of apprehension, biting her lip and nodded as she closed her eyes. As I gently pushed forward, Priya locked her legs behind me and suddenly rotated her hips forward, bursting through her maidenhead and impaling herself. I felt a slight bit of resistance, then suddenly thrust into her about two inches. She flinched and with a whimpered hiss said, "OH my God that burns, please wait a moment!" With my right hand, I rubbed her left breast and asked her, "Are you alright? Let me know when you're ready to go on." With tears running down her temples, Priya looked up to see her pussy lips stretched almost obscenely wide and thin, with my cock buried inside her. She laid her head back down and said, "My God, I can feel you're really inside me! I think I'm alright now, just go slow, OK?" I pulled back out slowly, leaving just the head inside and began to slowly push forward. Being inside her, she was hot: very hot; and so indescribably velvety soft. She was incredibly tight; it was like a smooth, wet vise! It was slow going, but after about five minutes of slowly rocking back and forth, she began to relax and loosen up with her flowing juices enough for me to begin slow, small thrusts of about two inches, until I had about five inches inside her. Another half inch or so, I bumped her cervix, where I stopped. Priya felt it too and squeaked "Ow." I pulled back out a little and then began to rock back and forth while she began to again rotate her hips upward to meet my slow thrusts. As I began to pick up the pace, her breath quickened and she was working her hips in time with my thrusts as both of us started to climb the pinnacle. I began to feel that tingle in my balls again, and she must have sensed it because her wrapped her arms around my chest, pulling herself up off the bed to embrace me. That action, combined with her rotating her hips downward, forced her weight onto my cock, and I slipped another half inch or more inside her. Priya shuddered and began rocking back and forth with such force, I simply held still because the stimulation she was putting on the head of my cock was indescribable! I had pushed past her cervix and into her fornix and I could feel the head of my dick right against the end of her vagina and the mouth of her cervix was rubbing against the top ridge on the head of my cock. I groaned out, "I'm gonna shoot, here it comes!" She moaned out a deep, primal groan and pressed downward as I began to explode. When she felt the first shot, she shuddered and said, "So hot! Oh my God! I can feel you filling me," and she locked up and began a rhythmic quivering and didn't stop, as I fired about four or five more spurts into her, her muscles were locked around me so tight, I could actually feel the cum forcing its way up the length of my cock! She was clinging to me quivering with her mouth open trying to breath but couldn't speak. I could feel each spurt wash back against and around the head of my cock and backwards. It was the most incredible sensation I've ever felt! My eyes rolled back in my head as Priya was having a continuous orgasm, panting a guttural "Uuuhhh" with each shuddering contraction that was sucking the cum right out of me, and then she fainted. My knees started to buckle, so I turned and fell onto the bed on my back with Priya, still wrapped around me, on top of me while we were still joined together. She folded her legs alongside my hips and was laying on my chest, still breathing in heavy pants for a minute before her breathing started to return to normal. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, and it was still beating pretty fast. Even though we'd both climaxed a minute or so ago, Priya was still having spasms, clinching my cock that felt as if she was trying to pull my softening member back into her. I laid there stroking the side of her face and brushing her hair with my fingers when she finally regained her breathing and come down from her orgasmic bliss; she kissed my chest and softly said, "I could actually feel our spirits intertwined, and I actually felt as one with you. I love you so much Sean. I never knew love could ever be this way, and I never could have dreamed of having or experiencing the feelings I've shared with you, my husband." I looked up at her soft, sweet smile and into her eyes, and I felt at that moment that I could see myself wrapped inside the warmth of those deep, dark obsidian black eyes. They were hers... but different. That innocent sparkle seemed to be replaced with a deep, and soft love that now glowed with the smoldering embers of passion. I began to weep. As I heard her words, I too had no way to put into words what I'd experienced with my 11 year old bride. Priya had done as I requested and withheld nothing from me; she trustingly gave herself over to me to guide into womanhood. I was intoxicated with her love, her passion. I thought for a moment that if love can truly conquer all, I willed myself to believe that if I'm to be redeemed of my demon, it will be through her unconditional love. Priya then reached under the pillow and withdrew a white, cotton muslin cloth. I asked her, "What's that for?" She responded with, "It will be the evidence of my innocence and consummation to my parents." She then slowly began to lift herself off of me, placing the cloth between her legs to catch the evidence of our union. She held it over her oozing hole and with an "Ooooh" and a hissed intake of breath, she wiped our combined emissions with the cloth said, "I'm kinda tender." Priya then held up her cloth-covered hand, showing me the pinkish red semen deposit in the center of her hand. She laid the cloth out flat on the nightstand to dry. With a giggle, she bounded from the bed and I saw her tiny chocolate brown butt cheeks bouncing off to the bathroom and she said over her shoulder, "I have to pee." With an instant kinky