Jane continues her travels through the jungle and has an intimate encounter with the wild man, Tarzan. Thanks for reading and I appreciate any constructive feedback. If you like where this is going, please say so.
Chapter Three
Jane practiced the name several times until he seemed to understand she was saying it right. Tarzan looked pleased when she said his name, and he touched his chest and repeated it.
She couldn't understand what was going on here. What was he doing here in the jungle? A nearly naked white man in the deep in Africa. He wore no shoes, the knife sheathed in a leather pouch around his chest looked crudely made, as if a local tribe had created it. She'd stolen only a brief glance at the minimal clothes he wore - a thin leather strap around his waist with another piece of leather tucked in the front that hung loosely over his privates, a slim loincloth at best. At one point when he'd turned to look up the river, she'd noticed there was no back to it, so it appeared to be mainly for protection and certainly not for modesty.
She tried to talk, repeating some simple phrases and even a few words she'd learned of the African dialect from the disappearing guides, but it seemed he had no recognition of what she spoke. Some English words appeared to resonate with him, but he remained silent and watched her speak, staring intently at her lips as she slowly formed words.
Finally, she turned and walked closer to the campfire and said, "Come then, at least out of the sun..." She turned around to see if he had followed and he was gone.
Jane looked around, called for him, but it was as if he had disappeared into thin air. She called out a few more times then shrugged. He had meant her no harm, and just like he came, he was on his way.
She sighed, "Oh well, not the first guy to do that."
She decided it was time to wash her clothes and took a thin cotton t-shirt and panties from her backpack, carrying the rest of her clothes to the river to wash on the smooth stones. When they were clean, she hung them up in the sun on several branches and returned to sit in the shade and watch the river. She thought she had maybe imagined the wild man, a post orgasmic illusion, she laughed. Then she thought... he was probably standing there watching me get myself off... blushing, she shook her head, "This cannot be happening."
Jane walked up and down both sides of the river that afternoon, seeing a couple of crocodiles further down and some water buffalo on her way back. There was certainly more wildlife here and she needed to be careful. She had taken the stick Tarzan had provided, further proof she hadn't imagined the man; however, she saw no trace of him on her walk.
Back at the camp, she started a fire and rummaged through her pack for some of the food she had on hand. Looks like beans again, she smiled and upon turning around there stood Tarzan, just beyond the pale smoke of the campfire.
Jane shrieked.
He stood there looking intently at her and somewhat disheveled, sweaty, and a bit dirty as if he had been out for a hard day of work. She greeted him again with her name and his and he seemed pleased, offering a "Ja-ane" as he stepped closer.
He reached behind his back, taking something from the thin leather strip on his waist that looked to Jane like a book. He held it out to her, and indeed it was a small, old, leather-bound Bible. She was puzzled and took it from him, opening it to see it was faded and stained, obviously having seen better days.
Not one for bothering much with Bibles, Jane looked up, "You aren't the world's farthest-flung Gideon trying to tell me about Jesus are you?" She laughed but Tarzan just stared and pointed to the book.
The pages were frail and as she opened it some were stuck together, but the inside cover had faded writing on it and a reference to a baptism with a child's name and birth date. She couldn't make out the words, but it struck her, this was probably his. He pointed again to it and said "Tarzan."
