Scanning Proofreading: CSH
Chapter 10
Colin is in love. I’m both envious and skeptical, even as stubborn as nails I long to feel that elusive passion, yet I don’t believe it exists at all.
He kept gazing into the eyes of a particularly handsome Indian and clasped his hand.
We sat on the stone pavement and the natives generously brought out their own food to share with us, drinking a disgusting brown drink that seemed to be a mixture of cold coffee grounds and river silt, yet I was so hungry and thirsty that I hadn’t been able to eat much for days. Now I was a tall, thin, long-boned man, and a few pounds lighter made me look thin and lean indeed.
We tell Colin all about Rory and Mendez, and then he also tells us about the encounter he and his new friends had with ground troops that were airborne down from a helicopter. Colin told us it was a guerrilla force, even though we already knew it was they who killed Jack with a highly poisoned arrow. He also says that it was his small group of Indians who tailed the mercenaries through that jungle and set up all sorts of traps in their path.
“They have a variety of ways to make unwelcome visitors feel less than at home,” he said. “They cover the trap with shoots and green algae so that an unsuspecting fellow falls in and finds himself face-to-face with a poisonous frog talking thoughts…”
“But there was an Indian with them among the mercenaries,” I questioned. “How is it that he never recognized your friend?”
“They say he’s only half Indian.” Colin said with pride.
“How do you communicate?”
“Look at this friend of mine,” he told us as he wrapped his arm around his love interest’s shoulders. “When he was a kid, he worked as a bank guard for a couple days. He spoke Spanish pretty well, mine was passable, and we just barely communicated.”
Colin said as he swept his eyes over his new friends, “They followed your tracks to the pass, but apparently we found Rory’s body when we discovered a large pile of rocks blocking the entrance to the Inca sanctuary. We decided to search the neighborhood, expecting to find you, and were surprised to meet by chance at this place, which even the Indians didn’t know existed.”
“Colin, this is Vicar Bamba.” The Indians began to gabble and mention the name in awe. “Here it is, below us, the burial place of the gold of the Inca kings,” I told him.
“Simply amazing,” he finally spat out the word enthusiastically. “Wow! They said they knew there was something here… You see, the shaking, the ghosts. They seem to be right.”
“Do you think they’ll help us get it? Will they refuse? I don’t feel comfortable stirring it up… I think it should belong to them and not to us. After all, it’s their land.”
“We’ve got to dig it up,” Carla said, while keeping a close eye on me as if I were crazy.
“That is why we are here, and that is the whole reason for this expedition. If we don’t dig, won’t all our efforts be in vain. Besides, how did you suddenly become an idealist.”
I shrugged, her harsh criticism having no effect, and I could always attack her verbally. It was too easy, it wasn’t even necessary, I just glanced at her with contempt.
“I know how Sidney feels.” Martha said. “I understand everything she said. We have witnessed what it was like, the two of us. They were indeed special, a pride… yet it is conceivable that it may have been precisely when we were given the mission to find this place and determine the location of the hidden gold.
I think we were ordained to play that role and dig it out.”
I couldn’t think of anything else better to say, so I had to surrender. “Well, maybe you’re right.”
Martha wanted a man, I could see it in her eyes, in the expression she incited. She hadn’t touched anyone or anything since Rory and that unusual interlude on the stairs underground. She was scanning the drow, trying to decide which one was available to her.
Colin, who had been a gentleman, handed over his jacket, t-shirt and men’s undershirt so that we ladies could cover our respective half-naked bodies. All the men then toiled and dug up bare chested, two of the whites starting to tan pink and then fading to brown in the sun’s rays.
They took turns doing it, about six at a time, and those that stopped slowed down to a shady spot to regain their strength.
Martha sauntered off aimlessly as well, and even though it wasn’t too far away, I had trouble clearing my eyes to see what she was up to.
A drow stayed lazily under the tree, his legs slightly parted with his back against the trunk.
She loitered over and glanced quickly, gauging how capable he probably was. Apparently he passed the test, because she smiled so kindly and bent over to look for something that wasn’t even there in front of her, so she could seductively show him her round buttocks and lacy Marcos B. Sparks panties. Sparks panties.
He straightened up nimbly, his tongue sweeping over his lips, and the dark cock between his legs swelled up, thickening, lengthening, almost a little bulky before my eyes.
He dropped the sugar cane he had been peeling and chewing with his teeth, and came noiselessly toward Martha. She knew he was there, of course, but pretended not to know that the game was about to begin.
