0 comments/ 77687 views/ 4 favorites Tales of Carlitos Ch. 01 By: Perlita Tales of Carlitos, the Mexican Factory Worker Chapter 1: Catholic Love "Hey Carlos, can you do me a favor and take a set of car keys to my wife? I can't take any more time off or I'll get fired." Billy had taken off three times in the past month to deliver car keys to his absent-minded wife and couldn't risk asking for yet another early lunch break. His supervisor looked at him suspiciously the third time he had asked and had suggested that Billy plan his time better. After the third emergency call from his wife for a supermarket parking-lot rescue, he had made several extra sets, one specifically for her purse. That was obviously to no avail; he had just started his afternoon shift when he received a fourth call for help. Carlos had just finished his shift at the factory and was happily showering when Billy received the call. Billy trusted few of his dead-beat co-workers but had recently begun to confide in Carlos. Sure, Carlos was Catholic, but at least he had religion unlike the others he worked with. In addition, he had a wife and two kids in Mexico. He was a family man. Most of the men at the plant worshipped cigarettes and beer. He wouldn't let those godless creeps near his wife. In the shower, Carlos' eyes widened and prick lifted when he heard the request. Turning to hide his burgeoning hard on, he maintained his wide-eyed wonder to show acceptance. "Sure, Billy. No problema. Your wife, is she at home?" "No," answered Billy. "She's at the supermarket. Do you mind? I've got an extra set of keys. You don't need to bring them back here." "No problema, senor," Carlos responded gleefully. On his way to the supermarket, Carlos tried to imagine what the wife of a born-again Christian would look like. "Probably fat and ugly with boring American plain clothes," Carlos thought. He had heard in the lunchroom that Billy had never seen his wife naked. Americans! How can you make love to a woman with seeing the curves of her hips, her cunt full of curly hair, the hardened nipples of a woman ready to spread her legs for your wet, sticky love. Americans are so boring, Carlos thought. Just god and work and no fun, no pleasure. At the supermarket, Carlos discovered he was right - Billy's wife was wearing plain clothes. But she was not fat and not ugly. She was petite and blonde, sweet and lovely. She looked tastier than tacos al pastor. "Thank you so much," Billy's wife Angel said taking the keys gratefully, breathing deeply from nerves. "I don't know what's wrong with me, locking my keys in the car all the time." "I know what's wrong with you," Carlos said boldly, his big brown eyes wide and challenging. "Your husband does not love you enough so you want him to come and save you." Angel gasped, stunned. Carlos continued, "You want him to come and find you and show you that he is a man." Angel could not speak. She stared at this crazy Mexican, chest hair popping out of his shirt wherever it could, like grass through cement, a large gold cross dangling in the unruly kinks of chest hair. Angel looked back to the large brown eyes, the full lush head of brown hair, ready to tell this foreign devil to go to hell. Carlos interjected before Angel could speak. "Your husband does not know how to make love to you and so you are angry. I can see it in your eyes. You want his attention." Practically paralyzed, Angel continued to stare. He was right - she wanted more but couldn't ask. It wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be Christian. It would be selfish. The force of the truth hit her like a sword and, as though injected with truth serum, she finally muttered against her will, "You're right." Carlos took the keys from Angel's hand, opened the car door and led her inside. "Let me show you how a man should treat a lovely woman like yourself." Nervously, Angel glanced in all directions while Carlos led her into the backseat. With the skill of a knife thrower, Carlos unbuttoned the shirt of this shy, inexperienced wife while she panted from fear and excitement. "Love is nothing to fear, mi amor," Carlos murmured. Unleashed from the cage of convention and the ropes of guilt, Angel ripped open Carlos' shirt and dug her face into his chest hair and groaned, "let's do it now." "Do it?" Carlos said, stunned. "What's 'it'? Why can't you say the word?" Shy from a lifetime of religious indoctrination, Angel looked away. "Let's have sex now." "Have sex?" Carlos challenged again. "That sounds like a chore." As he said this his kissed the nape of her neck, put his hand on her breast. Turning to look Carlos in the eye she said, "Fuck me now." "Fuck you now?" Carlos replied. "But I have not yet tasted your pussy." "But he never, I never . . ." Carlos licked Angel's nipples until they were hard. Using the confines of the small backseat to his advantage, Carlos moved and swayed to mental salsa music while he licked his co-worker's wife from neck to belly. And then some. He began to remove her jeans. "But he never, I never . . ." Angel moaned. "Once I lick your sweet cunt, you'll want it everyday. You'll never want me to stop. You're going to beg him for it." He was right. He removed Angel's jeans and her pure, conservative white underwear and dug his tongue deeply into the blonde hair to find her