6 comments/ 16588 views/ 3 favorites Ohana Ch. 01 By: jehoram In Hawai'ian, "ohana" means "family." But they say it means more. It means not only the people you're related to, but the people you most care about, who make up your world. It is supposed to be the most sacred bond there is. I believe it, because for the shortest time, I felt it myself. During World War Two, I was stationed on a cruiser in the Pacific. I am a Black man, but was passing for white. My father was Hispanic and my mother a light-skinned Negro, and since I inherited my father's hair and surname, I was able to get shipboard assignments that were closed to black sailors at the time. Of course, I was still too dark-skinned to suit most of my shipmates. My only friend on board was a big Hawai'ian named Malu Pahukula. We were both assigned to artillery, manning the big cannons, and often found ourselves working together. Because we were the only two non-whites on board, we became good friends. When we docked in Pearl Harbor, he took a day's shore leave to visit his family. "Come on along," he said, and so I did. He told me there'd be swimming, so I brought a pair of shorts that would serve as swim trunks. His brother picked us up at the gate in a battered Packard, and we drove up the west coast of Oahu for about an hour. He turned off the road and we drove through some sugar cane plantations for a while, emerging on the coast. In celebration of Malu's return, the family was having a luau, which I found out was a sort of outdoor feast featuring a pig that had been roasted in an underground pit. The food was plentiful, and Malu introduced me to the forty or fifty people who were there. They were all brothers or sisters or aunts or uncles or cousins, and I'd completely given up keeping the relationships straight after about the tenth introduction. "It doesn't matter," Malu said. "We're all ohana. And because we serve together on a ship, you're my warrior-brother, so you're ohana, too. So enjoy yourself." After an hour, I began to relax. Around us was convivial chatter, all of which was in Hawai'ian, of which I understood not a single word. But the language itself was like singing, all flowing rhythms and music. The festivities reminded me of the church picnics my family attended back when I was growing up in Mississippi. Everybody was dressed in swimming clothes -- baggy trunks for the men and modest one-piece swimsuits for the women, as was the custom of the time -- and we'd swim in the ocean and then rinse the salt off with a fresh-water shower set up on the beach. The only ones without swimwear were the children, who scampered around nude, boys and girls alike. None of the women looked really comfortable in her swimwear, and I suspected that they seldom wore bathing suits when strangers weren't around. One girl in particular caught my fancy. She was pure Polynesian, like all the attendees but me, and looked to be in her mid-teens, with small firm breasts filling out the top of her swimsuit. Her hair was long, straight, and as black as black could be. Her eyes were dark, too, with the slight fold of the Oriental that marks so many Oceanic peoples. She had beautiful legs, long and thin, and graceful hands. I asked Malu who she was. "That's Lani. She's my cousin. Actually, she's my cousin's daughter. It doesn't matter." "How old is she?" "She's going to be nineteen in September. I think she's probably the smartest one in the family. She reads the paper, and listens to the radio all the time. And she's the best dancer of us all." At that point, the sun was setting, and some of the family got out musical instruments, including a strange sort of guitar that the guitarist held in his lap and played with a slide. There were also ukuleles, a fiddle, a kind of flute, and drums of different sizes and tones. While the musicians played, several woman and a few men danced to the sensuous sounds. Then some other women came out, dressed in a sort of sarong. They moved to an open area that served as a stage, and started dancing the hula as an older man sang a traditional song in a voice that slid from tenor to falsetto as effortlessly as the women danced. I was spellbound. Manu came over and asked me how I was doing. "I'm doing fine, thanks. Is that the traditional hula?" "Well, it's the best we can do. A lot of those traditions were lost when you haoles took over. But the old people say that we have the spirit right." "I'm not a haole! I'm colored!" "Well, to us, you're haole, just the brown kind. It's a culture thing, not a skin thing. But tonight, you're ohana, too. We'll prove it to you." "I sort of expected hulas to be danced by ladies in grass skirts and cocoanut bras, like the movies." He made a face. "That's for the tourists. This is da kine. The real thing. But now you'll see something." And indeed I did. Lani came onstage, dressed in a loose-fitting silk sarong, and began to dance. If I thought the other women were graceful, it was nothing compared to her. Her hands and arms and hips moved in sensuous patterns, telling a story in a language I could not understand, but I knew that it was a beautiful one. And through the sheer fabric, I glimpsed a body that was just starting to ripen into womanhood. Her small breasts pressed against the fabric but moved underneath it, unrestrained by a bra. She turned slowly, and I caught a glimpse of her nude body through the fabric, silhouetted in the light of the tiki torches. Her hands traced languorous arcs in the air, palms up and then down. There was not a single gesture that was licentious or suggestive, but the overwhelming impact of sensuousness left me deeply stirred. I found myself dabbing the tears from my eyes. "See? I told you she was good." "You're right, Manu. I've never seen any dancing like that." "And you probably will never see it again. The tourists don't want that sort of dancing. They just want dancers to shake their hips and their tits." "They're idiots. This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." "See, you're thinking Hawai'ian already! C'mon, brah, let's get some