Jungle Fever {1/3}afterandalasiaMarch 4 2014, 12:39:03 UTC
Jane had always known, in a very deep-down way, that she did not fit into English society as she should. Young ladies were not supposed to have fond childhood memories of hiking through the countryside or wading about in lakes; they were not supposed to still feel warm and flushed at the thought that they had met Charles Darwin himself when they were young, and that he had smiled at them and shook their hand. She mostly remembered him having a very large beard (which, to her child's mind, fitted with the idea that humans had come from animals; they did, after all, share hair with other creatures) but the point stood.
Of course, young ladies were not supposed to end up exploring the African jungle, but that would have been almost a footnote to Jane's life had it not been for the woman that she met there.
Tarzan. Such a strange name, grunted down in the throat in a way that Jane still struggled to imitate. Tarzan was all sun-brown skin and dreadlocked hair, muscles moving beneath her skin as if they were doing some coordinated dance of their own. Before she had realised that she was doing it, Jane had sat for hours sketching or looking at those muscles, watching the way Tarzan's skin shone in the sunlight, the controlled and powerful lines of every move. As if she knew what her body was doing at every given moment.
She wasn't quite sure when she realised quite what her feelings were (any young lady, respectable or not, who does enough reading would have eventually come across the work of Westphal or Krafft-Ebing, never mind older writers such as Butler and Ponsby). It might have been one of the many times that she found herself admiring the powerful lines of Tarzan's thigh, the strength and directness of her gaze, the delicate movements of her long fingers as she turned over some new human thing that Jane or any of the others presented her with. But somewhere along the line, Jane realised - and promptly tried to unrealise - that she wanted to lick Tarzan's skin, run her fingers over that gorgeous hair, and do other thoroughly unladylike things that have an awful lot to do with the warmth between her thighs.
She tried not to touch herself at night, knowing how thin are the walls of the tent, that there were men keeping guard just outside. From time to time, Tarzan would even sleep in the tent with her, making a nest of blankets on the floor, and those nights it felt all the worse. More and more often, Jane would bite her lip or her blanket as her fingers worked almost feverishly at her skin.
It came to a head on one day which, really, should have seemed like any other. Tarzan chose to whip Jane off through the trees again, up into the shining green canopy, and at one point in the time Tarzan's legs ended up wrapped around Jane, their bodies crushed together. Jane's torso ended up pressed against Tarzan's, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of this strange, wild woman, and something in her snapped.
She knew, just knew, that she would either kiss this woman or leave her, or be driven quite mad from the roaring desire that she felt.
"Stop. Just... stop!"
They had reached some sort of platform in the trees, one which Tarzan must have woven for it to be so solid and so uniform. Jane fell on her ass as Tarzan dropped her and backed away; she was clearly startled by the outburst, dropping to her knuckles and looking at Jane warily.
"Jane angry?"
Yes, Jane almost said, but that was not quite true. Angry at herself, perhaps, for still noticing even at this ridiculous moment that Tarzan was only wearing her loincloth and the band around her chest that Jane had needed to talk her into wearing (eventually, she decided that it would flatten her chest and make climbing easier, and apparently that had made the decision) to stop her breasts from distracting both Clayton's men and, for that matter, Jane herself.
Jungle Fever {2/3}afterandalasiaMarch 4 2014, 12:39:36 UTC
But no was something of a lie as well, and it was always impossible to lie to Tarzan's unwavering gaze. Tarzan had struggled to understand lies at first, taking a while to grasp the idea that they were stories, told as if they were true. Once she had grasped this, she had becoming piercingly good at spotting them.
"Not at you," says Jane, trying not to make it sound like too much of a wail, and props herself on her hands. Tarzan moves closer, those sinuous movements making her muscles beneath her skin move in a coordinated way and-
Jane should not even notice such things, let alone linger on them. She should not admire the way that her triceps brachii tensed when she took more weight on her forearms.
Tarzan hunkers right next to Jane, and reaches up to pick at her hair. A grooming gesture. "Jane sad."
Fingers brush against Jane's scalp, and she tries not to shiver, not to gasp. Not to wonder what else those very deft fingers could do.
"I don't think that we should do this, Tarzan," she says breathlessly, pulling away.
Tarzan cocked her head. Then she reached over and planted a kiss on the side of Jane's cheek.
Jane gave a yelp of protest and scrambled away across the leaves. "Tarzan!"
Still hunkered down, Tarzan looked at her warily, almost... hurt. She shifted her weight from hand to hand, but did not move closer again. "Jane no like Tarzan?"
The pain in her voice was palpable. "Oh, Tarzan, of course I like you," Jane replied. "It's just that some behaviour isn't suitable for..." The confusion was back in Tarzan's expression, and Jane realised that she was probably using too many long words without giving Tarzan a chance to think through what they might mean. Jane sighed, and reached up to try to pick a tangle out of her hair. "We shouldn't do things like that, Tarzan. It's not right."
"Is not?"
"You're a woman, Tarzan, and so am I."
