21 comments/ 16354 views/ 8 favorites Lives Well-Lived By: AverageBear Author's Note: As always, any feedback from readers -- whether favorable or not -- is much appreciated. Please vote and provide your comments! Regards, Average Bear * "LIVES WELL-LIVED" The house lights in the hotel conference center dimmed. A spotlight flitted across the stage, resting finally on the solitary figure at the podium. Her sequined black dress shimmered with fragments of reflected light. She cleared her throat in a not-so-subtle effort to hush the dinner crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, "welcome to the awards segment of our annual Global Association of Risk Professionals' meeting here in Geneva...." As she extended welcomes to guests and lavished praises on organizers, an elderly woman shifted slowly in her wheelchair. She struggled momentarily to turn the chair away from the dinner table and toward the stage. A diminutive young man seated beside her stood to assist. His brown, smooth-skinned hands contrasted starkly against her gnarled white fingers, even in the dim shadows of the stage lights. He turned and locked the chair, then nuzzled his brown nose against her pink cheek. He pushed a wisp of her white hair behind her left ear as she beamed up at him. "Ah-kuhn," she whispered, "thank you, Sokren." He bowed his head in response, hands pressed together in a motion approaching prayer. "I am honored, yee-ay Lynnette." The term "yee-ay" in his native Khmer language of Cambodia connoted "grandmother," but was also a term of respect for an elderly woman. The introductory speech had mercifully droned to an end. "And without further adieu, ladies and gentlemen, I give to you this year's winner of GARP's Enterprise Risk Management award. For his groundbreaking work in applying the field of enterprise risk management to the relief of human suffering, this year's award goes to Sokren Prath, executive director of Cambodia's 'Preah Vihear Project'!" The crowd, never known as a raucous group, rose to their feet in polite applause. The brown-skinned young man strode slowly toward the stage. His traditional silk shirt became almost phosphorescent as the spotlight found him. As the crowd continued to clap, the white-haired woman sat in her wheelchair, clutching an old photograph, tears streaming down her face. Her mind drifted back across many years to the beginning of her Southeast Asian journey... * * * * * * * * "Come on, Lynnette -- let's go!" prodded her husband. He hurried ahead of her, carrying their bags through the exit doors of Phnom Penh International Airport. "Come on, sweetie!" Jeff Sinclair had always been a man of action. Dropping the luggage, he hailed the driver of a tuk-tuk, a sort of hybrid motorcycle-powered carriage. Meanwhile, the overpowering heat had stopped Lynnette in her tracks. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, nose, upper lip and chin. As Jeff negotiated a price with the driver, neither truly understanding the other's language, Lynnette watched her husband with fascination. She raised her camera and snapped a photograph. The picture captured the essence of the man Lynnette loved so deeply. Fine lines etched by time and smiles were just beginning to crease the corners of Jeff's cobalt blue eyes and smiling mouth. Flecks of silver salted his coarse mane of inky-black hair. She thought about his numerous attributes that the camera didn't capture. There were the emotional ones -- his protective instincts toward her, his love of children despite their inability to produce them, his affectionate and tender ways. There were the spiritual ones -- his deep and abiding faith, his boundless optimism, his genuine humility despite his extraordinary abilities. And then there were the physical ones -- his rippled abdominal muscles, his taut buttocks, his thick and turgid penis anxiously awaiting her touch. Saliva filled her mouth as her hand dropped to her side, still holding the camera. She stood still, watching him. Despite the heat and her fatigue, she knew she would taste his salty cum before the night was through. She would lick circles around his erect member and then take his cock head in her mouth, her head bobbing up and down, taking him deeper and deeper in her throat, seeking to bring him to orgasm. She would feel the warmth of his breath on her pussy lips as he prepared to penetrate her moist slit with his probing tongue. She knew he would wait to cum in her mouth until she came in his. Sixty-nine was their mutually favorite number, though only one of a few of their favorite sexual positions. Lynnette felt her heart swell joyfully within her rib cage -- twelve years of marriage had done nothing to dampen their torrid affair. "But what have we gotten ourselves into?" she thought. A volunteer assignment with GARP, the Global Association of Risk Professionals, had led to a year of preparatory research, a boatload of uncertainty, dozens of well-laid plans, and a pair of one-way EVA Airlines tickets to Cambodia... * * * * * * * * "It gives me great pleasure and