A Story I Wrote (Hey, What did you expect? I wrote it stoned.)

	Once upon a time not so long ago there lived a
young girl by the name of Daphnia who, along with her 
father, mother, and two brothers, called the island of
Crete their home. A newcomer to the island could spend 
countless days wandering amiss among the Greek ruins 
sprinkled haphazardly about the countryside, and never 
see a fraction of the sights. Here and there ancient 
piles of stones and white cement columns jutted from 
the ground placed there thousands of years ago by a 
people long extinct. The massive blocks of stone stood 
now as a living testament to the culture that only 
existed in children’s textbooks playing out the same 
slanted stories over and over again for each new 
school year. But for poor Daphnia, the ruins were 
nothing more than an ordinary part of the landscape. 
She paid no more attention to passing an ancient 
sculpture as she did to passing by a lowly shrub in 
front of her small house. Some days she would sit on 
the dusty step of her front porch watching for hours 
the solemn-faced foreigners scurrying around a 
formation of ancient buildings that once served as the 
military headquarters. It always amazed her that 
people would come thousands of kilometers to visit 
something as plain and ordinary as stone buildings. 
Surely they must have things as this in their own 
villages and towns? She thought to herself. Often she 
would spend the day helping her mother do chores 
around their home as there was seldom school to 
attend. 
	Daphnia’s father was a shepherd by trade, and 
he spent long days tending the flock with his two sons 
in tow. Just as his father and grandfather had tended 
the flocks from the time they were of age, so would 
Daphnia’s brothers grow into their predestined role. 
And so it went throughout the small village with sons 
following the footsteps of their fathers. In hundreds 
of years there were only a few newcomers and seldom 
fewer that left. By the time a son was fourteen, he 
was expected to quit school and take the trade of his 
father as a full time apprentice. The blacksmith’s 
son, Gecko, at age eighteen was already performing  
duties with watchful father at his side. It would not 
be long before Gecko would need to find a wife and 
start a family. But alas, there were no girls of 
marrying age in the village of about one hundred 
people except Daphnia, and she was only sixteen. 
Surely her parents would consent to a marriage for 
sixteen was not an unheard of age for a young bride, 
but Daphnia had no eye for Gecko. She longed to see 
the sights of the world. One day she promised herself, 
she would leave this island and travel to the distant 
lands that lie across the sea. The few pictures of the 
outside world she had seen in the picture books used 
at school had lit a passion in her that burned 
stronger as she grew older. Soon her only thoughts 
were those of the huge, bustling cities crowded with 
so many people scurrying about like great flocks of 
sheep. She began to spend hours lying on her bed 
daydreaming, or sitting alone in the shade of a great 
poplar tree. Her mother soon noticed the changes and 
started worrying for her daughter’s condition.
	“Daphnia.” her mother began one day in the 
kitchen as Daphnia walked in, “Why don’t you go 
outside anymore? Your skin is beginning to look pale.” 
When her daughter did not respond she looked up to 
find the reason. “Come here and give your mother a 
hug.” she said as she gazed into her daughter’s eyes. 
Her mother felt the sharp pain of her daughter’s heart 
as she drew her into an embrace. No man could ever 
know the special relationship a mother had with her 
daughter. It was something sacred that was more felt 
than expressed by words. A bond develops between 
mother and daughter that remains long after the 
daughter has started a family of her own. Perhaps the 
bond was based upon the common sufferings that women 
endure in the struggle of life. Her mother had endured 
much in her life and she longed for her daughter to 
find the happiness that she herself had long ago
learned to let go of. Age and responsibility had taken 
their toll leaving the woman with only the hopes and 
dreams that could be lived vicariously through her 
daughter. 
	“Mother.” Daphnia answered after spending a 
few quiet moments in the comfort and protection of her 
mother’s loving hug. “I am almost of age, and yet I 
have never seen anything of the world. Surely there must be more to the world we live in than this small 
village.” 
	“I wouldn’t know. I myself have only lived on 
this island, and seen nothing else.” Her mother 
answered lovingly. She stepped back a few inches and 
looked her daughter up and down. “You’re growing into such an attractive young lady. Haven’t you had 
thoughts yet of any young men?” 
	“Of course, mother. But what am I to do? 
Settle for one of the few local boys in our village, 
and just throw away the rest of my life without having 
tasted of the many things it has to offer?” Her eyes 
pleaded for her mother’s understanding. “Haven’t you 
ever wanted to go abroad and see the large cities
filled with more people than one can see with a 
thousand eyes?” She asked excitedly.
