by Q. Zayne
I cleared my throat and put up my hands. “Okay. Thanks.” I appreciated him, I did. He had resources beyond my imaginings. A billionaire was like another species. My godfather was as close to a superhero as our age got. He’d do things in minutes that wouldn’t get done any other way. I needed him to find Lena.
But he scared the hell out of me.
I scrambled off the boat and landed on the mucky bank. My high tops had enough traction to keep me from slipping in the mud. I ignored the appreciative glances from the men. No doubt that jump provided them with lots of jiggle. Back in high school my friend Gus clued me in as to why so many guys showed up to watch girls’ volleyball. He was gay, and he hung himself when he was 16. I often wondered if he could have escaped our small town life instead. I think of him with someone to love, growing into the funny, smart, compassionate man he was already becoming when too many years as an outsider drowned him. Guy and my father, down in the dark. In whatever afterlife they were in—and I hoped my father was right about there being an afterlife or more lives to live, something other than a blank, an end. I loved them both and always would.
A breeze blew off the river but it was a hot breeze. Like Jace’s breath on my face. My face felt hotter. I put my arms around myself despite the heat.
The men unloaded the gear. I walked toward the jungle, that dark heart of darkness. We weren’t in Joseph Conrad’s Africa, but this place filled me with the dread of the vast unknown I sensed when I read that classic.
High school wasn’t that long ago. I met Lena when I answered her ad for a roommate my freshman year in college. We did a double take when she opened her apartment door. We were the same height, both more busty and round-assed than was fashionable, both with masses of black curls. She was my Latina doppelganger. She laughed and pulled me inside the book-lined living room. She said, “The room is yours. We can share clothes!” We even wore the same bra size, as I discovered with my hands filled by her breasts our first weekend together.
I caught Jace eying me. I blushed. I pretended interest in the nearest plant. How had I come to be in this unmarked place, so far from everything I knew, and with such a man? Lena, be alive, and I can stand anything.
I ran my hands on my arms, shivering in the heat. I was scared.
Far above in the jungle canopy, a huge snake slid along a branch. Dad would know what kind it was. I averted my eyes, hoping it would ignore me. The terrain of the ancient Maya continued to be home to revered reptiles and other venomous creatures. Welcome to the rain forest, home of many things that can kill you. No turning back. We were here.
I veered to the edge of the path to get as far away from the snake as possible. Jace smiled and walked by me. He thrashed at the verge of the jungle as though searching for something. He nodded to Tico.
“This way.”
Tico hefted the gear bag along with his pack. He waved me ahead, to follow Jace and Felipe with their machetes. Tico took up the rear, no doubt to help and protect the gringa. Out here, I did not mind a man acting protective. I was all for TV shows, books, and movies full of kick-ass girls, but we were in the middle of a freaking jungle full of creatures that kill. Normally, I was big on preserving life and being kind to animals. Out here, if anything threatened me, it was, Man, the mighty hunter, do your thing.
It seemed like the sticky, fetid walk through the dense growth took all day. The sun remained high overhead as we reached a clearing with a hut, making it feel as though time didn’t move at all here. I fanned myself with my hand but it did little against the heat. Tico handed me a canteen.
“Gracias.”
“De nada.” He smiled, revealing healthy teeth and joy.
Unlike the rest of us, his face didn’t run with sweat. This was his place, and he was acclimated to it. He seemed so content, I wanted to know his secret. I strained at my limited store of Spanish words but didn’t come up with a way to ask him what I wanted to know. I wasn’t sure how to have that conversation in English, either. How come you’re so calm and content, radiating happiness, when I’ve never experienced anything like that for more than minutes? That sounded so juvenile. Did dealing with us get old for people whose lives had roots? White people flocking to their homelands, searching for something real to counteract the emptiness of the lives we’d yielded to giant corporations to live out our vapid existences as obedient, thoughtless consumers while destroying the planet for everyone? Some days, everything depressed me.
“We’re here,” Jace called.
