Modern Anthropology

Authors Note: As of the start and end of this writing, I have 8 other stories in various stages of development that I have just been unable to complete - something I suspect many other authors struggle with. This one, based on a whim, was something I decided to write quickly, just to get a taste of "completion success" back... though in the end it still took me quite some time to finish as life just has a way of filling my schedule. Of importance, this story is FICTION, nothing within it is based on any sort of scientific or social fact.

As always, comments are appreciated.

***All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

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"For the love of God," I said in the most exasperated tone I could muster, "You already know the answer is no. Please stop bothering me about it."

I walked through base camp with my rapidly-becoming-a-constant-shadow just a few inches off my heels, doing her darndest to wear me down and get her way.

"I already told you I wouldn't," she responded, "and I am just proving my resolve. I will counter any lame-ass excuse you come up with, I will double and triple my efforts, and I will wear you down. The faster you give in to reason, the faster we can both be happy."

With the camp being an exact total of 3 tents, there wasn't much I could do to get away from her. Plus, I knew she wasn't kidding. It was going on 4 weeks that she was hounding me about this, and on a progressively more aggressive basis. I was just hoping I could hold out the additional 29 weeks before the deployment stage we were currently in was over. That said, it would only be 3 weeks before we were back at camp after that anyhow, and I was quite sure she would start her hounding right back up.

I opened the flap and stepped foot into our showers-and-latrine tent and she followed me in.

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The original team that came down and set up the amazon jungle site we were at were studying spiders, not humans. When the young indigenous man staggered out of the forest, dizzy with fever developed from an infected wound received during a hunting expedition, it was deemed appropriate to interfere with a quick course of antibiotics. While protocol dictated that the visiting team avoid interacting with the tribal natives - especially after determining the tribe was previously unknown - it was the natives themselves that began to initiate regular contact and it was decided that an anthropological team was appropriate and necessary. Brianna and I were called into action and, after an overlap period in which the tribe grew comfortable with us in place of the biologists, we had been on our own for 16 weeks.

The job was everything that an anthropologist could possibly hope for. Instead of having to make assumptions about rituals and customs, we could simply ask and observe, translate and document. We got to integrate ourselves into their culture, learn things in detail, and do as they do.

And, by we, I meant me.

Now, before you make assumptions, it had nothing to do with sexism or even seniority. While it is true that I am Brianna's boss back home, in this circumstance my situation had everything to do with luck.

Our project parameters dictated that for 4 days each calendar week, one of us would go into the tribal village and proactively collect and integrate. The other 3 days were spent in camp, doing what most scientists do, documenting, cataloging, and filling out the miles of forms necessary to justify the grant funding that afforded us to do our work in the first place. Due to the aforementioned grant funding and the authorized insurance for only one of us, I was the one who went into the tribal village while Brianna stayed back at our camp. We learned of these parameters when we agreed to the trip and, though we pleaded and argued about aspects of productivity, fairness and more, the funding guidelines were clear and we were forced to agree to them or not go - an option which was not an option - so we agreed. We agreed to the silly rules and we flipped a coin to see who would integrate into the tribal village. She lost, I won. Of course she wasn't happy about it, but it is what it is.

It also is not to say that she was relegated to wasting away her day in solitude while I reaped all the benefits of an anthropological wet dream. The relationship we built with the locals was one of mutual contact. On days that I was in the village - or even on days when we were together - there were usually locals coming in and out of our camp. She was learning from them the same way that I was, a mutual sharing of ideas and customs.

But, I get it, it's not the same as actually being in the village. It's not the same as actually living with the locals and truly immersing yourself in the culture.

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I readied a bucket of water for my shower and Brianna stepped next to me, removing the braided grass from around her waist.

"C'mon," I pleaded, "I'm just looking for 3 minutes of peace."

She stood and waited for me to undress, her arms crossed and a determined look on her face. There would be no changing her mind and it didn't help that my undressing was a rapid process that simply included removing the beaded and tied leather bands that wrapped around each thigh and bicep. There hadn't been any changing her mind in the past, I knew not to expect anything different.