drinks." Due to the language barrier, I spent most of my time with Malu, Lani, and a few others who could speak English. Lani, in particular, kept checking on me from time to time to make sure I felt at home. I complimented her on her dancing, and she blushed. "We women learn to dance as soon as we learn to walk. Men, too. I'll do more dancing later. You will like it, I'm sure." This she said with a wink and a smile. As the evening progressed, I noticed a distinct change in the atmosphere. Was it my imagination, or were people flirting more with each other? There seemed to be a lot more hugging and kissing than before, especially after all the children were put to bed. The sun must have been down for three hours when the musicians and dancers returned to their places. One of the older men got up and addressed the crowd, speaking in Hawaiian. At once, people started removing their bathing suits. I looked at Malu, and he smiled and nodded to me, even as he was slipping off his own trunks. So I did the same. I was worried that the sight of all this female skin would get me hard, but then I noticed that most of the men were already at least half erect. Malu's own penis was big and thick, in proportion to his frame, and already standing out proudly. There were six dancers, all naked. Three were men, and three were women. One of them, the slimmest and most beautiful, was Lani. My heart leapt as I beheld her naked body for the first time, with her young breasts and the slightest tuft of black hair over her vulva. I could feel my cock swelling to hardness without me touching it at all. The musicians started to play, and the dance began. This time, it was frankly erotic, with the dancers caressing themselves and each other. All three cocks were hard, bobbing as the men danced. The men would stroke the girls' breasts, pinching the nipples, as the girls would make circles of their thumbs and forefingers and slip them over the men's cocks. My own cock was so hard and sensitive that I couldn't bear to touch it, for fear of cumming. I noticed that the audience, lying on blankets on the sand and watching the performance, were also paired off, man and woman, caressing each other but taking care not to cause the men to ejaculate. As they fondled each other, they continued to watch the dance, which was getting bawdier by the minute. Now the girls were plunging their fingers into their cunts as they danced. The boys moved up behind them and cupped the girls's breasts as their cocks rubbed the area between the girls's vaginas and assholes. I realized that I was watching something extraordinarily rare: a fertility or mating dance of the sort that had been practiced on these islands for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years, and still took place out of sight of Western eyes. I desperately yearned to be on that stage myself. Although I had always thought of myself as strictly heterosexual, I found myself looking at the bouncing penises of the young men as much as the jiggling breasts of the girls. When I thought I could bear no more, the music changed. The stringed instruments and the flutes fell silent, and there was only the pulse of the drumming. The boys and girls switched places, with the girls now behind the boys. An older woman with large, low-hanging breasts came up to them with a large wooden bowl. The men stood before it and, as we all watched, each girl stroked her partner's cock until it erupted in a flood of jism, spilling into the bowl. Then she set the bowl on a table and, squeezing her breasts, expressed a little milk into it. Then all the men in the audience got up, their own cocks leaking pre-cum. Malu came over and took my hand. "Here's where we come in, Mike. Just do what I do." We stood in line with the men, stroking our dicks to keep them hard. As each man came up to the bowl, the older women masturbated him until he came, adding his own load to the bowl. After all the sexual tension, I came in a flash, the intensity of the orgasm causing my knees to weaken, and I sagged momentarily. Then I recovered and relinquished the bowl to the next man standing with his own cock aching for release. There were a few women in line, too, and I wondered what they were doing there, but soon found out. They were lactating, and each added a drop or two of mother's milk to the creamy mixture in the bowl. After all the men had cum, the woman filled the bowl with oil and mixed it into the cum and milk. Then she said some sort of prayer or incantation, and set it down in the middle of us. Each man anointed a woman with the oil, spreading it onto her skin and rubbing it in. Then she did the same for him. The symbolism was plain: two life-giving fluids, male and female, mixed together to sanctify the union of man and woman. When my turn came, Lani was beside me and asked me to be her "partner" although she didn't use that term, but a Hawaiian one instead. I smeared the mixture onto her lovely little breasts, her arms, her beautiful legs, her pussy, her ass, and her back. Then she took some and gave me the same treatment, taking more time than necessary with my cock. I was getting a little bit hard again, and she smiled and hugged me. Then she went away, and another woman came up and hugged me. That was the start of what was a grope-fest that must have been an hour long or so. The sight of all those bodies, male and female, shining with oil in the torchlight, is a memory I'll take to my grave. The sexual tension was always in the background, but since all the men had just climaxed, the edge had been taken off our lust. Instead were warm feelings of love between all of us. We men could hug and kiss women, relishing the feel of their silky-smooth bodies on our own, without feeling the urgent need to force our cocks into them. A woman might take my hand and put it on her cunt, and let me stroke it, but when she felt a climax approaching, she would move away and find another partner. Similarly, a woman might grab my cock and stroke it for a few minutes, just to get it at maximum hardness, and then let go