thought of curiosity, I rose from the bed and followed behind her. She sat on the bowl and looked up quizzically and said, "What: do you want to watch?" I smiled and said, "Yes, very much." She gave me a chocolate blush, giggled and said, "You are a very naughty man! OK, I'll pee for you." She then spread her legs wide on the seat, and reached down and spread her pussy lips with her thumbs. I must have filled her to capacity because I could see she was still oozing my semen from her closed little cunny hole. I heard her bear down, her urethra pulsed open and closed twice, then slowly opened again and with a giggle, her amber flow began to hiss into the bowl. Kneeling, I reached down between her legs, letting her flow cascade over my hand. I brought my hand up and began to massage her clit as she peed. She pulled back a little with an "Oh," while finishing in halted spurts. I brought my fingers to my mouth and tasted her. She gasped and said, "Oh my! That's nasty! What does it taste like?" "Warm, and a little salty," I replied, and continued, "I love your taste!" Priya looked at me amazed for a second and recovered with, "Do I please you that much? If you so desire, I'll pee for you whenever you wish." "You do please me in every way, and yes, I'd like to do this again." Standing, I then said to her, "Keep your legs spread, I have to pee too." She looked up at me through her lashes with a devilish grin and said, "Pee for me." I aimed between her legs, relaxed and began to piss. I brought my stream up between her open pussy lips and over her clit. She gasped and said, "It stings a little," as she watched me washing her pussy with my flow. She then moved the fingers of her right hand between her lips and under my stream. When I'd finished, she grinned up at me and leaned over to lick the remaining drops off the head of my cock. She paused expressionless for a second, and with a shy grin, raised her fingers to her mouth and sucked them in. To ease the embarrassment of the moment, I said, "Let's take a shower," to which she replied, "OK." Priya indicated that she was a little sore, both inside and on her lips around her deflowered hole, so we playfully washed each other and got out. After toweling each other dry, Priya headed to the bed and I retrieved some analgesic cream from the medicine cabinet and followed her to bed. I had Priya lie on her back and spread her legs. She rose up on her elbows to look down at what I was going to do. I opened her puffy lips with my thumb and finger to inspect her. The inside of her cunt lips and around her vaginal opening was a bright coral pinkish red and a little swollen; her little clitty looked OK and was hidden inside its hood like a tiny BB with just the rounded face peeking out; and just inside her pussy where her hymen used to be, was a swollen, red ridge where the skin had been torn away. I spread some cream around the ridge of her torn maidenhead and the affected area of her hole and lips. Priya hissed a little and said, "It stings a little," while she laid her head back down on the pillow. I capped the tube, crawled up and Priya folded herself around me laying her head on my shoulder, draped her right thigh over mine with her breast against the side of my chest and her arm over my chest. I held her and stroked her back with my right hand and her face with my left. I kept telling her how much I loved her as she fell away into slumber. I too quickly fell into a sated sleep. I thought I was having an erotic dream, and I awoke and the clock read 3:30am. I then realized that Priya, in her sleep, was holding my cock in her dainty, henna painted hand and was slowly jerking me off. She was slowly grinding her clit against my hip. Wrapping my left arm around her torso and cupping her right butt cheek in my right hand, I rolled her onto her back and kissed her passionately. She awoke panting, broke the kiss and whispered, "I want you sooo much, but I'm still sore: please lick me." Without speaking, I began kissing my way down to nirvana. I again stopped to sup on her delicious breast buds and nursed at each until I got my fill. Priya was alternately panting and breathing heavily through the nose and managed to say, "Oh Sean! I love the feel of your mouth on my little titties, it tingles all the way to my toes!" I kissed and licked my way down to her vulva, I pulled her legs up against her chest with her ankles resting alongside her butt cheeks, exposing her entirely from asshole to clit. Spreading her split peach with my thumbs, I dove onto her clit and began circling it several times with my tongue before sucking the whole thing into my mouth. I shied away from her sore pussy area, but continued down her perineum to her dainty, brown starred nether hole. I rimmed it with my tongue, pushing against it occasionally testing the waters. Her cunt was weeping a trickling trail of nectar down to where my tongue was feasting at her back door. I licked up the ambrosia and returned to rimming her asshole. I pointed my tongue, and applied gentle pressure to her orifice. It pulsed several times and relaxed. When my tongue pressed through her sphincter and into her ass about an inch, she shuddered and moaned out "Oh God! You're inside my ass with your tongue! It feels sooo good!" She had grabbed her legs behind the knees and was pulling back in her legs to push her asshole further onto my tongue. After tongue fucking her ass for several minutes, Priya was close to her first anal orgasm. I withdrew my tongue, and began licking my way up to her clit. I picked up the slick oils oozing from her cunt with my finger and coated her anus. As I started flicking her clitty with my tongue, climbing the pinnacle to release, she was trying to impale herself on my finger by pulling her knees back. When Priya began a low, high pitched squeak, I was attacking her clit and I