He slowly stalked through the bushes, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding a perky breast. Her bottom became wet with anticipation and thirst, which was normal, and without warning he went straight for her hips, yanking her shorts down to her thighs as he pushed his cock into her cunt, and then, after a moment, turned to the other entrance.
Martha had never been used in that place before, so there was a bit of panic as she tried to slowly manage to break free of the glans that had pushed into the tight cavern. But he wasn’t hampered and still pushed all the way in, his loins pushing painfully with deep, unsettling caresses wrapped around himself.
Martha’s face left a sad expression. She found she liked it, lifting her ass high toward him. He let out a low, pleasurable sound as his orgasm descended, and he pushed, pushed, pushed, pushed, and then pumped harder, his arousal stronger than Martha’s.
She felt humiliated and looked around wildly. Her eyes were fixed on another man lying on his back in the tall grass, sucking on a blade of grass. He had been watching her and his friend and teasing his short, thick, erect penis. She laughed prodigiously and headed his way.
I felt hot with a strong sexual urge and found my attention moving from Martha’s odd behavior to Matson, who was digging desperately with a wooden shovel, with a couple of Indians quickly cooperating. Beads of sweat glistened vaguely on Masson’s rigid physique, bulging with just the right amount of muscle. I caught a glimpse of his sex under his too-small loincloth, which was hanging elegantly, and I had to admit that it was surely ripe and smooth and soft, and, according to my fertile imagination, it was just waiting to be aroused. I was picturing him drying off in my mind, and it was necessary to correct that I was thinking of any man.
I decided to follow Martha’s example.
She tried to get the already aroused drow to spread his legs and then so she could take his rushing, furiously swollen prick and shove it upward into herself and control him, but he did nothing. According to his habits, the man was supposed to be the dominant one and the woman was supposed to simply wait there like a vessel. He grabbed Martha by the shoulders and threw her to the ground as he did so, then stabbed into her with a sharp thrust, flooding her deeply, all that was left at that point was a single blinking eye that wouldn’t stop blinking. Okay, it seems I’m exaggerating a little, but only a little.
He’s very swift. It’s the most primitive form of sex, and they do it because it’s instinctive for them, an animalistic instinct, an urge. They do it to women, and once they run out of women to approach, as I witnessed the other day when they captured Colin, they do it to other men.
I decided I didn’t mind those things anymore. I was wearing Colin’s men’s undershirts, which were too big for me and kept slipping off my shoulders. Now that I had stopped pulling them up in irritated disquiet, I let them fall, dangling lower on one side than the other, selling reckless insolence, full breasts, and nipples stiffening eagerly. I trudged toward Martha’s side, where a number of men were resting.
As I sauntered into their midst, I noticed that all of their pricks were erect, and they were all watching intently the scene of Martha’s coitus with the drow.
I walked past Martha, wiggling my ass and blinking at her. She was lying underneath the Indian, who was making low grunting noises, and she blinked back. He supported his weight on his arms, only his cock and thighs touching the woman beneath him. It didn’t take long for his grunts to become loud and rapid, and finally he screamed as he pumped wildly and then rolled off, her arousal still unquenched, she sighed, poor Martha, I wish I was luckier than she is.
I slouched lazily against a tree, my belly tucked in, making my breasts larger and fuller, my nipples hardening with excitement. I didn’t want to wait around thirstily any longer, nor did I want to be like Martha.
Another Indian had appeared between her legs, one thumb on her clit and one finger stroking up every hidden part of her. I was glad to see that they could do that; sometimes, it did take a little courage. Almost simultaneously, she moaned with pleasure, and no doubt that pleasure rippled and drained his deft fingers as well. She lay flat on her back, her whole body relaxed and content, yet he didn’t leave her alone, he had his own needs to satisfy, and dragging her knees up, he slid his cock into her generous, sopping wet pussy.
At the moment, I was being observed by a drow with a large, firm phallus. I smiled sweetly and gave a clear signal of teasing. He stood still and came to me, grabbing my exposed breast with one hand, tugging and pinching the nipple roughly before pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it. It felt nothing short of wonderful, my belly throbbing and my pussy spasming. I pushed my pelvis toward him, feeling his stiffening cock, so firm and long that I couldn’t help but moan.
He didn’t even bother yanking down my shorts at all, he just grabbed at the crotch and ripped them apart, and as soon as one finger touched the opening of my vagina, he immediately removed it and his meaty, thick cock then stabbed right in.