clit erect, hard and eager. After a lifetime on standby waiting for flight, her virgin clit was instantly aroused. Angel's clit allowed her the ecstasy her religion promised. "Lick me harder, deeper . . . " Carlos licked her clit until it was swelled and red and she was near orgasm. Then he teased her, moving his tongue and lips around her labia then down the sides of her legs. Then he removed his mouth from her body and looked up at his co-worker's lonely, unfulfilled wife. "Don't stop . . ." She moaned, pushing his head back into her unsatisfied cunt. "Do you want me to lick you forever?" Angel nodded. "Then say it," Carlos teased. "Say, I want you to lick my cunt forever." Angel paused, breathing. "Don't stop," she said, embarrassed. "Say it, or I'm done," Carlos teased further. "Lick my cunt forever," Angel said like a suspect pleading for mercy. "Lick my cunt forever you Mexican devil," Angel laughed, a woman possessed. Carlos licked until he had Angel's wet love in his mouth. She released years of stored female cum into Carlos' eager mouth. "Better than salsa," Carlos said. "Now it's my turn." "Your turn," Angel said with panic. "Your turn to what?" Carlos moved onto the seat, opened his fly and pulled out seven inches of Mexican steel. His cock stood hard, at attention, angry and waiting for duty. "But he never, I never . . ." "What in God's name do these people do?" Carlos wondered. "You'll like it. Lick my dick and I'll lick you some more." Angel's cunt, calm after the storm, was now ready for more of this new-found pleasure. The thought of being licked again sent an electric current from her brain into her pussy. She would do anything for the feel of that long tongue against her clit, his face buried in her pubic hair. Angel bent over and took his penis in her mouth. She moved up and down slowly, not sure what to do. "More saliva, mi amor," Carlos instructed. Angel pulled saliva into her mouth then smothered it over Carlos' erection. Up and down, she absorbed the curves of a penis, the first penis she'd ever had in her mouth. But definitely not the last. She stopped for a moment and looked at Carlos, "I should have done this before. But he said it was wrong. He said it was illegal." She went back down on Carlos, a swirling tongue of pleasure, up and down, around the base, inside the tip. She could taste the wet pre-come and licked like an animal in the desert at a watering hole. "Deeper," Carlos moaned. Angel paused then put her mouth over his cock until she could hold no more. She had the urge to swallow his cock whole, but luckily for Carlos this was not possible. She gave him a little bite. Then a bigger bite. She wanted to chew, but knew better. "Grab my balls," Carlos moaned, ever the patient teacher. Angel grabbed his balls, which were rock hard then moved her head to smother his cock in saliva and throat. She moaned with pleasure, an infant suckling, her mouth knew only one pleasure now. Carlos uttered a guttural moan then Angel felt the rush of hot, sticky liquid in her throat as Carlos ejaculated. Almost choking, she coughed into Carlos' hairy abdomen. His yellow, sticky semen sat in a pool of wet hair around his naval. A different woman than the one waiting in the parking lot 30 minutes prior, Angel put her hand in the semen and rubbed it on her breasts and belly. "I have more for you, mi amor," Carlos said. "More?" Angel asked. "But he never, we never . . ." "Just once?" Carlos asked, bemused. "But I have much more love for you, mi amor." Angel was ready. She laid back, waiting for Carlos to stick his tongue in her wet, waiting cunt. Thirty minutes of oral pleasure had turned Angel into an addict. She had to have more. It had to be now. She would pay any price. Carlos knew that teasing a woman was the most efficient way to make her crazy for love and for anything you wanted to do with her. "Ask me for it," Carlos teased. "Lick me hard, forever," Angel said, her past embarrassment gone with the wind. "But I'm so tired . . ." Carlos complained, to tease her even more. "Suck me Goddamn it. Suck me." Carlos first ran his fingers down her body, through her eager and waiting cunt and down her legs. Angel writhed and moaned. He ran his fingers back up her leg and into her waiting vagina. He stroked her clit until her eyes went cloudy then he inserted a finger inside her sweltering opening. His co-worker's wife lifted her hips and rode his finger like a cowboy riding a bull. Carlos inserted two more fingers, three total, until this Christian girl let out a scream like an injured animal. "Now it is time to give you all my love," Carlos purred to a woman now drunk with love and jism, unable to resist the smallest entreaty. Carlos turned Angel onto her stomach and entered her from behind. "I'm going to show you how a woman should be fucked, mi amor. I feel so sad you have not had a good fuck ever. Just boring fucks." "Fuck me, you devil," Angel practically screamed. "Fuck me now, now." Carlos dug into her cunt, all seven inches, slowly. He penetrated her with slow and deep strokes until she was close to orgasm. He stopped when he saw her eyes lose focus. "Are you close, mi amor?" Carlos asked. "Don't stop," Angel begged. Carlos now went for the gold, thrusting into her as though hammering wood. Angel loved it, her cunt alert and awake after