Professor Winderly's Assignment Ch. 09

Dear reader, the students have transcribed more of the notes and I am at last able to continue with the events in the village of the Molokoni. There is a short discourse about Miriam in this section. It seemed to fit well here, and though the section may seem long, it was needed to include her history here so as to explain some of the reaction Professor Winderly has to Jim's revelation. And, as usual, all the researchers and assistants are over 18 and consented to their participation and reporting.

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Jim awoke quite refreshed from his slumber. The long day before seemed to have been not one but three, and he had certainly been rather exhausted from it all when he finally had closed his eyes. To begin, he had met the prince in an embarrassed way, endured a long boat ride, suffered another ejaculation because of Dr. Winderly's foot play, made a graceless impression when he fell out of the canoe upon landing, had a lovely ejaculation while being watched be a beautiful native woman, and then enjoyed a feast and very exciting sexual entertainment. Yes, Jim had been quite tuckered out but had slept like a rock.

After such a deep sleep, Jim had awoken with a raging piss-hard erection and needed to take a leak. He did not see Miriam in the hut. He still had on his simple loin cloth, an apron held in place by a thin belt. It was shifted, so he adjusted it to cover his sore cock sticking straight out. No chamber pot to be found. He moved to the door, to pop out, and find a nearby bush to take care of his full bladder. He looked down at the silliness of his hard cock straining under the cloth, hiding nothing.

There was not much movement in the plaza. He did not know what time it was; perhaps all were at some task. It felt good to be outside with a barely hidden straining erection. Standing in the lee of one of the buildings assuming that was an appropriate place to piss, Jim, put his hands behind his head, and let the stream flow freely. He left his cock to do what it did. Ahhh...

Shaking the root of his penis, Jim naturally started to tuck it in. He dressed left and was used to stuffing his cock into his underwear, but of course, he had nothing on but the apron of cloth. He actually thought it might feel good to have his tackle held in a cradle of cotton for a while. Yet, being so freely exposed (or just barely covered) and unashamed was a magnificent experience. "Why can't we be this free at home?" he thought. As an anthropologist it was a question he was best prepared to answer and yet he was stumped.

Done with his chore, Jim decided to look around a bit. It was a domestic scene he found. People were doing the routines of life: washing clothes, bathing, gardening, etc. He ambled on, roaming the surrounds. Just east of the plaza was a rather large, verdant garden with lush greens, melons, and other fruit Jim had only seen in grocery stores. But then he saw something more, something not obviously domestic:

Jim espied a line of perhaps 20 men standing in the midst of a row of bushes laid out straight and even. A single woman was beating time on a wooden drum and the men were... "My word, I think those guys are jerking off together!" Indeed, the men were stroking their penises up and down with each beat of the slow rhythm. 'Well, this ought to be fun...' he thought, and moved closer, keeping himself carefully unobserved..

It was good field practice to remain in the background so as not to be part of the activity. After his rather deep engagement with the villagers yesterday, Jim was able, for a time, to play the detached scientist again.

Jim approached quietly and secretly. He heard the men humming in unison. As he neared, Jim saw that the men were actually facing what were clearly newly planted cuttings. This new row was between other mature bushes that had apparently been already harvested.

And what strange plants the mature bushes were. About the three feet tall and perhaps as big around, rather like mature boxwoods. Their foliage was deep green with waxy palmate leaves shaped like pentagons no bigger than tea leaves. Like tiny green badges, the leaves shook and clicked in the breeze.

What seemed so odd, was the way the bushes were trimmed, espaliered, really. Thicker at the bottoms, the branches were allowed to grow thick and were trimmed into two rounded balls. As the bushes rose, the branches were entwined to compact tubes. From his vantage they looked like...well, they looked like three-foot penises.

His research may have biased him into seeing that shape, but Jim quickly surmised he was witnessing an original male fertility ritual. The men were honoring with their own penises, the plants they had shaped to look like penises. The way the branches were so carefully worked, it was no leap of imagination to see how the steel frame of a skyscraper was similarly thought through and tended. Does this explain the lasting tradition of men to celebrate their erections by placing a fir tree at the top?

