Some Kind of Voodoo

He was almost completely untouchable. Even in his tribe he was an anomaly, the rest of the friendly people tactile by normal standards, but to him they kept a respected distance, granting him the space the shaman deserved by some silent demand to keep all hands off of his smooth dark skin. I had been in the jungle for months now, watching him out of the corner of my eyes, even as I recorded everything I could about the isolated cluster of people that seemed to be caught in a far more ancient, primal time. To most they would have seemed little more than animals at first glance, but I had been here for too long.

Really, too long was an understatement.

The small archipelago of close islands had only been discovered a year ago, a bizarre weather pattern that swirled over the cluster having kept it covered from satellites and passing crafts for so very long. It was a plane crash in the middle of the largest isle that had finally shown the lands as inhabited. Nine months later, I had been sent here, one of the few granted leave to merely…step back in time. At first, it had been a wondrous dream, and in a way it still was, were it not for the prancing medicine man that seemed to linger foremost in my mind now.

While he locked himself away inside the stone temple, I lay on the floor of the hut they had made aside for me, staring up at the thatched ceiling. Around it misted a pale blue, sweet-smelling smoke that seemed to keep the worst of the insects at bay, the protective incense a gift from the shaman himself. He called himself Makya. My journals stacked beside me, a rolled-up jacket serving as a pillow, I could see the exotic beauty in the shapeless wisps of smoke above me. In the slow process of learning the native tongue, they had tried to explain to me some of the shaman's oddities. Silver hair was tied at the back of his head, falling down to the middle of his back, bangled and braided with bones, teeth, claws, and feathers, yet he couldn't have been far past his twenties, no matter how difficult it was to tell age with these people. His acolytes had explained that he was a "spirit child," one that was born at the exact moment an elder died. That seemed reason enough for his silver hair, though his skin also seemed a shade or two lighter than his counterparts, and his eyes were an enchanting aqua. There must have been some genetic explanation for it, but he would never allow me near enough for a closer look, much less to draw blood. For now, I just drew his image on the smoke above me. He was short in comparison to me, of course, perhaps five feet ten inches, lithe and limber, looking nearly boyish despite his silver hair.

Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back, my hand drifting down the front of my bare chest, soothing over the sweat that had collected there from the heavy humidity. A black diamond tattoo rested beneath each of his strange eyes, and another inking of a snake wound around his torso, reared and ready to strike, the tail disappearing beneath the front of the simple wrap he wore around his waist. I could only imagine where the tip ended, where it curled and nestled on that smooth skin.

I ran my tongue over my lips, well aware of how unprofessional my hormones were leading my thoughts, but after staying months here without relief… I could hear nothing outside but the jungle, insects buzzing and the rustle of the canopy overhead. My hand slid down further, as if with a life of its own, rubbing against a growing erection. God, that it were his fingers, instead.

Any day I could have requested relief from any of the other beautiful men and women around me, had I asked, or even shown some hint of interest aside from professional. They looked to me still warily, as if I were some higher being still only playing at being human. I suppose it must have all been a shock to them. All of them…except him.

I couldn't help but groan to the night air as I started to stroke myself, skin hotter than even the temperature could account for. I had been observing with a loaded gun for a week, and I could feel my cock throbbing now from the much-needed attention. Squeezing my eyes shut, I ran my thumb over the mushroom head, slicking over a drop of pre-cum that oozed needily from the slit. Mouth open, I drew my fingers to my lips for a taste, imagining the salty tang came from him. I had seen him dance naked, painted from the neck down in a brilliant gold, black patterns etched all down his body like scales. He had pranced for hours in the night, illuminated only by fire, and seen just in glances through the open doors of the stone temple. Squeezing my aching cock a bit harder, I could still see his smooth thighs and that inviting, pert ass, feathers at his ankles and wrists, his hair let free to spin about him like a silver halo. I shouldn't have been watching then, no more than I should have been stroking myself now into quick, moaning pants.

