Page 78 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“Jackpot,” Petra says, eyes lighting up. “If there’s anything shady between him and Fiona, it’s going to be in that notebook.”
She scrambles down to the path where Echo’s belongings lay scattered. I make an effort to follow, but my whole body is moving in slow motion. My vision fractures into a kaleidoscope—one Petrabecomes three, then six, before merging back into a single figure as she snatches up the abandoned sketchbook.
“Got it!” she announces, waving it triumphantly. “Let’s peek inside the twisted mind of a tree-humper.”
The ground feels unstable. Wobbly. Like it’s breathing.
And then the jungle starts to blur at the edges.
My knees buckle.
Everything.
Goes.
BLACK…
…
…
… somewhere above me, a voice.
There’s wind. Blessed wind. Where’s it coming from? Heaven?
Am I dead?
Is this what the afterlife feels like? Sweaty, confusing, and vaguely arousing?
My eyes flicker open, but things are fuzzy.
Light. Leaves. Boobs.
There’s a face. Hovering. Lips. Red, shiny, moving. Loud.Definitely loud.
Petra.
On top of me.
Breathless. Frantic. Shouting.
Oh.
OHHHH.
Is this sex? Are we having jungle sex?
It has to be. I’m flat on my back. She’s straddling my thighs—yelling my name. She’s sweating. I’m sweating. And there’s jiggling.
“Bryce?! Bryce—oh God, oh God, stay with me!”
Yup. Definitely sex.
Focus, Sterling. Jungle sex requires active participation.
I attempt to form words. What emerges is: “Flubbity gubwah sexyboobs?”
Nailed it.
