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Fantasy of the Month 2 (Mayan)
29 September 1993 She stepped over the uneven ground, under low branches and dangling vines, pushing aside broad leaves, brushing away the infrequent insects that swarmed around her in the humidity. There was no path; she was moving vaguely downhill, into a valley, the base of which was marked by a more prolific growth of long grass. Around her on all sides, greenery in thousands of shades rustled. A light warm rain fell briefly, spotting the jungle fatigues that she wore. As she moved out of the valley and closer to Tikal, she thought she could hear faint chanting in the distance. Time to get changed, she thought. She unbuttoned the short-sleeved shirt and shrugged out of it, the pararadio attached to the shoulder dragging it down her arm. She stripped the tight black t-shirt off, rubbed warm rain over her arms and breasts, unfastened her belt and shook the pants off with a wiggle of her hips. After a moment's thought, she took her underpants off as well, stuffing the clothes into her pack. She took out a sealed plastic envelope, opened the end seam and withdrew a filmy gauze gown. It hung off her shoulder, leaving one tanned breast exposed, and came down to mid-thigh. She'd seen other Observers wearing similar clothing, and knew that it hid very little. She concealed the pack beneath a dark shrub and, after ensuring that her implanted locators could find it, turned towards Tikal. She'd walked less than a dozen steps when she came across the small clearing. It was dominated by a large, round stone, easily two metres across and about half a metre thick, carved with stylised faces, dragons, plants and the like. These details, eroded and smoothed by time, rain and frequent use were somewhat thrown into the background for her by the sight of a naked young man, lying on his back in the centre of the stone. He was young (in her judgement - the Mayans may have had different values), in his early twenties by her estimation; shoulder-length black hair, a well-muscled bronze body, and what looked like a painfully engorged erection. It appeared to be pointing up from the centre of the stone, given his spread-eagled sprawl. She smiled and cautiously stepped closer; she was making enough noise for him to hear her approach, and yet he lay there, breathing slowly and regularly, his penis moving slightly with each breath. She approached the base of the stone, which lay on a slightly raised lip of solidly packed earth, kneeled on the edge and cleared her throat softly. He looked up at her, and seeing his dilated pupils, she realised that he was full of psychedelic mushrooms or something similar, most likely for some sort of ritual. When he saw her, his eyes widened slightly and he murmured something like 'Ixalva?' in a quiet, querying tone of voice. Recognising the name of a Mayan goddess of weaving, she smiled and brushed a strand of wet hair from her eyes. Her skin was well-tanned, but not so that he would mistake her for a native. Her reddish-blonde hair didn't help, either. She took a deep breath, aware of the wet gauze stretching over her breasts, and moved closer. He spread his legs a bit further apart; she tentatively reached out and stroked the underside of his penis, her index finger running down to where the base met his scrotum. He couldn't tell if this was happening or not; his expression revealed, however, that he liked it. Her hand rain-slick, she squeezed his cock, moving it around like a joystick before climbing up further and mounting him. Ah, the life of a time traveller, she thought as she slid down onto him. |
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