	“Maybe once when I was a young girl, but now 
at my age such thoughts are pure folly.” She held her 
tongue at the sharp pang of her daughters remarks 
although Daphnia had not yet realized that she had 
insulted her mother, and so she continued on.
	“I see that I have only one chance to realize 
my dreams of travel. Once I have married and settled 
down I shall surely go mad if I had never taken the 
chance. As I lay on my deathbed recounting the scenes 
of my life would I then think it better or worse to 
have traveled and seen the sights of the world, or 
would I regret the fact that I didn’t marry earlier? 
Maybe the added few years would have witnessed me 
produce an extra son or two for my growing family.” 
She finished sarcastically as she was often prone to a 
taste of sarcasm. This condition could likely be 
attributed to her long periods of solitary wanderings, 
or to her flights of daydreaming of which she was 
becoming so accustomed.  
	“Daphnia, do what your heart tells you. There 
have been others from our village that have left, but 
most have returned. Remember the shopkeeper’s son who 
went off to America?” Daphnia nodded. “He has been 
gone for over ten years. Not once has he returned to 
see his family.” Daphnia immediately sensed her 
mother’s fears. Her mother was simply afraid to lose 
her. 
	“Mother, I will never be gone from you life. I promise. You will see me as often as you ever cared 
to.” The grumbling sound of a group of trucks coming 
up the road near the front of their house as they 
headed to the monthly market caught the attention of 
both mother and daughter. Daphnia’s mother turned
quickly back toward Daphnia. 
	“Your father will be back in a little while.
Don’t speak to him about this or you will upset him 
very badly. If you still want to leave when you’re 
eighteen than I will help you. I have a little money 
put away. Even your father knows nothing of it. If 
your heart still longs to leave after two years than I 
will give you this money to help you get abroad. But 
you mustn’t speak openly of this to anyone.” The 
seriousness of the situation quickly melted and her 
mother erupted into a wide grin. She held her arms 
open for her daughter’s rush of affection.
	“Oh mother. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I 
love you so very much.” She bathed her mother’s cheeks 
in small kisses, and hugged her neck tightly. 
	“Remember, not a word of this to your father 
or brothers. If they find out I will not be able to 
give you the money for fear of upsetting your father.” 
She returned the hug with an equally strong embrace of 
her own, and then mother and daughter returned to the 
tasks that had preoccupied them before their little 
talk. Each now retained a modicum of the glow that 
stems from a connection made deep within the soul of 
two people that love each other deeply.
	Time went slowly by for Daphnia. At first her 
days were filled with the joys of planning in secret 
her first overseas journey. But there were so many 
decisions to make. Where to go? How to get there? What 
to see first? There were so many countries and lands, 
peoples and animals, mountains and oceans. So many 
different things to experience. Her soul leapt with 
desire at the thought of running naked down a 
beautiful tropic beach, or flying in a great big jet 
thousands of meters in the air. She would peer through 
the porthole of the plane at the tiny little villages 
and towns looking like small dots on a gigantic map 
without names.  After many months of studying every 
travelbook she could find at the monthly market, she 
finally decided to go to America just as Kronos the 
shopkeeper’s son had done. 
	Days turned into months and eventually the two 
years had elapsed. Mother had kept her promise and 
made a gift of the money she had been shrewdly been 
saving during the course of almost twenty years of 
marriage. The only thing that remained to be solved 
was the transportation abroad. Daphnia wisely decided 
to tell her father of her departure only when it was 
absolutely necessary, and that would be on the day she 
left. Her mother had been pleased that Daphnia had 
seen the wisdom of her advice as the mother would be 
living with the ramifications of Daphnia’s departure 
for years to come. 
	A few weeks after Daphnia had received the 
money from her mother, a group of evangelists came 
into the village for a weekend of baptizing, scripture 
reading, and gospel spreading. Different wandering 
groups of missionaries visited the sprawling villages 
every few years. Sometimes they were rewarded with a 
few converts, but more often they were entertained by 
the villagers only as a distraction to the mundane 
rigors of their village life. The villagers had grown 
indifferent to the lunatic ravings and threats of the 
various religions proclaiming to be the only path to 
salvation. Only one church stood in the village, and 
it was used for everything from dances to town 
meetings, only on Sundays were the parishioners 
gathered for the worship of God, and they did so in a 
strictly Catholic tradition. Despite all the external 
influences of change that threatened the village from every corner, things remained virtually unchanged for 
the past three hundred years. 
