Tales of Carlitos

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."