then suddenly thrust my finger into her ass. She lurched forward, made a low, deep long "Uuuhh" and locked up her sphincter, trapping my finger as if trying to squeeze it off! She was quivering and clinching for about 30 seconds, and then just laid there, locking my finger in her ass. As Priya's panting slowed, she began to relax and said, "That was so intense!" I then began to slowly pump my finger in and out of her. She again began to slowly rotate her hips to meet my finger thrusts a couple of times, and then went limp. My dick was so hard, it could have cut diamonds, and I said to her, I need you. I want to fuck your ass." Still breathing heavily, she replied, "I'm scared, Sean. I'm afraid that it will hurt me: you're so big. I loved the feel of your finger and tongue, but taking all of you back there scares me." "I'll be gentle, Baby. I've got to have you; I need you so much! Please me completely." "Oh Sean, I won't deny any part of myself to you, please be gentle with me... don't hurt me, please?" I've made everything wonderful for you so far haven't I? I will in this also." "OK, I trust you." Priya was still heated up, so I reached for the tube of KY and liberally coated my dick, and then pressed the tube to her ass and squeezed some lube directly into her ass. I then coated my finger and her anal ring and pushed my finger inside to coat her thoroughly. Priya had brought her arms over the back of her thighs and was obscenely and vulnerably splayed open to my advance. I laid my cock in the center of her slit and began to slide my cock over the top of her clit. She was getting heated up, so I replaced my cock with my finger and began to massage her clitty with my finger. I then placed the head of my cock against her anus, and she flinched closing herself completely. I told her, "Relax, I'll go slow, but you have to relax or it will hurt." She had a look of confusion on her face: caught between desperately wanting the penetration, and the fear of getting what she desired. Priya regained control and began to relax. I said to her, "Push out, like you have to go to the bathroom." While maintaining pressure against her sphincter, I heard her bear down and slowly push, and the head of my cock slowly began to disappear past her anal ring. When the head popped inside, she gasped and said, "Oh my God! It feels like you've slit me open!" while at the same time she locked her sphincter so painfully tight, it felt as though she'd cut the head of my cock off. I again repeated, "Relax, I won't move until you get used to it." She nodded and was making a panting sound, like the kind a woman having a labor contraction makes, blowing air out of her mouth. She settled down, and her breathing began to become more regular again and she said, "OK, try to move--but just a little, OK?" I pushed forward about an inch and pulled back a few times and asked her, "Are you OK?" Priya looked at me more focused and said, "Yeah, it feels huge, and a little funny, but I'm OK." I then began a slow rhythm of thrusts of about two inches, increasing the depth of my thrusts slowly, rubbing her clit the whole time. Priya had moved her hands to the front of my chest with her feet planted on my hips. As I gained the depths of her colon, I looked down to see our union. Her little star was stretched so wide and thin, it looked like a tiny ring that pulled away from her body about an inch with each withdrawal, and then back in. I now had about 2 inches left to deposit when I asked her, "How is it now?" She was panting heavily and gasped out, "Oh God, it feels so full, like I've got a pole inside me, but it feels sooo good!" I applied more pressure to her clit and deposited the last of my cock in her colon, and I stopped and said, "You've got all of me." She put her arms around my neck and pulled herself up to look down, and said, "Soo deep Sean, I can feel you deep in my belly! It feels like you're in the center of my insides!" I then began to slowly fuck her ass with slow but long, deep strokes. Her smooth ass was hotter that her pussy, like a raging furnace! It seemed that she naturally knew how to fuck, because with each plunge, she'd flex her knees, draw herself into me looking down and relax her muscles; and on the withdrawal, she'd tighten her sphincter around me and slowly push herself away with her legs. I began to speed up and thrust into her with deliberate and forceful thrusts and she was matching me in our dance of lust. We were both trying to sate the beast inside of us with each concerted movement. As I penetrated her completely, my balls slapping against her tiny butt cheeks, she'd match me with a timed, guttural "Uuhh" at the bottom of each stroke. I wanted to see her asshole entirely, so I pulled completely out of her. Her once tiny star was a gaping hole and I could see the red colored tube inside. When I pulled out, she cried out, "Noooo! Not yet!" I plunged back into her to the hilt in one single stoke and she hissed out a "Yessss! She then set herself to really working my cock, squeezing me with each withdrawal, and gasped out, "Oh my God, I can feel you swell! I'm cummmmmm......innnn......ggggg! When she plunged herself onto my thrusting dagger, I let out a howl and fired off deep inside her bowls. It seemed that I just kept coming and couldn't stop! Priya grunted with each spurt, and squealed, "So hot! You're burning my insides! Oh fuck, I can't stop cumming!" I grabbed her knees and pushed them back past her shoulders and tried to climb inside of her. For several minutes after I'd finished coming, my cock continued to twitch inside her and she spasmed in unison, as if I was trying to pump cum that I didn't have inside her, and she was trying to suck it out of me. I lay on top of her, completely buried. Her sphincter still held me in a death grip, and I wasn't softening in the least. I started to