	The festivities began Saturday morning with a 
carnival of sorts designed to bring the village 
children in by hooking their curiosity. There were 
games of all sorts with shiny prizes for the more 
adept. The missionaries, who numbered twenty persons, 
had even brought a group of four ponies that rode 
behind the first bus in a large, boxed-shaped trailer. 
Children would be shouting with merriment from the
gentle backs of the well-fed ponies as they marched 
slowly around in circles. The second bus was used as 
the sleeping quarters, with showers and running water 
in the rear. Both buses had been donated to the 
missionary group by an American charter company that 
had long since written the buses off their tax 
records. After an extensive overhaul and complete 
makeover, the buses were converted into a traveling 
mission by the European Christian Coalition. Twenty 
volunteers were selected based upon their conviction 
in the word of God, and their commitment to the 
selfless service of their mankind. Of the original 
twenty, fifteen still numbered their ranks after five 
years of dedicated service. Two had gotten married. 
Two others had just disappeared one weekend, and the 
other had renounced God and returned to the secular 
world of deceit and licentious behavior. All five were 
quickly replaced from along list of waiting applicants.
	The efforts of the missionaries were slow and 
wrought with disappointment for each time they brought 
a proselyte into the fold two neophytes escaped out 
the back door. It was a constant battle to convert the 
deluded non-believers, and to maintain the weak, 
backsliding neophyte’s faith. They found their best 
success by traveling in a circuit around the small 
villages sprawled across the Greek countryside. To get 
to Crete they had to take a ferry from the mainland. 
Once on the island they would spend a few weeks 
visiting the places with recent converts, and a few 
more weeks visiting those places of recently lost 
neophytes. They especially enjoyed the carnival 
atmosphere of the weekend revivals. Each of the 
missionaries worked hard to construct the makeshift 
theater for the evening Bible skits, or to set up 
tables with children’s games underneath the shade of 
wide trees in the park. The missionaries went as far as roasting sausages and chickens on a large open fire so that the sweet smells would attract the villagers 
from every corner of the village. The meats were usually donated, and then sold very cheaply, or rather 
donations of a set amount were charged for each item 
as the missionaries lived off only the meager donations of each visit. Oh, and by the moderate 
stipend provided by the church each month to ensure 
that every apostle-in-training had pocket change, and 
a little extra spending money for entertainment 
purposes. To the villagers, the prices were 
reasonable, not free as most would have liked it, but 
reasonable for the opportunity to eat beyond the door of one’s house. 
	Once they had successfully lured the greater 
part of the village into the small area they so 
lovingly referred to as a park, the missionaries would 
send half of their group into the gathering crowd of 
people busy gossiping, or exchanging friendly gestures 
of notice, or of pretending to not notice someone. The 
missionaries would begin softly by greeting people with smiling faces and gentle handshakes. The village 
men had noticed from the first arrival of missionaries 
that their hands were soft like a woman’s, and pasty 
white. They wondered how men like this could support a 
family or do any type of work. Maybe, many village men 
thought, these men were the strange type that desired 
the company of another man. 
	The villagers secretly laughed at the strange, 
white missionaries behind their backs. Little kids
would pretend to be missionaries as part of their 
children’s games. The other children would then proceed to chase and torment the new ‘missionary’ with 
blows to the body and kicks to the leg or back once a 
missionary was downed. A child’s worst fear became the 
silent dread of another mischievous child sneaking up 
behind him or her and screaming “MISSIONARY!” directly 
in the ear. The scream was an audible signal for every 
village child from age three through thirteen to come 
running and screaming “MISSIONARY!” in mass unison 
over and over again. It was no use trying to run or 
hide from the onslaught of punches and kicks, for the 
accuser would always give chase leading the others to 
wherever one fled.  Human frailty always prevailed in 
the end, and the victim would start running as fast as 
their little feet could carry them. Once in a great 
while a fast victim would outrun a slower accuser, 
leaving the latter to a dumbfounded exasperation for 
if the mass of children arrived, and found no target 
to vent the fury now stirred they would lash out instead upon the helpless accuser.  