much honor to accept this award," stated Sokren humbly, clutching the podium. "I have many people to thank -- and much to explain..." * * * * * * * * Lynnette licked her ice cream cone as she and Jeff sat in the air-conditioned comfort of the upstairs room at the Blue Pumpkin café. She was thinking of his cock as she licked. The suggestive licks captured Jeff's attention. "Sweetheart, you're making me hard just watching you do that," he smiled. "Good. I'm going to make you miserable until you take me back to the hotel and ravish me," she teased. "Soon enough," he promised, "but for now, let's talk about the work we're here to do." "You're right, of course," she answered, "and I'm developing more and more of a sense of urgency about the work, not just about having you inside me." She let the import of her last few words have time to sink in. Jeff squirmed in his seat, crossing his legs in an attempt to hide his massive boner. She grinned as she watched him. "But back to the first urgency issue, the issue of TIME. These last three months in Siem Reap have felt like a dream, but time isn't a renewable resource. You remember that reference about the passing of time that you're always quoting from the Psalms?" "Yep -- 'As for the days of our life, they contain seventy years, or if due to strength, eighty years... So teach us to number our days, that we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom.' It's from the last part of Psalm 90," Jeff replied. "Yeah, that's it. Sort of like loveable old MacDonald Carey's words at the beginning of that old TV soap opera, Days of Our Lives: 'Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.' I've been thinking, Jeff." "Dangerous activity," he smiled, "Yes?" "Time really does fly. We need to make the most of the time we have. Especially the time we have here. There's so much more of a difference to be made." "What do you mean?" "Well, for instance, your finance assignment with GARP seems a little narrow in scope. Don't get me wrong -- it's a worthy proposition, and it's what you're here to do. I'm not saying you shouldn't keep working on it. But I don't think we should limit ourselves to financial work. Other differences are needed just as desperately in this country." "Sure, that's obvious. Cambodia's been through hell on earth. Just think about the history. There was butchery and genocide. Millions of land mines were left behind, killing and maiming innocent civilians to this day. And now, even in peacetime, there's rampant poverty. The average citizen lives on less than two dollars a day." "And then there are the KIDS," interrupted Lynnette. "Yep. The country's lack of law enforcement and its relative obscurity gave rise to a prolific child sex trade. Add to that the highest rate of child abandonment in the world. Meanwhile, the AIDS epidemic found its Pacific Rim foothold in Khmer culture, leaving thousands of orphans in its wake. So what sort of difference-making do you have in mind?" "I'm thinking about the kids as the future of this beautiful country. You've seen how so many of them roam the streets, begging people to buy their little trinkets. You felt like the Pied Piper the first time you bought from them near the temples at Angkor Wat, and droves of them followed you all the way to the car. I think we can do something to make their lives better." "Like what?" "I don't know -- something. Let's put our minds and hearts to it. You're the one who's always saying that to whom much is entrusted, much is required. We've been entrusted with certain knowledge, certain experiences, and certain abilities. Something is required of us." "Yep -- you're right. Gotta say it, no matter how sappy it sounds -- you make me a better man than I am by myself. Guess that's why I fell in love with you. That, or the way you can make a skirt twitch with that little sway of your hips." "You're a bad, bad boy," she smiled, "I'm going to teach you a lesson when we get back to the hotel." "Is that a threat, or a promise?" His grin nearly reached both ears. Back at the hotel, the door of their room was barely shut when Jeff wrapped his arms around Lynnette and lifted her off the floor. She leaned back and looked into the depths of those magnetic blue eyes, those eyes that reflected the fire in her bosom. She had to have him, right here and now. She locked her legs around his mid-section. Their lips pressed together, expressing hunger that neither could completely convey with words. Jeff tugged from the bottom of the silk floral print wrap that encased Lynnette's firm and supple body, raising it above her waist. He pressed his steely crotch against the moistness of her blue silk panties. As Jeff placed Lynnette's feet on the floor and pulled the last of the wrap from her body, the hotel's air conditioning brought her bra-covered nipples to full salute. Jeff's eyes locked on her turgid peaks. She saw the raw need within him and immediately pulled her bra down in invitation. She pulled the back of the bra around her torso to unclasp it, then dropped it to the floor. He bent