He stuffed my cunt, his hard, burning cock straining me to the limit of my ability to take it, and then pulling out sharply with each quick, sharp lumbar jerk. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, his tall frame lifting me three or four inches off the ground as his manhood picked me up. Each jerk caused me to growl loudly, what a marvelous sensation, so intense, one might even say a little cruel.
His orgasm arrived, as did mine, and my pussy door was still fluttering regularly as he withdrew his cock. He smiled his thanks and took it in stride. I sank to the floor, my legs parted and shaking like jelly, I felt good and wanted a little sleep.
It was probably only for a minute or so that my mind was quiet and blank, when I opened my eyes only to find that another drow had appeared between my legs, and he was lifting my legs and pressing them backward against my torso, thrusting that rather large manhood into me as he did so. All the weakness and looseness was swept away and I let him fuck me as he pleased, convinced that someone else was going to have a quick fuck with me. I was right on the money, another grateful smile, another drowsy intermission.
I must have then rolled over, either that or been turned over. I was lying prone and a dark body lay on my back, pressing his manhood against my anus as he did so. I pursed my lips and chewed on it, but I was surprised to be woken up, my anus was so tight that it really made it difficult for him to enter. He had to enter my vagina instead, while managing to worm his way into my anus with another finger, which he fucked me with while stirring and playing with it.
Oh God, it felt fantastic. I lifted my body just a little towards him and felt inclined to go further, and he didn’t panic, expertly wanting me while one hand slowly reached under me and caressed my clit. So utterly stimulating, my orgasm came sharply again, and I clenched my teeth as my vaginal sphincter kept tightening to enhance his pleasure and bring him rapidly to the peak of his arousal as well.
The digging went on all day, layers of rough stone rubble and dirt being dug aside. Below that was sand and dust, and finally the first dull metallic sound came from the shovel.
Everyone started chattering excitedly, and Matson repeatedly warned the natives to be careful and gentle, we didn’t want anything to get damaged. The digging stopped and they began to clean up slowly.
Later that evening, the first object was finally partially revealed. Colin and one of the natives took great pains to pull it out, and everyone held their breath as they gathered around to scrutinize it. I think we all longed for it, my heart thumping with excitement, and Martha wringing her hands in anxiety.
They finally propped up a gold flask. Its beauty was simply difficult to assess. It was a vessel used in formal occasions, extraordinarily large, and the spout of the bottle was decorated with a scene of heterosexual coitus.
I reached out a shivering, uncertain hand and ran my palm slowly over the curves of my body, so cool and flawless.
“It’s solid gold,” said Colin, “and very heavy. In Europe, we mostly use gold-plated silver; what a bunch of fools these people are.”
“What bad luck,” Matson said with a remorseful snort, “I wish I had a camera.”
Colin nodded sympathetically. “It would be wonderful to make a photographic record. See this decorated spout of the bottle, and the lovers entwined with each other? It’s a favorite shape, and usually these bottles and vessels were crafted by Inca women who were skilled in such stunts.”
They continued their careful tidying up until darkness came, and the natives stuck torches in the stumps so that the men had enough light to be able to continue their work.
After that, new discoveries came so many and so fast that there was hardly a pause between them. All were as beautiful and as astonishing as the first that had been unearthed. I shook my head in amazement as I gazed at the growing number of bottles, lidded jars, plates, knives, small bowls, and gold jewelry boxes (once the sand had been carefully removed from them) filled with rubies, emeralds the size of grapes that had not yet been piebaldized, emeralds, and pearls of various shapes like pigeon’s eggs.
Carla and I filled our hands with precious stones of every color, and put them in our navels, raised them to our ears, and examined our images through silver mirrors polished to a very high shine. We were given more jewels than the whole English royal family possessed.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Carla laughed and teased gleefully.
Then I fell asleep, as I simply could not keep my eyes open again for some time afterwards.
A commotion awoke me as the sun rose and a ball of fire hung on the distant horizon.
Martha, Carla and I propped up on our elbows and winked at the rather excited group of natives. It was hard to tell if they were angry, happy, or just plain crazy. As far as I could tell, they were mostly excited, their arms dancing around.
Lying in the middle of a sea of gold, the three of us looked a little funny and found it hard to wake up completely.
“Colin? Mason?”