rock back and forth deep inside her ass and she responded by slowly thrusting her ass up onto cock. She locked up again and had another quivering orgasm. Priya had her head down, panting with loud halted breathes through her nose and slowly relaxed her sphincter. I slowly slid out of her to see her huge, gaping hole releasing a river of cum that rolled down the crack of her ass and onto the bed. It looked like I'd shot a gallon of cum in her, because it just flowed like a faucet as her gaping hole began to slowly close, wink and return to normal. I laid her out on the bed and went to the bathroom to wash myself and to get a wet cloth. I returned to find Priya had rolled over on her side, and she still had cum oozing from her ass. I gently cleaned her up and as I inspected the 'damage,' she was still in a foggy daze, and as limp as a dishrag. Her anus has returned to the dainty little star it normally was, it was slightly red, but looked fine. I crawled into bed along side her and she rolled over to lay half on top of my side. Priya said in a very soft voice, "I have something to confess." I asked her, "What do you have to confess?" Looking down away from me she whispered, "I have to confess that I've acted like a harlot." "A harlot?" I asked quizzically, "Why a harlot? That's an uncommonly used word nowadays, where did you hear it?" "When I was about 8, Papa was talking about a harlot, and I asked him what a harlot was, and he said that a harlot takes pleasure in doing dirty, perverted things." "So why do you feel like a harlot?" "Because I liked it... all of it. I liked peeing for you, having you pee on me, even tasting you. I know it's wrong, but I liked it very much. I liked your tongue in my ass, tasting me there, and I liked you fucking me there and cumming in my ass. Oh God, I loved it! It didn't hurt, and I can take all of you there. It felt like you were deep inside the core of me! I loved it all! It all seems so very, very naughty and nasty, but I loved it all so much! I purposely woke you so that you'd fuck me in the ass, am I a perverted harlot?" "No Sweetheart, I don't think you're perverted harlot. What two people consent to and enjoy together in their marriage bed becomes a part of who they are. You have enjoyed and experienced more in one night than many women ever experience in a lifetime! I asked you to withhold nothing from me, and you've been completely open and expressed your desires and feelings freely. Do YOU feel like a harlot?" "No. I feel strangely liberated and wonderful! I'm so dark skinned, but you love me and you love my body, I can be free with you! I have denied you nothing, my husband. I am yours, completely yours. There's nothing," and she looked me dead seriously in the eyes continuing, "Nothing I wouldn't do to make you happy! Can we do these things all the time from now on?" "Sure. Maybe not all in one night like tonight! I don't know about you, but I'm all fucked out!" Priya giggled and said, "My little pussy is sorely telling me I've truly been ravaged and defiled!" Jokingly I said to her, "Will you be my little harlot?" She looked at me sexily and replied, "If it pleases you, I'll be your nasty little harlot!" "Well, my nasty little harlot, we'd better get some sleep. It's 5am, and we have to be up by 8 to have breakfast with my parents. Can you be a good little girl and go to sleep?" "Only if you promise to always hold me to sleep." "OK, if I must, but be good!" "Yes sir, goodnight husband." Good night, my little harlot." Continued in Chapter 10... <9th attachment end> <10th attachment, "Child_Brides_of_India_10.txt" begin> Child Brides of India By C. Stanton Leman Chapter 10: Married Life begins (Rom, ped, cons, anal, ws) After a wild night of wedded bliss that ended at five this morning, Priya and I awoke at 8:30 to begin our first day as a married couple. We were both too tired (and her too sore) to fool around, so we hopped in the shower, washed each other and got out, dried and dressed. Our morning prayers complete, we headed downstairs for breakfast at 9:45. Dad had left for work and Mom was sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee. I groggily asked for a large cup of black coffee. Priya, with eyes closed and sitting next to me, kinda leaned over to rest her head against my shoulder. Mom giggled over her cup and said, "Some husband you are, did you keep this child up past her bedtime ravaging and defiling her?" Priya went back into her charade mode. She put her head in her folded hands on the table and 'sobbing' said, "Oh Madam, it was terrible! First he dragged me upstairs, he stripped away my modesty and bared my innocence for his eyes to gaze upon. He then tasted my childlike charms like a feast of forbidden fruit. To finish my defilement, He forced me to play the harlot and debauched me by penetrating me with the lascivious sword of his manhood and tore away the maidenhead of my purity." She ended her 'tale of woe' with, "boo hoo, boo hoo." While Priya was playfully acting out her ravishment, I realized at that moment that she felt a true connecting bond with my mother that maybe she couldn't be free enough to express with her own mother. She knew that my mother accepted her age, her precociousness, her skin color and everything else that others might look down upon, and only saw a young girl in love and married to her son. Mom played along and began to stroke her hair and said, "You poor, poor child! How did you survive so much debauching? Surely you thought of death, yet I heard no cries of distress." "Oh Madam, this evil beast forced me to endure his lustful advances with cunning and guile. He cast a spell over my tender senses and mingled his lust with candied caresses, touching places I dared not touch myself. He summoned up the demons of desire to conspire against me. Being an innocent child to such witchcraft, I