A blanket moved at the hut’s entrance. Like a mirage, my priest emerged. I knuckled my eyes and blushed. Guilt for leaving the church made me hunch my shoulders, my entire body compressing, trying to hide. Perverse as always, my nipples tightened. My shorts divided me, and I couldn’t tug them out of camel-toe position without attracting attention. Goddamn. No, I don’t mean that. Hell.
He approached and stood tall in khakis instead of vestments. In his usual garb, he was a representative of holiness, not a man. I stared at his burly shoulders, the thin shirt clinging to bulging biceps, the outline of strong thighs and more in his trousers. Shock rooted me where I stood.
“Father Ignatius has been waiting for us. He’ll be your duenna, in a sense.” Jace said offhand, as though it should be a welcome surprise.
Tico smirked and busied himself adjusting a pack strap. I wasn’t sure what he found funny, the idea of a priest as a chaperon—a role usually played by an older woman—or the idea of a ripe gringa needing a chaperon of any kind. Jace shook the priest’s hand, grinning and ignoring the rest of us.
I stared at the man who gave me Holy Communion since forever. Until I left the Church when Dad died. If Jace had tried to increase the guilt and confusion I already felt, he couldn’t have done a more thorough job of it. I wanted to murder him with my bare hands.
“The good father consented to come along and add some respectability to our expedition.” He nodded to me with a smile. I glared at him with the look Dad said could melt obsidian. I damned near curtsied, my upbringing of respect for the priest was so strong in me.
My priest grimaced and made a waving gesture, as though to banish Jace’s words. He smiled at me. I had to speak.
“Father. How good to see you again. So kind of you to come.”
He nodded, his gentle smile softening his strong features. When I studied the ancient Romans I imagined he was descended from them. His nose put me in mind of the most handsome bust of Caesar, and his eyes held a pained expression, as though he’d been betrayed. Despite the incongruous jungle explorer outfit and unexpected, raw hut setting, he had a forbidding demeanor. I still believed the rumors of whippings I’d heard about him for much of my young life.
“It’s good to see you, Blair. I’m glad to be of service in any way I can. You needn’t call me Father. Call me Ignatius, my dear. I’ve come here on a new calling. You might say I’ve retired from the priesthood.” His eyes conveyed wry humor and tenderness. “I’ve been praying for Lena since I heard of her disappearance.”
Disappearance. How could anyone as vibrant as Lena disappear? I watched her eyelashes flutter as she dreamed. I imagined that like my father, she dreamed of discovering ancient things, relics, bones, and writing. Words and pictures took us into the past, connected us to the lives of vanished people. She was so impressed I was an archaeologist’s daughter. She wanted to be an archaeologist. Her eyes lit up as I unpacked my collection of animals. She held a cobra on her palm, entranced. My eyes crossed when she leaned over and kissed me.
In the priest’s brown eyes, I saw her in her pale yellow church dress and white gloves, her rosary wrapped around her hand. We prayed together, dressed together, undressed together, explored each other’s bodies, smoked and quit smoking together, cut class together. We talked about boys, had our first orgasms, stayed up all night, cried, left the Church together. We weren’t lesbians; we both liked men too much, but we loved each other. We loved each other ‘that way,’ what they used to call a Sapphic bond. W
e made love the night before she left, as passionately as we often did, till we were so spent we had tears on our cheeks. My breath hitched in my chest. I could taste her.
Losing her would be like losing another piece of my heart. I couldn’t stand that. If there was any way to find her, I’d do it. I had a billionaire, amazing local guides—and now a priest on my side. Former priest? My fears for Lena eclipsed his strange news.
“Do you have it, Ignatius?” Jace’s voice was eager. His eyes gleamed.
“Yes, I have it.” A smile illuminated his face. He looked beatific, like one of those rich paintings of a tortured saint filled with light so you know he’s transported with ecstasy. Images of Saint Sebastian often made me tingle. I blinked at the radiant former priest. I’d never seen a man look so beautiful.
He reached into his satchel and brought out a long stone with rounded ends. It resembled a corn grinding stone, but not as big and thick. It reminded me of things I saw when Lena took me to an adult bookstore to check out the dildos. It wasn’t quite that blatant, but it was phallic.