and refuse to touch it until it softened again. The men and women would dance together, making the most suggestive gestures imaginable but never allowing their bodies to actually touch. As members of the crowd caressed each other, I saw Malu and Lani doing the same and talking to each other. I couldn't tell what they were saying, of course, but I noticed that Lani glanced my way and nodded. As you might imagine, the friendly intimacy eventually gave way to a rising lust, and the flirting became more aggressive. At that point, Lani reappeared beside me. "I'm going to dance again. Please sit over there with my cousin Puanani, in the place of honor." Puanani was an older, riper version of Lani. She had full breasts with dark nipples, as dark as mine. She kissed me and said "Aloha," and then guided me to the place where I was to sit. There was no chair there, but there was a sort of backrest that I leaned against. Then Puanani leaned back against me, and let me put my arms around her. My hands cupped her full breasts, and I kneaded them in time to the music as she stroked her hair-covered quim with her hands. My cock was rock-hard again, as was every man's. Most of those cocks were being massaged by each man's partner. Indeed, Malu had two of them, keeping them both at the edge of arousal as they kissed him and stroked his massive cock. This dance was shamelessly erotic. It was accompanied only by two drums, their rhythms weaving together in counterpoint. Lani's naked body shone with the oil I'd smeared on her, making her tits glisten in the torchlight. She danced alone, moving through the crowd, flirting with each couple as they lay on the ground, arm in arm. She would straddle them and pull her cunt lips apart so they could see her hole. She kept every couple stimulated, on the cusp of an orgasm, with a touch or a squeeze or by dragging her cunt along an arm or leg. Then she'd move to the next couple, masturbating as she went, her fingers at her nipples or her cunt. I ached for her, as I have never ached for any woman before or since. Finally, Lani danced up to me. She whispered softly in Hawai'ian to Puanani, who kissed me, arose, and took her place next to one of the drummers. At that point, one of Malu's consorts left him to sit at the side of the other drummer. I scarcely noticed, since my eyes were locked on Lani. Her face was a mask of lust as she grabbed my hand and put it on her breast. I pinched the nipple, plump and hard. The drums crescendoed as she straddled me, positioning her crotch just an inch over my aching cock. And then she squatted down and plunged my cock straight into her cunt, wet and unbelievably tight, and gave a long keening wail just as the drums stopped. That was the signal for the mass fucking to start. There was a flurry of motion, women opening legs, men lying between them to bury their cocks in the wet, waiting cunts. The women without partners (there being more women than men here) fucked themselves relentlessly with what looked like wooden dildoes. Lani bounced up and down on my cock as she strummed her clit and I pulled on her young nipples. She climaxed with another wail, echoed by the wails of other climaxing couples. I felt her cunt squeeze my cock, and my own orgasm swept over me. My cock pumped its semen into her womb, each pump a flash of golden ecstasy that flashed from my cock right down to my fingers and toes. Then she was lying on top of me, grinding her nipples against mine, and whispering a flood of words into my ear in a jumble of Hawaiian and English. I caught the words "Aloha" and "Thank you" and "I'm so happy." I whispered words of my own back to her as I hugged her and stroked her back and kissed her neck. We lay that way for a few minutes, with only the sound of the surf and the cries of lust from the other couples breaking the spell. When I had finally gone completely soft and slipped out of her, we got up with the other couples to rinse ourselves in the ocean. Then followed another session of dancing, post-coital touching and caressing, leading to more building excitement and arousal. I noticed that the pairings were completely different this time; evidently nobody felt they had sole claim to anybody else's affections. No effort was made this time for simultaneous orgasm; each couple or threesome took its own time to reach their climax. Lani by this time was with Malu, and I watched in disbelief as she took his massive organ into her vagina with ease. A woman in her forties with heavy, low-hanging breasts came up to me and, lifting my hand, pressed it to her breast. I ran my palm against her fat nipple, while my other palm stroked her mons. She smiled and her own hand went to my crotch, lifting my ball-sack. We teased each other for a while, and I half expected her to break it off and seek another playmate, as was the custom before, but instead she hugged me hard, lay down on a blanket, and spread her legs. Pulling her cunt lips apart to expose her gaping hole, she gave me a look as if to say, "What are you waiting for?" That was all the invitation I needed, and I gave her a good long fucking. Her pussy was a bit on the loose side, possible from childbirth or the previous cock she'd just had in her, but she knew how to pleasure me just the same, writhing and letting my cock rub against different parts of her vaginal wall. She was in no hurry to cum, and neither was I, so we'd sometimes just hug and kiss and whisper endearments to each other, and listen to the cries of passion around us, as my cock nestled inside her cunt. Eventually, though, her body movements told me she wanted a climax, so we increased the tempo until my cock was like a piston in her cylinder, plunging in and out. She came with a scream like a wildcat and raked her fingernails against my back. That set me off, too, and I emptied my balls into her with a scream of my own. Then we drifted off to sleep. I did not dream, as I often did, of naked women on sandy beaches, because I had just been among them waking. I had seen Paradise in the flesh, and there was no need for me to