"You really don't need your clothing anymore, Mrs. Clayton. Why don't you take everything off?"
My wife's huge brown, tear-filled, eyes met my own. She gazed at our tormentor and blanched. With tears in her eyes, she reached for the buttons of her blouse ...
This all started as a dream assignment. My wife, Min-soo received a commission from one of the big cable travel networks to investigate a report of an Incan temple well off their recorded historical range. Deep in the jungle north of the Orinoco River, the preliminary report seemed quite promising. The jungle was too thick for a normal area survey so Min-Soo's company called in a favor and got an infrared survey from an orbiting NASA satellite. The company could not afford to have more than a few scans made, but the pictures revealed enough detail to deduce that SOMETHING was under all that foliage. The geometric shapes COULD have been natural features, but that seemed unlikely.
For Min-Soo's company, it was an exclusive, they could be on the ground of a major archeological find before even the first scientist had turned over the first spade of dirt. The implications were enormous. How you have liked to know about Tutankhamen's tomb BEFORE Howard Carter. Imagine being the first ones to photograph Machu- Picchu! It promised to be a very lucrative find and was sure to garner tremendous ratings. In short they needed my wife's skills with the camera. Like many of her other ventures, the cable overlords would send me along to rough edit the film and construct a narrative to go along with it.
It was my editing abilities that had first brought Min-Soo and myself together. I had been exiled to South Korea by my old production company because I had screwed up royally before the big boss in New York. It was either take this assignment or quit. I wanted to prove that I was made of sterner stuff so I decided to gut it out. The work turned out to be relatively easy and I burned through it quickly. With little to fill my hours, I did things like freelance editing for local pornographic film productions and a bit of the same for local and international news organizations in Seoul. It was scut work, but at least it was interesting.
And then all hell broke lose. There was a political crisis in South Korea. The president had been caught doing things a head of state simply should not be doing. His government was in danger of failing and on top of that the North Koreans were rattling sabers at the same time the American forces had a huge black eye when several paratroopers got caught with some local school girls who may or may not have been underage.
Every sort of protest filled the streets. Both Koreas were on the nightly news around the globe and, in the midst of all this, Min-Soo stormed into my office, in desperate need of an editor for the exclusive she had just scored. What I remember most of all was the big camera on her slender shoulder while she was yelling, in fine English, "Get me an editor, NOW!"
I was instantly smitten. Even amongst the lovelies of the Korean Peninsula, she stood out like a laser in a fog. Her luminous ebon hair fell past her shoulders, her brown eyes were large and shining, I swear her face walked out of a fashion ad. Her large perky breasts pushed at the fabric of her designer blouse, The rest of her was just as fine.
Naively, I tried to be gallant. Min-Soo cut me down to size immediately. "I need a professional, jerk! If you can't focus on the job, find me someone who can!" she stated in the "take no prisoners" style I have since come to adore.
Hastily, I apologized and took a look at her material she had. It was really, really good. After only a short time in the editing booth, we discovered that we had an instant and intense rapport. We brought out the best in each other. Min-Soo's report won an award locally and was even nominated internationally. Almost immediately Min-Soo decided that I was the only editor for her. We became a well-oiled machine and it wasn't long before we ended up in each other's arms and then in each other's beds. When my penance was over and I was called back to New York, Min-Soo decided that she just could not let six foot, slightly gawky, me get away from her. The last five years have been the happiest of my life.
We knew that we wanted to work together and both of us had a lust for travel. Once we were back in the Big Apple, we through our lot in with the channel for travelers. Min-Soo liked my editing on the fly and insisted that we do field work together. At first the network was skeptical but they could not argue with the results. Min-Soo regularly was nominated for some major awards. It was only a matter of time until she brought home some major bacon. The judges just had to be convinced that she was not just a flash in the pan, a few more seasons and she would be in the awards circle on a regular basis. The assignment in the Venezuelan jungle would take us to places we had never visited before. We were really looking forward to it.
Getting to the jungle was not the problem. Getting to the site of the ruins was the problem. We knew what the coordinates were according to the GPS but penetrating the jungle would be difficult. Our cable company, like most big corporations, could nickel and dime with the best of them. In case this turned out to be a dry hole, the bean counters did not want us spending more money than necessary. Aside from springing for a local guide, they paid for only me, Min-Soo, and Jack Frear. Jack, five six if he was an inch, was an expert in Incan culture, he would know if we had hit paydirt. Jack had two distinct advantages, he was young and, while known in his field, was not a star. Hungry for a big breakthrough, he agreed to keep his silence in exchange for first access to the site.
Jack was a nice guy, but real quiet. Min-Soo and I both felt that we could work very well with him. The lure of a potentially history-making discovery united the three of us. We all wanted to do the best job possible. Jack had put himself through college as a chef and delighted in doing the heavy lifting and all of the cooking. He was handsome, I guess, but not my wife's type at all. He seemed to like Min-Soo but was clearly not attracted to her. That made me feel better about the close quarters, jungle life was sure to generate. I'm not the jealous type but why tempt fate?