They were standing at the edge of the hole that had once been the pool of the bathing pool. Since I fell asleep, they have dug deeper, and have found a much larger chest containing more jewels and plates of gold flowers, ceremonial robes worn only in ceremonial rites, gold turbans, gold daggers, gold shoes with buckles; the king’s clothes, an empire of the sun.
The pool with its fine inlays has now seen the light of day again, and the bottom of the pool is covered with yellow, white, and orange-red colors, resembling the figure of the rising sun. To be exact, there was also a sarcophagus that had been cut down in the center, but nothing else. A thought flashed through my mind, and I realized why I had been confused earlier in the day. Only one of the greatest and most important men could be buried in such a place.
I stood up and walked forward with my eyes staring, as if drawn by a magnet, not realizing that Martha and Carla had moved even after I woke up.
Masson and Colin stood to the side of the beautifully carved sarcophagus, the natives were now kneeling in an N-shape, a sudden breeze lifted across the secret little clearing, and a cloud blotted out the sun. Overhead, four vultures circled where only one had been yesterday, and we all shuddered.
I felt that everything was becoming more and more important. And I did not feel happy about it. I seemed to have lost control of my life, my body. I wanted to regain my autonomy, but realized that this would never be possible unless I moved away from this land.
The stone lid was as carefully piebald as a rising sun. An electric shock quickly passed through my body and I was horrified, yet I ordered them to leave the lid open. I knew who was in there, and frankly, I was so frightened that I was on the verge of fainting and even wished to escape.
Carla and Martha stood to one side of me. They seemed calm compared to themselves. I envied them, admired them, the bold Sidney had faded, and now I was only a shell of her.
Colin and Masson strained to lift the stone lid, beads of sweat hanging from both men’s foreheads. Five centuries ago, it must have taken two dozen men to put this stone lid on. It would have been easier for the natives to do it together, but they did not participate, and there was no greater power in their earthly neighborhood than the man who bowed and prostrated himself with his face to it.
The stone made a creaking sound of friction, was slowly moved, and fell with a rumble that would have shaken the earth, and there he appeared, the Inca monarch, the incarnation of the sun, not in the least corrupted, as if asleep, and clad in the robes of the king, which were nobly and magnificently adorned. On his ears were golden earrings, on his fingers rings, on his arms armlets, and at his waist a golden belt inlaid with emeralds and emeralds.
Silence fell around us, we all seemed to faint, and my mouth fell open involuntarily. He was preserved so intact, unharmed, that I almost expected him to sit up, and my heart beat so violently that it reached between my ears, and I could not bear it.
Carla shifted beside me and I reached out my arms and wrapped them around her desperately. Martha had dropped to both knees, mesmerized by the spectacle before her.
I have always had this opinion that those who can hear all sorts of voices in their heads should be taken away quickly and quietly by men in white robes. Yet at the moment I was surprised to hear voices myself, so clear, as if the orator were beside me, so close, in fact, believe it or not, I did want to see if there was anyone there at all. There was no one there but him. But of course, I knew that all along. I was just trying to play a joke on myself, because I needed it as much as I needed a window in my head to wonder why I’d been chosen. Why wasn’t Martha chosen? She’d be thrilled.
As mentioned above, in any case, this voice was in my head, and the tones he was saying were so strong and powerful, “Take my turban, it’s yours, and it’s the right person to give it to you. Take it, take it…” The voice kept repeating, very firmly.
I took two reluctant, unsteady steps and stepped to one side of him. His muscles had been as thin as parchment and his bones were clearly visible. As I looked down at the husk, I saw the man I had dreamed of countless times, a handsome, dashing man, a man whose eyes could burn with an ambiguous intensity. Then I gazed at the dusty, sweaty Masson, his dark hair combed upward by his fingers, his eyes dark and passionate. Three faces intertwined, overlapping and finally melting into one. It was all very confusing to me, a truly annoying predicament.
I reached downward and very carefully and gently and quickly removed that turban from his head. It was very fragile due to its age, the outer image a fan, the red and yellow woolen weave had lost its elasticity due to time. My fingers touched the ground in several places where it had shattered .
“Mason,” I called, startling him. He had been intently watching my every move and had stepped into a realm of his own. “Mason, I was asked to make a choice, and I chose you.”
“Chosen for what?” He raised one eyebrow very seriously, one might even say with wary caution.
“Wear this crown from the ceremony.”
He shook his head desperately in surprise. “Hell, no, this will never make me happy. I’m an outsider, a foreigner in this land, let one of the locals do it.” He suggested, pointing to the prone Indians as he did so.