his head down and took one areole in lips, then tenderly bathed it in saliva with his tongue. He enveloped it in his mouth and suckled as he kneaded the other areole between his thumb and forefinger. Both nipples protruded in full erection from the cool air and her sexual agitation. He was always amazed at how new, how fresh she felt to him every time they made love. As he suckled first one of her breasts and then the other, she pulled her silk panties down, just a foot or so, silently asking him to give attention to her feminine core as well. He dipped the fingers of his other hand to her moist and molten vaginal lips. He slid them along her slit, lubricating them for penetration, but then paused before piercing her love tunnel. "Let's get the rest of the way ready," he suggested, reaching for the waistband of her panties and pulling them to the floor in one fell swoop. She was completely naked before him. As he raised himself up from the floor, he couldn't resist a quick kiss of her navel on the way back up. He nuzzled the silken hair adorning her pubic mound, inhaling the tempting scent of her sexual excitement. He stood and smiled in silent command, begging her with his eyes to undress him, anticipating Lynnette's touch as he waited for her to remove his clothes. She was ready to get him as naked as she was. His outfit consisted of a pullover short-sleeved shirt, long linen pants and a pair of sandals. Khmer culture did not permit men to wear shorts, despite the stifling heat. As she pulled the last vestiges of clothing from his body, she once again straddled his torso, her arms wrapped around his neck. Jeff's erection slapped against her inner thigh. Lynnette reached around behind her ass and guided his penis to her vagina. She rubbed his cock head in circles around her labia, moistening it for entry. She then lowered herself onto his turgid shaft. Feeling his penetration, she squeezed his torso with her legs, pulling him deeper within her depths. He began a series of slow thrusts as Lynnette pressed her breasts against his muscled chest. She felt safe in his arms, lost in his love, despite being halfway across the world from the land she knew as home. She was right where she belonged. His erection stretched her pleasantly, the friction of his thrusts bringing warmth and moisture to her throbbing slit. He reached with his fingers to the point where his penis was penetrating her vagina. He found the nub of her clit and began rubbing and gently squeezing it with his thumb and forefinger. Lynnette had discovered in recent years that she was at times a squirter. It only happened occasionally, when she was overwhelmed with an intense orgasm. The first time it happened was during an episode of rough and tumble sex with Jeff, the frantic fucking of two desperate souls in need of solace after medical confirmation of their infertility. She had at first been embarrassed at her female ejaculation, convinced that she had urinated on her beloved husband. Jeff's caring and tender response left her heedless of the incident; their only care was to comfort each other. However, when he had returned from taking the sheets to the laundry room, he said to her, "Baby, I don't think you peed. There was no ammonia smell, nothing remotely like urine on the sheets. I think it was an orgasmic ejaculation." It had happened several times since, and the one-for-one correlation with mind-blowing orgasms left no doubt in their minds. Lynette was a squirter of female ejaculate. Jeff was always pleased when it happened. He took it as an affirmation of the complete satisfaction that he had given to his beloved wife. As the two of them clutched and groped, thrusting and writhing together there in the hotel room in Siem Reap, Jeff called out Lynnette's name. "Cum with me, baby!" he begged. He felt her vaginal muscles clench around his cock, tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing. Moments later, as his semen spewed forth within her vagina, he felt the tell-tale sign of her female ejaculation. A burst of her fluid spewed into his pubic hair, its warmth running down his leg. This was the first time it had happened while they were in an upright position, him standing and her straddling his torso. He whispered words of love in her ear as he walked toward the bed, her still straddling him, his penis still firm enough to stay lodged within her snug pussy. They had all night, and they would use it well. * * * * * * * * "First, I'd like to thank my surrogate grandmother, Lynnette Sinclair, and her late husband, Jeff, who first introduced me to risk management principles," said Sokren somberly, his voice beginning to tremble with emotion... * * * * * * * * Two years of intense language study and practice had rendered both Lynnette and Jeff fairly fluent in the spoken Khmer language. Jeff wrestled mightily, to little avail, with reading the intricate script of the written language. He had greater success with his studies of numbers -- though in English, not Khmer. Jeff had built a database of the Cambodian population's