five years of marital slumber. Angel chanted, "Fuck me harder, fuck me harder." "But you are an angel, mi amor," Carlos replied, teasing. "You say such naughty words." Angel said no more naughty words but slapped Carlos on the leg then bit him on the arm. Carlos then slapped Angel on the back, pinched her buttocks and pulled her hair. All the while he thrust inside her like an angry cop. Angel bit his arm again. "Make me cum," she cried. Carlos then noticed that two teenage boys were looking in the car window. "Oh, mi amor. We have visitors." Angel looked up at the boys. She used one hand to fondle her own breasts, staring at the truant teenagers. "Fuck me hard. Don't stop now," she said to Carlos looking at the boys. The boys gawked and giggled as Carlos fucked his co-workers' wife hard and adulterously. The young boys also had their fill of love; it filled their hands as they watched the two grownups do for real what they'd seen in the movies. After she came, Angel told the boys to fuck off. Carlos pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to his co-worker's wife. Angel accepted and the two smoked until the semen dried. "If you ever forget your keys again," Carlos said, on his way out of the car, "just give me a call. I work first shift. I'm available all afternoon while your husband is at work." Angel nodded. "I'm so forgetful," she said quietly. Carlos got in his car and drove away, licking his lips. "I love America," he yelled to the sky. Tales of Carlitos Ch. 02 Tales of Carlitos, the Mexican Factory Worker Freedom of Speech Carlos entered the large main library, walking under a banner that read, "Protect Freedom of Speech." Carlos chuckled. "These crazy Americans. They are so concerned with freedom, but they never do anything fun. I don't understand why they worry so much about freedom if they don't use it for anything." Carlos went to the second floor to look for Elaine, the reference librarian. He met Elaine a month ago when he came to the library looking for a book on freedom of speech for his English class. Carlos took an English class two days a week to improve his speaking and writing skills so that one day he could get a better job, a job outside of factory work. His assignment had been to write a paragraph on the importance of freedom of speech. Carlos had written: Freedom of speech is very, very important to Americans. They like to say what they think all the time. You need lots and lots of freedom for that. Americans even say what they want about the president. If they think the president is a bad man, they can say so and not get in trouble. This is why I love America. He saw Elaine at the reference desk looking quizzically at her computer searching for some important piece of information. As he approached her, she greeted him. "Carlos, how are you? How is the project going?" "I'm doing very well, with your help. I should be finished in a week or two." "How long is the assignment?" Elaine asked. "I have to write 20 pages," Carlos lied. "It's very difficult. My English is not so good." Elaine grimaced. "I can't believe they would give you such a long assignment. It's hard to write in a foreign language." Carlos nodded. "But freedom of speech is so interesting to write about. It's very important to you Americans." "It's the most important thing," she replied, smugly. "It's what makes our country so much better than a lot of other places." Carlos flinched. He had planned to seduce Elaine but now felt repulsed He didn't need an arrogant woman sucking his dick when there were so many women in the world. But those eyes, those green eyes. In Mexico, most people had brown eyes. Green eyes were exotic to Carlos. Her lips were too thin for his taste, but lips were merely for show; the tongue did all the work. And, with a little education, even the most reluctant woman could give the most delightful head. And her hair was not what you would call stylish. It could be, if this woman would look in the mirror and think about ways to make her plain features beautiful. All women could make themselves beautiful, if they wanted. A touch of eyeliner, a splash of perfume, a low neckline. Why did she wear her hair so straight? It had been a week since Carlos had seduced his co-worker's wife and he was getting horny. Elaine would do. While making love, of what importance was politics? He was quite sure that Elaine was slowly accepting his advances. The last time he visited the library under the guise of researching President Bush's thoughts on freedom of speech, Elaine was clearly more physical toward Carlos. She leaned over his shoulder as she helped him scroll through Internet sites, her warm breath beating down on his shoulder. Very soon she would give up her arrogant and prissy facade and embrace Carlos' warm and eager love. Carlos went into action. "If I could only have some help," he said to Elaine, his big brown eyes opened wide for a sorrowful effect. "It's so hard to write so many pages all by myself." Elaine paused, embarrassed. She stammered something about being busy. Carlos merely stared at her, big brown eyes deflecting her poor excuse. She looked at the clock then stammered, "We close in 20 minutes. I can help you for 15 minutes after we close. Then I have to go and meet a friend." "I will wait for you at that table by the books on