Turning onto my side, I rested one cheek on my arm, rubbing my hand up and down my erection more urgently, feeling the surges of pleasure building. God, I had needed this so badly. Soft grunts rose from my chest as I curled my hand almost painfully tight around the shaft, careless and rough in my urgency, stopping every so often to slip down further and squeeze my balls, feeling them swell with their own eager pulse. My eyes cracked open just as I felt the pressure mounting, hearing the dull sound of flesh on flesh, echoing another activity no doubt indulged in inside some of the neighboring homes, husbands and wives. A shadow moved in front of my hut, but I didn't stop, panting against my arm, watching the familiar form. Just when I saw his blue-green eyes glinting in the moonlight, I couldn't hold back, the sight of that nearly-naked body in the doorway tipping me over the edge.

I turned my head, biting down on my arm to quiet the cry of relief, orgasming hard. Four shots coated my hand and the woven mat beneath me, two more spurting almost guiltily as I rode down the waves, still staring up at the shaman who made no noise, only watched. When I had finally stopped, and brought my teeth away from my arm, he snorted, folding his arms over his chest.

"I thought a wild boar had come, with the grunts and squeals."

He spoke in his native tongue, of course, and he smiled a half second after I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. It was so hard to tell whether or not he was teasing, seeming smug about something, at least. Sitting up, I wiped my hand on the mat the best I could, pulling a spare fur over my legs. Like most of them, I slept in the nude in the heat, but to be caught like that…

"I…did not mean to bother you," I answered finally, taking awhile to find the right words in the still unfamiliar language. A lot of it seemed to be guessing still.

With a little swagger to his hips, he stepped completely into the hut, smoke swirling around his shoulders and framing that boyish face. "Do I seem bothered?" He laughed, tossing his head, his hair still held back at the nape of his neck, swirling from side to side behind him, beads rattling among the silky strands. "There is a woman eager for the children of a stranger that would have accepted you, Doctor."

I felt my cock give a throb at the last word, hearing the heavy accent on the English word. When I had introduced myself as Dr. James Heir, doctor was the only part of it they had taken to calling me, even after I had told them otherwise. Hearing from those sweet lips, though, was enough to give new life to my libido.

"I could not take the honor," I assured, swallowing around a dry throat. Besides, how could I tell him that I would rather be thrusting into him than any of the women in camp? While happily bisexual (though I must say, men are my greater preference,) I could see no one here of worth whenever he was around. A friend and colleague had told me many times I had a taste for the exotic, in décor, in food…he had no idea it traveled to other fields, as well.

"You could," Makya corrected, moving over and sitting in front of me, crossing those long, smooth legs. Aside from his head, he was nearly hairless, lacking even eyebrows by then, apparently a side-affect of the oil they made and often mixed with their paints, and he was almost always moving around with some sort of color on his body, if not all over. "But you do not." He smiled, teeth surprisingly white for being 'uncivilized,' standing out in stark contrast against his darker skin.

"I am here to learn." I reminded him, though he didn't seem convinced. To my arousal, he reached down and ran one finger through the milky fluid still coating the mat, drying slowly in the heavy humidity. Almost curiously, he watched it start to slide down the length of his finger, pearly in the moonlight. Already my cock was at full attention beneath the fur, yearning to paint more cum on that body.

"What did you learn tonight?" He asked, tilting his head slightly to one side. He brought his finger closer to his mouth, then dropped his hand abruptly and wiped it clean on the bare dirt. Tease.

"You walk softly."

He laughed at that, short, but with honest amusement, something rarely seen from the shaman. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. "You breathe loudly," he returned, about to say more, but interrupted by a long yawn, stretching his arms above his head. "It is considered ungrateful to relieve oneself when there is company around, without asking for assistance."

That, at least, baffled me. I hadn't heard of such a custom, but then again…I had never been caught in the act of masturbating while I had been here. Bowing my head, I gripped the fur a bit tighter, well aware of my throbbing erection, renewed quickly with the enticement sitting so close. "I apologize if I offended. I did not know."

The shaman smiled again, reaching over without warning and yanking the fur away from my legs, and out of my hands. He rose to his feet, dropping it on the floor and only giving my body a once-over with his eyes, lingering for half a second longer on the eight inch cock jutting up from between my legs.

