Chapter 11

 

Zach

 

Stepping out of the barbershop, I run my fingers through my newly shorn hair. I did it on a spur of the moment whim, having left the library about a half hour ago and not in any hurry to get back to Moira’s house. It was a nice day outside, and I was feeling the need to distance myself from that flame-haired temptress.

Last night…

No words to describe it. There aren’t enough words in Portuguese or English to describe how unbelievably wrecked I was when I came inside of Moira that first time. I felt something release inside of me. And not just an orgasm that rocketed through me with a force I’ve never felt before. I felt something give way inside of me… an almost breaking apart of my soul.

It scared the fuck out of me, and I immediately searched outward with blind fingers for something to grab ahold of. I thought briefly of the rainforest and of Paraila’s kind eyes. I tried to remember the thrill of the hunt, and of the camaraderie I shared with the other Caraicans. I wracked my mind trying to remember some level of comfort that those memories would normally provide for me, and I came up absolutely empty.

Then I turned my head to the side and looked at Moira lying beside me on the carpet. Her eyes were still on a low simmer of desire, and complete satisfaction was etched across her beautiful face. And that fractured feeling inside of me started to subside, only to be replaced by a burning need to touch her again.

With my tongue.

There was no real thought involved and, within the time it takes for a serpent to strike, my face was between her legs and I tasted her… I tasted me… and I was lost in euphoria again.

Our second coupling was just as frenzied, but it was more intimate… more personal than before. Being able to watch her face and the myriad of emotions that crossed it every time I sunk into her was beyond dazzling. I felt my control slipping again and scrabbled to maintain it, ordering her to touch herself and then torturing myself when I pulled out of her. But she finally capitulated to me, and I was able to fuck her to another divine conclusion.

After… I didn’t know what to do. There was a yearning inside of me to touch her… possibly pull her into my arms, yet I didn’t know if that was appropriate. So many things I still don’t know. So many things yet to learn. While all of my instincts as to what I should do to her body seem absolutely natural, I have not a clue how to deal with Moira when the glow of glorious sex fades away.

Instead, I walked away from her like I would have walked away from Tukaba. Yet, that didn’t feel right because I never would have done those things to Tukaba. Don’t want to do those things with Tukaba.

Only with Moira.

What I can’t figure out is if I’m falling prey to a new culture, or I’m just falling prey to Moira. Neither option seems satisfactory to me.

So when I woke up this morning, I got dressed, grabbed the money that Moira had given me, and left the house. Moira’s bedroom door was still closed, but I didn’t bother to leave her a note. She had told me I was free to come and go as I please, and besides… I didn’t know what to say to her.

My first stop was a little coffee shop that sat a few blocks down from the library. I went in and was immediately overwhelmed by the choices that were available. Mochas, lattes, cappuccinos. I had no clue what any of it meant, so I ordered just a cup of black coffee and paid for my purchase. I sat outside for a while at a small table with an umbrella to shade me, watching the people walking by. I paid careful attention to the women, comparing each of them to Moira. Trying to figure out what was it about her that set her apart… that made her so intriguing to all of my senses.

I didn’t come up with a single answer.

Finally, I finished my coffee and went to the library. I just wandered aimlessly around the stacks of books, taking one off the shelf every now and then to read the back cover. Nothing was appealing to me, so I left.

That’s when I saw the barbershop across the street and, after a break in traffic, trotted over to it.

Peering in the window, I watched a man getting a haircut. I absently fingered my own long hair, thinking of the pride that came with wearing this Caraican hairstyle. What would it mean if I were to cut it all off? Would I be turning my back on my heritage? Except… that wasn’t my heritage. Not truly. At my basic roots, I was an American man. Yet, I’d seen plenty of men since coming to the States with a variety of hairstyles. Some long, some short, some in between. There was nothing about a man’s hair that seemed to identify his nature. It was just… hair.

Maybe it was just hair in Caraica, too.