mortality experience. He proudly announced to Lynette, "I'm thinking of using my mortality studies in a project larger than the GARP assignment. I'm thinking we should get charitable donors back home to pay for insurance premiums, and raise enough money to cover every household in the country for at least a subsistence level of living when a wage-earner dies. It's easy enough for me to figure out the pure cost and translate it into terms that donors understand -- this many families protected from financial disaster by a contribution as little as X dollars per month. And by eliminating the distribution system and the need for profit, we can do a world of good at a very reasonable price." "It's the kind of thing that could catch on in underdeveloped countries around the world," she smiled in reply, "and GARP could help with the charitable fundraising back home. But oversight of the claims system will be crucial. You can't leave it with the government, at least not here -- too much corruption." "Yep -- I remember seeing those mansions owned by government officials in Phnom Penh. No way that they bought those on a mere government worker's salary. We need to work on our networking to find people across the country that we can trust for the administration of the program. And I'm thinking that we can add to the program later -- do the same with disability on down the road. One step at a time..." "And in the meantime, we have the non-financial project to look forward to," beamed Lynnette, "for the KIDS..." Jeff took her in his arms, his lips searching hers, their tongues mating in primal passion. She would yield to his demands, and he to hers. Clothes flew in haphazard directions. Naked in body and soul, they explored each other's secret places. Lynnette's recollection was clear on this one point: it was on the heels of this first discussion of the charitable insurance idea that she asked Jeff to try something new and special in their long-term marital and sexual relationship. She wanted to feel his cock in her ass, to know the sensation of his semen spurting into her rear channel while he groped her breasts and frigged her clit. The memory of it was almost too sweet to bear. She had long wondered whether the pain would be worth the bliss. Thankfully, despite their third-world surroundings, they had access to medical supplies that included appropriate lubricants. Their supply did not include the KY brand, but a generic Asian substitute was available. Jeff had been heroically gentle. He had massaged her puckered anus with an ample helping of lubricating fluid heaped on his middle and index fingers. He pushed and prodded with just the middle finger until it penetrated past her sphincter. He simultaneously began stroking her feminine slit with the same two fingers of his other hand. Her vaginal moisture soon gave him the encouragement he needed to begin a slow, luxuriant finger-fucking that caused her to arch her hips. Her arousal began to cause her anal channel to dilate, allowing him to sink his middle finger all the way in to the hilt. He worked his middle finger in and out of her back door, probing and pushing, until it was loose enough for him to push his middle and index fingers in together. "I want your cock," she whispered to him hungrily, "please, Jeff, fuck me from behind." He needed no further encouragement. He coated his cock with some more lubricant, then positioned his prick against her rosebud, all the while still plunging the fingers of his other hand into her vagina, deeper then shallower, faster then slower, bringing her to the brink of a jagged orgasm. Her impending climax caused her anal channel to dilate further. He grasped his slippery cock and pushed its head against her asshole while his fingers of the same hand paved the way by prodding it open. When his member was partially sheathed within her rear tunnel, he asked, "Are you sure you're ready for this, baby?" "Uh-huh. Fuck me, Jeff -- take my virgin ass. It's yours and only yours, baby." His erection stiffened at her words. She pushed back against his boner, he moved forward to impale her. His cock plunged all the way in to her anal channel. He began gently pushing in and out, still finger-fucking her pussy with his other hand. Lynette's impending orgasm broke free shortly after Jeff stepped up the pace of his thrusts in her ass, right when his fingers found her clit at the top of her vaginal lips. "Oh, baby, I'm cumming!" she moaned loudly. Jeff felt her pussy clenching around his fingers, her ass clenching around his cock. He thrust twice more before spewing a massive load of spunk deep into her bowels. To no surprise for either of them, Lynnette squirted a large deposit of female ejaculate at the crest of her spasmodic climax. Lives Well-Lived Jeff kissed her shoulders and fondled her breasts until his spent cock began to slide out of her rear channel. He then wiped up the mess from her rear end, turned her over to face him, smiled his pleasure at her, and went down on her for a leisurely round of muff-diving. That first anal