visit it in my dreams. I awoke; the sun had just come up over the hills, and somebody was shaking me. It was Malu. "We gotta get back to the ship, brah." I kissed my still-sleeping consort, whose name I never learned, and got up. The sun was coming up, and birds were singing. Still nude, I bathed in the ocean and rinsed myself under the shower. Then I put on my uniform and found the shorts I'd shucked off the night before. Malu and I breakfasted on fruit left over from last night's feast, and then we climbed back into the old Packard for the long trip back to Pearl. Malu told me that I was welcome back any time, but I was never able to take up that invitation. When we returned to base, he received orders to transfer to another ship, and that was the last I saw of him. We kept in touch by letter, until I got my last letter to him returned to me with the words "Deceased Return To Sender" stamped on the envelope in purple ink. I found out that his ship had gone down, and he was not among the survivors. As for his family, I no longer had any way of making contact with them. I stayed in the Navy for the next twenty years. About ten years after the war ended, my ship made port at Pearl and I took the opportunity to go to Honolulu and make some inquiries. I found a few Pahukulas in the telephone book and called them, but none of them were related to Malu's people. There's not much more to tell of this story. Many years later, I was dating an anthropologist and told her the story of my "ohana." She expressed doubt, but did some checking and then called me. "You know, I found out that even up to World War Two, there were pockets of people in the Hawai'ian Islands who kept to the old ways for a long time. They were pretty much gone in Oahu by mid-century, but they were still on the other islands, and some of these families moved to Oahu during the war, because that's where the jobs were. With many of the men in the service, the plantations and ranches needed all the help they could get, so they imported them from the other islands for the duration and sent them back when the soldiers returned home. I think that your group was one of them. You said that few of them spoke English or had much contact with the outside world. And their sexual behavior is consistent with the polyamory often found in cultures like that." Ohana Ch. 01 "Poly what?" "Polyamory. The missionaries often mistook it for polygamy, but it wasn't. Polyamory is when sexual favors are granted to anyone in the clan, as though everybody in the clan is married to everybody else. I'm amazed that they let you participate. That's something that outsiders never see." "Well, Malu said that I was his warrior-brother, or something." "Then that explains it. But when he died, that relationship ended. That may be why the Pahukulas you found didn't admit to knowing him. Or more likely, your Pahukulas came from one of the other islands, as I've said, and moved back after the war ended." So that was that. It's as though they never existed, except in some dream of mine -- a dream of an island Paradise drenched in sex and free love, with willing women and friendly men and food in abundance. I'll keep dreaming that dream, I'll keep it alive in me. And I'll never forget Lani, the girl-woman with the perfect body, who stirred my lust in a way that no other woman could hope to match, who might have borne a half-black baby the very next spring. He'll have grown up strong and well-loved in that ohana, my own ohana, where she and her cousins still wait for me, ready to dance their dance of lust and love. Ohana Ch. 02 In 2001, my grandfather died at the age of eighty. His name was Miguel Martinez, but everybody called him "Mike." That's what people call me, too, and always have, although my own given name is "Michael." I didn't know Grandpa Mike well, but since I was his closest surviving relative, I was named executor of his estate. You've met Mike if you've read the story "Ohana," which was taken almost verbatim from his memoirs. I didn't even know about these memoirs until I went through his effects after he died. It was quite a story. I read about how he was born of a Hispanic father and a light-skinned Black mother in Los Angeles. When World War II came along, he was able to "pass for white" due to his light skin, and join the Navy. His mother encouraged him to do this, so he could get the specialized training then closed to Black sailors. I read about his adventures in the Navy, including the story of how he participated in orgiastic rites in Hawai'i while on shore leave. He stayed with the Navy after the war, but he eventually felt that he was living a lie, and successfully petitioned the Defense Department to change his racial classification from "white" to "colored." He was the third person to do so. It didn't stop there. After a twenty-five year career in the Navy, he went on to become a fearless fighter for civil rights. I found letters he'd saved from Martin Luther King, Jr., Bayard Rustin, James Farmer, and other civil rights leaders, along with newspaper clippings of his activities (including not a few arrests for civil disobedience); these I donated to the Smithsonian Institution after making photocopies. But I saved the journal and some pictures of him in his Navy uniform. As fate would have it, I went to Hawai'i myself a couple of years later. I'm an educator, and was invited to a conference on overhauling the educational system for the state's struggling public schools. I was one of two Blacks in the fifteen-person delegation from Los Angeles. Our group was met at Honolulu Airport by an assortment of high school students, from both public and private schools. The one who came up to me and slipped a lei around my neck was a senior who attended Kamehameha School, a school exclusively for those of Hawai'ian ancestry. To put it simply, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. My heart instantly melted. She looked pure Polynesian, with long straight black hair and huge brown eyes. Her frame was slight, her breasts small but firm, her legs long. My