Tarzan and the erotic jungle

My name is Thomas Jackson and I am, or was, an American journalist with The Outdoor Gentleman's Gazette, a periodical concerned chiefly with the sporting pursuits of the landed gentry; a job that combined both my love of sport and my love of gentlemen.

I'd been given the not inconsiderable task of ingratiating myself with the famously reclusive Lord Greystoke, better known perhaps as “Tarzan of the Apes”, in order to write a series of articles on life as both a nobleman and a "savage" (my editor's word, not mine). Needless to say, I did not approach the jungle lord in any such uncouth fashion, which is just as well as he knew me already through my articles for the journal, and what's more, thought highly of them.

Our first meeting had been a grim affair, summoned to his establishment in a fashionable part of London and on my very best behaviour, the magnificent man and his beautiful wife plied me with question after question about what my approach would be in writing the articles. They gave little away as I answered all of these, and after they had politely farewelled me on the grand portico of the mansion I fell into a funk, truly believing that I would never hear from them again. Imagine my surprise when a week later a ticket for a berth on a steamer due to leave London for Africa in two days was delivered to my office, a covering note stating simply that Lord and Lady Greystoke looked forward to my presence at their home in the Waziri tribal lands.

After an uneventful journey I arrived at their magnificent African estate and was greeted as if I was a long lost friend, all of the coolness and formality of London having melted away in the burning, bright daylight of Africa. Of course, I must call her Jane and he could only be Tarzan here in his true homeland, and they would call me Tom, as befits a true friend. I was both moved and surprised by such a warm and open display of friendship, as genuine as it was unexpected, and I was beginning to see why it was that the couple engendered such fierce loyalty amongst their intimate circle.

The few days I spent with them in their idyllic home on the African plains were some of the happiest of my life, not least because of the physical proximity in which I found myself on an almost constant basis with Tarzan himself. Gloriously uninhibited physically, yet never one to utter more words than absolutely necessary, he seemed to have taken a shine to me and sought out my company from morning to night. For my part I revelled in our platonic closeness, wishing it could be more, but taking what I could from the friendship, never happier than when our bodies were close enough for me to inhale his loamy, masculine fragrance, as if the richness of the jungle was seeping from his very pores.

But the next stage of our adventure awaited. Jane had taken me aback somewhat as we were preparing to depart by drawing me aside whilst her husband busied himself with last minute arrangements, making me promise that I would keep our discussion private. Of course I agreed, and was surprised to find her cautioning me to keep my head and not forget that I was a “gentleman”, literate and cultured with family and friends to return to. She stressed that I must see the jungle as magnificent but malign, to always be wary of it, to never let it enter my soul. I confess that I barely comprehended her words, and she in turn refused to enlarge on the matter, apart from observing that men were inherently wild, always at risk. Despite her misgivings I departed with her best wishes ringing in my ears, her warning lodged in the back of my mind, an unsettling companion on the voyage ahead.

In a few days Tarzan and I were aboard a small steamer, heading up the coast a few hundred miles to an uncharted part of the mighty continent, the massive jungle all but impregnable to incursion by any but the brave of mad. To Tarzan, it was home.

I had been surprised by the scant amount of luggage and provisions we had taken onboard the steamer, and I was even more surprised (if not shocked) when my remarkable friend instructed me to take nothing but a small, empty rucksack, a water bottle and the clothes on my back for the next stage of our journey. I remonstrated with him, but was silenced with an authoritative look and a reminder that it was I who had requested this insight into his life, in and away from civilisation. I could do nothing but acquiesce, and as we farewelled the comfortable security of the vessel and watched it pull away from the small remote landing stage, I pondered on whether I had ever really thought seriously about the dangers this assignment might bring.

We were alone now, the jetty the only sign of civilisation. Just beyond it was a wall of massive trees seemingly knotted together by a riot of vines and bushes extending endlessly in both directions. A weird expectant hush had filled the air as if the denizens of that mighty jungle had all been suddenly silenced by the arrival of the ape lord. Even as I turned to face him he was walking towards it, shedding his clothes with each step; his shoes, his shirt, his pants, his shorts, until he was entirely naked. His body, already overwhelming, seemed to expand in its new found freedom and a moment after he disappeared into the shadows of that terrible forest the air erupted with all of the terrifying, cacophonous clamour of nature at its most ferocious and exultant. The Lord of the Jungle had returned to his kingdom.