	Now at the carnival, the kids played games 
that were more inclined to teach bible lessons than 
test any secular skills of dexterity. Men and women 
stood in small groups eating the sausage and chicken 
on paper plates. A few women brought salads, and side dishes to serve to all. By evening villagers had come 
and gone throughout the day. As the sun finished 
setting there were but a handful of people left 
milling about. At 7:30 that evening the skits would 
begin, and all of the villagers would return to sit 
around the makeshift theater. Lights were set in the 
four corners of the outdoor stage, and powered by 
portable generators within the bus. 
	Daphnia had been one of the villagers to 
attend the daytime festivities. She longed for the 
company of anyone that had contacts with the outside 
world. At a few minutes before 7:00 that evening, her 
mother and father prepared to leave for the evening’s 
skits.
	“Daphnia, will you be joining us?” Her father
asked as he adjusted the collar on his best shirt. Her 
mother stood in front of the small mirror by the front 
door looking at her hair. 
	“Do I look all right darling?” Her mother asked without looking away from her reflection.
	“Yes, dear. You look fine. Everyone will be 
sure to notice you.” Her father answered still waiting 
for Daphnia to answer him.
	“Yes, I do think I’ll go. Can you wait another 
five minutes while I change my blouse?” A sudden smile 
crossed Daphnia’s face as a plan began to develop in her overflowing mind.
	“Please hurry.” Her father replied trying to 
mask his displeasure at the inconvenience. “Why don’t 
you go back into the bathroom while we’re waiting on 
Daphnia.” he added to mother as Daphnia dashed across 
the small room into the adjoining room she shared with 
her brothers. In her two-drawer bureau she choose her 
prettiest white blouse that had been given to her only 
a few weeks ago at her eighteenth birthday.
	“Boys, I want you to stay out of trouble while 
we’re gone. If anything happens we’ll be over at the 
park.” Daphnia’s father raised his voice to reach the 
two boys outside playing in the shoddy cardboard 
castle they had constructed. A few grunts of acceptance emerged between the joyful sounds of their activities. 
	A few moments later Daphnia reappeared adorned 
in her white blouse and pretty red skirt. The outfit 
accented her dark brown hair and onyx eyes. As she 
stood in the doorway her father couldn’t help but 
notice how beautiful she was. He had wondered for 
sometime why Daphnia had not taken to any of the 
frequent would-be suitors that came in a never-ending 
procession to the door. In reality there were only five men of potential in the village, and all five had 
been flatly refused each time they came. True, in a 
few years there would be three more girls to enter the 
dating pool, but that was quite a time to wait for a 
young man haunted by the incessant urges of flowing 
testosterone. 
	Three of the young men had one night went 
across to the mainland on the ferry. Heading straight 
for the nearest city they quickly found the house of 
ill-repute they sought. When all three had finished 
earning his manhood or losing his boyhood, however one 
chose to look at it, the men headed back to their 
village to brag of their exploits to the others. Small 
villages are plagued by gossip, and it was not long 
before the story spread. Soon the three were harshly 
admonished by their mothers, and secretly praised by 
their fathers. As word continued to spread, the three 
became celebrities in the small circle of men, and 
disgusting pigs in the eyes of the women. 
	Now all five would be at the evening’s skit, 
and all five would be making every attempt to win 
favor in Daphnia’s eyes. Once she had been their 
childhood playmate, now with blossomed body and 
sensuous smile, she was the playmate of their 
childlike fantasies. No attempt would be too large, or 
too small. Candy, poems, flowers, no expense too 
great. The lusts of youth had been ignited, and now 
consumed the essence of their frustrated lives. Only 
Daphnia could quench the hot fires of their souls. The very beats of their hearts sang in resonance to the 
steps of her feet as she walked down the village street to the park. 
	Father noticed that the young men were looking 
on at his prized daughter as if she were a piece of meat hanging in the butcher shop window, and he felt 
angry at the defilement that was certainly inevitable. 
He tried remembering his passed life when he had 
sought Daphnia’s mother. She was not from his village, 
but rather they met one day when his father had been taking a truckload of bleating sheep to the monthly 
market. They had fallen for each other immediately. 
Once their eyes locked they felt the passions stirring 
within their hearts as their souls seemed to connect 
in an invisible love-bond. Two years, and many long 
walks between the two villages later, they were 
married. Their love had remained strong throughout the 
years. It was a love that eventually settled into the 
cyclic life of the small village. He looked back at
the men standing idly on the sidewalk, and now had 
only a passing glance of pity and sorrow at their 
insatiable plight. Age brought different pleasures 
than youth. Patience of mind and body came easier with 
the gentle mellowing of age. Her father reflected upon 
his own plight and was amazed at how much his 
perceptions of life had changed in the years. So many 
things now stood as important that were once boring, 
or troublesome. Now his priorities had radically 
changed from the times when he stood on the sidewalk 
watching the pretty ladies walk by.