first thought was, "My God! It's Lani, the girl in Grandpa Mike's diary, now come to life!" Of course, that would have been impossible -- Lani must have been dead by now, or at least very old -- but this girl could have played the role to perfection. To make the correlation even eerier, her name was Lelani. As it turned out, she was not only part of the welcoming committee, but of the study group that I was assigned to. I found myself totally tongue-tied by her beauty, but somehow managed to participate in the discussions without sounding like an idiot. Lelani was not only drop-dead gorgeous, but smart as a whip. She had chosen to spend part of her summer vacation on this project, and her knowledge of Hawai'ian culture in general, and of young people in particular, was invaluable. I wanted to show her my grandfather's journal, and ask her about his experience on the island, but of course it was hardly suitable reading matter for a high-schooler with its detailed portrayal of an orgy. So I kept it in my briefcase, along with the photos of Grandpa Mike. When the conference disbanded for the weekend, Lelani asked me if I had any plans for the next two days. She'd be happy to drive me around the island, she said, and show me a few beaches. After that, we'd attend a party to be held at her father's house in Kaimuki. So on Saturday morning, she picked me up at the hotel and drove me from Honolulu around the island's southeastern coast to the town of Kailua. I treated her to lunch, and then we hit the beach at Waimanalo. We were both wearing swimwear under our clothes, and when she disrobed, she took my breath away. Her bikini didn't cover much, and what it covered it still drew attention to. The thin fabric plainly displayed her fat nipples and the cleft of her crotch. She smiled at me, grabbed my hand, scooped up a blanket and a towel from the back seat, and led me down to the seashore. We took a quick dip in the ocean, showered the seawater off at a nozzle provided at the beach for that purpose, and then lay on the blanket to dry, chatting idly about this and that. Then she said four words that caused my heart to skip a beat: "May I kiss you?" "Is this how you welcome every visitor to your lovely island?" "Of course not. But ever since I saw you at the airport, I've wanted to kiss you. There was no time, and no opportunity, to do that before. But now we have the opportunity, and the time. I think that we would be fools to waste it. Do you agree?" "I do indeed. I've been wanting to kiss you, too. And more! But I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or make you think that I only wanted you for your beauty and sexiness." "Do you really think I'm sexy?" "I think you are sexiness itself. Everything I ever wanted in a woman, or in a companion, for that matter. My only fear is that I'll blink, and wake up, and find that you were only a dream." She pinched me playfully. "You're not dreaming," she said. "Or maybe I am, too. But it's a very nice dream." I drew her close, and gave her my cheek. She kissed it, and I kissed back. She smelled wonderful, a scent of flowers and seawater and feminine arousal, and soon our kisses became caresses. My hands traveled to her waist, then her belly, then upwards to her breasts. I took a chance and slipped my fingers under her bra, and gave her nipple a delicate pinch. She closed her eyes and smiled. Soon her bra was pushed up, exposing both of those lovely tits, and I was kissing and sucking her nipples as she purred with pleasure. I felt her hand reach into my swim trunks for my cock, already rock hard. She fished it out and deftly stroked me to an orgasm, my cum spurting out onto my chest. I, in turn, slipped my own hand onto her mons and drew circles around her clit. I went further, trying to put a finger into her cunt, but she drew my hand away and said, "No. Not yet. I don't know you that well." "No hurry," I replied. "You have already given me more than I deserve. I don't have words for it." "You are a wonderful, gentle, intelligent man. And such lovely dark skin! Please kiss me some more." And we lay there on the beach and pleasured each other through the fabric of our suits, until the shadows of the trees started to lengthen. "Come on, Mike. We've got to go. The party starts at four." We got up, shook the sand out of the blanket, and headed back to the car, where we put on our street clothes again. As we drove to her father's house, my mind was a storm of emotions. I thought: I love this girl, even though she is seven years my junior. I found myself wondering how I would come across to her father, a concern that was not assuaged when I'd arrived there. Her father shook my hand, but frowned as he looked at me, and I felt a chill between us. "Call me Philip," he said. "We'll be firing up the grill in a few minutes. Nothing fancy, just hamburgers and hot dogs. There's beer in the fridge in the kitchen. Help yourself." Well, at least he didn't say, "And keep your Goddamn hands off my daughter." I took some comfort from that. There were some other relatives there, from babes in arms to the short, gray-haired matriarch of the family, whom everybody addressed as "Tutu," which I gathered was Hawai'ian for "grandmother." Children were constantly scampering about, brown and noisy and happy. Dinner was served by and by, and I got to talking with Philip again. He asked my what brought me to Hawai'i, and I explained about the education conference, and how important Lelani's contributions to it had been. I also happened to mention that my grandfather had visited Oahu back in the days of World War Two. And it might have ended there, had I not mentioned the name of my father's Hawai'ian friend. "Malu? My father's name was Malu! Of course, he was born during the War, so couldn't have been your grandfather's friend." "Wasn't Grandfather named for somebody who died in the War?" Lelani asked. "I think so. An uncle, I think. Or maybe a cousin." "That's interesting," I said. "My grandfather's friend died in the War." "I'm sure a lot of people named Malu died in the