Jack, Min-Soo and myself, got all our shots and did as much homework as we could. We had to keep everything out of the public eye, which made sense even if it did make our job more difficult.
"If it turns out to be what we think it is, we want to stay under the radar until our special airs. After that..." was the best we could get out of our weasel of a boss. Why does EVERY media company in the world have the same joker in the big chair? How does any creativity get past a single one of these dullards? Our pointy-headed boss also insisted we bring minimal supplies. That had me grumbling, but Min-Soo calmed me down. "Look on the bright side, Chuck, that means I'll be able to bring fewer clothes with me which means I will be wearing less!"
She gave me a conspiratorial wink and fell into my embrace. We fit together so marvelously. Instantly my mind filled with the glory that is naked Min-Soo, long dancer's legs, Her thick black bush, flat tummy, sexy navel, and wondrous tits. To say that I am blessed is an understatement. I don't quite understand why my wife is as much into me as I am into her, all I know is that I am truly grateful for her love.
Our flight to Caracas passed through a series of severe thunderstorms. I'm not superstitious, but if you were looking for the first bad omen of our trip, any one of those storms would be your first pick. I had NEVER been airsick before the roller coaster flight I thought would never end. A week later we were in Puerto Ayacucho, the end of the line for river traffic. From here on it was travel by canoe and foot. Our local guide, Dave Saunders and a team of natives clad in shorts and tee shirts, were waiting for us. I'm not sure what I expected, certainly not a six and a half foot tall musclebound giant with reddish blonde hair and a deep jungle tan. My first thought was that he was the spitting image of Doc Savage, whose pulp novels I had devoured as a kid. Right away I did not like the way he eyed Min-Soo. I think he managed to conceal his obvious lust from my wife and Jack, but not me. I went on high alert.
To my chagrin, Min-Soo dubbed him "charming" and began to share far more about herself than I thought wise. In a private moment, I told Min-Soo that I did not trust this guy and that she should watch herself around him. I guess I laid it on too thickly because my wife took it the decidedly wrong way, "Jealousy does NOT become you, Chuck. The simple fact that a man finds me attractive and enjoys chatting with me, may bother you, but only a woman can tell if his intentions are anything beyond social and his are NOT!"
"I hope that you are right, Honey. I'm not upset, that he finds you attractive, Min-Soo, I'm upset that you are the lone woman on this expedition and the further we go into the jungle, the more at his mercy we are!"
Min-Soo eyed me levelly. She always claimed that she could read people far better than I could. I could tell that she was a bit miffed at me. "I appreciate your concern, Chuck," she said at last, "but I am a big girl and more than capable of taking care of myself."
She followed that up by giving me one of her looks that meant the conversation was over in no uncertain terms. That night, after we had made love in our tent and she drifted off to sleep I wished for a life-size bubble to swallow her up and protect her from evil. I knew in a pinch that Saunders could probably take both myself and Jack. I made a note to myself to inform Jack of my fears in the morning. Maybe if the two of us teamed up we could handle the behemoth if necessary. Before I closed my eyes for the night I fervently hoped that he was more than satisfied with the salary the company was paying him.
Our first week passed rather uneventfully. Saunders was on his best behavior. I shared my concerns with Jack, who felt that I was overreacting. "Min-Soo is mighty pretty, Chuck, I'm sure Saunders has noticed that but he's a professional or he would never have been recommended to the company." I sincerely hoped that Jack was correct. Min-Soo and I adored the scenery, a regular green Eden. It was reassuring to discover that not all of the world was spoiled and crammed with McDonald's and Starbucks. Jack was more blase as he had been on digs in Guatemala and other tropical places. Min-Soo and I shared a canoe with one of the native guides, we trailed Saunders, and behind us was Jack Frear. The green landscape kept us enthralled yet alert. Crocodiles sunned themselves on the banks of the river. While they could be dangerous, they would tend to leave you alone if you did not do anything stupid. The native guides were nice enough. They spoke a local dialect that only Saunders was fluent in. A few of them were conversant in Spanish but laughed at my crappy enunciation of it. Not so long ago they would have been dressed in loincloths woven from local fibers, but the modern world had brought denim and cotton. The men were all about five and a half feet tall, thin and wiry. They had coal black hair and deep brown, almost black eyes. I noticed that they deferred completely to Saunders, almost as though they were in his thrall. Obedient to a fault, they seemed to look right at me without actually seeing me, Min-Soo, or Jack.
While Saunders welcomed Jacks culinary skills and dined with us, the natives ate by themselves as a group, usually living off the land. Doc Savage informed us that our trek could take as long as three weeks. We had budgeted enough time, but it was frustrating that we could not cross the jungle more quickly. Most of the time, as a concession to the heat, my wife wore brief khaki shorts and a midriff bearing top. On occasion, all that concealed her succulent breasts was a skimpy bikini top. I noticed that Saunders was noticing my wife's physical attributes rather more intently than he should have.
When I pointed this out to Min-Soo in private she minimized my concerns, "Chuck, it's 38 degrees Celsius out here. If you think I'm going to cover up because our guide has a roving eye, you are wrong. Even IF he IS looking at me, he has been nothing less than professional since day one."