	“Father, is it all right if I stay a little after the show?” Daphnia suddenly turned and asked. 
Her father’s mind snapped back into the present with a 
sharp crack that almost caused him to stumble and 
trip. 
	“What was that?’ He replied after a slight 
hesitation. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention. What 
is it, honey?”
	“May I stay for a little while after the show 
is finished?” She asked again.
	“Is there someone you’re seeing?” He asked 
hopefully.
	“Yes, I met one of the missionaries today, and 
he has books and materials to show me this evening.” 
She turned her attention back to walking, and allowed 
the sweet smell of the wild flowers growing along the 
sidewalk to temporarily overtake her thoughts. The 
scent reminded her of the fresh spring days she spent 
as a little girl. Wandering in the lush gardens of her 
friend’s house or walking along the small brook that 
ran on the edge of town, life seemed to glow with a 
special light of its own. Her childeyes basked in the 
bright life that sprang from everything around her. 
Her nose was teased and taunted by the strong odors of 
the various plants. Some odors made one hungry, others 
made one feel lightheaded, and still others tickled 
the nostril hairs with a powerful lick. 
	“Oh, I see.” Her father replied with a failed 
attempt at masking his displeasure. Part of him hoped 
that soon his daughter would start a family of her 
own. Then he would have grandchildren to bounce on his 
knee, or take for long walks through the park. The 
other part of him felt old as he thought of his 
daughter marrying and being with a man. This part 
secretly hoped his little daughter would never grow 
old, and selfishly he would remain forever young. He 
dismissed these thoughts and began humming a tune that 
popped into his mind. Soon Daphnia’s mother joined the 
humming, and father started whistling in harmony with 
the humming. After a few steps Daphnia was overcome 
with the mood and joined the others by softly singing 
the words to the melody. To an outsider it would have 
appeared that the three of them were the happiest 
people on earth as they walked down the street holding 
hands and half-dancing to the beat they were creating.
	They arrived at the park, and their melody was 
drowned out by the buzz of many village voices idly 
chatting over the weather or the latest village 
scandal. There were very few things to happen in the 
little village without the watchful eye of one’s 
neighbors catching the act, and dutifully reporting 
the incident to everyone he encountered. The show 
consisted of a few singing skits depicting scenes from 
the New Testament mixed with short plays based on the 
life of Jesus. The missionaries performed the show in 
villages each week, and were quite gifted actors with 
sweet baritone singing voices. When the show ended and 
most of the villagers had started to leave for their 
cozy homes, Daphnia searched the mingling stragglers 
for Jim the missionary she met that afternoon. She 
soon spied him talking with a group of four 
missionaries. They were laughing and clapping each 
other on the back.
	“Jim.” She called out as she approached the 
group, but they hadn’t noticed her yet. “Jim.” She
called nearer now. The laughing quickly stopped as the 
surprised stares of the missionaries made a quick 
assessment of the approaching female body. Each 
missionary had the same thought on his mind 'Jim, you 
lucky bastard'. Jim started walking toward Daphnia and 
met her a few feet from the dazed group of 
missionaries.
	“Hi, Daphnia. How’d you like the show?” His 
eyes were glowing from the charge of performing in 
front of the villagers. Even though he had performed 
countless shows for countless audiences in the last 
five years he still felt the stage rush an entertainer 
thrives on like heroin. 
	“It was great. I need to ask you something in 
private. Is there somewhere we can talk?” 
	“Yes, the bus over there is empty. We can use 
that if you like.” He said motioning with his 
outstretched arm toward the darkened night. The 
outline of the bus was barely visible from where they 
stood. 
	“That will be fine,” she answered as she 
started walking toward the bus without even waiting 
for Jim. Jim was forced to run a few steps to catch up 
with her. As the two of them disappeared into the 
darkness, the gaping-mouthed missionaries stood 
transfixed. Each of the four had the same thought on 
his mind. Jim, you lucky bastard. Any of the four was 
ready to trade his prized, leather-bound bible for a 
single evening with the likes of Daphnia.
	“I wanted to ask you a favor,” she began as 
they sat at the dining table inside the darkened bus. 
Jim softly tapped his fingers on the table as he 
listened intently to Daphnia’s pleading. Finally, a 
few minutes into her soliloquy he interrupted.