The tree is a symbol of life, of course, but Jim connected what he saw in the garden immediately to the view of those construction workers so many month ago. That was the incident when Professor Winderly called the class back to attention and dismissed the topping-out ceremony as the re-enactment of an ancient see ritual. In the simple Molokoni culture, it was a woman who directed the ritual in the garden. In more modern cultures, it is more homoerotic. Jim was captivated by what he saw and the connection he was making to further his own research.

Jim noticed their rhythm increase and saw that the men had begun to speed up their fist-pumping. The woman beat the drum in a rapid staccato and finished with a terrific bang on the drum, startling Jim with its finality. That was not all that startled to Jim. If anything, he was the more amazed by the volley of semen each man produced. In unison. All the men ejaculated their semen toward the new-sown plants at the same time. Not nearly the same time, but all together in unison; each spurt started flying as if in a water ballet at some expensive resort fountain. They drenched the new plants with the water of life! Seed for seedlings.

Jim so wished he could have filmed the almost unbelievable scene. Twenty or so naked men with their black skin shining in the early morning sun, their manhood proudly displayed, the flashing, pumping, spurting semen glinting and turning in the sunshine spraying out onto the newly planted cuttings again and again. It was something he was unlikely to forget. Magnificently primitive, a fertility ritual probably unrivalled, not merely fascinating but strangely erotic as well.

The ancient pharaohs had publicly ejaculated to ensure the spring flow of the Nile, but that was one man, not twenty men in unison. Such timing, such precision. Jim could not really believe he was seeing synchronized ejaculation on such a grand scale.

The sight also stirred Jim's loins. Whether from the freedom of being outdoors and practically naked or from seeing so much manhood and semen on display, Jim's cock responded firmly. He had had erections when he was sexually aroused, erections when he was angry, when he had to piss, and even when was bored. This was an intellectual rising, a scientific one, brought on by discovering connections between ancient and modern rituals. It was the kind of discovery that would give an anthropologist of any age a firm hard-on.

Jim could not believe his good fortune. This was exactly why he was here: to study penis rituals! Thinking back to the ironworkers he vividly recalled the men breaking a champagne bottle as a stand-in for a shower of semen. And here Jim had watched the real thing, the ur-ritual, that very shower of semen that the professor had described.

Questions filled his mind. Would the men be called upon to recover and shower another group of newly planted cuttings? How did they get selected? Who was the woman? Why a woman to beat the drum? Did they rehearse? He had much to investigate and was eager to get back to the hut and find his notebooks. 'I wonder if they'd let me film one of the rituals? That would be so cool to show at my oral defense.'

He had so many ideas going on, he knew he had to find his notebooks and camera. "Damn! I need pants and pocket or two." Despite the love of being freely naked and erect, he recognized why clothing had been invented: To carry things!

He turned and nearly ran into Professor Winderly. She had come upon the scene as well. He ejaculated, "My God, did you see that? You were right. We - all people - still do these ancient rituals today, like when setting a fir tree on top a steel framed building."

She shook her head at his naivete. "Yes, Dummy. That's why I said it." She sounded perturbed and dismissive. Such a bitch.

"What's eating you already this morning?" He shot back.

Her face was both stern and something else. Jim would have said peevish. "Well, for one thing, your completely inappropriate behavior. I should send you home for ethical violations. You are on notice, Mr. Doume´."

"What are you talking about? I've not been here 24 freaking hours yet. What the hell did I do wrong?"

"The girl, Dummy. You're already fucking one of the subjects. You're no better than a missionary fucking the natives in the name of saving their souls. Did you even fuck her missionary style or did you bend her over and take her doggy-style?"

"You... you..." Jim was seething with anger. But rather than fight back with the same vitriol, Jim used another approach. He played dumb.

"I'm sorry Dr. Winderly. I really don't know what I've done. I did not have intercourse with that woman." He wondered if she would catch his allusion to the Bill Clinton quote. "She said she was assigned to me by the King. Heck, I don't know what for. I only know her name."