encounter was the start of a lifelong expansion to their sexual repertoire. They were missionaries of a sort, but they were by no means restricted to the missionary position... * * * * * * * * Sokren composed himself for a moment at the podium. "The two of them also introduced me to more important principles," he continued. "They never had children of their own. But they have many grandchildren, all across my beloved country. They are known as 'Ta' and 'Yee-ay' -- 'Grandfather' and 'Grandmother.' They demonstrated the wisdom of the biblical writer James: 'Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.' Jeff and Lynnette started a network of Cambodian orphanages, starting first in Siem Reap and expanding to include the one in Tbeng Meanchey where I grew up..." * * * * * * * * "Direct involvement -- yes. But sole responsibility -- no. This first experience with the kids has made me realize that it's not my calling -- nor is it what the country needs. Despite the hokey old analogy with the starfish," grumbled Jeff. "What analogy?" queried Lynnette, seated at one of the cafeteria tables, twisting a young Khmer girl's straight black hair into two sets of braids. A generator-powered fan cascaded a gentle breeze across the screened-in room. "You know -- where the guy is walking along a beach, picking up starfish and throwing them back into the ocean. The beach is covered with starfish. And another guy comes along and says, 'You'll never be able to pick up all those starfish. You can't possibly make a difference.' And the first guy throws another starfish back into the ocean and says, 'I made a difference to that one!'" An adolescent Khmer boy sat down at the table on the other side of Lynnette. "Joom reeup soo-ah," she murmured in his direction, "hello, Haing." She looked back toward her husband. "So what are you saying?" "That we need to be able to replicate and create sustainability in what we've done with the kids here in Siem Reap. We know how to raise the funding for capital costs and ongoing support for an orphanage; we can identify and select the kids in need; we know how to set up educational programs to supplement what they get in school, and to reach out to the surrounding community; we understand many of their physical and emotional and spiritual needs -- but we can't be the only ones throwing the starfish back into the ocean." "So what do you propose?" "That we bring others into the fray -- a small, dedicated cadre of starfish-throwers, who in turn teach others to become starfish-throwers. It ties straight back into recent Cambodian history. The Khmer Rouge devastated the country by targeting the leaders for execution. The country has never fully recovered. We need to identify and teach young adults who can become leaders. Not just leaders of orphanages, but leaders for society." "And how do we find them?" "We already have a lot of contacts, and we keep on networking to find more, just like we did to find claims administrators for the wildly successful charitable insurance venture with GARP." "And how do we get them to throw starfish?" Lynette asked. "We spend time with them, building their intellectual, emotional and spiritual DNA -- just like we do with the kids here at 'Haven of Grace,' who will eventually become leaders in their own right. And we learn from them at the same time, just like with the kids. But the reality is, we'll need to hire many of the young adults -- good will doesn't put food on the table. Some of them might become house parents, starting here with 'Haven of Grace' and spreading throughout the country as we start new orphanages. But principled leaders are needed in other arenas -- especially the government..." * * * * * * * * "My organization's methods are not without precedent," intoned Sokren solemnly, "it is their application that is somewhat unprecedented." The old woman leaned toward the stage and adjusted her hearing aid. An uncomfortable silence filled the crowded room. "As Ta Jeff was fond of saying, 'Understanding the risk is not sufficient; acting on it is the moral imperative.' Nowhere is this truer than in the risk exposures giving rise to human suffering..." * * * * * * * * Shredded cardboard was strewn across the main table in the "Haven of Grace at Tbeng Meanchey" educational building. A glint of late evening sunlight cast long shadows across the room. The building's lone occupant was hunched over a set of instructions written in English. The various contents of the demolished box were lined up on the table in front of him. He turned his graying head as the door opened. "Jeff, what sort of contraption is that?" asked Lynnette. The boy at her side walked toward the table. "Joom ree-up soo-ah," smiled Jeff, "hello, Sokren. Hey, Lynnette!" "I asked you a question, Jeff," she scolded good-naturedly. "It's a bio-sand filter. It was originally developed by a fellow named David Manz. An old church buddy of mine introduced me to him by email. Dr. Manz co-founded a group in western Canada calling themselves the Centre for Affordable Water and Sanitation