"Jane woman," said Tarzan, nodding. She made her way over again, this time looking at Jane's posture and then joining her sitting on the ground. She still had her knees bent, but it was a rather less gorilla-like posture than she often took. "Tarzan woman. Yes."
"Yes, exactly. And we shouldn't... oh, I can't say this."
Could not start talking to this woman out of the jungle about sapphism, because that was completely ridiculous and it was quite bad enough to have these urges in her own head without speaking them aloud.
Again, she felt Tarzan's fingers gently combing through her hair, picking out fragments of dirt or leaf here and there. "Jane want child?"
"What?" she looked around. "No!"
Tarzan shrugged. "When Jane want child, Jane need man. When not, man or woman."
Oh, thought Jane, and felt her cheeks burn as she realised that not only did Tarzan have a very good idea of what sapphism was on her own, she had realised that it was what was on Jane's mind. Could that mean that she knew? Knew what it was like to look at another woman's body and feel desire, to want to run her hand's over another woman's thighs, to feel the rush of heat between her legs when-
No, no, she should not be thinking this. Not even in the jungle and in the company of only a mostly-naked wild woman.
Especially not in the company of a mostly-naked woman.
Jungle Fever {3/3}afterandalasiaMarch 4 2014, 12:39:57 UTC
"It's not quite that simple," said Jane. "You see, ladies really shouldn't--"
Tarzan, having apparently decided that Jane was having another of her moments of talking nonsense, kissed her. On the mouth. Jane gave a little squeak that might have been protest, but could well have just been surprise or, frankly, have been pleasure. Tarzan's lips were very warm and very soft and tasted sweet, and a lady wasn't supposed to kiss anybody before they were married, and certainly wasn't supposed to kiss a woman, and--
A lady shouldn't be climbing trees in the African jungle in only her petticoat and slip.
Jane kissed her back. She felt Tarzan's fingers touching her cheek, wondering whether it was as much of a marvel to her as it was to Jane to feel this kiss, their lips exploring each other. Cautiously, Jane reached out to touch her, rough sun-warmed skin and powerful muscle beneath her hands. Tarzan grunts softly, and it shouldn't be erotic but somehow it is, the reminder of where Tarzan comes from and the knowledge that she wants this, is simply not afraid of herself as Jane has been.
Somehow, they wound up lying on the leaves, Jane on her back with Tarzan's weight against her chest and hair brushing her cheeks and mouth against hers and it is perfect. She actually feels a pang of disappointment when Tarzan pulls away slightly.
Re: Jungle Fever {Sources}disneykinkloverMarch 6 2014, 16:28:49 UTC
You even do research, fantastic! This was a great read, thank you! I loved the line about Tarzan's breasts being a distraction for the Clayton's men, and Jane herself. (But not Clayton himself? :P I can see that!)
Re: Jungle Fever {Sources}afterandalasiaMarch 9 2014, 22:26:32 UTC
Well, I could admit that I forgot Clayton, or we could just acknowledge how terribly he pings my gaydar. :p But yes, sometimes I end up researching the most ridiculous things. (Have you see the reindeer penis conversation in the Off-topic? Yeah...)
Of course, young ladies were not supposed to end up exploring the African jungle, but that would have been almost a footnote to Jane's life had it not been for the woman that she met there.
Tarzan. Such a strange name, grunted down in the throat in a way that Jane still struggled to imitate. Tarzan was all sun-brown skin and dreadlocked hair, muscles moving beneath her skin as if they were doing some coordinated dance of their own. Before she had realised that she was doing it, Jane had sat for hours sketching or looking at those muscles, watching the way Tarzan's skin shone in the sunlight, the controlled and powerful lines of every move. As if she knew what her body was doing at every given moment.
She wasn't quite sure when she realised quite what her feelings were (any young lady, respectable or not, who does enough reading would have eventually come across the work of Westphal or Krafft-Ebing, never mind older writers such as Butler and Ponsby). It might have been one of the many times that she found herself admiring the powerful lines of Tarzan's thigh, the strength and directness of her gaze, the delicate movements of her long fingers as she turned over some new human thing that Jane or any of the others presented her with. But somewhere along the line, Jane realised - and promptly tried to unrealise - that she wanted to lick Tarzan's skin, run her fingers over that gorgeous hair, and do other thoroughly unladylike things that have an awful lot to do with the warmth between her thighs.
She tried not to touch herself at night, knowing how thin are the walls of the tent, that there were men keeping guard just outside. From time to time, Tarzan would even sleep in the tent with her, making a nest of blankets on the floor, and those nights it felt all the worse. More and more often, Jane would bite her lip or her blanket as her fingers worked almost feverishly at her skin.
It came to a head on one day which, really, should have seemed like any other. Tarzan chose to whip Jane off through the trees again, up into the shining green canopy, and at one point in the time Tarzan's legs ended up wrapped around Jane, their bodies crushed together. Jane's torso ended up pressed against Tarzan's, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of this strange, wild woman, and something in her snapped.
She knew, just knew, that she would either kiss this woman or leave her, or be driven quite mad from the roaring desire that she felt.
"Stop. Just... stop!"