homeland security," Carlos said, grinning. Exactly 20 minutes later, prompt and pristine, Elaine came to Carlos' table and sat next to him. Her skirt was long, too long, and Carlos was disappointed that even while sitting, he could not see much of her legs. Her blouse, however, was slightly more attractive with a modern cut and enough buttons undone to be slightly sexy. An unbuttoned button was very attractive to Carlos, wherever the button lie. "Do you have an outline?" She asked seriously, ever the schoolmarm. Carlos pulled out the sheets of paper he had used when he drafted his paragraph for class. "I'm having trouble with how to write about talking. It's very difficult." "You need to plan your whole paper and then write," Elaine said. "You can't just start writing 20 pages. Let me show you." Elaine leaned toward Carlos to get a blank piece of paper from his supply. As she stretched past Carlos he leaned toward her so he could rub against her arm and dangling breasts. She was rather large breasted, but it was difficult to fully appreciate this because her blouse was one or two sizes too large. Carlos did not understand why a woman, especially a plain woman, would hide her most attractive feature. Elaine flushed and sat up straight, ignoring the entreaty. "First," she said, "you need an opening premise. You have to state what your paper is about." Carlos moved closer. "My paper is about freedom of speech," he said, brushing his leg against hers. Elaine moved back. "That's not enough. You have to say whether you think it is good or bad and then explain why." "It's good," Carlos responded. "Very good," he repeated, this time touching her leg openly. Elaine jumped up. "I came to help you with your assignment. I don't know what you're thinking." "I'm sorry," Carlos began. "You are so beautiful and so smart, I thought you felt the same way about me that I felt about you. I'm so sorry." He moved his chair away to demonstrate that he was respecting her wishes. Elaine's anger softened as she heard the word "beautiful." Carlos noticed and continued quickly, seizing the opportunity. "I don't want my assignment to ever end because I want to see your beautiful face each week. All I think about is going to the library." Elaine blushed. "That's sweet of you Carlos," she said then paused, not knowing how to respond. She had never been pursued so openly, so physically. She was used to being pursued by plain and boring men who wanted to get married; not by men with deep brown eyes, sensuous bodies and exotic foreignness. Without asking, Carlos craftily gave her a soft, light kiss on the mouth. Elaine sat rigid, awkward and embarrassed. Carlos kissed her again, with slightly more verve. She didn't respond but she didn't reject him either. If she didn't reject him, she could must want him, Carlos reasoned. This is how women worked – they liked to be difficult. They watched movies where women played hard to get and they wanted the same thing in real life. He used his tongue for the third kiss, a real kiss this time. The kiss that meant these two people, with different personalities and different nationalities, were connected. Elaine's rational mind regained control. She looked around nervously. "People might see us. We can't do this." "We can, mi amor," Carlos said quietly. "Love is more important than these other things you worry about." Carlos took Elaine's hand and led her into the stacks of bookshelves. Elaine glanced nervously around but followed meekly. Amongst the books on supply-side economics, presidential scandals and republican conspiracies, Carlos fondled the reference librarian. He kissed her passionately while he touched her ass, her hips, her breasts and her plain brown hair. Elaine kept her disciplined hands on his unruly chest hair. She rubbed furiously until Carlos thought he would chafe. She touched his chest as though she'd never touched a man's chest before. Carlos liked it, even if it hurt a little. It was passion, and sometimes passion hurt. Carlos' hands moved inside Elaine's shirt to fondle her breasts through her bra. Elaine flinched slightly as Carlos moved from exterior to interior, but allowed entry. Then from bra to flesh, Carlos' hands moved deftly and smoothly. Elaine felt great pleasure; a pleasure she was not used to. It frightened her. Elaine continued her obsession with his chest hair, now licking it and chewing on it, fearful to move her hands to more erotic and exotic places on this erotic and exotic man. Carlos unbuttoned Elaine's shirt and unsnapped her bra. Now her ample breasts were exposed. Carlos leaned down to suck her nipples. Elaine threw her head back with pleasure but would not release any sound, any emotion. The librarian's reserve and quiet pleasure was exciting Carlos immensely, but he still wanted to hear her squeal with gratification. He was a man; he needed some assurance that he'd performed his job well. He knew of one sure-fire way to make even the most reluctant, repressed woman cry out in satisfaction. He dropped to his knees, lifted her plain skirt, and pulled at her panties. "What if people walk by? I can't do this!" Elaine sputtered nervously. "So what, mi amor? They will see two people loving each other." The word "love" controlled Elaine much like the word "beautiful" had done previously. She stopped fidgeting