war," Philip replied. "But how did you come to learn about all this about your grandfather?" "I have his journal ... his memoirs, actually." "Really? I'm a bit of a historian... particularly World War II history, as it pertained to the islands. Everybody knows about Pearl Harbor, but there was a lot more, and there aren't too many accounts about Hawai'ian everyday life from people who weren't native Islanders. I'd like to see that journal." "I'll be happy to show it to you. I brought it with me." "In your hotel?" "No, actually. I brought my briefcase with me, since I didn't trust the hotel's security. They had a break-in in the room two doors down. That journal is very valuable to me, even more than the plane tickets and the other stuff." "I'd like to see it, too," Lelani said. "Well, some parts of it are pretty ... racy. I think your dad should read it first, and let him decide." She made a face. "OK, but I'm not a little girl anymore! I'm eighteen, Dad! I don't think my morals would be damaged too much!" I remembered her hand on my spurting cock, and smiled. And that's how I ended up giving my journal, with the pictures and photocopies tucked inside, to Philip. He said he'd return them in the next day or two. If he had been anybody but Lelani's father, I wouldn't have let them out of my hands, but I really wanted to establish a bond of trust with him, and this seemed like the only way to do it. Lelani drove me back to the hotel, and we necked a little more, but she wouldn't permit it to go "all the way." We contented ourselves with bringing each other to orgasms with our fingers, and with a great deal of post-orgasmic cuddling. She promised to call me the next day, so we could tour more of the island together. But it wasn't she who called the next morning. It was Philip. "Mike? You've got to come out to the house. Right away. Call a cab. I'll pay for it. Here's the address." "Is everything all right?" "Oh, yeah. Fine. But I've got somebody here who wants to talk to you." The cab picked me up five minutes later, and brought me to Kaimuki. To my great relief, it was Lelani who answered the door. "Lelani! I'm so glad you're OK! I was so worried when I got your dad's call." She gave me a quick hug, and then I noticed her father standing behind her. He was staring at me, as if seeing me for the first time. "Hi, Mike. I read your journal last night. And then I gave it to my grandmother. As soon as she started reading it, she insisted on seeing you. Right away." He led me to another part of the house, a sort of den, with two small sofas and a larger chair. The chair was occupied by an old woman, the matriarch I'd seen briefly the day before. There was a cup of tea, half empty, on a stand next to her. On her lap was my grandfather's journal. "Are you Mike?" "Yes, ma'am." "And you are the grandson of the man who wrote this book?" "Yes, ma'am." "I am so glad to meet you! I am Lani." It took me an instant to understand the significance of what she said. I blinked at her. "THE Lani ... the Lani in the journal?" "Yes. I am. Please sit down, all of you. I have much to say." We sat, Lelani sharing a couch with me and putting her arm around me. Then the old woman settled back and began to speak. "It is a miracle that you have come. It is true what the journal says. It all happened, just as your grandfather told it. The moment I saw the photo, I knew, but then I read the entry, and there is no question. "Philip, I think you have guessed that the man who wrote this journal is your true grandfather. And Mike, here, is your cousin." She paused for a minute, to let the news sink in, and then she continued. That was more for my benefit, because Philip had already pieced the story together and guessed its implications. "Your father was conceived on the night that the journal describes. His father was not my cousin Malu. I thought at first that he might be, because I mated with both Malu and Miguel that night. It would have been nice to think that Malu lived on, in the seed he planted in me. But as your father grew, it became apparent to me that he was Miguel's son, not Malu's. When he was born, we put Malu's name on the birth certificate, and named your father Malu in his honor. That was just to please the haole registrars. But in our family, it made no difference whose son he was. We loved him just the same." "I remember now about your cousin Malu," Philip mused. "Dad told me that my grandfather was a warrior, who died in the war." "That is what we told your father. That his father was a great warrior, and that he died in battle, and that he should take pride in that. Mike, we never heard from your grandfather again. We knew that he served with Malu, and we assumed that he went down on the same ship. So it was not really a lie. Or so we thought. I did not learn until last night that they were on different ships, and that Miguel survived the war." "So I thought my grandfather died in the war," said Philip. "But when I read the journal, and learned about Miguel's career, it was like he had come back. He was indeed a warrior, both in peace and in war. He was a peaceful man, but never ran from a fight. Indeed, he took the fight to the enemy! I am so proud of him, and you should be, too." I looked at him and was surprised to see that tears were streaming down his face. "I am," I said, my own eyes starting to mist. "I never really knew about that part of his life until after he died. My family didn't talk about him very much. They never really understood why he gave up 'passing for white' and took a harder road instead. But I am very proud to be a Black man, and I think it was Grandpa Mike who passed that pride on to me, through my own father." "Mike, when I first saw you, you reminded me of somebody, but I couldn't place it. I could have sworn I'd seen you before. That was why I was uncomfortable with you. But when I read the memoirs, I suddenly knew why I thought that way. I have seen somebody like you, every day of my life, in my mirror." It was true. The resemblance was startling, once you looked beyond his distinctive