Close Encounter

"A'moth... no... please stop..." I whispered. I felt so confused, so tired. "Why am I so sleepy?"

"I can't kiss you anymore. I need you to be semi-awake... to maintain your erection for me..."

"Huh?" What she said made no sense. She began to lick my penis with her tongue, her soft black tongue, all around the sensitive head. I felt jolts of sexual pleasure at the touch, and my cock felt as if it were going to explode. My hips started to rock back and forth in my desire to enter her. I sensed she was seconds from sliding my cock high into her mouth, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Please A'moth! This is rape... Please no..."

"I have no choice! I promise you great pleasure."

My body was screaming yes, my conscience yelling no. I was desperate for some middle ground. "Then care for me! Promise me more! At least don't rape me..."

She paused, her open mouth poised just above my penis. "Care for you?"

"A'moth, I promise I will care for you, try to grow a love for you, never hurt you. Promise me the same!"

"Never hurt you?! You want me to promise something I know I can't keep?!"

"No! If you're sure you're going to hurt me, then promise nothing! But I'm asking you to promise your intentions, not the future!" My body was aching to be inside her. I used the last of my strength to finish my thought. "The future is unwritten. If people only promised sure things, nobody would ever promise anything of value. Promise me your intentions A'moth! Promise me you don't intend to hurt me...."

"I can't stop now... I can't..." she whispered. The world seemed silent as she paused. Her whole body shook with the intensity of the struggle within her.

At last she calmed down, her decision make. She whispered, "But I can change... Yes, even I can change. Gary, I promise. If it's possible for me not to hurt you, then I won't. It's the best I can do..." She reached out and covered herself and my legs with her poncho. I felt my penis sliding deeply into her mouth.

The sensations were electric! My hips thrust forward and I started to orgasm almost immediately. I felt sharp teeth penetrate and lock the base of my penis as I squirted my seed against the roof of her throat. She didn't gag at all. Instead I felt a strong suckle on my penis head. I didn't understand what was happening. How could anyone suckle with the far back of their throat?! But then the next wave of orgasms hit me and carried me away.

The physical pleasure was overwhelming, feelings of intense ejaculations that went on forever. I was dimly aware of rigorous pumping on my shaft, her viselike fingers stripping my blood up into my penis. I vaguely wondered why it wasn't causing an over-stiff erection, but my cock felt it was in absolute heaven. I drifted in the waves of pleasure, thrusting my hips weakly to the pulse of her firm pumping.

Eventually the wet finger returned to circle my anus. I could feel her hot fingertip pushing against my sphincter muscles, feel the hot, moist stimulation dilate me, feel myself relax and accept the penetration. Her finger felt so good as it slid up inside me, so slick and sexy and hot. Oh! My hips thrust forward as my body spasmed. And through my orgasm, I felt her probing me, then pumping me, high inside me, pumping my prostate to milk the last drop of my semen. Her fingertip was a hot electric spark buried up my ass, pumping me, igniting me, draining me... The orgasm seemed endless...

I became addicted to the pleasure, never wanting it to end. And then it did. A'moth gave a tremendous shudder, and then her sharp teeth lifted from the base of my penis. The exquisite pumping stopped too. Her hand uncurled from my cock. I felt the slick sexy slide of a finger leaving my rectum. I whimpered in dismay as my engorged cock slid from her mouth. I thrust my hips weakly forward, begging her with my body to re-couple.

There was another tremendous shudder from her, and then the head under the poncho shook from side to side. The answer was no.

I cried softly in the agony of the lack of pleasure. My cock belonged in her mouth and no where else. It belonged there forever. I thrust forward weakly, one more time. "Please?" I whispered.

In response A'moth lifted my wilting penis with her hand and her head descended below it. I felt soft lips kissing my anus and scrotum, and then she suckled a testicle into her mouth. It wasn't as good as the orgasms, but for the first time I felt love and care in her caress. Suddenly my testicle was captured in a cage of needles, suspended in the middle of her mouth with needles pricking the surface of my sac from all directions. Her teeth were that sharp.