“I’m not asking you to take on the burden of kingship, just please put on the hood, he asked for it, it won’t be too much trouble.”
Based on the look on his face, I thought he would give me one of those “poor woman, she’s as solid as a fruitcake” lines, but to my surprise, he didn’t.
Looking like he wasn’t so determined, he finally nodded. “Okay.”
I exhaled in relief, feeling that the two of us had actually drawn closer together as a result of the Inca monarch’s confidences. It was probably the last thing we’d been asked to do, and I didn’t like the idea of letting him go down in the final sprint. “Thanks!”
Matson came cruising around the coffin and stood in front of me. “I want to know if anything is going to happen to me in the next ten minutes and I’m going to be completely responsible for her.” He joked unnaturally while pointing at me.
To all this I pressed my hand, and, stretching it out, fastened the hat with its brilliant, gaudy lines squarely on his head, while I stood waiting and wondering at the result.
A minute passed, and the waiting began to feel a little foolish, and perhaps nothing imaginable was going to happen. I saw Masson begin to traipse restlessly, his patience was running out and no doubt he felt like a fool. Perhaps this voice in my head had conceived itself; after all, I hadn’t eaten any normal food these days, and it was quite possible that this factor was influencing my brain to even think of such a thing.
A strong and particularly prolonged gust of wind howled angrily across the little clearing, blowing the hat off Colin’s head and clinging the clothes we wore to our bodies. It was hot, and out of nowhere a dark cloud appeared, and we were in its shadow at the moment, dark with rumbling thunder and jets of zig-zag lightning. It sent shivers down my spine and even affected our souls.
Air currents swirled and rushed past me, causing the men’s undershirt I was wearing to billow up and tear at Matson’s bandana as well.
I gazed at the Inca monarch, who was disappearing and weathering before my eyes, the clothes and muscles of his body drifting away like dust in the wind, until all that was left was the skeleton and the gold and silver jewels of his clothes.
Masen’s head was bare except for some of the dust, which he shook off.
After the gale had so furiously scoured our midst, it died away again as suddenly as it had come.
Passion gushed out in my heart, raging like water over a broken dike, and the tears fell like rivers down my cheeks. I drew back toward, and fell on my knees with Martha and Carla, and we all howled under the awful weight of an infinite grief. We knew and understood why he was here, in the thicket of his riches.
The Inca monarch refused to tell the conquistadors where the treasure was hidden, and the gold rushers, as odious as they were, pious religious fanatics, brought him to his death in a way that was inhuman, and thought of any way in which the Inca monarch might have hidden his treasure. By the time he died and the Spaniards departed, his secret safe had grown into a tiresome tropical jungle-fixated citadel, and those of his closest slaves buried him with his gold, and then left behind the abandoned and only ghostly occupancy of Vicar Bamba, sunk into the tropical jungle.
I was so emotional that, at first, I didn’t see Masson standing like a statue, tall, straight, with glowing eyes. It was still the same Masson, but there was a difference.
He stood for a long time, arms outstretched, gazing up at the dark, zigzag lightning in the sky. I began to feel frightened that the lightning was about to strike him, but it was as if he was in open defiance of this force of nature.
My tears had dried and I walked towards him and kept shaking his shoulders. “Mason! Come on speak to me, are you okay? Don’t waste your time, you fucking idiot.”
Then he focused his attention on me, and I hastily drew back, gasping for breath. His dark eyes showed melancholy, the eyes of an Inca monarch. He took my arm in one hand, lifted my knee in the other, and lifted me into the crook of his arm.
“Mason, what are you doing? You’re crazy! Put me down now. I mean, right away! Ma Sen, Ma Sen…”
He carried me to his throne. I mean, the royal seat of an Inca monarch. When he sat down, he took me into his lap, his arms as strong as steel, and kissed me deeply and seductively in a way that only Masson could, until I stopped resisting indignantly, though my bottom was all wet from thirsting for the stiff bulge that clung to my ass. As soon as he pulled me to face him, now straddling, and removed the imaginary broken loincloth, his cock was engorged and erect, firm, the foreskin retracting back from the glans. He tenderly wormed a finger between the furrows of my labia, and I dropped my head and teased him with my tongue.
He groaned as if in great pain, and I looked up to see Masson recovered, and the Inca monarch who had come had departed. I dare assert that he had at last found a kind of peace.
Masen called my name gently, yes, calling me by my name and not by a harsh, venomous, snake-like nickname like the old ones.