	“I wish there was some way I could help you, I 
really do, but my hands are tied I’m afraid. The 
insurance we carry only covers the missionaries. If we 
were involved in an accident, or something.......”
	“But nothing will happen.” Daphnia 
interrupted. “You just have to help me. I’ll do 
anything to get off this island.” Obviously the two 
had differing definitions of the term ‘anything’. A 
sly smile crept across Jim’s face. In the darkness it 
was impossible for Daphnia to see Jim’s face, but she 
felt a sudden chilling tingle in her spine. Some evil 
entity had entered the room, and she could feel it’s 
cold powerful presence in the dark. This frightened 
her, and she suddenly wished she had went home with 
her parents. What am I doing here? She thought. 
	“Perhaps there is a way.” Jim offered after a 
few moments of manipulative silence. “If I help you 
get off the island what will I get?” 
	“I only have a little money. The price of the 
ferry would not leave me with enough to purchase a 
plane ticket to America. You must help me. Doesn’t it 
say in the bible to help your neighbor?” she pleaded 
reciting one of the lines from the skits she watched 
earlier.
	“All right.” He blurted out. “But you must 
agree to have it off with me.” The evil presence 
inside the bus suddenly grew stronger.
	“Never.” she answered immediately. She would 
never consent to give herself to anyone but the man 
with whom she planned on spending the rest of her life 
with. “I think we are finished here.” She jumped up 
from the bus seat and started for the bus door. 
Suddenly her path in the darkness was blocked by 
groping hands and hot breath. She pushed with all her 
might and shoved toward the door with every ounce of 
energy her frightened body could muster.
	“Get your filthy hands off me, you swine.” Her 
voice was broken by fear. She fought now suddenly 
enraged, and no longer frightened. Jim relented and 
allowed her passage to the door.
	“We’re leaving tomorrow evening after the 
closing sermon. You have until then.” He pushed past 
her and walked from the bus to the group of four 
missionaries still standing transfixed about fifty 
meters from the bus. 
	The anger was starting to subside as Daphnia 
walked home. She went straight to her bedroom without 
speaking to either of her parents. They looked up 
momentarily from the books they were immersed in, and 
quickly returned to the stories as Daphnia silently 
passed them.  That night she found it impossible to 
sleep. She replayed the evenings events over and over 
in her mind. At times it seemed she was almost on the 
verge of accepting the offer, after all she thought 
maybe he was testing me. Maybe he just wanted to see 
how badly I  wanted to leave. No, the hands were 
clearly filled with lust. But Jim wasn’t unattractive. 
I could do worse. Helko for example would be a lot 
worse than having Jim. In the morning, after barely an 
hours sleep, she had made up her mind to go ahead with 
Jim’s command if it meant leaving the island. As 
nightfall approached she made the same plea to her 
father.
	“Father, may I stay a little while after the 
closing sermon tonight?” She asked, but tonight the 
joy and apprehension in her voice were replaced by the 
sounds of fear and anxiety. She had already begun to 
torture herself with guilt over the act she had yet 
committed.  
	“Is everything all right?” her father 
answered. He stopped reading the book of poems and 
placed it on the small end table. He held his bowl of 
popcorn out to her, but she politely refused.
	“Fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just...” she 
began but stopped midsentence.
	“What, what is it?” her father asked again. 
His parental warning canons were firing off in every 
direction within his mind. Something was wrong and he 
could feel it.
	“The missionaries are leaving tonight, and I 
want to say good-bye to Jim.” she spoke in a lower 
voice than her normal spirited self. Her father 
misinterpreted the expression as one of broken love. 
Perhaps she had fallen in love with one of the 
missionaries he thought. He was saddened at the 
thought of his daughter bringing home one of those 
soft, she-males as her husband. The thought quickly 
disgusted him so he closed it out of his thinking. 
	“Don’t be out too late. It’s starting to get 
colder now.” he placed the bowl of popcorn back on the 
table and returned to reading his book of poems. 
Daphnia left through the front door so silently that 
her father was soon unaware they had even talked.
	Daphnia sat restlessly through the closing 
sermon. Her thoughts drifted constantly toward the 
upcoming encounter in much the same way a little row 
boat is drawn down the rushing rapids of a wide river. 