Retreating to safer ground as an archaeologist’s daughter, I leaned closer. Carvings decorated the shaft: Maya glyphs and a serpent. The snake’s jaws formed its head, complete with teeth.
The priest held the obscene object as though it were a sacred relic.
“Put out your hands. Hold it.”
I obeyed. What good girl wouldn’t obey her priest?
He rested it on my hands. Its weight made my fingers curve around the shaft in reflex.
“Good, yes, hold it. Feel its power,” Father Ignatius encouraged me.
The thing seemed ominous and weighty, and I felt naughty with the big, hard object resting my my hands.
I got the impression that he nodded to Jace over my head. That there was something important they weren’t saying, that they didn’t want me to know.
The ancient relic warmed in my hands, seemed to pulse like a living thing. I didn’t say anything. No doubt they’d dismiss what I felt as imagination. I didn’t want the guys to treat me like ‘the girl.’ I held the big stone phallus as waves of energy surged through me, envisioning my chakras lit up with rainbow colors. It was like I was a channel for energies outside of me, and they opened me up for use.
I left my body. I rose up above our heads, looking down at the priest leaning over me, Jace smiling at him, my hands grasping the relic with as much passion as if my priest had put his cock in my hands.
I wavered on my feet.The men held me steady, holding me between them with their bodies pressed against mine like a wicked scene from a dirty book.
Jace and the priest crouched at my sides, each holding one of my hands and frowning with concern. The relic rested on my belly, low, above the waistband of my cut-offs. It felt warm as flesh on my bare skin. I imagined it had rested on many girls’ bodies, as if they were altars meant to hold it. I knew where that sacred stone was meant to go, though it looked much too big to fit. I blinked. Weird, weird thoughts.
“What happened?”
“You blacked out and fell.” Jace helped me sit and put his canteen to my lips.
I remembered his kiss. I drank.
My priest squeezed my hand. I felt grateful, as though his being there made everything alright, absolved me in advance for anything I might do, anything that might happen to me. Ignatius. Ignatius was no longer a priest. He was a man, such a man.
I wasn’t myself. He wanted me to feel the ancient relic’s power and I had. What had it done to me?
I still felt its heat on my palms and low on my belly. Ignatius held it at his side. Superimposed over him, I saw an ancient Maya priest with his huge, colorful serpent headdress, the medicine wand in his grip. The vision was as vivid as time travel. I saw the man’s brown chest rise and fall with his breaths, the sweat shining on his muscles, his nickle-sized flat nipples. Colorful bird feathers adorned his neck piece. Nothing but a flap of fabric covered his lower body, his determined bulge about to rise from hiding like a lethal snake.
Chills went through me. Ignatius stepped close and put his arms around me, pressing the relic against my lower back. His arms and chest felt hard with muscle. He smelled of communion and fresh sweat. I felt sensations I shouldn’t feel in the arms of a priest, even lapsed Catholic that I was. Pure lust lanced through me at the feeling of his strong, masculine body. He seemed to have walked into the aura of the ancient priest and joined him in claiming me for the timeless powers that ruled this place. An inch closer and I’d know if he was hard.
What the hell was wrong with me? Tico lowered his eyes and crossed himself, praying under his breath. Jace gave me a crooked smile. Ignatius continued to hold me. I surrendered, squeezed him close.
“Thank you, Father.” I whispered against his broad chest. “Thank you.”
He kissed the top of my head. His lips felt hot. His breath moved my hair, and a shiver ran down my spine to my tail bone. I used to imagine Satan with his lashing tail and blazing eyes when I said my prayers kneeling by my bed at night.
A vision of dropping to my knees and opening my virgin mouth for my priest lanced through me. My knees gave way. I reached back and clung to his hips. He gasped and gripped me close.
“Agua, por favor,” Ignatius called.
Virgin mouth? Where had that thought come from? It was true in a sense. As many orgasms as I’d had with Lena, no man had ever been in my mouth or inside my V.