I sat there for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. Ultimately, I thought of Paraila and something he taught me when I was a young boy when one of our tribe’s elders had died.

As is custom, the body was painted with symbols telling of his journey through life. A crown of bamboo leaves was placed upon his head, and a wild orchid was nestled in his hands. He was laid upon a funeral pyre, and then his body was burned until there was nothing left but his bones.

When the embers had cooled to the touch, the women would sift through the ashes and collect the burned bones. They were then crushed with a mortar and pestle to a fine dust. Banana milk was added, and the funeral ritual was completed by every person in the tribe taking a drink until nothing was left.

“Why are we drinking Capa’s bones?” I asked Paraila when the gourd was passed to me.

Placing his hand gently on my shoulders, he said, “You know that life is created when a man and a woman lay together, right, Cor’dairo?”

I nodded my head that I understood that. It was one of the first things that Paraila ever taught me… after I first saw a man coupling with a woman.

“Well, we are doing nothing more than returning Capa to life. We ingest his bones and make him part of us. Then, when new life is created, part of Capa will be reborn, and his spirit will live on within the tribe. To us, life is never ending. You will always come back in some way or another. Everything comes back in the end.”

As I watched the barber inside take a brush and clean off the man’s neck, I thought about Paraila’s teachings. Everything always comes back in the end.

I didn’t hesitate a second longer. Walking in, I asked how much for a haircut, and then had the barber take it off.

When he turned me around in the chair and I saw myself in the mirror, I waited for sadness to hit me that my hair was gone… because it was one of the things that identified me as a Caraican. But it didn’t. I just stared with interest, noting how short it was on the sides, but he left it a bit longer on top. My hair was actually a bit wavy and, without the weight of the long locks pulling it down, it flipped at the ends in about a dozen different ways. I looked younger, or so I thought, and I was generally pleased.

Standing outside the barbershop, I look down the street left and right, trying to decide what to do. No doubt, Moira would be up by now, but I still wasn’t ready to face her. I had no clue where we stood, and I wasn’t ready to find out just yet.

So I head in the opposite direction, and just start walking.

I need more time to think.

 

 

I’m so fucking lost.

How in the hell did that happen?

I’ve been navigating my way through the Amazon for most of my life, hacking away new paths with my machete and exploring unseen areas. I always found my way back.

But after walking around the suburbs of Evanston, Illinois, fuck if I have a clue as to where I am.

Turning down a new street, I hope for some familiarity, but find nothing but new sights and sounds. I walk for another few blocks until I emerge on another street that has some businesses. A small diner, an antique shop—no clue what that means, and a locksmith. No clue what that means either.

Just down the street in a small parking lot, I see two police cars parked beside each other, facing in opposite directions. Knowing what those are, I head toward them. I have a sudden and distinct memory of a police officer coming to my school when I was little. I don’t quite remember why he was there, but he talked to our class, and I remember him being in a position of authority and security. I figured they were my best bet to figure out how to get back to Moira’s.

When I approach the cars, I see their windows are down, and the cops are talking to each other. Their gazes lift toward me, and one of the officers gives me a small smile. “Can I help you?”

Scratching my head, because this is awkward and embarrassing, I tell him, “Yeah… I’m sort of lost and can’t find my way back to my friend’s house.”

The officer arches his eyebrow at me. “New to the area?”

“You could say that,” I tell him.

“What’s the address and I’ll get you pointed in the right direction?”

Address? Fuck.

“Um… honestly, I don’t know. It’s a white house with black shutters.”

I can see immediate distrust wash over the cop’s face, and he opens his car door to step out. “You don’t know the address?” he asks skeptically. “And you say this is a friend’s house?”

I put on my friendliest smile. “Okay, I know this sounds weird… but, um… I’ve actually been living in Brazil for the past eighteen years and the woman I’m staying with was hired to bring me back here to the United States and help me adjust to this culture. I’ve been staying at her house.”