At moments she felt as if she should just burst up and 
dash home, but the desire of her soul battled 
ferociously with the fear in her mind. By the last 
remarks of the head missionary, Daphnia was the only 
one still seated. The other villagers had leapt to 
their feet and joined in a great chorus of clapping 
and shouting. The closing remarks had restored the 
faith of the villagers until the next time a group of 
traveling missionaries made their way to the small 
village. The fact that less than half of the village 
turned out for the closing sermon did not dishearten 
Jim, as his mind was already playing and replaying the 
near-future events. He had spied Daphnia sitting in 
the audience from his concealed position behind the 
curtain. His manhood stirred as heat spread from his 
mind down to his loins. 
	Jim had few sexual encounters outside of the 
prostitutes that he visited when they were ‘in-town’, 
but he had never made love to someone as beautiful as 
Daphnia. A few of the other missionaries were luckier. 
They were homosexuals and enjoyed the constant 
companionship of their lovers day and night. The 
couples would try to keep quiet at night while they 
passionately did whatever fellows of that sort did, 
but eventually the others grew tired of hearing their 
smothered moans of joy and ecstasy every evening. The 
problem was finally solved when both buses were turned 
into ‘sleeping quarters’ and the homosexual 
missionaries segregated from the others. A few of the 
other missionaries were true celibates in the literal 
sense although they were known to toss each other off 
occasionally. That left only Jim, and his four 
friends. 
	When not proselytizing villagers, the 
missionaries tended to form three distinct groups. The 
missionary deacon, Steve, was the self-designated 
leader and spokesman of the homosexuals, or 
the “Queers for Christ” as they were so fond of 
calling each other. Eventually the name was shortened 
to just the QFC’s. The second group consisting of 
seven celibates was led by the muscular missionary 
Walter who was in charge of the construction and 
removal of the makeshift theater. The QFC’s secretly 
lusted for Walter as he worked in the hot sun dripping 
in sweat, and clad in a tight T-shirt and shorts. One 
of the braver QFC’s approached Walter and attempted to 
seduce him, but quickly found out the reason of 
Walter’s celibacy. It seems Walter had lost his love 
organ in a childhood accident, and had turned to 
religion and weight lifting as an avenue for his pent 
up sexual frustrations. After the QFC’s heard the news 
of Walter’s genital condition they lusted for him even 
more. They sat in love circles fantasizing about his 
body, or just imagined sickened thoughts filled with 
hanging scar tissue and other unmentionables. 
	The third group consisting of only five was 
led by Jim. Jim had taken charge early on and shown 
his incipient leadership ability. He was constantly 
challenging the authority and leadership of the other 
two leaders. Steve, the wiry little leader of the 
QFC’s, was always admonishing Jim’s group for their 
troublemaking. Once, after Jim and his gang spent the 
evening drinking beer and getting drunk in a local 
tavern, it was decided by the other two leaders that 
Jim’s group would be reported to the head minister of 
the ECC in London. The next morning when Steve 
approached Jim with the threat of calling the head 
minister Jim beat the man so badly that he was forced 
to miss the next three shows and had to remain on the 
bus while his bruises faded. The other QFC’s had 
plotted revenge on Jim, but secretly feared the same 
fate would befall them. None of the midnight schemes 
aboard the Pink Pleasure Bus was ever carried out.
	Jim now boldly approached Daphnia who appeared 
lost in thought. “Guess you changed your mind about 
that ride, huh?” he opened smugly with the self-
confidence of a hunter finally cornering his prey. 
Daphnia did not look up at Jim, but sat with 
downturned eyes focusing somewhere at an imaginary 
spot on the ground. “Come on. Let’s go.” Jim held out 
his hand and waited for her to get up, but instead she 
just brushed passed him without even looking at him, 
and started in the direction of the bus. The night was 
darker than it had been the evening before. Daphnia 
felt relieved that no one would see her. The fear of 
getting caught was now greater than the disgust at 
having to soil herself with this pale missionary. She 
had brought an extra pair of panties along to clean up 
any mess that might be made. She wasn’t sure what to 
expect, but from the talks with her mother she had a 
good idea that there would be blood involved. Besides, 
the panties no longer fitted and she was about to cut 
them into rags for use cleaning around the house. 
Tonight she wore faded work pants and a thick sweater. 
The beauty displayed the evening before had dimmed and 
only a few traces remained around her face. 
	“You first.” Jim motioned to the bus door as 
they approached. She obeyed reluctantly like an animal 
going to slaughter. Jim was suddenly behind her with 
his hands all over her breasts. He was pulling her 
toward him. 