"Yeah, sure" she sneered. "You're so goddam horny you'd fuck the first open hole you'd find. Your job as a researcher is to stand apart, to be objective. NOT to get involved in the lives of the people you are studying. Do you not know anything, Dummy? You have to keep your feelings in check, never get near them or you'll not be able to do proper research."

Though Jim was always ready to erect and had a good supply of semen to fling about, he was not really as horny as she said. And certainly not THAT horny. Besides, he knew the code of ethics for field research and was concerned as well about crossing a line. The professor had revealed more than she had intended: never get near anyone.

"Yes, I get it that researchers must always remain apart and not insert themselves (he was carefully choosing his words) into their subjects. And I suppose you are most concerned that I do nothing to offend the King because of the long line of research missions that have come here. Dr. Heidler worked very hard to secure this village for longitudinal studies. I need to respect that and follow his example. Right?"

Winderly squinted and tilted her head. Clearly, she was wondering whether he was sincere? "Yes, she replied tentatively questioning his intentions. "That is precisely the point. Don't screw this up, Dummy," she scolded. Such a bitch.

She turned on her heel and took one step, before Jim said slowly and distinctly, "Miriam."

She froze and turned with a look of shock. "What did you just say?"

"Miriam. Her name is Miriam. She is Professor Heidler's daughter. By one of the villagers. He made sure to give her an English name. It refers to Moses' sister. It means 'sea of sorrow.'

Professor Winderly was struck dumb with the realization. She dismissed a rumor years ago from one of the other students. Her so-respected mentor who had taught her everything had fathered a child here in this village. Confusion reigned and her anger swelled more violently. Heidler was so insistent his students speak and act freely about their own sexuality so they could be serious about studying it in others.

Covering her face, she ran down the path away from her student. She had to get away from him, had to be alone to let her emotions flow.

'If he was going to fuck someone, why not me?' she sobbed. She had trusted, what little she could trust, to Dr. Heidler. He brought feeling out in her that were buried very deeply in her soul. Each class activity, each assignment led her to discover more about herself. She fell deeper into Heidler's influence. She would have done anything for him. Anything. She would have done any sexual act he asked, if only he would have asked. She would have given herself to him, had he led her only a bit further. Dr. Dee Winderly, assistant professor, the confident field researcher, grant recipient, principal investigator of this summer expedition, dissolved into tears. Something in her broke, a dam was breached. A flood would follow. "Why not me?"

About Miriam

It was difficult to tell how old Miriam was in the conventional manner. They spoke in terms of moons and seasons and signs of development. She was surely an adult for only adults were allowed in the village. Every culture places fences around certain people for their protection.

When she had entered the hut yesterday, Jim was wide-eyed at the lovely full breasts hidden only lightly by the shift. He could see she had large areola, the circles telegraphed through the material. But he could not discern her nipples.

Trying to be a proper researcher and maintain (failingly) some objectivity, Jim recalled the alphanumeric code that Heidler had developed years ago. Jim had practised the system at Winderly's behest by looking at images of naked men and women. Mastering the field description would help him enter notes quickly or discuss sexual features in scientific shorthand. The reference to coins no longer in circulation indicated how old the system was. Archaic and very patriarchal, but still useful.

As he made his mental calculation, he could not complete the last piece of the description about nipple size. He guessed, without actual hands-on evaluation, she would be classified as C4-S4-AHD-Nxx indicating breasts with moderate curvature, sagging four inches with areolae the size of an American half-dollar coin; The Nxx notation a placemark until he could more accurately describe her nipples. Jim would learn later that they were inverted and only protruded when she was very excited (a negative number followed by a stroke then positive millimeter integer e.g. N -1/1.75). Given that Jim clearly saw the impression of nipples beneath her gown, last evening, she must have been pretty worked up when she saw him stroking his naked cock.

As he thought more about Miriam's beauty, he was taken with her full lips. He could imagine them kissing him and more: indeed, surrounding his cock.

