It was with great interest that I observed Zach forsake the food laid out on clay platters, as he walked around the fire to one of the singing women. She was young... I guessed eighteen or nineteen by the looks of her, and very pretty. She was wearing a headband of black vulture feathers, which Father Gaul told me represented that she had reached puberty, had her first menses, but was not yet married. This was a rarity in the tribe because most women had a husband, and he wasn't sure what this woman's story was. If a woman took a husband, she no longer wore a headband of feathers. If she was innocent and hadn't reached her first menstruation, she wore a headband of white, downy feathers. As far as I could see, this woman was the only one that wore a black headband.
Zach walked up to her as she sat on a petrified log, and she looked up at him with an open smile. He held his hand out to her and, with no hesitation, she placed hers in his outstretched palm. Zach helped her to stand, her breasts swaying gently with the motion. I wondered if they were off to have a secret moment together, and I remembered thinking that maybe she was Zach's Caraican lover.
My hand was raised to my mouth to take another bite of food, but it froze when Zach turned his head over his shoulder to look at me. His eyes pinned me hard with a menacing look, and I saw something else in there as well.
Maybe challenge?
Then, to my utter astonishment, he pushed the woman down by her shoulder to the ground, where she knelt before him. I was completely stunned when I watched his cock start to swell, while the woman stared with adoring eyes up at the large man standing over her. Zach raised his arm and, with his finger pointed, made a circular motion in the air. The woman immediately turned around on her knees and lowered her cheek to the ground, both of her palms pressed into the dirt by her breasts.
Zach dropped to his knees behind her, his erection now at full mast and tilted proudly upward. He took a hand, stroked himself once, twice, and then released his hold. I was mesmerized as he reached out with one hand and laid it gently on the woman's lower spine. He leaned forward as his other hand reached out and circled it around the back of her neck, pinning her to the ground. Pushing his hips inward, he brought the tip of his shaft to her backside and started to push into her.
I was utterly captivated that he was doing this in full view of the entire tribe, and I was powerless to turn away, be damned that I was sitting next to a priest. I told myself it would be an interesting study for a paper I would publish one day, and that gave me the permission I needed to continue to watch.
"Zach... nao aqui. Nao na frente dos nossos hospedes," I heard Paraila bellow, and I saw Zach's entire body stiffen at what I thought must be a rebuke. My gaze slid to Paraila, who was looking at Zach with fond exasperation. A sly smile overtook Zach's face, and he nodded at the old man in deference.
"I apologize," Father Gaul said beside me, and I turned to look at him. "You're getting a look at one of their social norms that's completely antithetical to the modern world's. Here... in this culture, the man is the dominant and has a right to take one of the available women whenever and wherever he wants. The Caraica view sex as a reward for the way that the man provides for the village. They are completely open in their sexuality, and privacy isn't required. In fact, it's a source of a man's pride to make a woman submit for all to see."
"I understand," I told him, but I didn't understand at all. It was fascinating to consider the differences in our cultures. My mind spun with how I was going to eventually teach Zach the difference between the world as he knew it, and the world he was getting ready to enter. I turned my attention back to my food, while Father Gaul turned to talk to Ramon on his other side.
But the woman in me--no, the scientist I mean--was completely helpless in my curiosity. My eyes peeped back up to watch what Zach did. He merely lifted himself up from the ground and reached his hand back down to the woman. She took it and he helped her to stand, then he led her toward the nearest longhouse, for what I assumed must be some measure of privacy. But when he was no more than twenty yards from the fire, he pushed her back down again to her knees. She didn't even wait for him to tell her what to do because she immediately pushed her chest to the ground, tipping her butt toward him. The woman rested her cheek in the dirt as Zach knelt behind her, pinning her down by the back of her neck once more. The look on her face as she faced the fire was pleasant... almost serene, which I couldn't imagine, because if I were getting ready to be impaled by the huge length sticking out from Zach's pelvis, I'd be a hot, squirming mess.
With the one hand remaining on her neck, Zach took his other hand and wrapped it around himself. He leaned his hips forward and fed his length slowly into her. The woman gave a tiny sigh of pleasure, and I watched as Zach's eyes closed briefly until he was fully seated.
The low throb started between my legs again and beat harder as he began to move within the woman. Long strokes... no hurried measure, but deep, tunneling thrusts.
I watched... captivated, almost feeling his cock between my own legs, and it was at that point I realized that my job to help Zach acclimate to the modern world was going to be a problem for me. I realized with utter clarity that I was completely affected by his raw sensuality... the domineering way in which he took what he wanted. It was a sinful turn on to me--the utter control and harsh dominance he asserted--which was strange because I'd always been an independent and confident lover.
My eyes were so focused on the animal coupling before me that I failed to care what else was going on. I watched as his one hand held the woman down by the neck and the other had his fingers dug into the flesh at her hip. The woman was softly moaning and, in the firelight, I could even see Zach's shaft glisten with moisture every time he pulled back from her body. When my eyes finally rose to Zach's face, I was almost knocked over backward when I saw that he was staring straight at me across the low, burning fire.