Apparently, that didn’t go over any better because I see the cop’s distrust magnify. The other officer now steps out of his car and gently shuts the door to face me. I expect at any moment for them to pull their guns or something, which makes me feel twitchy. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, so I take a step backward.

“You needed help to acclimate to what? Your English seems pretty good to me,” the cop says.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out and lay it on the line. “I actually lived in the Amazon… with an indigenous tribe. This is my first time back in the modern world. The woman is an anthropologist at Northwestern, and she was hired by my godfather to ‘rescue’ me and bring me home.”

Now both of the cop’s eyebrows raise high with surprise. One of them says, “Are you fucking with us?”

“No, sir. I’m not keen on you shooting me,” I tell him with a grin.

The other officer starts laughing and gets back in his car. “I’ll pull up her address, Carter, and give him a ride over there.”

The cop, whose name I now know to be Carter, nods and gets back in his own car. “Go ahead and get in his backseat. He’ll take you over there.”

With relief, I thank him and get in the other cop’s vehicle. When I close the door, he says, “I’m Officer Stevens. What’s your name, buddy?”

“Zacharias Easton,” I tell him.

“And your friend’s name?”

“Moira Reed,” I supply and then add on, “I really appreciate it. I can’t believe I got lost.”

“Can happen to the best of us,” he says while he types away on a small computer mounted to his dashboard. “So you really lived in the Amazon for eighteen years?”

“Yeah. My parents were missionaries there, and they died when I was eight. The tribe adopted me. I had no clue there was someone here in the States looking for me. Don’t remember a whole lot about my time here.”

“Fucking incredible,” he says thoughtfully. “Okay, I got it. Moira Reed… she’s over on Kopoula Street.”

“That’s it,” I say with recognition.

“Okay,” he says as he starts the car. “Put your seatbelt on, and I’ll have you home in a jif.”

 

 

When we pull up into Moira’s driveway, utter relief courses through me. It’s a shitty feeling being lost and out of control. I try to open the car door, but it’s locked.

“Hold on,” Officer Stevens says. “I’ll have to open it from the outside.”

He exits the car as I take off my seatbelt and, when the door opens, I step out onto the concrete driveway. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“No worries,” he says with a smile. “But I’m just going to go up to the door with you.”

Ahhh. I get it. He wants to make sure that Moira really does know me, and that I’m not some lunatic trying to murder her. Very impressive.

Just before we hit the front porch step, the door flies open, and Moira comes running out. She looks stunning, her flamed hair pulled up in a high ponytail. She’s wearing a butter yellow sundress with white flowers around the hem. “Oh, thank God, Zach. I’ve been worried sick about you.”

Her eyes flick back and forth between the cop and me, but when they rest back on me, she says in surprise, “You cut your hair.”

My fingers rise up and sift through the short locks. “Yeah… I guess so.”

She smiles at me briefly and says, “I like it.”

Turning to the police officer, she says, “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, ma’am,” he assures her. “He just got a little lost and couldn’t remember how to get back here. I assume you know this man.”

“Yes, he’s staying with me while visiting from Brazil.”

“He told me the story. That’s pretty amazing,” he says kindly. “Well, I need to get back out there. You two take care.”

We both say goodbye, standing on the porch and watching as the officer pulls out of her driveway. When he’s gone from sight, I turn around and look at Moira. “I’m sorry you were worried. I just went walking and don’t understand how I got so lost.”

Before I know what’s happening, Moira launches herself at me, slamming her body into mine. Her head rests on my chest, and her arms wrap around my waist. Squeezing tight, she says, “I was going out of my mind with worry. I had no clue what happened to you.”

My arms come up and tentatively wrap around her. The way she’s so boldly touching me now confuses me. It’s not a sexual touch, but rather a warm embrace of relief. It’s nice to have been missed.

“That’s it,” she says as she releases me and pulls back. “We’re going out right now and buying you a cell phone so you can call me if something like that happens again.”