"Get wet," she commanded as she grabbed a few of the leaves from the corner of the tent.

I turned the valve and allowed the lukewarm water to soak my body briefly, its initial drizzle enough to bring satisfying relief. Brianna was busy breaking apart a couple of the thick jungle leaves in her hands, releasing the milky sap from within them, before taking to her assigned task.

"You have no excuses," she said as she rubbed the crushed greenery up and down my back, the soapy cleansing power of its natural sap immediately recognizable, "at this point we have both adopted every one of the known customs of the tribe and have both been accepted as surrogate members. For close to 2 months you and I have been in lock step in assimilation. We eat the same foods that they do that we catch or harvest in the same way that they do. We perform the same rituals and prayers. We've shed our western ways and made just about every change possible other than changing our genetic code. Turn around."

I turned around and she continued the same process on my front, soaping my entire body, her fingers sliding effortlessly over my shaved skin.

"Chay simitapas yachaniraqmi."

She only spoke the native tongue between the two of us when she was rubbing her near-fluency in my face, but I smiled at the comment, knowing even with my limited abilities that she simply said she knew the language.

"And yet," she continued, her petite hands working their way around the sensitive nerve endings of my penis and testicals, "I have still not gone to the village, only you have."

"Brianna, please give me a break. You know the rules."

"Don't fuck with me, Mike," she hissed back. "Not when I have your nuts in my grip. You and I know those rules were made in a vacuum and never could have predicted the reality we are in. You also know that we break rules all the time. I admit it's usually only little stuff of minor consequence, but it doesn't change the fact that rules are broken. But, you know what? That's okay! Part of being in this job is adapting to changing conditions, not just accepting the status quo. They aren't going to fully accept me unless I am in the village. I need to be there... period. Now rinse off and refill the bucket to do me."

She was right. It had been like this for a number of weeks in, among other things, our following the tribal ritual of bathing in pairs. It was just one of the many things we did to immerse ourselves in the Amazonian culture. Of course, for the tribe it was a functional exercise of simple cleaning and bathing could be done in either mixed or same-sex pairs. While I had not witnessed any actual homosexual acts between men or women, it was not uncommon for same-sex pairs to wash one another the same way a parent may with their child. Sex and bathing were different things. But, it was sex that had caused my hesitation and insistence on following the guidelines set forth by our funding partners and not authorizing Brianna to visit the village. While it was a lie to say that we followed all of the rules diligently, I was trying my best to stick to this one - yet I hadn't yet come to an internal conclusion as to why. She was right in saying that adaptation is key to survival. We did what we needed to do to survive and thrive and, thus far, she was doing fantastically in adapting. But, while in many ways the Amazons were far more progressive than we were, in others they had very many of the same patriarchal standards of our own... or even more regressive cultures.

What I had not told Brianna is that, unlike a male - who had the ability to float in and out of the village with ease - in order to even enter the village every adult female had to be married. And marriage in the tribe came with similar assumptions as with every other culture on the planet.

Married couples had sex.

However, in this culture, sex was considered such a natural part of life that sexual intercourse could be - and was - performed and enjoyed casually and out in the open. While it was not a scene that depicted anyone and everyone laying about fucking, it was certainly much more open than anything I had ever seen - or even read about - in other cultures. To see it, one could immediately recognize that it was different than simple mating. While the vast majority of what I witnessed was one-on-one intercourse between married pairs, it was also clear that friendly inclusion of others was not uncommon. Just as a westerner would find it common to help their friends carry in groceries on a busy day, the Amazon's had no qualms in assisting their friends in achieving a bit of relief from time-to-time.

But, Brianna was an adult, and, as we switched places and I started bathing her, I took a moment to realize not only all of the changes she had already made, but how diligent and confident she was in doing so. The reality was that it wasn't my place to shield her from a scene that may or may not have made her uncomfortable. I wouldn't think to say that it even possibly would. Just, for whatever reason, I did.