but looked fearful, her eyes darting around the stacks. Love and beauty conquered her fear of being caught exposed in public. Carlos first licked the insides of her legs until she softened her military stance. When her thighs loosened, her licked her pubic hair. Light brown and somewhat matted from her too-tight underwear, he loosened this as well. He pulled his head out from under the skirt to check on the pilot. Surprisingly, Elaine's green eyes had narrowed and he wasn't sure how she took her pleasure. She looked almost mean but was also absent so that Carlos assumed he was on the correct road to enjoyment. Returning to her cunt, Carlos gathered his saliva and took a long, hard lick on the librarian's clit. She jolted and moved away. Carlos crawled toward her. She bumped against the bookshelves; books shifted, but none fell. Carlos pinned her and licked her tumescent clit. Her clit was definitely growing and definitely throbbing. A woman's throbbing clit was a subtle sensation Carlos had learned to detect after much practice. Still, no sounds. Quiet tension. Unusual. Carlos decided it was time for fingers. Just one because he now also worried about knocking the books over and signaling a herd of librarians to the pasture. One finger inside. A little wetness. Good stuff for later. He licked her clit while his finger explored deeper places. It was a hard maneuver, on his knees, but he managed, arousing himself greatly. His cock hardened as he planned their next foray. Should they make love on the floor? Against the shelves? Maybe against the wall, far from the aisle. Or maybe . . . Before he knew what caused it, he was knocked over, head against the stacks behind him, a foot on his leg, his breathing restricted. Elaine had knocked him away from her cunt and was now on him, grabbing his neck, choking him. He began to chuckle until he noticed the savage look in her eyes. This was not amorous playfulness. She was actually trying to choke him. "Mi amor," he tried to say while pulling her hands away from his throat. "What the fuck are you saying? Speak English." She gripped his neck harder. "I can't speak," Carlos muttered. "Let go!" She wouldn't let go. Now considering her a threat, Carlos used his superior strength to free himself of her grip. She was surprisingly strong but he overcame her by pushing her back into the other row of bookshelves and pinning her down. He looked down into her unfocused, unbalanced eyes. Abruptly, she stopped struggling. Carlos unzipped himself and pulled out his erect cock. He hadn't realized he was still so hard; in the midst of being choked he had not concentrated on the progress of his passion. The choking had been stimulating. He commented on it. "You made me very hard. I like that. You are very clever, very passionate." Elaine slapped Carlos across the mouth. But she didn't move. "I'm not used to such love," Carlos said as he lifted her skirt and checked her cunt. Still swollen, still willing. Elaine slapped him across the mouth again then lay back, inert and silent. Entering her cunt, Carlos felt an exciting friction. She was wet, but not wet enough. The dryness was more stimulating; there was more friction. Hot, rough friction. He penetrated slowly, monitoring the eyes of the beast below. The beast retained her angry look but began to move rhythmically, jutting her hips. She began to jerk, setting a new rhythm. Carlos followed her moves, a skilled lover. He thrust into her so deeply that he pushed her into the ever-looming bookshelves where several books finally lost their place in line and fell to the floor. Carlos pushed into his lover so that his head was hitting the shelving. Elaine went again for Carlos' neck. In love, pain and pleasure were close friends so Carlos allowed his lover her angry delights. As he thrust, he took rapid, shallow breaths to compensate for the lack of oxygen. The hyperventilation made Carlos slightly dizzy. The librarian let out a moan and low grumble as she loosened her grip on Carlos' neck. She reached orgasm, the orgasm that was due her after months and months of sitting in silence, watching ugly men and watching sexy men and wanting all of them. Wanting them for being men, and nothing more. Watching them ignore her. Wanting them to want her, even if she didn't return the desire. Seeing his lover satisfied, Carlos released his pending orgasm. As he came, he pulled his cock out of her cunt and let the semen drip on his lover and on the carpeting. The beast had departed and the schoolmarm had returned. Elaine said anxiously, "We're getting the floor dirty." "Don't worry, mi amor," Carlos said as he took one of the fallen books off the floor. It was a book on U.S. national security. He ripped out a page and used it to wipe cum off the floor. Elaine's eyes opened wide in shock. "You're destroying the book!" Carlos laughed. He ripped another page out and wiped the cum off of his legs. Another page was for Elaine but her professional respect for books precluded her from cleaning Carlos' sticky semen from her body. "Look what you're doing!" she practically yelled. "I'll just report it as damaged," Elaine said, mostly to herself, to calm her nervousness. "Yes," Carlos agreed. "You can just buy another one." He looked up to the sky and said, "I love America." Tales of Carlitos Ch. 03 Tales