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take a shit. You have an imagination.
She wanted to play some game like Never Have I Ever in the jungle? I could top her stories on
the first try. I ve never sucked spider venom out of my own leg. Drink. I ve never tracked a
murderous Chinese thief into Saint Petersburg and killed him. Drink. I ve never killed a Columbian
drug dealer inside his fortified compound. That one was particularly sweet. Drain the cup.
Oookay, she says, and it s evident she doesn t believe me. Look I m not afraid you re going to
rape me. After all, you say you ve been watching me, so I presume you ve had plenty of opportunities
and just aren t into that. Which is good. Very good.
She pauses and it s clearly my turn to talk now.
Right. I m not into that. The rape thing, I clarify.
Good to know.
I shift slightly away but her body follows mine, and despite the awkwardness of the conversation
and her obvious distaste for what s in my pants, I get hard . . . again. I rub the back of my head against
the tree as if the sharp bark can pierce my thick skull.
I m in the fucking jungle. My eye may be permanently damaged. I have to get one hand model and
myself out of this place before Duval and his little army descend on us and decide to kill us in the
middle of the Amazon rainforest.
I should be focused on getting what sleep I can so that tomorrow I can find enough supplies to help
us make it to a village, which may be ten miles downstream or a hundred. Instead I keep thinking
about how soft her fucking hands are and how, despite the fact that it s 2,000 percent humidity and we
both sweated like dogs earlier, she still smells good womanly and delicate, which isn t possible.
My nonstop erections around her defy explanation, too. Sure, I ve gotten hard before but not from
just looking at a woman. Not since I was a perpetually horny teenager and even the local department
store circular could raise a half chub. But since then I ve spent a lot of time putting sex and women
out of my mind. There s little point when I can t do anything about it.
My dear sainted mother dubbed me a killer before I could spell the words. I was the result of the
most vile experience a woman could suffer. I ate my twin sister in the womb. Nearly killed my mom
on my way out of the birth canal. My giant dick was the evidence of my cursed existence.
I should never have been born, she hissed at me repeatedly.
She s probably right but not much she could do about it when abortion went against her religion.
So I lived, but not a day went by without her reminder that I was a monster created by the devil. I
existed only to hurt women, and the very evidence of that hung between my legs. From before I could
form words, I knew that my own body was a weapon fashioned to harm, maim, and kill.
I tried. Fuck I tried to make my mother happy. I tried to ignore what was happening in my pants. I
tried and failed and proved her right. I existed to hurt women. So I stayed far away from them.
And that s where I ve gone wrong, I conclude. I spend too much time with Garcia and the men.
That s the only rational conclusion. Somewhere along the line, I started avoiding women and now the
first isolated exposure to one is sending me reeling. If I were home, I could remedy this by taking
myself in hand literally but I know better than to stand outside of our shelter in the pitch black of
night with my dick in hand jerking it while a dozen predators lie in wait.
She shifts again and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from moaning out loud.
So who are these friends that call you Rafe? she asks.
Aren t you tired? Because I m bushed. I make a big show of stretching my arms, almost
knocking some of the leaves off our shelter.
Maybe if she sleeps then I can sleep. I was in the military. We were taught to sleep anywhere in
any conditions no matter how hot or cold or how many enemy artillery shells were flying over our
heads. I can sleep through this torture, too.
I m kind of cold. She burrows even closer and I swear to fucking God her hand brushed against
Godzilla. He roars to life and the blood flow that rushes into my groin is so swift I nearly pass out.
I jump up before I do something insane like grab her hand and press it even tighter against me.
I m going to find you a blanket.
She grabs my leg. You said that we shouldn t go out in the dark that it s too dangerous. It s
pitch black out there. You can t leave.
She was right but I had to do something. I m going to take a piss.
Can I at least have your knife? Hurt and fear war for supremacy in her voice.
I rub a hand down the side of my face. My five-o clock shadow is going to be a full-on beard if
we don t get out of here soon. Sure. I pull off my belt and reattach the knife to the buckle. Don t
kill me when I get back.
Don t act like a predator, she retorts.
Too late for that.
I retrace our steps from earlier today. The pilot is going to get eaten tonight. It s just a fact of life.
We might as well salvage what we can from him. I locate him easily and strip off his clothes. The
white dress shirt is a lost cause soaked with blood. The suit coat isn t much better but it s made out of
decent enough wool. I can take a knife to it and make strips that we can wrap around Ava s wrist if
she needs a splint, although from my cursory look, the hand and wrist look more bruised than
anything. Still probably hurts like a motherfucker but if she had broken anything she wouldn t be able
to take a step without the pain overcoming her.
In the pilot s pockets he has two energy bars and a pack of gum. I ball up his socks that are still
mostly dry and stick them in my pockets. The one shoe that Ava nearly stubbed her toe on was too soft
of a leather and worn to be a decent weapon. The clothes she might not like but we could use them for
bedding.
I find nothing else, not even his pilot s pistol. Maybe he didn t carry one. I walk a little ways
away and take out my dick and piss. The dead pilot has done a good job of deflating my erection. I
rub my hands in the soil and then find a wet leaf to wash the debris off. I roll up the clothing, pull out
the socks, and stuff those in the roll of clothes.
It s me, I call out as I approach.
She moves inside the shelter and I duck inside, tucking the roll of the pilot s clothing to my left so
she doesn t see it. No sense in having her worry about it tonight.
Did you find anything out there?
A couple of health bars. Want one?
I feel her shake her head. No. She hesitates. Did you get that from the pilot?
Yeah. Better that we have it than one of the jungle dwellers.
What s going to happen to him tonight? From the sound of her voice she knows exactly what is
going to happen.
He s dead and he won t feel anything.
She shudders. Her fear generates an itch at the back of my neck, and as she sits huddled beside
me, I realize I d rather have an excruciatingly painful erection and solid blue balls for days than have
her be this upset. This woman s a trooper. She hasn t cried except for that one time when she realized
she was sitting in the middle of a tree. I think those were actually tears of relief and gratefulness.
She hasn t complained. She hasn t done anything but try her damnedest to survive. And I ve been
taking shots at her for trying to be friendly and stave off her terror. I stretch out my legs and then pick
her up.
She yelps.
For warmth, I mutter.
Yes, she breathes out. You feel like a radiator.
In spite of all her curves she weighs less than a few banana leaves. Or maybe I m just distracted
by all that plump flesh in my grip. I settle her between my outstretched legs and wrap both arms
around her. I try to position them low so I m not crushing her tits. Oh shit, she feels good. She feels
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