The Life and Times of an Expatriate, Chap 1-3

CHAPTER ONE

After a lifetime of work and saving my wife and I retired early to her home country in Central America nearly a decade ago. The reduced costs allowed us to live a comfortable life in the countryside. We built a small home with just a single bedroom as any visitors could stay at a nearby B&B.
With wages obscenely low, we hired a local young, single mother as our housekeeper and cook. She was fantastic and her young daughter became like a grandchild to us. Dora was an orphan and just a teenager herself when she had Anita.
The girl was only four when her mother started working for us. It wasn’t long before we decided to help Anita have a better chance in life and placed her in a private, bilingual school. She thrived in the school and in just a few years was speaking better English than I spoke Spanish.
Seven years after moving to our home near Lake Yojoa, my wife and Dora went to the city of San Pedro Sula for a day of shopping. They were on there way home when my wife lost control on a narrow mountain road. Both were killed instantly. My world died with them and now Anita was alone in the world like her mother before her.
It was left to me to tell this horrible news to the girl. I was a basket case myself, but had to be strong for the child. She took the news as hard as any child would, we held each other and cried through the night. She did eventually fall asleep from exhaustion and I put her to bed in my bedroom, a room I wasn’t sure I’d ever use again due to the memories of my wife. I slept on the couch and would for weeks to come.
Friends from a nearby town came and helped us both pack away our loved ones belongings. By depersonalizing the home it made it easier to continue living there. Anita tried to return to the small home she had shared with her mother. She took over the work her mother had done and there was no question that she would still continue her education. It was only a few days after returning to her home that she began working late and finding excuses to stay at my house. I didn’t mind as she added life to the house.
After a month in which she stayed with me all but about three nights, I faced reality and asked if she would just like to move into my home. I can still feel the hug she gave me along with the warmth of the tears that rolled off of her cheeks.
I had finally returned to my bed and she started sleeping on the couch. It soon became apparent that there would be difficulties sharing the small home with a preteen girl. To begin with the bathroom was off the bedroom and she would need to come through when ever she needed to use it. Privacy was not something my wife and I put a great deal of thought into, now it was going to be an issue.
On more than one occasion we surprised each other in states of disrobe. At first it was uncomfortable but we grew used to each other and shyness faded with familiarity. Weeks turned to months and we each grew closer, Anita became like a daughter and I became her “Popi.”

The following winter was exceptionally cold for the region and frequently rains added dampness to the cold. One night in February brought a storm with heavy blowing rain and the coolest weather in years. I was comfortably asleep when I felt a hand softly shaking me awake.
“Popi, lo siento but it is muy frio and I am cold. May I please sleep with you?” Anita asked me.
I, of course, agreed giving it not a thought and she crawled into the bed, snuggly up against me for warmth.
I had always been a sound sleeper and my wife was frequently annoyed when she would have a full conversation with me only find I had no recollection in the morning having never awoken while speaking to her.
So it was in the morning as I slumbered awake. I felt the warmth and weight against me but forgot the tragedy that had struck my lovely wife. In my haze I thought it her and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her small body to mine and cupping her tiny breast, feeling the nipple harden beneath my palm.
Nuzzling her and smelling her hair brought me comfort and arousal I had not known in a very long time.
“Popi…”
Small body? Tiny Breast? I froze in terror as the realization came to me that I was groping a child, not my beloved wife. Sputtering apologies and remorse, I pulled away from Anita.
“Que est?ien, it is okay, you make me feel good,” Anita said.
I slipped from bed and walked into the bathroom to gather my thoughts. There I felt myself erect and sought to relieve myself, stroking slowly up and down the length of my cock, feeling my balls growing tight and cum churning up to erupt in strong spurts. But it was with tumult as I pictured not my wife, but Anita as my orgasm coursed through my body.
That day played out awkwardly as I tried to avoid Anita while I found a way to apologize for my actions. It was at supper as she sat down to eat with me that she broke the silence
“Popi, are you mad at me for last night?” Anita said quietly.
I broke down as I told her she should be mad at me, that I took advantage of her and that I was wrong, very wrong. I felt horrible at violating this child’s trust in me.
Anita got up and walked around the table to me, kneeling down so see could look into my downcast eyes.
“Popi, you miss the Abuela very much, like I miss mi Madre. Last night you held me when I was cold and scared. It felt very good and I felt very loved, more than I have ever felt before. Don’t feel bad Popi, for you made me feel very special.
Then she looked at me with her large brown eyes, leaned in and gave me a small kiss, but let it linger so I could feel her moist, soft lips against mine. I brought my hand up and caressed her cheek before kissing her back with passion.
Our lips meshed and our tongues found the others. This was a kiss of both love and lust. My mind raced with a portion screaming that it was wrong, that Anita was a child, who trusted me to protect her.