	“Wait.” she commanded. “Let me adjust to the 
surroundings. It’s very dark in here.” He relented and 
she found the seat she had used the previous night. 
	“Not here. The beds are in the rear of the 
bus.” She could here his soft footsteps as he walked 
to the rear of the bus. She stood up and bumped into 
something solid and immovable. Her head was spinning 
and she felt waves of nausea crashing all around her. 
She felt as if she should just run out of there as 
fast as she could. “Hurry up.” Jim ordered. “The 
others will be finished in less than an hour.” She 
quietly obeyed, slowly finding her way through the 
dark bus using her hands as insects use antennae. 
	“Where are you?” she asked as she neared the 
rear of the bus.
	“Over here. A little to your left.” She moved 
a few feet to the left and tripped over the bed he was 
lying on. She fell onto the bed, and her elbow 
accidentally strafed the already taut balls of Jim. He 
jumped up with a startled shock of pain.
	“Watch it. That nearly cost you your trip.” 
Jim snapped angrily in the dark. Within seconds his 
hands were quickly undoing the fasteners of her 
clothes. She felt cold and filthy as she lie on the 
scratchy wool blanket in the rear of the bus. Even the 
dark could not mask the glow of her beauty. A blind 
man would have been able to navigate his wandering 
hands across her beautiful form. It seemed like only a 
breath later that Jim was on top of her. She tensed 
every muscle of her body as his hand attempted to part 
her golden brown legs. “Come on. There’s no quitting 
now. Don’t stop this close.” She relaxed enough that 
Jim was soon able to spread her legs, and enter her. 
Jim felt disgusting inside of her. A lump rose to her 
throat. She felt sickened, and also saddened at the 
same time, because if this was lovemaking she was 
sorely disappointed. In her mind she imagined the man 
as being much larger, something to fill her 
completely. This man felt no different than one of her 
own little fingers gently washing herself in the 
shower.  She laid there while Jim worked himself into 
a frenzy above her. Different feelings came and went 
for the next few minutes as Jim satisfied himself and 
rolled off of her. Her pelvis ached from the friction 
of Jim’s desire. She felt dirty and violated inside 
The only thought that remained with clarity was the 
thought of a shower or bath or both. 
	Suddenly there was a chuckle from the rear 
corner of the bus. It was quickly followed by a second 
until shortly there were four people laughing and 
giggling like schoolchildren watching a clown. Jim’s 
gang had crept silently onto the bus while they making 
love! No, her attention was nearer the door than the 
bed while they made love, or while he went through the 
motions of love making. She would have noticed someone 
entering the bus, especially four someones. They were 
here all along! That was it. Jim had set this up from 
the beginning. Daphnia felt ashamed and embarrassed.
	“My friends want to have it off with you as 
well.” Jim announced from the edge of the bed. Before 
Daphnia could reply, strong hands were holding her 
down. The others were already naked. Within minutes 
she had been violated repeatedly, and made to perform 
acts of perversion best left in the cloudy surreal 
than reported on paper where it would surely taint 
even the most perverted mind. This was made to go on 
for two hours as each would take his turn or join the 
others for a simultaneous act. There was only one 
consolation; that it was pitch black on the bus and 
Daphnia could not see what was happening to her. 
Daphnia had learned another thing this evening. She 
was wrong about the male sex organ. One of Jim’s gang 
was large and ripped her each time he thrust into her. 
When they were through she lay exhausted on the 
scratchy wool blankets. The men were quickly showering 
in the darkness. Jim was not even kind enough to offer 
her a shower.
	“Hurry up and get dressed. We leave in half an 
hour, and we’ve got a lot to do.” Jim barked out the 
orders to his crew in the darkness. The only sounds 
were the sounds of running water broken by the 
intermittent block of a soaped limb. 
	Daphnia got out of bed and found her way to 
the showers. “I’ve got to return home for a few 
minutes. I’ve forgotten something.” she quickly 
dressed and fled without waiting for a reply. She ran 
all the way home to say her good-bye to her father. 
There was a brief argument followed by hugs and 
crying. Within minutes she was running back toward the 
park. When she arrived where the buses had been parked 
only minutes ago the spot was empty.  They weren’t 
supposed to leave for another fifteen minutes. 
Suddenly she felt very screwed. Screwed deeper and 
more painfully than she had just experienced with the 
horny missionaries. 
	She walked home with head hung low.
        "I thought you were going?" Her father asked as she brushed by his seat in the livingroom.