He picked me up and carried me into the shade. Unthinking, I put my arms around his neck and nuzzled his throat. A low sound came from him, between a moan and a growl, vibrating against my lips. I felt much too aware of sensations barely contained in my panties. Overhead the snake made its lazy way onto a branch that seemed to match its sinuous thickness. For the first time in my life I wanted to see my priest’s cock. He wasn’t a priest, so I wasn’t damned.
Maybe I had malaria, some fever taking me, making me delirious. It was Jace’s fault. He made me feel forbidden things when he kissed me and now my mind felt dirty. What was it like, Ignatius’ cock? Long and curved? Thick and stubby? Did it have a thick foreskin roseate at the tip? Was it cut, with an exposed, oozing knob? Was he hard?
The tormenting thoughts made me believe in demons. I flashed on the obscene scene in that old novel, The Exorcist, what she did to herself while possessed, her flagrant, horrific masturbation with a sacred relic.
He set me down in a place of deep shade. Sweat glittered on his face. He pressed his palm against the big tree. Perhaps he took me this far into the jungle to prolong having me in his arms. My skin felt so heated and enlivened, I still sensed where his arms touched. I wanted to collapse against his body. I wanted to feel for an erection, pretending delirium. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the tree, conscious that my breasts rose and fell as eye-grabbing as a cat toy. Maybe the men thought it was heat stroke. I knew it was lust. Sin.
I glanced up at Ignatius. His gaze centered below my face, right at my hard nipples. I pretended not to notice, just closed my eyes and surrendered to being the center of male attention. Maybe the good father was like Jace; out in the jungle, he shed his civilized skin. Underneath, he was all man. Did he want to sin with me? The Bible was full of fornication. Ignatius, had he been celibate for years and years? What would it be like if he got to have some? Wow. I tingled at the wicked thought of my former priest losing control with my virgin body. I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t want any of them to see my thoughts.
Forbidden Rite
The trek through the jungle felt strange. Jace and Tico took the lead with their machetes. Ignatius followed me, making me aware of my cut-offs clinging to my ass, and Felipe took up the rear.
“Aren’t we a small party for a billionaire’s expedition?” I tried to keep the complaint out of my voice.
“A small group has an advantage in this terrain.” Jace called back above the thrashing machetes clearing the trail.
I didn’t understand his reasoning. Such a small group seemed so much m
ore vulnerable than a larger expedition would be. The disappearance of Percy Fawcett remained a mystery. Despite the massive destruction of the jungles in the name of greed, there remained plenty of wilderness to swallow mere humans. I supposed a second boat and more people might have slowed us down, and time was crucial if we were to have any chance at all of rescuing Lena.
Yet I sensed a secret.
Slickness oozed out of my panties, lubricating my inner thighs and denim fringe as I walked. A white blouse with my bra showing though, tight, short cutoffs and white ankle socks with red high-top sneakers—I looked like a schoolgirl wet dream if Ignatius was bent that way. Not sure what I would have worn if I’d known we were meeting up with him. This wasn’t church dress terrain. My wardrobe for the jungle expedition was limited. The guys wouldn’t let me carry a pack. Given how sweaty I felt walking through the sweltering terrain, getting slapped by vines and watching out for things that might kill me, I didn’t fight about it. Some machismo and chivalry wasn’t so bad. I’d be back in the U.S. surrounded by assholes who wouldn’t give up a train seat to anyone elderly or pregnant soon enough.
My cheeks blazed as my dirty mind kept returning to my priest. I remained conscious of his presence behind me.
We came to a halt. I had the silly thought we might take a break, but the driven took on Jace’s face made it clear that was a fantasy. He and Tico conferred in Spanish. Past Jace’s big chest, I caught sight of the dead-fall blocking our way. The huge tree took others with it when it toppled. He and Tico holstered their machetes and climbed it, shirts sweat-stuck to their bodies. I had ample opportunity to admire Jace’s muscles. The man was built, and he had a fine ass. Good thing he didn’t look back, and Ignatius was still behind me. I suspected my flaming face gave away where my mind dwelled.