of Carlitos, the Mexican Factory Worker Chapter 3: American Shamanism Carlos held a large coffee table book on Teotihuacán in his arm as he rang the apartment doorbell of his new friend and co-worker Paul. Teotihuacán, the Mexican archeological site that was home to the great pyramid of the sun and slightly smaller pyramid of the moon, was the foremost archeological site in the Western hemisphere. Carlos was surprised to discover that his new friend had heard of the site. Most Americans weren't aware of it. Americans rushed off to Egypt or Peru, forgetting that one of the wonders of the ancient world was merely a three-hour plane trip south of the border. "Of course I know about the pyramid of the sun and moon, dude," Paul had exclaimed. "I'm a shaman and aware of the energy sites all over the world. I'm gonna visit it one day." "Maybe I can take you," Carlos volunteered. "I can be your guide." "Awesome! Do you have any Indian blood, Carlos?" "Some," Carlos lied. "I'm a little bit Aztec, a little bit Mayan." "That's too cool," Paul said, shaking his head in wonder. "I've never met a real Aztec or Mayan. My spiritual teacher is a Cherokee. He says the Cherokees are spiritual descendents of the Mayans who were spiritual descendents of the Atlanteans." Carlos nodding, knowingly, although he did not know what Paul was talking about. Cherokees and Mayans? Who were Atlanteans? Americans had some crazy ideas. Nonetheless, he liked Paul because Paul was friendly and proved a good drinking partner after their shift at the factory ended, crazy notions or not. After a few beers, what did ideas matter anyway? For the first three bottles of beer he would ask questions: "What kind of shaman are you?" "Have you ever turned into an animal?" "Do you practice white magic or black magic?" After six bottles of beer followed by two rum and cokes, he experienced his own shamanic passage. He understood the hopes and fears and joys and sorrows of all beings, including Paul. When Paul said he was the leader of group of female shamanic cohorts who were energetically merging into the great unknown, Carlos understood perfectly, as though Paul was simply relating that he brushed his teeth everyday. When Paul explained about the energetic force that dwelled beneath the naval, Carlos could feel his belly tingle. Paul answered the door. "Carlos, que pasa?" "Mi hermano, how's it going?" Carlos held out the book for Paul. When he discovered his friend had an interest in Teotihuacán, Carlos asked his wife to send him a book. "This is the most interesting book I've ever read on the pyramid of the sun and moon. It explains each building." "How old is the pyramid of the sun?" Paul asked. Carlos tried to recollect what he had read in the book. After several nights at the bar, Paul was beginning to view Carlos as an authority on Mesoamerican archeology. "Over 4,000 years old," Carlos said, brown eyes open wide. "When the conquistadors came to Mexico, the city was already deserted." "Awesome," Paul exclaimed, brushing his hands through his long hair. Normally he had it in a ponytail but tonight it was flowing loose. Long hair on a man had always repulsed Carlos. Long hair was for girls. When Paul had his hair back, he looked distinguished but with it flowing down he looked like a cross between Jesus Christ and Janis Joplin. How could he meet women with hair like that? Carlos wondered. Inside the apartment on the sofa were two women, both heavyset. One had stringy brown hair parted in the middle, like the hippies of the 60s in San Francisco. The other was more alluring with pale skin, dark hair and dark eyes. Her hair was short but styled, unlike her hippie counterpart. He liked the dark one. Carlos had been invited over for a shamanic ritual. What kind of shamanic ritual, he did not know. Paul had gone on so much about his female shamanic coven that Carlos imagined the walls would be lined with women, eager and ready for the shamanic sensation emanating from his penis. Just two women? Paul was obviously a braggart; but then two was plenty enough for one man. While he did not know what constituted a shamanic ritual, he assumed sex was involved. If not, why not go to church instead? The evening would prove him correct. Paul introduced Carlos. "I'm Donna," the fair woman said to Carlos. "I like your name. It reminds me of Carlos Castaneda." She then pointed to the dark woman. "This is Delores." Delores nodded in greeting. Thirty minutes later, as the sun set, the ritual began. Carlos was led into the back bedroom of the three-bedroom apartment. As he walked through the hallway and looked in the doors, he noticed that Paul had roommates. He asked about the roommates. "You're here with my roommates," Paul answered. Clever! Paul had gotten two women to live with him by pretending to be a shaman. Carlos had never seen two women agreeing to share the same man so agreeably. Tonight he would learn all he could about this thing called shamanism. Maybe he could find two women of his own. If he did, he wouldn't share. The room was dark, painted a deep burgundy. The curtains were drawn and candles had been lit well before as the smell of wax had already permeated the air. On the floor was an animal pelt, of what animal he could not discern. On the wall were religious objects from all the worlds' religions – crosses, Buddha heads, pentacles, stars – Carlos did not understand all the symbols. Paul turned off the ceiling light. The only light in the entire apartment came from the candles in this one room. In the center of the pelt was a punch bowl with a ladle inserted and three cups surrounding it. The three American shamans stood around the bowl and joined hands. Like in elementary school, they stood boy by girl. Carlos found his place between the two women. Paul began speaking, in a low chanting voice. "I speak to my shamanic companions. Our linked hands represent the link we'll maintain in this and any other universe we travel in tonight. Remember, you are not alone." Carlos was confused. "Let's sit now and have our sacred drink," Paul continued. "Tonight Delores will be the watcher." As they sat, Carlos followed suit. Delores poured the liquid from the punch bowl into each of the three mugs. The liquid was a brownish green color. Carlos could think of no alcoholic beverage that color. German beer, perhaps? As shaman and leader of the small group of initiates, Paul drank first. Carlos followed, gulping much too quickly. The liquid was bitter and disgusting. Involuntarily, some of it returned to the glass. "What is this?" Carlos asked. Paul looked askance at Carlos. "Peyote. You don't recognize it?" Carlos rebutted quickly. "Of course, but we always mix it with juice." He slapped Paul on the back with a brotherly affection. "Gracias, mi hermano." Americans! How did they get peyote? It was expensive and difficult to acquire in Mexico. He couldn't believe he was invited to a party to have peyote. He loved Americans – they were so generous. Carlos reflected on his good luck over and over and over. Suddenly he realized that he'd been reflecting on his good luck for thousands and thousands of years. It was funny, the more he thought about it. He laughed and laughed and laughed. Another thousand years through the tunnel of time. It was awesome, that word Paul used all the time. Awesome. Back in the United States, at the time we call "now," Carlos realized that he was not alone. That's right! There were three other people with him in this room with the glowing candles. The beautiful glowing candles. One of these people was between his legs licking his testicles. Where did his pants go? Where was his shirt? When did he take off all his clothes? No matter. They felt good, his testicles. Really good. Long licks, little bites. Wow, both testicles in the mouth. How did she do it? She sucked his testicles like candy. Now she gently turned him over and was licking his anus. He'd never had a woman do that before. What a sensation. Who would have thought it would feel so good? It was as good as having your penis licked. Up and down the crack, inside. The tongue darting and probing, a space mission to planet Carlos. In and out, Carlos felt his anus relax. He hadn't realized how tight it had been, how relaxed it could be. His testicles called for more. He pulled himself up from under the tongue and turned over. "Baby, suck my balls again. It was great." "My pleasure," a male voice replied. Carlos jerked with panic. It was Paul! A man had been licking his balls! A man. Paul, like Carlos, was entirely naked. Carlos glanced around the room. Donna and Delores were naked, too, in an embrace on the other side of the pelt. "What's wrong?" Paul asked. "Brother, what are you doing?" "Relax, hermano." Paul murmured. "We're gathering our male energy. Male energy is the sacred energy of the universe. Not female energy." Carlos came for pussy, not for dick. No way was he going to let a man fuck him in the ass. No way. Never. Paul returned to his male energy ritual and put Carlos balls in his mouth. Both balls. Carlos returned to the time before now, the time when Aztecs and Mayans ruled the planet, ruled the universe. In that universe his testicles sent their electrical energy to his head and out toward the sun. Then he was on the pyramid of the sun, standing tall with Paul on his knees sucking his dick. His shamanic disciple sucked and sucked until Carlos' came a stream of white light into Paul's mouth, down his throat, into the pyramid and straight through to the center of the earth. In his next glimpse of the place called "now," Carlos was on his stomach again, Paul fucking him in the ass. It hurt, but not enough to override the effects of the magical punch, the peyote he got for free from his generous American friend. A strange sensation, pain but stimulating too, like when you shit after binging for a whole night on tacos. The anal stimulation aroused him. Stimulation from the front and back at the same time was new to him. It was like a whirlpool of energy circulating through the entire lower half of his body. Back at the pyramid of the sun, the energy heated to boiling and he lifted into the sky. He visited the sun, circling it three times before speeding to the nearest galaxy in time for a light show of exploding nebulas. The nebulas began to speak to him. In English. Suddenly, he returned to find Paul talking to him. He was saying things like, " . . . time for female energy transfusion," and " . . . which one do you want?" Realizing he had a choice he said quickly, "the dark one." Paul nodded. "Delores. Over here," he ordered. Delores came quickly, obedient to her shaman. She