His pale eyes glittered in the ambient light; his jaw set in a hard line as he fucked the woman in the dirt. He held my gaze, and I was powerless to look away. He seemed to be challenging me to watch what he was doing... almost forbidding me to look away. I think he was telling me... at that very moment... that he was a savage and would not make things easy when we left this place.
Father Gaul and Ramon talked softly beside me, the women sang, and the other tribesmen laughed amongst themselves.
Why was no one interested in this but me?
But then it all faded away, and it was just Zach and me staring at each other.
Even the woman he was coupling with seemed to blend into the night, and my heart raced as I watched him... watching me... as his hips thrust back and forth with a languid pace. It went on and on and on. I just stared at the spectacle before me, my own body hot and frustrated as I became overwhelmed at the voyeur in me who was stretching her wings. I never thought I would be so turned on by watching another couple have sex, but I was sure it had everything to do with the way Zach refused to let me look away and my imagination going into overdrive of what he could do to my body.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Zach orgasmed with an intensity so quiet that I almost didn't recognize what I was seeing. There was no hoarse shout of pleasure, no crying out his release. Instead, his eyes held mine while the muscles in his neck contracted into hard ropes. He gave one last push into the woman, and I saw a slight shudder run through his body as he came silently, eyes open wide and staring me down with such ferocity, I swear I could feel his own pleasure deep in my bones.
Zach watched me a moment more, his gaze savage and confident. Then he pulled out of the woman, stood from the ground, and walked away into the darkness.
As my story ends, I open my eyes and involuntarily push against the hold Zach still has on my neck. He pushes back and because his strength is infinitely stronger than mine is, I lay still.
"That's a good story, Moira," Zach says with quiet praise, and I know he's pleased to hear how turned on I was as I watched him.
"It's how I remember it," I say simpl
y.
"You wanted me then, didn't you?"
"Yes," I breathe out.
"Just as you want me now?"
"Yes."
"Exactly the same way," he states.
"Exactly the same," I agree.
Zach's free hand comes up, resting against my lower spine, and he pushes the hem of my dress upward.
"Before I give it to you," Zach says, his voice low and commanding, "tell me one more thing."
"What do you want me to tell you?" I ask him, my voice needy with frustration.
"I want you to tell me what the greatest thing is you've learned about me so far since you took me from my home."
Taking a deep breath, I push it out with quiet force. I hate the pain and anger that is still laced in his voice over what I've done to him. I then admit what I know he wants to hear.
"I learned that you... Zacharias Easton... are an uncivilized man."
"Yes," he whispers as he releases his hold on my dress and flirts with the lace of my underwear. "You learned well."
Chapter 1
Zach
Two weeks ago...
I follow Moira out of the airport and step out into the heat of Chicago. She told me it's summertime here in the United States, a concept that doesn't mean much to me other than it's hot and it smells funny, almost like a metallic scent, which is harsh to my nose. I no longer smell the earthy, green scent of the Amazon, and a painful longing for my home courses through me.
Moira leads us over to a yellow car that I know is a taxi. I know it's a car because I remember them from my childhood. I know it's a taxi because my English-reading skills are still intact, and the word is printed on the side. My native tongue did not languish during my years living with the Caraicans, thanks to Father Gaul's visits over the years, as he spoke English as well as Portuguese. He not only conversed with me in English at great length, but also brought me books to learn from. I had a basic understanding of math concepts and was fairly proficient on history and geography, having devoured everything that I could get my hands on to read.
It's funny... how I recognize things. Living in the Amazon for the past eighteen years, my memories of my prior life were like faded dreams, almost like I could reach out and touch them, but they were just beyond my grasp. I wondered how much learning I would have to do, and how much of the "modern marvels" that Father Gaul used to talk to me about would surprise me.
What I found was that as I experienced the modern world, I found a distinct familiarity in what I was seeing. For example, I had no memory of traveling by plane to Brazil with my parents when I was a child. But the minute I saw the little Cessna that took us from the Amazon River into the capital of Brasilia, I knew I had been on one of those planes before. I didn't remember it... I just knew it. The engine didn't make me uneasy when it started, and I didn't have an inherent distrust of the concept of flying. While I didn't have specific memories of flying, as my fingers touched the glass windows of the plane, I suddenly remembered what "glass" was. The clear, hard material was not only familiar to me, but I remembered my parents' house in Georgia when I was little. I remember running headfirst into a clear, sliding glass door and knocking myself flat on my butt.
When we landed at the airport, and Moira led me to a rental car, some clearer memories did assault me. I remembered being in my parents' car, sitting in the backseat and maybe even holding a book that had bright pictures in it. I even think I remembered my parents' voices as they talked with one another.
More things seemed just inherently familiar. At the hotel where we stayed for a few days, I was able to easily identify a variety of objects. The bed... and pillows. Yes, I knew what a pillow was. Moira brought me into the bathroom and explained how the toilet and the shower worked. It was coming back to me in little bits and pieces.