Technology, or CAWST for short." "And you, being the wise, not-so-young man that you are, recognize the need for affordable water and sanitation technology in a remote place like Tbeng Meanchey." "Something like that. It's going to be the next global crisis." "Water?" "Yep. Oil shortages are nothing in comparison. With all the environmental shortcuts that poorer countries take in fostering development, their supplies of clean, fresh water will become virtually non-existent if nothing is done about it. Disease and death follow close behind. And my mortality studies become useless artifacts for their intended purpose." "So what's one bio-sand filter going to do?" "You're wanting to hear the starfish analogy again?" "No. I'm figuring my brilliant hubby has a grander plan." "Why do you smirk when you say that?" teased Jeff. The boy sitting beside him smiled silently in response. Jeff continued, "As a matter of fact, my dear bride, I'm taking a very close look at the technology, and trying to figure out a way to replicate it with everyday materials available here in Cambodia. I'll then check back with Dr. Manz to see if it holds water -- no pun intended." Lynnette noticed that his boyish grin momentarily erased years from his facial features. "And then what?" she queried. "If successful, we can show the construction and use of them to the house parents at each of the 'Haven of Grace' centers, and to all of the leaders-in-training under the umbrella of our 'Preah Vihear Project.' They can host classes for the surrounding villages. Like Joe Namath's girlfriends on the old Breck shampoo commercials -- 'they tell two friends, and they tell two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on.' It just seeps across the country -- again, no pun intended." This last comment earned him a well-placed jab of Lynnette's elbow into his mid-section. He wrapped his arms around her, trapping the renegade elbow, and placed a tender peck on her pink, sunburned cheek. Young Sokren turned away in flushed embarrassment and fled the scene. Jeff took Lynnette and placed her on his lap. "I feel that," she chided. His erection was pressing against her bottom through the layers of both their clothes. "So what're you gonna do about it?" he asked hopefully. "Depends on how much time you have," she deliberately tempted him. "I think I can call it a day," he replied. "Good," she cooed, "I was hoping I wouldn't have to settle for giving you a blow job and sending you back to work. I want to feel that thing inside me, where it can do some real damage." They held hands as they walked toward their hut. * * * * * * * * "Enterprise risk management is not just about correlation matrices and copulas," continued Sokren, his voice beginning to rise with passion. "Diversification of risk can only go so far. When the remaining risk profile is still unacceptable, something further must be done. In the case of financial risks, that 'something' may involve hedging strategies. For insurance claims risks, it may involve reinsurance techniques. For the risks associated with systemic poverty and disease, the solution involves investment in human capital. That is what the Preah Vihear Project is all about -- identifying key societal risk exposures and training leaders to take action to mitigate them ..." * * * * * * * * "Hospitals -- and knowledgeable people to staff them," Jeff uttered through a hacking cough. He rolled over on the mat that he and Lynnette shared as a bed. She sat beside him, mopping his forehead with a moist cloth. Sokren stood next to her, holding a bucket of clean water, the product of a Cambodian-made bio-sand filter. "Save your strength, dear," whispered Lynnette. "Yes, Ta Jeff," added a teen-aged Sokren, "please." "Just a minute -- let me speak what's on my mind. This isn't about me or my illness. It's about the future of the 'Preah Vihear Project.'" "What do you want to say, dear?" "They need not be Harvard or Yale graduates. Just sensible people with basic training in the key health risk exposures of the region -- how to avoid them, and how to treat them. What do you think, Sokren?" "I think you are a wise man, Ta Jeff." Jeff's eyes moved from Sokren to Lynnette. "You remember the quote from the Psalms?" he rasped, pausing briefly to cough again. "It's the heart of wisdom that matters -- not the number of years." "Fifty-eight is too few," she replied quietly, gazing at him tenderly through misty eyes. Sokren's sadness drove him from the hut. Lynnette climbed onto the mat beside her husband to comfort him. Even in his weakened state, Jeff began to massage her breasts through her satin top. "Please, save your strength, dear," she pleaded with him. "We agreed from the start that we'd never deny each other -- that's straight out of the Bible." "I know, sweetheart. It's not that I don't WANT you. It's that I don't want to LOSE you." "Then don't let me go until I'm gone." She understood immediately. She silently acknowledged by her actions the truth in his words. Her hand began caressing his manhood through his loose-fitting