I got my hands as sappy-soapy as possible and began rubbing them across her body. She didn't like it when I rubbed the leaves directly onto her skin, attesting that it felt scratchy, and insisted, accurately, that the natives accommodated either way of performing the bathing task and I should respect her preference.

Like my own, her body was fully shaved in keeping with the tribal customs. Though the locals naturally did not grow much body hair to speak of, those that did had it regularly shaved clean and bare during the bathing process by their bathing partners. I remember the terror we each felt when it was suggested to use the rounded, half-moon shaped sharpened iron on the opposites most sensitive areas... and the shocked feeling of relief we each experienced as the seemingly crude tool provided a wonderfully thorough - and incident free - experience.

Her hair was done in the style of the locals, again, similarly to mine. Unlike the vast majority of the cultures we had studied, all men and women wore their hair in the same style: long - but with neatly trimmed bangs - though as I came into the jungle with closely cropped locks, I had a lot of catching up to do.

As my hands moved about her body, she took a moment to stop preaching her case and instead enjoy the sensation of my touch. After Brianna's initial insistence to adopt the native customs, followed by her request for me not to attack her body as if I was scrubbing a filthy dog, I could admit the bathings that I gave her - and that she gave me - had a bit of a sensual quality about them. The difference, between the two of us, was that she seemed to take advantage of the opportunity to enjoy the moment, as I did whatever I could to avoid demonstrating any evidence of the potential arousal (ie, erections) and essentially remained as steadfast as possible, much to her amusement. Though, as my hands gently made their way across her breasts and between her legs, and her breathing slowed and her mood softened, I wondered why I didn't allow myself the same moment of pleasure. Afterall, the jungle could be a very isolating place, why not take advantage of some stress relief when you could?

My hands drifted on and Brianna closed her eyes.

I realized I had gotten lost in my thoughts and actions - my hands gliding along the curves along the intimate areas of her body - when I let out a small chuckle.

"What?"

Brianna had snapped back to reality with my unexpected response, and she stepped away from my touch.

"Oh, nothing," I responded.

"Doesn't look like nothing," she responded as she nodded to my obviously swollen cock.

"Sorry about that. To be honest, I was thinking about the times we walked in on each other. How awkward it was... and how things have changed."

My reference was to about 3 weeks after we had been left alone in the camp and, within a matter of 2 days, had each walked in on the opposite during a time of "self discovery." Though each of us handled it about as well as one could in the circumstances, the person caught was nonetheless left embarrassed.

"Indeed," Brianna laughed as she turned the valve to drain the bucket shower over herself and rinsed off, "things have changed. Speaking of which, tonight is gonna' be one of those nights."

"Yeah," I responded as I stepped into the water with her, washing off the remaining sap from my own body. "Same here."

After drying off, our night ended with a couple of administrative tasks before each taking to our individual cots not 4 feet from one another and falling asleep to the muffled sounds of tiny moans and labored breathing, each masturbating ourselves to a satisfying orgasm and a restful night's sleep.

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"Okay, let's talk."

I am not sure what changed my mind over the course of the night, but when we awoke in the morning, I figured it was as good of a time as any.

"What's up?"

Brianna stepped out of bed and wrapped her grass belt around her waist. Her skin was rosy and she looked rested. I swung my legs over the side of my cot and told her about the tribe: marriage, sex, all of it. Other than a couple of suppressed smiles, she took all the information in stride.

"Anything else?"

"Well, we would have to be careful," I continued. "If you got hurt while in the village, insurance still won't cover you. And we can pretty much guarantee we will be removed from the project."

"Mike, I know all of that. I just want to know if this is how you are telling me I can finally go."

"It is."

Brianna pulled me off my cot and wrapped me in a hug, our warm, soft skin pressed up against one another.

"I know this is a big deal for you," she said. "While it's a long shot it would ever come to that, I know this could hypothetically kill your career if something went wrong."

