Page 40 of Factory Controller

Trent slides his cock from my mouth. His eyes swim with molten desire, and I can see he’s still hard as a rock. Without speaking, we coordinate our movements. I scoot up on the mattress and spread my legs wide while he slides his knees in almost under my thighs.

“Look what you’ve done to me, Heather,” he says in a husky whisper. “It’s not going away until I dive into you.”

“Oh God…” My eyes squeeze shut, and a shiver races through my body. “Yes, Trent. I want to feel you inside me.”

Trent rubs my dripping wet entrance with slow, sensual strokes, drawing a moan from the very center of me. Then, he pries me open and stares at me with hunger. I shiver when I feel the head of his cock rub between my folds, opening me up even wider.

“I’ve wanted you so bad,” Trent hisses through clenched teeth. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you.”

My mouth flies open when his swollen head slides into me. I arch my back to allow him easier ingress. I’m so greedy, I want his whole thing inside me.

Soon the slapping of his thighs into mine mingles with the busy night insects and chirping of birds. I throw my head back and scream out another orgasm.

Trent collapses on top of me, our sweat mingling as it cools. Our heavy panting is the only sound for some time as we snuggle together in the hut.

Trent, being a typical man, falls asleep soon after. I lay awake in the dark, resting my head on his gently rising chest and wonder just how much he meant by what he said earlier.

We’re not the only ones making love tonight…

He said ‘making love,’ not any of the various euphemisms guys utilize when they want to make it clear they’re not looking to get attached. How much am I supposed to read into that? Is this more to him than just—admittedly steaming hot—sex?

Or is this just two people looking for comfort in an impossible situation? I’m not certain. The only thing I know for sure…is nothing’s for sure.

I never thought that particular jungle axiom would prove to be true for my love life, but here we are.

I lay awake until the cold, gray light of dawn breaks, when I finally start to drift off to sleep. As I slip the surly bonds of the waking world, I have an image of myself and Trent living together in an average house in an average neighborhood, instead of a dangerous and deadly jungle.

It’s a nice thought, and sends me off to, what I hope is, a peaceful slumber.

TRENT

Ilay awake in the cooler, gray light of an overcast dawn. Heather sprawls across me, her head resting on my shoulder as she snores softly.

The sex last night was amazing, incredible, hotter than I could have imagined. Now, though, I feel terrible about giving in to my desire. It was selfish of me to do so before I found out what Heather wants.

Which brings up an important point. WhatdoesHeather want from me? Judging from the things she’s said, I don’t think she’s only after casual sex. I get the feeling she wants a deeper connection. Am I ready to give that to her?

Last night I’d told her we weren’t the only ones making love. I had meant to say we weren’t the only ones screwing around, just to keep it casual. That’s not what came out of my mouth. I’m no psychologist, but I recognize a Freudian slip when I see one.

Thing is, though, even if I want to give Heather what she’s looking for, I don’t know if I can. I’ve been living balls to the wind in the rainforest for a solid decade. In that time, I’ve had some fun with women of the more liberated indigenous tribes, and occasionally women in the larger settlements like Macapá. None of them meant anything to me beyond one night’s sweaty fun, even if I wanted them to.

Heather has my mind reeling. She makes me question my very identity. I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m not sure if I can be with her. I might not be able to be with anyone. For the time being, I need to withdraw.

I carefully extricate myself, don the loincloth and head out to see if our clothing is dry. Heather is awake when I return, yawning and stretching in the weak overcast morning light.

“Hello there,” she purrs, sliding naked out of the bed to saunter to my side and throws her arms over my neck. I give her a quick kiss, but my body is rigid, and not in a good way. I withdraw as quickly as I can. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I hand Heather her garments back. “Got our clothes.”

I hastily dress and prepare a breakfast of nuts, fish paste, and a tangy, sour juice pressed by the natives. Heather continuously tries to make conversation, but my monosyllabic, unenthused responses eventually make her lapse into silence.

I can see the hurt in her eyes, but it only strengthens my resolve. Better she gets hurt a little now than hurt a lot later.

The village is sleeping late, recovering from the wedding celebration the night before. I take the liberty of refilling our canteens from their communal source and pack up some of the leftovers from the feast.

Heather and I leave the village around noon, the heat of the day already merciless. I’m almost glad for the intense heat and thick humidity which makes us labor for every breath. It makes it next to impossible for us to talk.

I move slightly in the lead as we make our way down the narrow game trail. We hope to reach the small settlement sometime in the late afternoon. I can feel Heather’s eyes on me, boring into my back.

---