pants. As dusk began to settle upon the room, Jeff's body coursed with a familiar response to his wife's nearness and availability. Within minutes, they were both naked. She protected his strength by exerting the energy to remove not only her own but also his clothes. She straddled his erect penis after sucking it both to full expansion and for lubrication. His physical afflictions were momentarily forgotten as she sank down onto his dick, taking his full length and girth into her vagina. She began rocking up and down on his shaft as he massaged her breasts. She encouraged him to remain still while she gently fucked him. She was intent on taking the brunt of the physical exertion while sharing the explosion of mutual bliss. * * * * * * * * "The Preah Vihear Project's approach is not transactional in nature," exclaimed Sokren. Many in the hotel crowd were now beginning to fidget. Sokren's speech was noticeably over the time allotted on the program agenda. But Lynnette sat listening in rapt attention, adjusting her hearing aid volume as Sokren's voice reached peaks and valleys, her mind straying back and forth between the past and the present. "It is not a matter of purchasing options on the trading floor, or entering into a reinsurance agreement with the stroke of a pen," Sokren continued, "it is an investment in people, and it is measured in months, in years, in decades..." * * * * * * * * "Are you going to return home now that Jeff is gone?" asked Sophaly. She had become a good friend and confidante to Lynnette during their nationwide bio-sand filter campaign. "This is home, Sophaly -- at least here on earth. Some day I'll join Jeff in our eternal home. But I'm here in Cambodia to stay for now. Jeff's body will be buried just outside the grounds of our first 'Haven of Grace' center in Siem Reap, and I'll be laid to rest beside him when my work on earth is done." "And where will you stay in the meantime?" "I'll go where I'm needed -- teaching, and continuing to learn. Jeff's and my vision for the 'Preah Vihear Project' was based on sustainability and replication from the start. He was so happy to see young Khmer leaders -- like you -- rising to meet the challenge." Going, teaching, learning -- that was exactly what Lynnette had done for the better part of the next decade after Jeff's death. Among the young leaders that flourished under her tutelage was Sokren Prath. Sokren completed a degree in mathematics, and several years later qualified as a Fellow of the fledgling Cambodian Risk Management Association. He became one of its leaders, and successfully lobbied for its membership in GARP. And even before Lynnette's peripheral polyneuropathy confined her to a wheelchair, she had turned over the helm of the 'Preah Vihear Project' to Sokren. He had built well on the foundation that Lynnette and Jeff had laid. He engaged other Khmer leaders to address a host of societal risk exposures facing Cambodia. He had even expanded the organization's influence beyond the boundaries of Cambodia, speaking at various lecture series hosted by other developing nations and writing for international journals. The practical application of risk management principles to ease human suffering began to spread like dandelion seeds in the wind. And then, earlier this year, he had received the invitation to attend the GARP meeting in Geneva as a nominee for the Enterprise Risk Management award. He had immediately arranged to bring Lynnette with him... * * * * * * * * "And, finally, my fellow risk managers," concluded Sokren, "let me encourage you with these words. Your discipline can be used for more than your tradition dictates. It can be used to do a world of good. But you must be guided by your heart as well as your mind. Thank you, and good night." With that, Sokren ambled off the stage, polite applause from the dinner guests accompanying him. The house lights came up slowly. As Sokren reached his table, Lynnette smiled up at him. "I'm so proud of you, Sokren," she gushed, "Jeff would be, too." She noticed a tear forming in the corner of Sokren's eye. She reached out to touch his arm. Suddenly, she could no longer clearly see his face. His countenance seemed a mere blur. She felt a tingling sensation in her left arm, her left leg, her face. Her jaw began to clench. She no longer saw Sokren's face, but Jeff's. Sokren saw Lynnette begin to slump in her wheelchair. He knelt down and took her in his arms. "Yee-ay Lynnette, what's the matter?" he asked frantically, as a tattered photograph drifted toward the floor. Sokren recognized the man in the photo -- a man with fine lines creasing the corners of his cobalt blue eyes and smiling mouth, a man with flecks of silver salting his coarse mane of inky-black hair. "The... wisdom of the heart... that matters," she slurred, "not... the number... of years..." She smiled at Sokren once again, her hand in his -- and then her hand was stilled. It was time to go home. THE END Please take a minute or two to vote and provide your comments. The author truly enjoys feedback from his readers.