Polynesian traits. "I don't think you know what a precious gift you've given me," he went on. "You have given my grandfather a name, and a face, and a history." "I have given you nothing, Philip. I've only shared with you what Grandpa Mike gave to me. I am as much the recipient of that gift as you are." Lani then told me about my grandfather's child, conceived in that night of lust. When he was two, the family moved from Oahu. The war was over and the soldiers had returned and taken back their jobs in the cane fields. But when he was a grown man, he returned to Honolulu to start a successful career with a Honolulu television station. He had friends everywhere in Hawai'i, and his death of a heart attack, while he was only fifty, came as a shock. "If only your father had lived to see this day, Philip!" Lani was crying now, too. "He died too young! He would never know!" "It's all right, Tutu," Philip said. "But the really sad thing is this: Miguel came back here ten years after the war, looking for me. And I never knew. We'd gone back home, we weren't on Oahu at all. You know, I fell in love with him. Malu was my only child, and I never took a husband, because I always had this idea that Miguel would come back someday." "I think he was in love with you, too," I said. "As far as I can tell from what he left behind, he never even dated anybody until after he gave up searching for you. It was only then that he met my grandmother, and married her. And my father came around right after that." She smiled. "It was fate. I'm sure he would have been a good father." "He was. My dad had nothing but good words for Grandpa Mike. And Grandpa Mike did a good job with my father." "How is your father?" "My father died in the Gulf War. He was career military, too. He always told Grandpa Mike that he went into the Army instead of the Navy because he was scared of the water. He said that if he was going to die in battle, he wanted to be on solid ground." "I am so sorry. Another warrior's death." "I guess so. I miss him a lot. I was twelve. Grandpa Mike really took it hard, because Dad was his only child. Grandma died giving birth to him." The room was quiet for a while. Then Lani spoke. "Well, I am so glad to finally meet you, Mike. You look so much like your grandfather, and so much like Philip. And I want you to know that what Malu said to your grandfather also applies to you. You are ohana. You are part of our family now, even more than your grandfather was. You and Philip are cousins by blood. You may not understand what that means, but ohana is the most precious thing on earth. Our family has some influence on Oahu, and it is all at your disposal. If you decide to move here, we can help you find a job, find a house, anything." "Thank you. That's a very, very tempting offer. I don't really have much of a family back home any more, since my mom remarried. And Hawai'i is so beautiful. It's paradise." "And pardon me for asking, but I understand from my grandson that you have some ... feelings ... for Lelani. Is that so?" I blushed. "I won't lie to you. Lelani is the most beautiful woman in the world. And her physical beauty is only the smallest part of it. But she is very young. She has her whole life before her, and I do not want to keep her from it." "Tutu," Lelani broke in. "Mike is a very sweet man. I would like to get to know him better. But he has a whole life in front of him, too. And you know that it would perhaps not be proper to marry. We are cousins, after all." "Actually, you are his first cousin once removed. And that only in fact, not legally. As far as the government is concerned, you are not related at all, so there will be no legal obstacle. And according to the old ways, it would not be incest. Incest is when a son mates with a mother or an aunt, or a brother mates with a sister, or a woman mates with any man who might be her father or uncle. If you two were to ... mate, there will be no objection. I have said so." It was the voice of authority, of the leader of the family, and that was that. I glanced at Philip, but he was smiling at me, and I knew that there would be no complaint from him. As for Lelani, she gave me a hug. Philip asked for permission to keep the journal and photographs for another day, so that he could copy them, and I readily agreed. Then Lelani drove me back to my hotel. I expected her to give me another hug and a peck on the cheek, but she had other ideas. She asked to use the bathroom. I should have suspected something when she took her purse in with her, but I figured that perhaps she was menstruating, and wanted to change her tampon. Then it was my turn to use the bathroom. When I came back out, she was lying on my bed. She was naked. Her long black hair wreathed her head like a halo. Her pussy was as beautiful as I imagined it would be, full and plump with a swirl of dark soft hair, and she had spread her legs to display it to full advantage. "I want to make love to you," she said. "I think you should take your clothes off, too." Ohana Ch. 02 I smiled. "I think I should." And I did, and then we were both on the bed, our bodies against each other, my cock swelling and hardening. "Lelani, I don't have any condoms." "Don't worry. I'm on the pill. And I just put in some Delfoam. I'm just as horny as Tutu was, and more protected, too!" she said with a giggle. "You know the whole story?" "Yes. Dad let me read the journal this morning. It was pretty hot! I'd heard stories about what went on in those days. That stuff doesn't happen any more. We're too 'civilized' now." "Are your parents OK with this?" "You heard Tutu. As far as she's concerned, we can fuck. And I want to fuck you. Now." "She said 'mate,' not 'fuck.'" "Same difference. She's still very old-school. It's kind of funny. She can't use the word 'fuck,' but she thinks it's perfectly fine to 'mate' with anybody who isn't close family. She has no regrets about the old ways. The Lani in your grandfather's story -- that's her, through and through." And that was the last thing we said for some time, until I put my finger in her