A'moth waited for me to respond. I did so by spreading my legs more fully, completely exposing myself to her, showing her that I trusted she would never hurt me. The needles disappeared, and her mouth returned to silky softness around my sac. She nodded her head playfully under the poncho blanket, my testicle still in her mouth. Yes, she agreed, she would never hurt me.

Her lips rotated and caressed me for a moment, and then gently popped the testicle from her mouth. Her soft tongue returned to lick my anus and sac, light penetrating licks to clean my anus, light feathery touches of caring love, and then her hands began pulling my pants up. Her lips were giving my sac playful kisses of goodbye. I lifted my hips to accept the pants, and the first sunlight of the dawn broke through the window and onto the poncho. The pull of her hands on my pants faded to nothingness, and the poncho collapsed empty onto the floor between my legs.

I sat there gasping in astonishment, my lungs laboring for breath, my mind refusing to believe what my eyes had just seen. My heart was racing, and it took a long time to slow down. I couldn't quite catch my breath. I wanted more air.

I finally bent over and looked down, staring at the empty floor and my exposed penis. The penis head felt fine but looked terrible, rubbed raw and bleeding slowly at several points. The suckle at the back of A'moth's throat must have been something in reality very different than the exquisite sensations I had felt. Perhaps something in her saliva, I thought. It masked the pain. But her main feeding point had been near the base of my penis. It was covered in a bruising circular ring of needle punctures, just above where her hand had been pumping me so rigorously. I dimly understood now why I never became over-stiff from her viselike fingers...

Her bag, poncho, and gaucho hat were still with me. I gathered them up and placed them by my side in the booth, and then I struggled to put my pants back on. The simple efforts exhausted me. With great effort, I sat up straight and looked back. There was a shock of recognition. Of course! This was the last car on the train! How had I forgotten? I sat there in a daze; finally fell asleep gasping for air. The train began to descend from the mountains to Santiago.

Epilogue

It was a lot easier to breath in Santiago, but I still felt terribly weak. After taking a taxi to the hotel, I took another one to a doctor. He did a very competent check-up, frowning at me when I refused to take off my pants. I was just very undecided about how to explain my penis. Who would believe me?

The doctor finally said my body had the symptoms of a person recovering from anesthesia, and that he also thought I had lost about two pints of blood. He said I needed a transfusion, said it was borderline mandatory.

I thanked him politely but declined, wound up promising to drink lots of fluids and take the high-iron vitamins he prescribed. The doctor wasn't particularly happy with this, but I think I mystified him more than angered him.

Just resting in bed and the vitamins helped a lot. I felt well enough to go to work on Monday, and then got immersed in my project. My penis healed at an unbelievable rate. All the bruises and punctures faded to nothing within a week. My sanity became desperate to think of A'moth as just some crazy dream, but unfortunately I had the reality of her clothes and bag in my hotel room.

One month in Santiago turned into two, and then two started turning into three. Eventually my New York office became dismayed that I might never return, and they got into a bidding war over me with the Santiago branch. The offers just kept going up and up, until finally New York stunned everybody by offering me a half million dollar bonus if I would return for at least three months.

I was on a first name basis with the Santiago branch president by then, and Carlos just laughed when he saw the offer. Of course I should accept it, he said. But he also made certain I understood the bonus was just a three- month truce in the bidding war.

One week before my flight to JFK, I walked from the Santiago downtown area to the office of an expert appraiser of ancient South American artwork. I laid out a set of pictures of some of the items from A'moth's bag, big 8" by 10" prints. He stared in silence for minutes, and then started howling in laughter.

"What?!" I asked, smiling back. His laughter was contagious.

Hernando looked up at me. "This would be so sweet! Just imagine trying to take these items through customs! The security agents would go berserk, before they realized they couldn't possibly be real!"

"Oh?"

