"Just for a bit. Come on. Just for a while. What’s wrong ?"
Exasperated I pushed her back once again. Christ, what’s this girl’s problem?
"No. I really don’t think this is a good idea. That’s all. Go to your bed. Now. Please."
Close encounters of the Indian kind. But I never expected this from a sweet faced, doe-eyed seventeen year-old. Was she seventeen? I couldn't remember now. I knew one of them was around seventeen. And she was in the bed a few feet away. And now this one wants me to get take my knowledge of Indian culture a step further than what is necessary for a guidebook.
"Come on. Just for a bit. Your girlfriend won't know. Come on."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Well then, what are you worried about?"
I never was any good at refusing the attentions of young women. But having those attentions forced upon you against your will physically is quite another matter. That has never happened before. It probably won’t ever again either.
Another struggle ensued. I tried to push her away. She did everything in her power to keep me within her Black & Decker Workmate grasp.
"Just a kiss. Give me a kiss. Go on, a kiss won't do anything."
I acquiesced. And a hand grabbed something it shouldn't have been grabbing.
"Go to bed. Please. Just go to bed."
"What's your problem. Are you gay, eh? Are you?"
"Yes, I'm gay. Now go to bed, in your bed. Go on, this really isn't on."
Her mouth descended on mine. A small mouth, tasting of too much teenage beer. Her squat, powerful body grappled with my puny traveller's torso, wearing me down.
"Sólo un ratico," she whispered into my ear. Just for a bit. "She won't know. My friend's on the lookout. Come on, just for a bit."
Her friend was indeed on the lookout. But for what was happening in my bed, or who was coming up the stairs, wasn't clear at all. It seemed the friend wanted her to get it over with as soon as possible, and my would-be femme fatale was telling her to shut it and get back to her post.
"Just for a bit," she kept on repeating mantra-like. Every now and then, I would stop her, tell her to go away and sleep. But she kept on coming back, "just for a bit, just for a bit, hmm? She won't know anything, just for a little bit, come on."
The next day I wasn't sure what I
believed or could remember of the night's events. My sheets were all over
the place and the Indian girls were acting all funny with me.
Many of the Pemon Indians' stories and legends involve a plethora of rampant water spirits, virgins, unfaithful wives and nocturnal carry-ons. At least now I know it's not all in their imagination.