succumbed and relented to his fornications." Mom asked her, "What are you saying: were you a very naughty girl?" Priya looked up with a cute smile, giggled and said, "Me Ma would be proud of me." Mom then said, "How do feel about all this?" "Sore." Mom then gave me a look to go see about breakfast, so I excused myself and went to the kitchen, but left the door open to eavesdrop. Mom placed her hand on Priya's and asked her softly, "Priya, are you alright? How do you really feel about last night? Why the charade?" Priya grabbed my mother's hand and said, "I'm fine. I'm sore inside, but I'm fine. I'm a little confused, maybe overwhelmed by what happened, and why I acted and did some of the things I did." Mom said to her, "Did you talk to Sean about it?" Priya replied, "Yes, but am I wrong to like the things we did? Am I a harlot for enjoying such things?" Mom got serious and asked her, "Did he hurt you? Did he force you to do something you didn't want to do?" "No, Sean didn't hurt me. In fact, he was very gentle and loving. It's just that we did things I never expected we'd do, and I liked it... all of it. I experienced feelings that I would not have dreamed myself capable of. Sean awakened desires in me that I didn't know existed, and now, I want to do them again and again." Mom tried to console her by saying, "Look Priya, without knowing exactly what you did, all I can say is this: if you're not being forced to do something, and you enjoy what the two of you did together, then there's nothing to feel bad about... IF. If you've done something that was pleasing at the time, but now you feel guilty about, I wouldn't do that again, do you understand? The intimate life you and Sean share, must be something that you both enjoy, find mutually pleasing and satisfying, and fun. Yes, fun. Guilt will only lead to resentment, and resentment will drive you away from him, not draw you closer. It doesn't matter what the two of you do together, whether it's anal sex, or maybe you like being tied up and have your ass spanked; it doesn't matter what it is, what's satisfying to you may turn me off completely. What others think doesn't matter as long as no one gets hurt, either physically or emotionally. Only you and Sean can determine what's right for the two of you. Do you understand? Hell, you're eleven years old! How many people would say that you getting married is a crime? Do you think you've committed a crime?" "No!" Priya responded, " If I thought it was a crime or wrong, I never would have gotten married!" "It's the same with sex." Mom responded, "Don't let others tell you how to act in the bedroom. If you truly liked what you did, and you want to continue doing those things, then continue to do so with a clear conscience. Intimacy also involves trying new things; some you'll like, others you won't. Don't be afraid to try things but only do those things you would continue to enjoy doing without regret. Have I helped ease your confusion any? Oh! By the way, you're not a harlot! A harlot will do anything for money; whether she likes it or not. Don't ever degrade yourself by feeling that way, understand?" "Yes, Mom, I understand. I guess I was kinda overwhelmed and didn't trust my feelings. I enjoyed everything we did last night very much, and now that I have a little understanding of some of what I like, I can be free to share those things with Sean and not feel bad about it. As for the charade, I guess I was acting out my anxiety. I feel a strange and close bond with you and I believe that you know me even better than my mother; I could never talk to her about these things." "I love you Priya, and I'll always be here for you if you need me; always! I have to tell you how proud I am of you because you are handling issues that grown women struggle with and some never seem to resolve. You'll be fine. Just remember what I've told you and never, and I mean never, forget you can say 'no' when you don't want to do something and always talk these things out with your husband; he's the one you share your bed with." "I promise. I love you, Mom." "I love you too. Now, why don't the two of you get something to eat, OK?" I took that as my queue, and returned to the dining room with two plates of food. We sat and ate breakfast, talking of the upcoming events such as Priya returning to school and me going to work. We'd just finished eating when the phone rang. Mom answered it and said, "Here Sean, its Adib." I took the receiver from Mom and after we exchanged salaams, Adib said, "Good morning Son, how's Priya?" I replied, "She's fine, would you like to talk to her?" "No, its not permitted," he said. "Why?" I asked. "On the fourth day, you'll bring her back to her home for her welcoming. But the reason I'm calling is because there's the last step in making your marriage legal that needs to be done. You and Priya must be at the magistrate's office tomorrow at 10am for the civil ceremony and get your marriage license. Bring your parents; Mahmoud and I will also be there, just like the Muslim ceremony, do you understand?" "Yes, do you anticipate any problems?" "No, but it will be quick: no more than 30 minutes. Have Priya dress in a nice sari, and you can wear a suit, OK?" "Sure, are you OK?" "I'm fine, its just that last night was the first time Priya has not been with us, and although we're full of joy for her, we've had to let her go before we intended to." "Priya's happy also, but I know she misses all of you too." "Well, give her my love, and I'll see both of you tomorrow." We said our salaams and disconnected the line. I returned to the dining room and filled Priya and Mom in on my conversation with Adib. I also proffered the thought that after the ceremony, Priya and I should go to her school and update her records. Mom and Priya thought that was a good idea. Mom called Dad and informed him (to his