"Good night."

He turned to leave, displaying that ass barely covered by a wrap around his waist, shorter in the back than the front, and I could almost catch sight of his balls as well, were the shadows not so heavy.

"Wait!" I was on my feet before I knew it, ducking my head to keep from hitting the top of the hut, my six feet one inch taller than the rest of the men, not built for these homes.

He looked back over his shoulder, long fingers resting on his hips, cocking a brow curiously. There was something so smug and condescending in the gesture, but it only made my loins tighten. Arrogant, confident little prick. He was playing me like a fish on a lure, but I couldn't resist biting down harder, driving the hook in deeper. "I need your assistance."

That smile came again, and he laughed, pointing down at the row of huts. "Ask yourself!" Dropping his hands, he strutted back to the stone stairs, and disappeared up inside the temple, leaving me standing naked in the dark, my cock offering his parting rear a last salute.

I should have known.

***

I woke to the sound of drums.

Outside, a new ceremony was starting, and it had come without warning this time, none of the tribe informing me of what was going to take place, like they usually did. They had been surprisingly receptive to me, after all. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I ducked out of the hut, just remembering to tug on my pants again after the night before. When I returned, I would have to clean up the dried cum on the mats, flushing despite myself. When did I become a horny, awkward teen again, anyway?

The sunlight blazed in greeting, but the tribe had banked a tall fire anyway. Makya was pacing around it by then, completely naked, his entire body painted yet again. From the neck down, a gold glaze had been brushed over his skin, a thin lattice work of black creating a complicated pattern, each line as narrow as the strands of a spider's web. I could only imagine how long his acolytes must have worked on that, the pattern broken by a red handprint on his stomach, and one more on each buttcheek. His face had been painted white, black hollowing around his eyes and mouth, as if mimicking a skull of sorts.

That. That was what had made me an awkward, horny teenager again, and I immediately felt my cock come to attention, stirring with a life of its own. The shaman was moving around the fire in a slow, catlike pace, seeming more to float than to walk.

Unsure of what to do, I laid a hand on the shoulder of an older woman sitting nearby, who didn't seem to be doing anything but watching. "Excuse me. What ceremony is being conducted?"

She smiled up at me, one of her front teeth missing. "It is the first day of the season of birth. It is a day for the gods of Fertility and Pleasure. I think you shall enjoy yourself, Doctor."

Fertility and Pleasure? So it was a festival I was unfamiliar with. I crouched down beside her, my eyes drawn to the shaman again, and his restless steps around the blaze, the light turning his painted skin to a richer gold. "I am unfamiliar with how I should conduct myself. I should hate to anger the gods." I admitted, wondering if it was inappropriate to be sporting an erection already. She, at least, didn't seem to notice.

Instead, she laughed quietly, smacking my thigh with a surprisingly strong hand. "Go cleanse yourself in the river, as for the rest, I do not know what the men are told—we are taught differently. You should speak to Makya about it."

After the night before? Somehow that didn't seem like a good idea. Nonetheless, I thanked her and headed for the river, watching the younger man the whole way. He took no notice of me, until I nearly tripped over a small girl trying to help her mother weave. She giggled at my blush, jabbering up at me, saying that the gods had taken my head up into the clouds. Makya grinned at me through his painted face, full lips seemingly drawn further back into something almost wicked thanks to the black marks.

I hurried away, keeping my back to him so that he couldn't see the outline of the clear bulge in my pants. At least by now I had been taught how to properly cleanse myself. I went to the river, stripped, and let the cold water take care of my cock. Shivering, I watched it shrivel unhappily, letting my body adjust to the temperature. I waded in only to my waist, the water clear down to the muddy bottom. Mid-stream, a school of fish swarmed away from a lazy caiman, the long reptiles surprisingly placid so long as you kept your distance. Overhead, bright birds fluttered in the canopy, calling to each other in a myriad of sound. Monkeys hooted from the far shore, a few white-faced youngsters coming to the water's edge to lap at it and stare wide-eyed up at me.

