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From: "C. Stanton Leman" <csleman.story@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Child Brides of India
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Date: Sun, 18 Mar 2007 13:10:02 -0400
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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 caf�, 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...
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<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 fianc� 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...
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<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...
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<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>


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