“Siddhi… Siddhi…”
“Yes, Matson. Well, it’s all right.”
I took his thick cock and slowly but carefully and gently put it inside. We had always had each other in this world, where there was no competition, no wild clamor. He kissed me again, his arms wrapped around me, making me feel warm and safe. While contemplating our situation at the moment, the only feeling that followed was the desire for a caress.
It felt as if we had been lost in each other for hours, and when I looked for fun I lost all sense of time. But no, fun isn’t the right word. Fun is what I usually feel when I have sex. Masan and I are not having fun at the moment, we are… damn, it’s almost confusing! It’s not a fun atmosphere, and that’s because there’s no shared control of the experience with some 500-year-old skeleton.
At the moment my feelings were mixed, at once happy to have found the treasure, sad about the Inca monarch, briefly worried about Masson, tired and hungry. That was precisely why, when he had taken me in his arms and picked me up and ignored any protests, I had been secretly reassured and delighted. This was the place, it was enchanted. I had reverted to my ancient self once more, back to the ancient London that had been defiled by the letdown. Yes, it was it I had died of carbon monoxide poisoning.
I moved in really close to squeeze him, the oversized men’s tank top between the two of us, my breasts pressed against his firm muscular press rub, my face hole next to the back of his head, kissing his ear, my warm breath rushing over him until I could see his sweaty hairs standing upward one by one, aroused. Then my lips slowly backed up and moved toward him, sucking on his upper lip, then his lower lip, and finally kissing him passionately the way he had kissed me. Including his cock, churning so deep inside me, each mesmerizing twitch bringing me great pleasure, the sensation of that kiss couldn’t be compared to that.
It also brought out feelings in both of us that nothing else could. Something truly out of the ordinary happened to me in those last few weeks, but the feeling we had that day in Vicarbamba when we were ecstatic? to that excitement will be a memory that will stay in the mind forever. It changed us, to be more precise, perhaps that event our fusion made us realize that we had changed.
Later, we leaned back lazily on the throne and gazed at the artifacts that had finally been excavated from the tomb. Martha had run off and picked a number of flowers and placed them around the body of the Inca king, and there was no more sound in our minds, all was over.
The natives kept mumbling awe-filled prayers and blessings for the dead man, and lifted the large stone lid and closed the sarcophagus.
“Do you think that Colin’s gang of Indian companions would be descended from this ancient Vicar Bamba?
“I asked.
“Maybe,” Matson replied, nodding no doubt.
“We have found the treasure, will anything else happen now?”
He shook his head and voiced his more practical thoughts. “I’m really not sure, theoretically we’re in agreement for now, but I think it would be best if they should be handed over to the authorities government of whatever country Vicar Bamba is in, and they should be sent to a museum for display and exhibition.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re too keen on doing that,” I said with skepticism in my voice.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I think it might be more appropriate to just leave it here; I don’t like the proposition of having to take these things away at all.”
I nodded with enthusiasm. “I see what you mean, I think exactly the same way, and I say to myself it’s so stupid, the rest of the world has a right to visit everything, and this is exactly the kind of place for a very nice museum that would help the economy of Peru, or Brazil, or whichever country we end up discovering the premises in, to prosper and boost the amount of sightseers. But even so, I don’t like it.”
We laughed at each other. Allies, that was great, for once there was no arguing, the snide remarks and whining can be a bit tiresome at times. But you have to understand, I’m not giving up on this one entirely, just taking a little break.
Martha and Carla are slowly approaching, looking meaningful. They were both smiling as well, and boy, it looked like we weren’t the only ones in a pleasant mood today.
“Carla and I have just been talking.” Martha said from her characteristic extremely authoritative tone.
“Yes…”
“Discussing these discoveries…”
“Yes…”
“We realized it was wrong to take it away.” She held up a hand as if she expected me to start persuading immediately. “I know it’s what we’ve always said we were looking for, but… yeah… ideas have changed… we’ve changed.”
Kala also nodded firmly and strongly. “This place is magical, full of vibrations… and now there are even more beautiful vibrations… I don’t want it to change because of what we’ve done. I think we’ve been allowed to see the past, to find the treasure, so we’ve become part of it… here, and if we take it all away, then the magic will disappear.”
“What’s Colin’s opinion?” Masson asked.
“He will stay, he has made up his mind, may he be the protector of this place.”