vagina, and found it very tight. I kissed her pussy, and spread her lips, and there, in a pink ring around her opening, was her hymen. I looked at her. "Yes," she said. "I'm a virgin. Please be gentle." So, even though my cock was crying to be plunged into that soft young body, I took my time, alternately tickling her clitoris and G-spot, all the time sucking her nipples and kissing her neck. After half an hour, she'd had two orgasms and, lubricating like a river, was begging for me to enter her. I told her to get on top of me, and let her accept my cock at her own speed. She nestled the cap of my penis in her soft opening, against her hymen, and pushed down. There was some resistance, but then I felt something break, and the cap slipped in. She gave an involuntary shudder at the sudden pain, but I pinched at her nipples to distract her from it. She took a deep breath and began easing my cock into her vagina, a little at a time. Within a minute she'd bottomed out. "I love you, Lelani." "I love you, Michael." Then she relaxed, and started sliding up and down my shaft, stroking me with her cunt. I protested that I couldn't last long that way, but she ignored me, and increased the pace. Suddenly the tension in my body reached a climax of ecstasy and my cock erupted, pumping cum into her womb, stream after stream. She gasped at the new sensation. Then, after a minute of post-orgasmic euphoria, I felt myself softening and slipping out. I looked down at my dick, and saw blood on it. We lay in each other's arms, staring at each other. Each of us knew that we'd passed a threshold. She was no longer a virgin, and I was no longer a seeker. I had found the perfect woman, and wept at the thought that she had given me her most precious possession. We made love again when I was hard once more, this time with some ferocity, my weight on her and my balls slapping into her ass. She loved it, and the intensity of her first cock-induced orgasm left her trembling and weeping and pleading for another one, which I gave her with my fingers. Then we got up, showered together, and had dinner at a nearby restaurant. "Will you drive me to the airport tomorrow?" I asked her. "Yes, and I'll pick you up when you return." And she did, when I came back the following Christmas. True to her word, Tutu put me up at her house, and she let Lelani and me sleep together. She was still sufficiently "old school" to consider a marriage certificate an unnecessary impediment for two people as deeply in love as we were. In fact, when I hugged Tutu good night, she would often squeeze my cock through my clothes and give me an impish grin, as if saying "I should have met you fifty years ago!" But there was another side of Lani, I was to learn. One evening, after Lelani had gone to bed, the old woman and I stayed up and talked. "Mike, do you think that you have a future with Lelani?" "I don't know, Lani..." "Please call me Tutu." "Sure. Tutu it is. I don't know, Tutu. I think that I could. I want one. I don't know if she does. Is this important to you?" She smiled. "Do you mean: do I wish to have her live out my dream? Or would your grandfather wish you to live out his?" "Yes, partially." "Then you need not fear. My dream came true on the day that you came here for the first time. If it does not come to pass that you and Lelani find a life together, it is enough to know that you had the chance to learn that in your own time, as Miguel and I never really did. What the future holds for us all, nobody knows. But you have the present, and the present is good. That is more than I could have asked for. "They say that old people live for the purpose of seeing their dreams realized in the lives of their children, or their grandchildren. But that is true only for foolish old people who insist that their children dream for what they dreamed for, and value what they valued. But those of us with more sense do not believe that, Mike. What we live for is the chance to see our children dream their own dreams, whatever they may be, and bring them to reality. Lelani's dreams may not be mine; she has dreams of her own. But we old people know the pain of a dream denied, and wish to spare our children that pain. That is all." "You know, I remember reading that Malu, your cousin, thought that you were the smartest person in the family. I see now that he was right. You are a wise woman indeed." "Maybe not wise. Experienced, perhaps. And your grandfather Miguel was a wise man. I didn't know that when I met him, but I learned that when I read his memoirs. Here is some wisdom you can take from him: if one dream is denied, dream another one, and pursue that one. He dreamed of me, and that dream did not come true. So he dreamed of racial equality instead, and helped make that dream come true. What a fighter he was! You know, I think I fell in love with him, all over again." "Too late, though." "No. Never too late." She smiled at me. "But speaking of 'late,' it is time to go to bed. Good night, Mike. And sweet dreams." "Good night, Tutu. And I will make you a promise. Whatever the future has in store for Lelani and me, I will do my best to see her reach her dreams, whether or not they include me." "I know you will. And that is enough for me." I flew to Hawai'i four times a year for the next four years, until Lelani was a senior in college, studying nursing. The last flight was one-way. That summer, we got married, and I accepted a teaching position at the Kamehameha School. Our baby came a year later. We named him Malu. Tutu lived long enough to hold him in her arms, weeping with joy. If our next baby is a boy, we'll call him Michael or Miguel -- we haven't decided yet. If it's a girl, her name will be Lani, of course. My grandfather dreamed in vain of the life I now lead, but through his memoirs, he made that dream come true for me. He would have been pleased at that. I am the happiest man in the world, married to the most beautiful woman in the world, on the most beautiful island in the world. And, for the first time in my life, I lack for nothing, for I, too, have Ohana.