They had reached some sort of platform in the trees, one which Tarzan must have woven for it to be so solid and so uniform. Jane fell on her ass as Tarzan dropped her and backed away; she was clearly startled by the outburst, dropping to her knuckles and looking at Jane warily.
"Jane angry?"
Yes, Jane almost said, but that was not quite true. Angry at herself, perhaps, for still noticing even at this ridiculous moment that Tarzan was only wearing her loincloth and the band around her chest that Jane had needed to talk her into wearing (eventually, she decided that it would flatten her chest and make climbing easier, and apparently that had made the decision) to stop her breasts from distracting both Clayton's men and, for that matter, Jane herself.
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"Not at you," says Jane, trying not to make it sound like too much of a wail, and props herself on her hands. Tarzan moves closer, those sinuous movements making her muscles beneath her skin move in a coordinated way and-
Jane should not even notice such things, let alone linger on them. She should not admire the way that her triceps brachii tensed when she took more weight on her forearms.
Tarzan hunkers right next to Jane, and reaches up to pick at her hair. A grooming gesture. "Jane sad."
Fingers brush against Jane's scalp, and she tries not to shiver, not to gasp. Not to wonder what else those very deft fingers could do.
"I don't think that we should do this, Tarzan," she says breathlessly, pulling away.
Tarzan cocked her head. Then she reached over and planted a kiss on the side of Jane's cheek.
Jane gave a yelp of protest and scrambled away across the leaves. "Tarzan!"
Still hunkered down, Tarzan looked at her warily, almost... hurt. She shifted her weight from hand to hand, but did not move closer again. "Jane no like Tarzan?"
The pain in her voice was palpable. "Oh, Tarzan, of course I like you," Jane replied. "It's just that some behaviour isn't suitable for..." The confusion was back in Tarzan's expression, and Jane realised that she was probably using too many long words without giving Tarzan a chance to think through what they might mean. Jane sighed, and reached up to try to pick a tangle out of her hair. "We shouldn't do things like that, Tarzan. It's not right."
"Is not?"
"You're a woman, Tarzan, and so am I."
"Jane woman," said Tarzan, nodding. She made her way over again, this time looking at Jane's posture and then joining her sitting on the ground. She still had her knees bent, but it was a rather less gorilla-like posture than she often took. "Tarzan woman. Yes."
"Yes, exactly. And we shouldn't... oh, I can't say this."
Could not start talking to this woman out of the jungle about sapphism, because that was completely ridiculous and it was quite bad enough to have these urges in her own head without speaking them aloud.
Again, she felt Tarzan's fingers gently combing through her hair, picking out fragments of dirt or leaf here and there. "Jane want child?"
"What?" she looked around. "No!"
Tarzan shrugged. "When Jane want child, Jane need man. When not, man or woman."
Oh, thought Jane, and felt her cheeks burn as she realised that not only did Tarzan have a very good idea of what sapphism was on her own, she had realised that it was what was on Jane's mind. Could that mean that she knew? Knew what it was like to look at another woman's body and feel desire, to want to run her hand's over another woman's thighs, to feel the rush of heat between her legs when-
No, no, she should not be thinking this. Not even in the jungle and in the company of only a mostly-naked wild woman.
Especially not in the company of a mostly-naked woman.
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Tarzan, having apparently decided that Jane was having another of her moments of talking nonsense, kissed her. On the mouth. Jane gave a little squeak that might have been protest, but could well have just been surprise or, frankly, have been pleasure. Tarzan's lips were very warm and very soft and tasted sweet, and a lady wasn't supposed to kiss anybody before they were married, and certainly wasn't supposed to kiss a woman, and--
A lady shouldn't be climbing trees in the African jungle in only her petticoat and slip.
Jane kissed her back. She felt Tarzan's fingers touching her cheek, wondering whether it was as much of a marvel to her as it was to Jane to feel this kiss, their lips exploring each other. Cautiously, Jane reached out to touch her, rough sun-warmed skin and powerful muscle beneath her hands. Tarzan grunts softly, and it shouldn't be erotic but somehow it is, the reminder of where Tarzan comes from and the knowledge that she wants this, is simply not afraid of herself as Jane has been.
Somehow, they wound up lying on the leaves, Jane on her back with Tarzan's weight against her chest and hair brushing her cheeks and mouth against hers and it is perfect. She actually feels a pang of disappointment when Tarzan pulls away slightly.
"Jane... like?" said Tarzan cautiously.
She smiled. "Oh yes. Jane like very much."
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Fossey, D. (2005) Reproduction among free-living mountain gorillas. In American Journal of Primatology 3(S1): 97-104
Čvorović, J. (2006) Nonhuman Primates Sexual Behaviour: A Critical Review of Literature. In Antropologija 2: 7-17
Fisher, R. B. and Nadler, R. D. (1978)Affiliative, playful, and homosexual interactions of adult female lowland gorillas. In Primates 19 (4): 657-664
Anon, Unknown, Primate Sexuality. Accessed 03/02/2014
I remain a nerd, thank you and goodnight.
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~DKL
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~DKL
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