and Donna had been petting and fingering each other. Per Paul's shamanic instruction, they were to mutually climax but not orgasm. Both were wet and swollen, holding back their energy for their male leader. To stall, they licked and caressed, knowing the other's body as she knew her own. Delores and Donna were no strangers to each other's bodies, having been involved in Paul's shamanic rituals for over a year now. Delores knew Donna liked her nipples licked as she rubbed her clit. Licked and bitten, not hard, but ever so slightly. Donna knew Delores liked her pussy teased for a long time before being massaged. The longer she teased, the more intense Delores' orgasm would be. Donna moved her forefinger and middle finger up and down Delores' legs and cunt, touching her clit each time on her travels up to her breasts. On the return trip she would linger slightly in her vagina, enough to start the engine but not overheat it. The swollen and teased Delores squatted next to Carlos, awaiting orders from her commander. "Carlos needs the energy of the earth, the energy of the force that gives and nourishes life," Paul said to Delores, with utmost seriousness. Paul continued, "he needs the balancing energy, the female polarity." Carlos wondered how Paul could produce such convoluted and complex speech under the effects of peyote. Carlos was barely able to maintain his command of English. His Spanish, too, was quickly receding into the depths of the universe. Paul moved to Donna, while Delores remained with Carlos. She took his penis in her hand and stroked. She stroked smoothly and evenly. No pauses. No coming up for air. Sustained stimulation. Carlos was erect, hard and erect, pointing toward the pyramid of the moon. He was now on the pyramid of the moon, at night, the moon illuminating the entire pyramid, Delores behind him arms around his waist, stroking his erect penis and rubbing his balls. The entire city of the ancient Teotihuacán came to watch. His pleasure viewed by thousands, he spewed white light into the adoring faces of the masses, his energy moving the entire population into an alternate reality. "Not yet," Delores said firmly, bringing Carlos back to the present. "Not in my hand. In my pussy. You're not getting any energy from my hand." "Whatever," Carlos thought. White light flowed in and out of his body and he did not care how his cum manifested itself in physical reality. Delores, however, did care. She believed all of what Paul said; he had read so many books on the subject. He had a spiritual teacher. He had been to Macchu Picchu. His knowledge was astounding -- it blew her away. Delores lifted herself onto Carlos' inert peyote-relaxed body. She moved onto his erection. Knowing the effects of peyote on the novice, Delores did all the work. She gyrated in short, even movements. She rode Carlos high. She rode Carlos low. She kept a steady rhythm the entire time. She bent down and grabbed Carlos' by the hair, ballast for her high energy thrusting, her shamanic penetration of the newly initiated. At the pyramid of the moon, Carlos climaxed in the most unusual way. He felt split in half – half of him was so relaxed he could barely move his arm. The other half was so stimulated that he felt he could lift the entire pyramid on his erect penis. It was a sensation of complete acquiescence coupled with overwhelming power. Very unusual. At the pyramid of the moon and in the apartment near the freeway, Carlos ejaculated, an upheaval of thousands of years of male domination. At the pyramid of the moon, the moon receded and darkness fell on the crowd of observers. In the apartment near the freeway, cum fell from Delores' cunt onto the animal pelt on the floor. How much time had passed since Carlos had drunk from the punch bowl? He was gradually returning from his trip to Teotihuacán and was returning to his current life. Still on his back, he looked for Paul and Donna. Donna was on her hands and knees as Paul fucked her from behind. Donna was panting and moaning as Paul thrust solidly into her. He was scratching her back, not gently, from the marks Carlos could see from a distance in candle-light. Paul was obviously a man who liked it from behind, Carlos mused. While Carlos liked all sexual positions, he preferred to see the face of his lover, to see her expression when she came. That was part of the mutual gratification that brought two souls, two bodies together. Watching Paul cum fascinated Carlos. While he shared stories of sexual exploits with other men since he was in middle school, he'd never watched another man cum. When he watched porn flicks with other men and they masturbated, he never watch his friends finish. And they didn't watch him. He was fascinated watching Paul thrust frantically then stop and shudder as though hit with an electric prod. Was that how he looked when he came? As the peyote wore off and the night passed, the four participants in the ritual lay on the pelt, naked, leaning on each other. Sometime near daybreak, Paul asked Carlos how he felt. "How was your journey into other realities?" "They were wonderful, wonderful places," Carlos replied. He then added, "But the best place is America. It is the best place in the whole universe." He crossed his arms over his heart and told his three shamanic partners, "I love America."