“Looks like everything’s taken care of.” I said happily, “Vicar Bamba keeps its secrets forever. Colin is the guardian, and we will return to where Pebble and the ship are. We have at last accomplished a flawless adventure, and should we mention our arrival at this holy place, only to have it become a death trap by Roduan’s betrayal of us to Mendes, and his own death, it would make a very good piece of fiction for my paper, and should please our readers, who are lovers of sensationalizing works.”
“Good idea, Sidney. And yes, this adventure will end with disappointment in the Holy Land and Rory’s death.”
“Yeah,” Kara added enthusiastically to the conversation. “Let’s just say the party brought bad luck to everyone, and Jack, Colin, and Rory all died at the hands of evil spirits.”
“Oh,” Martha looked cautious. “That’s right, but remember, my dear, don’t write anything so interesting that it makes some adventuring group decide to come searching for Vicar Bamba again. We want Vicar Bamba to be forgotten and become a fictionalized legend.”
That was the outcome of the whole affair. Colin and the natives led us back to Pebble’s boat moorings, and we camped on the spot, and shared our last supper, and talked of all that had happened, until there was yet more amazement. They will fade with the passage of time, like all memories, but for the moment it is still very exciting and joyful.
We each brought a souvenir and the only trophy we allowed ourselves to take.
We trusted that the Incas would be willing to give us such modest mementos. Rubies, emeralds, and pearls were simply chosen according to their respective preferences; I picked a ruby and have held it close to my hand ever since.
Even though my mind has been filled with all sorts of wonders, there is still a small part of piercing parting that we have made friends, lovers, and enemies, and there will be no one in our hearts who will ever go through the same thing again.
We both had trouble sleeping, leaning over the fire. I had not chosen Masson for this last passionate night; it had happened by chance, and I had entered his life only occasionally, as he had done with me.
I was lying on my side, the base of one thigh bulging upwards in my ragged shorts, my weight supported all on one elbow, and I moaned lowly as he was behind me, his fingers digging into my hair, his breath spraying up my neck, his chest pressed against me. He reached across and over my legs, gently smoothing them, subtly moving back a little, just enough to press into his waist, his manhood big and hard, and just knowing that made me hungry for more. I wrapped my own legs around him and lifted my thighs so that he could enter my pussy, while half turning my face so that he could kiss me.
His fingers touched my hidden part, so gently at first, then so urgently caressing, probing, tweaking, sending me into a state of full readiness. Then I felt his hard muscles slowly burrowing between my buttocks, seeking out the secret hole that I had hidden and pushing in hard. I moaned again, following through to become very loud. He was so brave and determined, his strokes so deep and regular that they were accompanied by little noises of appreciation that came from me with every twitch.
His waist was next to the ground, and it wasn’t long before I began to gasp for air, and now the pumping of Masson’s cock became so intense and frenzied that it brought me to my climax all at once and triggered a shuddering throb, and then the tweaking of my clitoris by his fingers caused me to arrive at a second orgasm.
The rest of the group couldn’t help but surreptitiously watch every move Matson and I made, and an urgent need arose in Colin’s lover, who took Colin by the hand and led him to a fallen tree. Colin moved gracefully onto his back, both men’s pants came down, and the Indian came up behind him and rubbed his waist and crotch against Colin, deliberately teasing him for several minutes until Colin began to beg incessantly for sex. He kept caressing his spine and his firm, yet extremely seductive ass. When he realized that he had made poor Colin horny, he lifted up the tiny loincloth he was wearing, revealing a nice, stiff shaft, and easily drove it into the white man’s anus, grinning with satisfaction as he pumped it in and out.
He grabbed Colin’s shoulders and pressed down hard while plundering them quickly and effectively, followed by a guttural growl as his orgasm came, then he arched his back again, switched his respective positions with Colin and offered his hips to Colin.
Colin was now living in paradise, having found a white man’s world full of contempt, and having despaired of ever finding true love; now he was sure that he had found it, without shame or reproach.
Martha carefully scrutinized everything, not wanting to look rude or suffer from voyeurism. But it all did arouse her sexually, and I could read her form language, her whole body so beautifully defined, all seductively undulating, as she leaned back and slumped against a less comfortable rock without a care in the world. She smiled sweetly and very kindly at the natives who caught her attention, and two of them were sure to be tempted by the look of pleasure in bed that was evident between her lids, regardless of upbringing. They sidled timidly over to her, sat down, and began flirting with her, competing intently, and it wasn’t long before it all escalated, and she tumbled to the ground with them, the two men carefully exploring her body from start to finish.