"Yes! I can't call them forgeries. There's been no attempt to age them. But this!" He pointed to a picture. "Magnificent! A magnificent guess at what the dawn of the Quipu could have looked liked!"

The picture he was pointing at was a large loose mat of strings, filled with different multi-colored fibers, and containing tens of thousands of distinct and intricate knots. "Incan Empire?" I guessed.

"Oh, much, much earlier!" laughed Hernando. He finally calmed enough to speak clearly. "The ancient coastal city of Caral... about 180 km north of Lima... I'm talking 3,000 B.C.... five-thousand years ago... the dawn of the Quipu... That's the language in this picture, using the different fiber types and colors and knots to write information." He paused for a moment. "But this is much more complex and anything ever found for real. This echoes right back to the dawn, to the legends of the Chungiera. This is how they used to write."

I shook my head, not understanding. "I've never heard the legend. Tell me?"

Hernando nodded. "A classic tale, full of mystical danger. The Chungiera were a race of women cannibals, right at the dawn of South American civilization."

He took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. "Their strength was legendary. And they were creatures of the night, never seen in daylight. The story goes that they had a large number of men in pens, for food. Only men. The wives of the men tried many times to free them, but always the men refused to leave their pens. The story is not clear why..."

Hernando sighed. "Eventually the women came up with a plan. They fed their husbands a slow poison, a day before Chungiera were to feast. It weakened the cannibals greatly, and then the women attacked at night, slaughtering them. The site of the slaughter is now the city of Caral, so the legend stays. See all the different knots in this picture? Nothing this complex was ever created by men. This is something the Chungiera would have made..." Hernando burst into laughter again.

"So they were all killed?" I asked.

"Hey? Actually, no. The legend says one escaped, a very young child, almost a toddler. The legend says one four-year old girl had not eaten and managed to break free of the net that held her, just before the women could kill her... She fled into the deep jungle... five-thousand years ago..."

I let Hernando keep the pictures, to compensate him for his time. He thought it was a good trade.

So I came back to New York, a little over three months ago. I'm now sitting in my apartment alone, looking across the city to the Big Ball, waiting for it to fall and start the new year. My laptop is on my desk nearby, logged into my bank account. As of yesterday the number is well over $300,000. It's more money than I've ever dreamed of having, especially while I'm still in my twenties.

But I don't dream of money anymore. My dreams are filled with A'moth. I promised I would try to grow a love for her, and I'm a guy who keeps my promises. But still... Should I go back? The bidding war for me got so rich I personally told Carlos not to outbid New York's latest offer; that both offers were now so high I wouldn't be deciding on money anymore.

Should I go back? I still have A'moth's clothes and bag, securely packed in a safety deposit box in Santiago. In additions to the rope histories, about two kilos of gold statues, and three kilos of silver ones, richly encrusted with sparkling gemstones. They're so beautiful... And A'moth has my comb...

Should I go back? I did some research. A little more than three years before my train ride, a man was murdered on the route. At least that's the lead theory. Nobody can figure out how. He was fine at midnight and dead a few hours later, as the train was at the peak of it's route. An autopsy showed he had lost almost three liters of blood, over half his body's supply. But there was no blood anywhere on the train.

Should I go back? Should I give A'moth an alternative to being a murderer? If all she needs is three liters of blood every three years, it really would be no problem for me. She'll just have to change to snacking, rather than waiting for one big meal. But there were only men in the ancient pens. Somehow I feel A'moth needs my semen too. It's a pure empathic guess, but I think I'm right.

Should I go back? Would it be possible to take A'moth as my wife? I know she's waiting for me, has about half a year before she must feed again. I also know she wants it to be my choice. She won't come to New York for me.

Should I go back? It would be so easy to become addicted to having sex with her. The physical pleasures are that intense. It doesn't sound healthy, for a man to be physically addicted to a woman. And yet, my heart aches to hold her in my arms again. It's not just my body. I love her... I watch in silence as the shining ball slowly falls. The roar of the crowds enters muted through my closed window. Oh A'moth, how I miss you...

Should I go back?