relief) that the civil ceremony would happen tomorrow. He said he'd make reservations for a celebratory dinner tomorrow evening. Priya and I went out shopping. Just something to get out of the house, finally be together in public without a chaperone and just begin to enjoy our married life. Priya bought some new clothes, and some gifts for her family. We returned home in time to get ready to have dinner when Dad got home. It seemed strange at dinner that evening: my parents, and my wife and I. Priya dressed in a western style yellow sundress and wore her black wavy hair down. Dad was in awe of her and said, "Priya, I didn't realize how beautiful you really are: you have the most beautiful hair!" Priya gave us all a nice 'chocolate blush,' and said giggling, "Father, I bet you say that to all the young girls!" Mom jokingly jumped in with "She's got your number doesn't she?" Dad just laughed and said, "Guilty as charged." I added my two cents with, "I think she's had his number from day one!" Dad said, "Yeah well don't tell anyone about it, I have a reputation to protect." Mom went into her protective mode and nonchalantly asked Priya, "Has Sean sucked your toes yet?" With that, Dad nearly choked on a green bean and busted out laughing with Mom right behind him. I was chuckling also and Priya looked at all of us and said, "What: did I miss something?" Mom said, "No dear, you'll find out soon enough." The rest of dinner went without any more shenanigans, and we retired to the living room to watch a movie. Priya and I sat on the love seat with Priya nestled in the crook of my right side and she pulled my arm across her shoulder to rest on her right breast. I cupped her breast in my hand and she looked up and smiled, and then looked back to the movie. I began tracing slow circles around her bra-covered bud, and I felt her nipple harden. She placed her left hand on my thigh and every so often would squeeze my thigh when she felt a shivered tingle. Her breathing became a little quicker and deeper, but we made it through the movie without drawing too much attention to our escapades. When the movie was over, Priya and I said goodnight and retired to the scene of our first taste of bliss only hours before. We said our evening prayers. I was thinking of last night's conversation, and the internal conflict in her earlier remarks. I fervently prayed for redemption from my demon, and to live my life in satisfaction with my wife: even into old age. Does she know? How could she? At the moment, all I could think about was my desire for her luscious, pubescent body and the pleasures she could bring me. We then began to get undressed for bed. Right as Priya was pulling her sundress over her head, I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to me, and pressed my hard on into the crease of her back. She pushed back a little and said, "Do you want to make nasty with me again?" "Very nasty," I said. "Sean," she began, "Just being near you fills me with such a need to be touched. All I can think about is doing the things we did last night. I like being nasty with you! Can we be nasty?" "As nasty as you want," I said softly. Priya spun around in my arms, leaned back to look me in the eyes, and then reached around behind her and unhooked her bra. She flung it to the floor and ground herself into me and said, "Let's get undressed and take a shower." She pulled away, pulled her panties down in one swift motion and flung them with her foot to the side, and then padded her dainty little butt to the bathroom. I got undressed and followed her into the bathroom, and then we stepped into the shower. Priya then turned to face me running her finger up and down her chocolate colored slit and with a wicked grin said, "Would you like me to pee for you? Will you taste me like last night?" I looked down at her and said, "I'd taste you whenever I can got the chance," and knelt down in front of her. Priya looked down at me with pure lust in her eyes and meekly said, "Can we play a game?" "Maybe... what kind of game?" I asked. "Can we pretend you're an invading foreigner and I'm your captive slave, and you make me do nasty things for your pleasure? Pretend to force me to do nasty things?" "Well... alright," I said, "But I don't particularly like the idea of force." As I was saying this, I felt a sudden rush of power. She had touched a nerve: a certain nerve, and that creaky closet door opened up again in my mind. Priya was subconsciously feeding the demon within me to play out a scene with an 11 year- old girl--despite the fact the she was my wife--to control a child for my own pleasure. I stood, reached out to the towel rack and pulled a hand towel off the rack and looked down at her. She went into her charade mode and stood, eyes cast down, turned slightly to the right with her left leg bent at the knee and her hands folded in front, covering her sex. I was rock hard! I grabbed her shoulders and spun her around and grabbed her wrists, her hands still covered in henna painted designs. I brought them around behind her back and tied them together, and turned her around to face me. I pulled her chin up to look at me and she pretended to try and look away. I jerked her back to look at me and she looked up. I told her, "You are mine, and you'll do as I ask or you'll be punished. Do you understand?" Priya cast her eyes down and meekly said, "Please sir, please, don't hurt me." "Silence! Spread your legs!" Priya hesitated a moment, and then moved her legs apart about two feet, and I said, "Wider!" She then shuffled them apart another foot. I then sat down between her legs and looked at her jewel. The lower edge of her slit where her hole was, glistened with her oils. I pried her pussy lips opened and licked her juices, and she gave a small shuddering hiss. I then began to lick around her clitoral hood until her little