"Yeah, yeah," I half-heartedly replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm the greatest."

Brianna squeezed me just a bit tighter.

"You are, Mike. At least you are to me."

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It was almost dark when I got back from the village to talk to Brianna about the logistics of her being admitted. She had spent the day with a couple of the village women, who not only continued in the sharing of cultures and traditions, but got her physically ready for her wedding.

"Look at me," she squealed in delight, "all ready to get married!"

The sides of her body were painted with dark lines and geometric patterns. They were similar to other South American tribes and it made my mind quickly wander to wonder just when this tribe had isolated in their distant past. In addition to the lines, she had a new grass belt, a beaded necklace, beads in her hair, and red dye painted onto her skin highlighting her nipples and, presumably, her womb.

"Plus," she continued, her face turning playfully bashful, "they shaved me again."

Brianna pulled me to the side of her bed and sat gingerly down on it, careful not to damage any of the new adornments on her body, before laying back and spreading her legs out wide, exposing herself in a way that was most certainly not in line with western modesty standards.

"They were... ahem... incredibly thorough," she giggled.

Her sex glistened in the dim light, the remnants of the tree oil the tribe used as a lubricant while shaving. While I admit a significant portion of me wanted to dive in, face first, dipping my tongue into her honey-pot and starting an exploration of every contour and fold of her waiting pussy, I simply shared in her excitement and smiled at her enthusiasm.

"You look great," I said, "a very appealing wife for someone."

"Who am I going to marry?"

"Yeah. So, about that..."

I relayed what the villagers had explained to me about available males in the tribe and how, with the vast majority of the men already married, the pickings were slim.

"Seriously? Two septuagenarians? What am I supposed to do with someone seventy-plus years old?"

"It's all that's left. A couple of older widowers. There are standards and protocol.

Everyone between 18 and these two guys is already spoken for."

"Uhhhggg," she groaned, her excited mood from prior gone.

"There is one more option," I added, my confidence betraying me. "Me."

"You?"

"It wouldn't mean anything, of course," I quickly responded. "It's simply a title. It doesn't obligate either one of us to anything. It's just a formality to get you in the village."

"You make it sound terrible," Brianna responded with a smirk, "the prospect of being married to me."

"No, it's not that! It's just that, you know, after what I told you about their sexual practices, that you might think that I was trying to get something out of you."

"It's okay, Mike. I get it. And, yes, I absolutely will marry you. It isn't even a question. This job isn't a 'normal' thing to most people. But, we do what we need to do for it, ya' know?" She stood up from the bed and, for a second time that day, hugged me tightly. "So," she said, the excitement back in her voice, "where are you thinking for the honeymoon?"

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Our wedding ceremony was the next day. While a significant portion of the tribe recognized it was a formality to get Brianna into the village and not a true reproductive alliance, they nonetheless went all out in the celebration, slaughtering and roasting a caiman alligator and sharing enough of their fruit alcohol that it could have sterilized a field hospital.

The day started with me, upon entering the camp and similarly to Brianna the day before, being taken by a couple of the village women and physically prepared, with a fresh body shaving and the red dye paint covering my penis and groin. I was then given fresh body jewelry in the form of new bicep and thigh garters and made to drink a disgusting, gritty ceremonial tea, which I was told was consumed to help ensure a successful union between man and wife.

The ceremony was traditional to their culture and, if I am being honest, was touching in its simplicity. While the village surrounded us, Brianna and I were tied together, chest to chest, while the tribe chanted and danced around us, singing a prayer for prosperity, fertility, and longevity. The entire ceremony lasted about 15 or 20 minutes and by the end of it, we were officially married. It was also during the time that I understood the real purpose of the tea I was given, as my cock became almost painfully hard and the only way I could get even remotely comfortable while we were tied up was to shift into the small gap between out bellies, an excruciating exercise in-and-of itself that left Brianna with a sly, teasing grin.