There were very few women in their tribe although sometimes there were a few in certain places, and Colin had said that Martha, Carla and I were a real novelty, especially with our unusual skin. Women had two places to explore that were the pinnacle of pleasure, and exploring was really just a euphemism for wandering around and doing just a little bit of fucking.
One of the men pulled Martha backward into his arms, lifted her hips with one finger, and followed it up with a quick thrust of his swollen cock against her. She gasped, doubly pleased that he had taken the initiative, and couldn’t help but let out a loud, sharp cry when the other man knelt in front of her and peeled her legs apart while burying his prick in her cunt. She cried out like a Texan, savoring a pleasure that truly transcended indulgence, and felt like her own swan’s dying cry in terms of this uninhibited encounter. At any rate, it would be something she would never forget.
Kara was a bit tired and fell asleep shortly after eating the dinner that the drow had so generously supplied us with. After the stuff was finished, Colin said it didn’t have a specific name, and added, “I think it’s best if you don’t know what’s in it? It’s very palatable, and no doubt that’s all that matters, right?”
“I suppose so,” I said.
Later, as I was about to lie down and go to sleep, Masson gave me an odd look. Our time together was coming to an end, we both knew that, and anyway, by tomorrow, when we met up with Pepper again, we would be on our way home, to a modern world. And I would be staying in London, he would be returning to America exactly where I couldn’t yet figure out.
“What will you do without that entree?” He inquired softly, probably alluding to my irrational obsession with Rory.
I yawned. “Sometimes the entrees can be a little too much to cope with digestion. I am very fond of leftovers and I have a ton of pickles as well as things that squeak.” I told him as I wrapped my arms around him tightly around myself.
He looked a little pleased, but more confused. “Your answer doesn’t give me a complete idea of kimchi and what…?”
I stroked the back of his head with my palm, pulled him towards me, and kissed him deeply, deeply…
Early the next morning, after kissing and cuddling each other, we waved goodbye to Colin, and we took away one last look behind us as we finally returned to the far side of the hill towards the river.
Only Pepper was there, legs hanging over the side of the boat, lounging lazily on the deck.
Martha called aloud.
He rose from the boards in a flash, a small smile coming to his face, and then he laughed happily.
“Martha… Sidney…” he stammered a little as he counted our personnel, his eyebrows knitting into knots as he peered behind us, trying to locate the three missing men.
This is where our adventure ends and the lying begins.
“Merry Christmas,” I said vaguely, as I squeezed into the cluttered elevator, left the messy office behind me, and pushed past a man who tried to follow me back into the newsroom.
“Merry Christmas,” Boutonne shouted back as she was closing the door.
I understood that he wanted to come back to my studio, but that didn’t factor into my plans.
I was going home, home to the box of chocolates waiting for me. Masson was sure to make good on his promise of expensive Belgian temptations blocking my doorstep, and instead of weekly chocolates, as he had promised, which would have been too much, and he didn’t want to drive me crazy, he delivered them once a month, and they were always wrapped up in a condom-like, moisture-proof bubble wrap, and tied up with ribbons. Underneath the package was a post-it note that always said something equally steely and mysterious. “How does it taste?”
I’m not stupid enough to understand what this means, and I hadn’t prepared at all in the last few months because I hadn’t adapted myself to it. Things were not easy, needless to say, not because of Masson, and besides, there was no longer any way to make him think I was an easy man to beat. Waiting had done him good, and the more highly a thing is valued, the more it is wanted.
That morning my gift arrived, and when it was torn open, as has always been the custom in America, the recipient was asked to duplicate the address of the delivery person. I had jotted down that address in my address book months ago when the first chocolate arrived, and now that I could write it out accurately without even looking it up, that address was what mattered.
I sipped my coffee at home and actually came to my senses. I then organized two small suitcases, stuffed them with clothes, and nailed a note to Tyrone’s door so he would cancel my paper. I didn’t want to see him and I didn’t want to say no to a good friend. I called a cab that was waiting downstairs on the cold, dark street.
The ride to Hounslow was a nightmare, and the driver couldn’t stop rolling down the cab window and yelling at everything and everyone in a foul-mouthed manner.
Matson lives in Vermont, and I remembered having brought snow boots and having a ruby in my cosmetic bag that was so large it hardly looked real. I imagined I’d have a chance to embed it in my bellybutton during this undetermined time to ignite another wonderful memory.