There was no doubt in my mind. The plane was going down. The engine was smoking, the wings wobbled, we were angled downward, the earth zoomed closer per second. My entire life flashed in front of my eyes, the first time my father took me fishing, the frogs I tortured the summer before grade school, losing my virginity in high school, graduating college, joining the Peace Corps and getting on this fucking piece of shit commuter flight from Buenos Aires, Argentina to La Paz, Bolivia.
I didn't hear the screams, the cries of alarm, the rattling of the plane as it plunged. Just my heart, that's all I heard, which was kind of a simple acceptance that it was thumping its last beats before impact erased my existence. Game over.
I don't remember impact. I can't tell you if any others survived. I can't tell you how I didn't die. Did I bounce? Did I get miraculously tossed free somehow? I don't know. It's all a blank.
My first conscious impression was of walking alongside a group of short, brown, naked people with long black hair and lots of tattoos. It came out later that they had found me walking around the crash site looking for something. My luggage I suppose.
Within a few days I was fully aware of my circumstances. I was deep in the South American rain forest living in a primitive village with an indigenous tribe of natives. They'd rescued me. Later I learned that if they hadn't, a helicopter would have taken me back to civilization two days after the crash. As it was, I would spend the next six months living with the Guarani people in a very remote region of southern Bolivia, or was it northern Paraguay? I don't think even they know.
Sometime that week I became aware of her, the anomaly. Every other member of that village was under five five, had dark brown skin, brown/black hair and had their bodies scarred with dozens of simple tattoos. She had the tatts. But this one woman was not only fair skinned and about five seven or so - she was also blonde...ish. I didn't, of course, speak their language, and they didn't speak mine, so I couldn't ask how she was even possible.
The other thing? They all walked around pretty much naked all the time. And, like, I quickly learned to tune out their nudeness. Maybe a young native girl's brown breasts caught my eye here and there because all the other breasts pretty much pointed straight down. But the fair haired, light skinned girl was about nineteen or twenty, and since she was clad only in tattoos, my eyes locked onto her body like radar on bogies. Like magnet on steel. Like a desperately displaced white man on the only other caucasian within hundreds of miles. She was beautiful.
Full red lips, breasts as firm as melons, strong, supple thighs, perfect half moon butt cheeks, a flat stomach, a fair, blonde thatch of hair at her crotch, and a face that defied description. Think of a pretty young suburbanite raised by wolves kind of face. Wild eyes that flashed with cold fire, animal eyes. I doubt she'd ever even seen her face in a mirror kind of look.
She ignored me. She acted just like the other young women. And of course, daily survival was paramount for them. I watched her gut a snake and strip the skin away as quick and easy as her counterparts in LA could prep a chicken.
I, of course, was only after one thing - getting back to the world, the world of restaurants, beds, beer, books, computers, refrigerators, movies, friends, family, conversations that weren't just a series of grunts and hand signals.
But they treated me well, the Guarani. I was their honored guest. I'd survived that crash and to them I was a miracle man, good juju to keep around.
But the longer I was there, the more I began to obsess over the anomalous woman. I can't write her name because I could never really understand all the syllables. I called her Seriya.
My first real close encounter with Seriya was pretty embarrassing. Maybe two months had passed since the crash. I was out walking by the river, looking for a place to fish, the only food they ate that I really liked. I came around a bend and there she was, in a pool of the river, bathing.
She took my breath away, her bronze skin, sun bleached hair, proud, firm tits, wicked sloping thighs, smooth, well formed legs and that unkempt wild tuft of hair at her vagina. She was strong, healthy, confident and as untamed as the jungle around us.