nubbin peeked out. She arched her pelvis forward, and leaned into my mouth. I stopped my oral ministrations, and she moaned out her displeasure. I told her, "When I tap your leg, pee for me. When I tap it again, stop your flow. When I tap you again, resume. Do you understand?" Priya, in full slave mode pleaded, "Oh sir! Please don't make me do this awful thing!" "Silence!" I retorted, "Do you understand? Do you wish to be punished?" Turning her head away to the left she meekly said, "No sir, I'll pee for you." I pried her pussy lips open and ordered her, "Lean your cunt into my mouth." She bent slightly at the knees and slowly leaned her gaping vulva to my mouth. With my mouth buried in her slit and onto her clit, I began to torture her by flicking my tongue over her exposed button. She involuntarily quivered a couple of times, and I lowered my mouth to her urethra. It was pulsing open and closed. I placed my left hand behind her right thigh and brought my right hand up and began to massage her little clit. After she quivered twice, I tapped her thigh. She shuddered a deep "Uuuuhh," and I felt her pulse and slowly open. Priya began to piss in a few halting dribbles and then began to flow. She cried out "OH God! I'm peeing in your mouth!" I continued teasing her clit as I drank her warm, salty emission. When my mouth was full, I tapped her again and she squeaked to sputtering halt, and was breathing through her mouth. After I swallowed, I tapped her again, and she began to slowly flow. I did this three more times, and it was becoming increasing harder for her to maintain control of her bladder as she approached orgasm. I then applied more pressure to her clitty as I tapped her leg, and she immediately began to flow. I sucked on her piss hole and attacked her clit with my finger; and while still pissing in midstream, she groaned out "Oh God!" and came hard. Priya's knees buckled, and I had to catch her, piss spraying my face, to keep her from falling backward with her hands tied behind her back. Our bodies slick with her emissions caused my hand to slip and I almost dropped her. I lowered her to sit on my thighs, and held her to me. She was still quivering and panting through her mouth as I stroked the side of her face. I was now painfully erect and needing release, so once her breathing somewhat steadied, I pulled her hair to force her to look at me and I said, "Get up." Once standing, I arose and looked down at her saying, "On your knees!" Still in a fog, I had to hold her under her armpits as she struggled to kneel. Once on her knees, with hands tied behind her back, she looked up at me with doe eyes. I looked down at her, fisted my 7" pole and tapped her on the chin with it. She gazed at my cock, only inches from her lips, and I said, "Suck. Spill a drop and I punish you!" Priya leaned forward, planted a kiss on the head of my cock and slowly took me into her mouth. I moved my hands to the side of her head and grabbed her hair, slowly fucking my cock in and out of her mouth. Priya was definitely in the part, because she attacked the head of my cock with her tongue, swirling and sucking with passion. I tried to control myself, thrusting only about tree inches into her mouth, but a couple of times went overboard, causing her to gag. I was caught up in the scene and couldn't control myself any longer. My nuts tightened up and I said, "Here it comes, take it all!" I thrust forward, threw my head back and howled Aaahhh" and erupted into her sucking mouth. She heaved, and her mouth opened for a second to catch her breath, and some escaped from her lower lip dripping down to her chin. She was swallowing hard and fast to keep up because I'd shot about three or four more spurts into her waiting mouth. Once I'd finished spurting, I squeezed out the remainder, and just let her gently suck the glans before withdrawing from her mouth and releasing my hands from her hair. Priya was gasping, trying to regain her breath when she looked up at me. Her eyes were glazed over and looked submissive, and yet surprised by the intensity of the scene we'd just played out. She had a string of cum hanging from her chin and I watched it drop onto the center of her chest, right between her breasts and continued to run down to her navel. After regaining my breath, I said to her, "Are you thirsty?" Priya then looked down submissively and nodded. I said to her, "Put you head back and open your mouth: eyes on me." She then sat back on her thighs, looked up at me and opened her mouth. I then ordered her, "Swallow what I give you," pointed me dick at her mouth and slowly began to piss. I caught her on the chin and as it splattered she closed her eyes as I moved my stream up to her waiting mouth. I filled her mouth and it began to overflow, so I pinched off the flow. She swallowed and I continued again, repeating this three times. I then directed my stream down to coat both of her breasts and said to her, "Lean back." She threw her head back and obeyed and I finished by pissing directly onto her exposed clit. Priya shuddered and moaned out "OH God! I love you!" I reached down and grabbed her by the shoulder to keep her from falling backwards and hitting her head. I then reached down and grabbed her under her armpits and pulled her up to stand. I held her wet body in my arms and said to her, "Are you alright?" She began to cry softly and said, "Why do I like this so much? It's so nasty! Why does it hold such a fascination to me?" "I don't know, Baby," I replied softly, "Sometimes we don't understand why we like the things we do, but I enjoy it also: does that mean we're both crazy?" "I can't understand why it makes me burn inside to do these things, but it does. I thought that if I made you 'force' me, I wouldn't like it so much, but I'm kidding myself: I DO like it so!" "Well, besides needing a shower afterwards, it's