Distracted, I took two broad leaves from a basket on the shore, rubbing them in between my hands until they seeped a thin, slippery oil. Using those to wipe down my body, I didn't even try to concentrate on prayer like I was supposed to, even if I had entertained the thoughts of the colorful and benevolent gods these people worshipped. Benevolent or not, the tribe still practiced the occasional animal sacrifices, and cannibalism, at least against other tribes, but never within their own group, at least as far as I had seen.

Shouts came from the path up towards the village, and I rinsed myself off one last time, tugging up my pants while I was still wet. Three young boys ran past me naked, and dove into the river, startling away the caiman and the fish, their shining scales darting off in all directions. Hmm. So much for cleansing in peace and harmony.

"Doctor." It was Makya's voice, following after the youngsters. There was something of a strut in his lazy walk, his skin oiled to make the gold shine richer, showing off the lines of his body. It was then that I said a prayer to the shaman's gods as I felt myself swell again. I wanted that man.

Makya only smiled, his eyes shamelessly traveling down to the growing bulge in my pants, before sweeping back up to my face. "Come with me. You do not know this ceremony."

For a moment, I felt my heart flutter. Fertility and pleasure, and he was going to teach me how to act tonight? As pleased as the scientist in me was for the chance to learn, my libido was even more eager, and my cock led me on with a clear point towards that firm backside that was turned to me now. The shaman pranced ahead, easily sidestepping the children and warriors dashing about, or the sibilant snakes that slid across the path, brightly colored and poisonous that didn't even seem to notice him, but hissed and coiled warningly when I stepped by. I no longer questioned such things.

As we reached the temple steps, I hesitated, watching the younger man ascend them. I had never been allowed inside, and even now I didn't want to offend them by taking his invitation the wrong way, no matter how my groin urged me on. Men had been killed for lesser offenses, after all.

Makya stopped at the top of the steps, pulling open the temple doors, and looking back at me. "Come," he insisted, with a smile that seemed to have a hint of seduction he had otherwise never shown. Entranced, I stumbled my way up the stone stairs, tripping once and barking my knee. I didn't notice, instead following him inside. He shut the doors behind him, the cool temple lit by half a dozen torches.

He seemed to consider the large chamber for a moment, hands on his hips. There was little to see, carved walls and a raised platform in the center of the room, covered with a woven rush mat. It was enough to catch my attention, though, fascinated at the play of the light off of the intricate carvings. A friend of mine used to tease that all I needed was hieroglyphics to get a hard-on. Well, they did nothing to diminish my raging erection, that was for sure.

The shaman, however, seemed displeased, if his frown was anything to go by, and beckoned to me again. The main room split off into three corridors, all dark. He led me down the one furthest to the right.

How he knew where the walls were, I didn't know, unless it was just by repetitive habit alone. I stumbled through the absolute blackness, a hand on each wall, listening to the sound of his footsteps to keep up.

The hall opened up suddenly, and I only knew by the fact that I lost touch of the walls, and I felt a mat beneath my feet instead of cool stone.

"Be at ease, Doctor." His voice drifted out of the dark, a soothing tone, and I felt a hand touch my arm, guiding me forward. A rarity for him to initiate touch, however brief and light it was. I stopped when my shins hit a platform, and sat at his quiet urging. I did my best to face him, wondering how he knew where I was so well in the utter darkness.

"Makya—"

"Shh," he hissed, his lips beside my ear. I knew it only by the feel of his breath against the delicate shell. I shuddered, feeling the tingle spread down my spine and trickle right to my attentive cock.

He paced around me, the pad of his feet the only sound now, but for my quick breath. I felt his hands wrap around me from behind, pulling my belt free with a snap that slid it from all the loops in a jerk. What was he—?

I heard him chuckle quietly behind me, his breath ghosting at the skin on the back of my neck. "Sleep," he whispered, and I felt his hands pull down the zipper on my pants, but my eyes strained in the darkness, before they rolled up. I vaguely felt myself falling back against him, and then…nothing.