“Sounds good,” I tell her with a grin. “I know there won’t be a cop on every street corner to rescue me every time.”

Moira turns away and heads back into the house. I follow her in, noting that her shoulders still look tight, so I know something else is bothering her. She walks into the kitchen and picks up her coffee cup that was on the table. I watch as she pours the contents into the sink and then rinses the cup.

I silently walk closer to her and, when she turns around, I don’t hesitate for a second. My hands go to her face, and I pull her in closer to me. Her eyes go wide, and her mouth opens slightly.

Perfect.

I lower my face and touch my mouth to hers.

Our very first kiss.

My very first kiss with a woman.

Moira sighs at the light touch, and instinct takes over. I slip my tongue in between her lips… past her teeth and, when it touches hers, a breath of pleasure releases from my mouth into hers. My lips move against hers, our tongues twining. She tastes like coffee and sugar. Unbelievable how soft her lips are.

Wrapping her hands around my neck, Moira pulls me down a little closer, and our mouths move just a little harder against one another. My blood quickens as my hands move from her face to her hips to pull her body into mine. My cock starts to harden, and I understand now… how a soft and sweet kiss can turn bolder, becoming so sensuous that sex would be the next logical step.

Yes… sex is definitely next on the list. That wasn’t my original thought when I first kissed her, but it’s certainly my thought now.

My only thought as a matter of fact.

Dropping my hands, I swiftly put one hand under the hem of her skirt and run my fingers up the inside of her leg. Moira gasps into my mouth and her hips flex forward, seeking my touch. I slip one finger under the edge of her panties at the crease of her leg, and take a swipe at her pussy. Warm and moist… fucking perfect.

I sink my finger into her, and Moira bucks against me. Her mouth pulls from mine slightly and she bites my lip, causing me to jerk away. I look at her with surprise, and her eyes challenge me to continue the kiss.

Fuck yeah, I can take a little biting. As my finger pumps in and out of her, I crash my lips back to hers and kiss her with savage need.

Moira’s hands go to the button on my shorts and she works at it frantically, practically ripping the zipper as she slams it down. Her soft, warm hands reach in to take my cock and oh, fuck… that feels like heaven.

I’ve never had a woman’s hand on my cock before. So fucking good.

She strokes and squeezes me, causing my finger to thrust harder into her hot flesh, while my head spins with dizziness. I feel like I’m going to break apart in just a few more short strokes of her hand so I rip away from her, my chest heaving with the exertion of trying to maintain some level of control.

Moira stands there, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed, and her breathing just as heavy as mine is.

I look down at my hands, and they’re shaking.

Fucking shaking.

“Zach?” Moira says softly.

My eyes rise to hers slowly.

“I want to do something to you,” she whispers. “I want to take you in my mouth.”

Oh, fuck.

A seismic shudder runs through my body at the thought. Yes, yes, yes. I want that very much. Having her mouth wrapped around my cock, just like I saw that woman in the video I watched. The imagery of Moira doing that to me is almost too much to bear. I’m not sure I could keep control. I’m fairly certain she would break me.

“No,” I tell her. “Not yet.”

“What?” she asks stunned. “But I want—”

“Turn around,” I order her. “Bend over the kitchen table.”

“Zach?” she asks uncertainly.

“Just do it,” I order her. “I want to fuck you from behind.”

Because it’s too intimate to stare at her face. I just can’t handle the feelings that will invoke.

Disappointment fills her eyes and, for a brief second, I reconsider. But I can’t let her have the control. It’s the only thing left of my true nature, and if she takes that, then she takes everything from me.

Moira inhales deeply through her nose and lets it out softly through her mouth, before turning away from me. But she doesn’t walk to the table, instead striding right past me to her purse on the table by the door. She grabs it and opens the door.

“I’m going out to buy you a cell phone. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She doesn’t even look at me again as she walks out the door and shuts it behind her.