She shaved her nether region only enough to present it as trim. Her pubic hair was silky, not coarse, accounted for by her father's more European genes. Miriam's hips were pleasantly wide and her buttocks distinctly large. Though he was not used to seeing women with large asses, neither was he put off by them. He had not seen her walking away from him enough to be sure, but he was eager to confirm his estimation that she had some fine assets behind.

There was something sweet about her skin. Smooth and flawless, of course, but when she was near enough to smell, she gave a faintly sweet aroma, inviting, and calming. Jim was very pleased she would be his companion. Even if he only got to look at her and be with her, following the professor's strictures, he was content.

What he did not know was Miriam was preparing for the festival of carnal knowledge as well. She had completed most of her tasks and was being evaluated by the King for whom she would be joined. Her heart both sank and leapt at being assigned to the new American researcher.

She had met others and missionaries. They were all old and selfish. So, she had been disappointed but resigned to follow the King's direction. When she saw Jim, though, she was quite happy and eager to be his companion. Here was someone attractive, interesting and young. Perhaps the King would join them together. The thought wetted her.

Meeting with the King Moloko

A wise man was King Moloko. Though to Western minds, cultures who have not had contact with modernity are primitive, it is the case that they are often more advanced in many ways. Such is the case with King Moloko's clan. They were perhaps the most advanced in terms of human sexuality of all the cultures thus studied. Whereas, the West seems only now to be accepting of fluidity in sexual relationships, the Molokoni have expressed and enjoyed such freedom to be attracted to whomever at whatever time and for however long.

The coming of age process required members to go through the process of understanding themselves and others intimately. As the festival of carnal knowledge was more than a month off, it was important that Dr. Winderly and Jim begin quickly to prepare. Dee Winderly had been through the initial stages of preparation in the past but quit after they became too frightening. There was nothing scary about the actual tasks, but she always hit the limits of her comfort and simply quit. Had Heidler led her, she would have opened herself completely.

Patient as was his way, the King knew she had to complete the tasks this time or forever banish herself from the Molokoni and ultimately from herself. She would have to cut out part of her personhood in order to function, to wall off her sexual self from the rest of her. Her inner being was rigid: Never get near anyone.

Professor Winderly was the first to arrive at the King's cabin. Moloko took her face in his hands and looked in her eyes. His gold-clad, rigid penis touching her just below her breasts. She wore a simple shift but no garments underneath. Her breasts sagged outward gently and her nipples grazed the material. A slight breeze pulled the garment across her hips and buttocks revealing their strength and shape.

"My child, you are so angry all the time," he began. Opening her mouth to defend and deny, he put his finger into it and pressed her tongue down.

"Do not bite. Take." He was instructing her not to use express anger but acceptance. That was the simple goal of her tasks: to allow things to happen, not to try and make them happen the way she wanted them. To allow others to be and to allow herself to be. Not to control or be controlled but to let be. He had her figured out, partly from the years of her study in the village and partly because she wore her defensiveness so openly. Moloko decided her tasks would be to learn humility, gentleness, and kindness.

"You are angry because you are scared." He slowly moved his finger in and out of her mouth as he spoke. "The more you are scared, the angrier you become in order to protect yourself. But from what? Only from yourself."

Tears formed in her eyes and her mouth softened, her tongue wrapping itself around his finger as he stroked it in and out. She nodded slightly allowing him to keep pressing his finger, accepting his rigid finger and his firm words.

"Soon you will be presented in the ceremony. You have watched it before, now you must participate. If you are not able to release your fears, you will not be able to grow. Or to return to us. We will not be able to help you unless you allow it in yourself."

Dee Winderly was at the end of her rope. She could no longer continue her shield of self-protection; it was too evident she had plenty to hide, especially from herself. The realization that the welcome to visit the King, and his people would be withdrawn put her career in jeopardy. Danger lurked in both directions. Her shoulders sagged and tears ran down her cheeks.

"You trust me, Seemala? Do you trust me?"

A careful nod. She tried to look up, but her eyes burned from her hot tears.