Some of these wonders I took advantage of. The shower was amazing; the water felt cleaner and lighter than the river waters or standing puddles of muddy rain that I would normally wash myself in. The smell of the shampoo made me think fondly of the scent of water lilies. Brushing my teeth for the first time in so many years was beyond incredible, and I couldn't stop running my tongue over my teeth, amazed at how smooth they felt. No amount of scraping them with reed had ever made them this clean.
Yes, all of these things that were oddly familiar ended up being a comfort to me to some extent. I didn't have any real moments where I felt overwhelmed by what I was experiencing... unless you count Moira driving a little too fast through Brasilia. We stayed there for two days, as I had to see a doctor for a health screening and to receive vaccinations, and we had to get my new passport at the American Embassy. While I had hoped that my passport would be denied, and thus ending this ludicrous situation, it was pushed through when I was able to show the consulate proof of my identity. That consisted of mine and my parents' original travel documents that I kept all these years after they died, along with their wedding rings, one family photo, and our family Bible. The secretary to the American Ambassador personally handled my documents and gave me a warm, congratulatory smile when she handed me my passport. I wanted to slit her throat over her happiness that I was returning "home." I wasn't happy about it, but everyone else thought it was a wonderful thing.
There were some things I had a hard time adjusting to. While I briefly cherished the softness of the hotel bed, I found it a foreign feeling and thus uncomfortable. I ended up sleeping on the floor each night. The clothing that Moira had me put on before we boarded the Cessna was constraining and scratched against my skin. I hated it. The minute I was alone in my room, I stripped it all away and remained naked as I was used to.
I refused to eat with utensils, even though I immediately remembered what they were. I didn't do that out of any sense of unease, but rather did so to show Moira that I would do as I pleased. If I thought I could get away with shedding my clothes the entire time, I'd do so, but Moira put a stop to that by telling me there were laws against it.
So I had to make do with the little things, like refusing to use a fork and knife, instead using my fingers to bring food to my mouth. I even shunned the napkin I watched her use to dab at her mouth and wipe her fingers, instead licking my fingers clean and once, even rubbing my lips across the material of the shirt I wore just at my shoulder. I refused to cut my hair when she suggested it, but she merely gave me a small smile and didn't say a word.
It makes me angry... that she is just so accepting of my differences. I fully expect her at some point to start "insisting" that I behave according to these new cultural norms. Instead, she merely takes her time explaining things to me, and only gives me the opportunity to try something out. If I refuse, she only says, "Maybe some other time."
My feelings toward this flame-haired woman cause dark feelings to twist within me. I know she is not directly responsible for me leaving my home, yet I loathe her as if she were the person who came up with this insane idea. I know she is just doing her job... doing what my "godfather" asked her to do, but my contempt for her is as great as for this man named Randall Cannon. Two people that have put into effect a series of events, which led me from a peaceful and happy existence.
They are simply my enemies.
Yes, Moira is my enemy, but it doesn't mean I haven't been looking at her the way a man looks at a woman. I have an unnatural attraction to the woman with red hair and green eyes. It was immediate the first time I laid eyes on her, sitting by the fire her first night in our village. So very different from the women of Caraica... who are tiny with brown skin and jet-black hair. When I walked into the village center, Moira had looked at me directly, no shy eyes hiding the way Tukaba would do unless I gave her tacit permission to gaze at me. Her hair is a glorious mass of flame-soaked waves and her eyes the color of jungle green. She reminds me of a wild and brilliantly colored bird of the Amazon, but she moves with the grace of a jaguar. So very different from what I am used to but immensely appealing, which I find causes me shame.
Because I don't wan
t to feel anything for this woman... my enemy... other than the anger I'm carrying for the way she has turned my life upside down. When we left the village, I was heartsick. Everyone had turned out to wish me safe travel, and I could barely look at Paraila for fear I would unman myself with tears. We started our hike to the Jutai River around mid-morning, and I did my best to ignore Moira, but that lasted only for so long.
We were getting closer to the Jutai as I could smell the tang of river water on the air. The red-haired woman, Moira, walked in front of me, with Father Gaul just in front of her, and Ramon leading us all. She stumbled every few feet over an errant vine or decomposing tree branch. She seemed enthralled with the rainforest, looking all around at the wildlife rather than where she should be walking.
She was an interesting woman, I admitted. Father Gaul explained to me that she was a teacher of some sort, her knowledge highly prized among her peers. Her expertise was in something he called "anthropology," and she had made it her life to study the cultures of indigenous tribes in the Amazon. Father Gaul told me that I had a godfather who sent for me, and he hired this woman to be my teacher so that I could learn how to be a proper American when I return.
I snorted internally at the thought, vowing that I would never change a thing about myself... no matter how much they wished otherwise.
I'd never seen hair the color this woman possessed. It was as red as the setting sun and long as well; she wore it in a massive braid down her back. She was so different from the women of our tribe. So much taller than them--the top of her head coming up to my shoulder while theirs barely came to mid-chest. Her skin was pale, like the color of the moon, and she had tiny, little brown dots sparsely spread across her nose and cheeks.
I'd heard her speaking English with Father Gaul. I was sure she knew I spoke it as well, but she had stayed pretty far away from me since that first night when she arrived in our village.