harmless, don't you think? We're not hurting each other, so why fret about it?" "I don't know... it's as if a demon had taken over me and I need to do this. I wonder if I'm normal to like this sort of thing." I know about demons, and I don't think it's a good idea to play these games of force very often. I'm afraid things might get out of hand." "I trust you not to hurt me, Sean. If I didn't, I wouldn't have asked." "It's not you, it's me. I'm afraid my lust will overtake me and I'll go too far, and make you think less of me." "It seems we both don't want to hurt each other, but can you accept me and my nasty feelings?" Momentarily thinking of MY demon, I responded, "I accept you unconditionally, if you can only come to accept me." Priya looked up at me quizzically and then steadfastly said, "I will unconditionally try to fulfill all of your desires, no matter what." With an ironic chuckle, I said, ""You may not realize what that might entail." "Wait and see," She said, "The vow has passed my lips, and I shall fulfill it." Staring blankly at her for a moment, I thought of what the implications of her words might possibly bring in the future. Will I use her demon to feed mine? Or would we be caught up in our lusts, she consuming me or worse, destroying us both. Flinching in my gut as I tried to again close that creaky door, I said, "We'll see. Let's take a shower." Priya giggled and shakily stood and I untied her hands and turned on the water to shower. We washed each other, toweled each other dry, then moved to the bedroom. We got into bed and immediately began the dance of love, kissing each other trying to quench each other's fires. Oh God, how I loved to suck her bulbous buds and pretended to ingest the nourishing milk from her developing nipples. Priya, sensing my need pulled me to her sensitive breast buds as if to feed me what she couldn't yet give. I was consumed with the fires of passion, and dove from her breasts directly to her pussy. I pulled her legs up with her knees at her shoulders, splitting her obscenely open and dove in. I completely engulfed her tiny vulva in my mouth, slathering it with my tongue and searching for her clit. We were both of the same state of mind, and she said, "Yessss! Suck it! Suck my baby pussy!" Her vulgar orations fueled the fires of my lust, making me realize that I was eating an 11 year-old pussy. She was flowing like a river, oozing desire from her winking, dripping cunt. Placing her arms over the back of her thighs, she grabbed her ankles and pulled back, trying to force herself into my feasting mouth. Her anus was winking rapidly and when I saw it, I thrust my pointed tongue right up her ass. She moaned out, "Oh God! Sooo gooood! Sooooo nasty! Suck it, suck my ass, and eat me!" I pulled my tongue from her ass and panted out, "I need to be inside you!" Still prying her legs apart to show me her dark brown star, she said, "I'm still too sore, put it in my ass, fuck my ass!" I didn't even bother with the lube. I pressed my engorged member to her saliva coated anus, she then grunted and pushed and I pressed inward. She was so enflamed with desire I slipped right past her sphincter and into her ass, and she let out a muffled "Umpf." I stopped as her muscle gripped my invading cock like a vise and waited. I started with slow, deliberate strokes and after about five minutes, I was soon balls deep in her colon. She was on fire! Her ass was like a raging furnace: so fucking hot! Like the night before, she placed her feet on my hips and began to milk me deep into her bowels. Looking down at her distended, swollen and penetrated ass, she was matching me thrust for thrust, and moaned in a deep guttural tone, "Oh God, so deep! It feels like I can taste you in my throat!" She was squeezing me on the withdrawal while pushing away with her legs, and releasing her muscle and sliding back down on with my thrusts, panting a "Uuuhh" when I hit bottom. I was on fire, and I was slapping my balls against her tiny ass as hard as I could, trying to climb inside her. I felt my nuts pull up and my legs begin to tighten and cried out, I'm cummmmminnnnnggggg!" Priya quickly flung herself backwards onto the bed, wrapped her legs around my waist and pushed herself off the bed from her shoulders down, and began to orgasm with me. Her sphincter locked my cock in place as I painfully continued, what seemed like forever, to shoot off into her bowels. She'd spasm with each spurt, clinching, milking my cock. Priya, with her mouth open and eyes wide, was almost catatonic. She had a trickle of saliva running from the side of her mouth and making a low, guttural sound. I collapsed on top of her and simply went limp. Silently, Priya gently pushed me, and I rolled off of her onto my back and just stared at the ceiling panting. She slowly rose from the bed and waddled to the bathroom. After draining her ass on the toilet and washing off, she brought back a washcloth and gently cleaned my cock. I managed to recover and asked her, "Are you alright?" She smiled and said, "I'm fine. A little sore and weak in the legs, but I'm fine." "How's your ass? Are you sore?" "No, but you must have put a liter inside me, it's still running out of me!" We looked between her legs, and sure enough, she had a trail running down the inside of her thigh. She giggled and flopped on the bed on her back, cum still leaking out of her ass. "God! I'm such a nasty girl! Allah help me, I love it so much!" "I love you Priya. God, I love you so!" "I love you too, Sean. No matter what, I will NEVER let you go!" She rolled over, and I held her in a spooning position. She lifted her leg, placed my deflated member between her legs, and we both fell exhausted into a sated slumber, cum still coating the inside of her thighs Continued in Chapter 11... <10th attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+