I ran after him, fearing I don't know what, picking up his discarded clothing on the way and stuffing it into the empty rucksack. A moment of panic seemed to engulf me amongst that almighty din, as if I feared that the jungle and its denizens would swallow up the man whose life I now depended on for my own.

Within moments I too was engulfed by that dark, cavernous monstrosity of wood and tendrils, the sun all but obliterated by the dense overhang of branches and vines, the screams, screeches and roars of this primeval world pressing down on me like some inconceivable weight, forcing me to my knees, draining the strength from my bones and spirit. Where was he? Had it all been some cruel hoax, a desperate plot to foil my expose of his life and character? How could I have been so naive? And then the most terrifying sound of all. A deep bellowing call that filled every space of this mad, enclosed world, bounced off every tree, sank into the very soil, sucked the air from the dank, humid atmosphere that clogged every void. And after it, silence, blissful echoing silence. The forest had been muted. Everything was on edge, waiting, waiting.

A laugh. Nothing more. The type of laugh you might hear in a drawing room in Mayfair, charming, relaxed, incidental. And the forest came alive again, only this time at a lower pitch, charming, relaxed, incidental.

I looked up to where I imagined the laugh originated and saw him standing nonchalantly on a branch of the mighty tree that towered above me, one hand grasping a thick vine that snaked down from its inconceivable height. I was soaked through with sweat and panic, bent down under my own irrational fears, and there he was, shining and laughing and outrageously careless, gleaming in his naked beauty.

"Fuck you" I bellowed, "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you, you motherfucking ape!" I was beside myself, desperate with rage, furious at the relief I felt in seeing him after what could only have been a minute or two of unutterable and unaccountable terror. I stomped around like a mad thing, cursing and swearing and ripping at any plant that came within my frantic orbit, calling him the worst things my mind could come up with, rending my shirt in my desperate madness, grabbing handfuls of soil and uselessly throwing them up at the object of my scorn. Finally exhausted and empty, I fell to my knees gasping for breath in the dank and fetid air, sobbing for I knew not what.

"Welcome to my home," came the calm voice from above, "do you like it?"

"Do I like it?" My mind reeled, and then suddenly it was over. I collapsed prostrate on the ground and rolled onto my back, looking up at the sun-dappled figure of this glorious man high above me, and began to laugh, almost hysterically. I watched as he descended slowly on the thick vine, a dream vision, a naked god come from the sky to rescue me. I was laughing as he stood above me, a sly grin on his beautiful face, the sun iridescent behind him, glowing.

He waited while my mad laughter subsided, and then held out his hand to help me up. I took it, grasping him more firmly than I would previously have dared, letting him lift me to my feet, dishevelled, distraught but more or less myself once more.

"It can be overwhelming" he stated calmly, and nothing more needed to be said.

Dusting myself off as best I could, my composure more or less regained, I turned my attention back to him and was shocked to see that his manhood was erect, shamelessly and magnificently. Embarrassed and fascinated in equal parts, my eyes could not help but drink in the unexpected sight, and when he caught me looking at his tumescent member I didn't know what to expect; perhaps anger, perhaps humiliation? Anything but the indifference he offered.

"I am a son of the tribe of Kerchak" he stated almost matter-of-factly, peering down at himself, "the jungle is in our blood." It was enough. He turned his back on me and began walking down a barely discernible trail in the shrub, and I hastily gathered up my rucksack and went after him, not daring to lose sight of my host even for a moment. The beautiful globes of his buttocks, covered in a silken sheen of ginger fur, held my gaze and drew me on like a magnet, the muscles on his back rippling beneath his golden skin as he strode deeper into his jungle home. I wondered if he would be similarly indifferent to the hardness I was struggling to hide in my own pants as I followed close behind, a thought which made me harder still.

As we made our way deeper and deeper into the heaving forest I had time to think on what I had so far discovered about my new friend. Already the reality was proving surprisingly different to the fictionalised adventures that had come from the pen of Mr Burroughs; certainly he had kept our friend's almost constant jungle tumescence to himself, if indeed he had been aware of it. I was also interested in noting that Tarzan was uncircumcised, something I suppose I had assumed given his English lineage, and the more obvious fact that his jungle birthplace would have been no spot to carry out such a delicate procedure. These are not, of course, the details one would have expected to find in the pages of a boys-own adventure magazine, but they did pique my own more adult and prurient curiosity.

Watching the swaggering form in front of me as we trekked along, my eyes constantly drawn back to those beautiful buttocks, I couldn't help but notice at one point a stream of liquid falling between his muscular legs and realised that here in the jungle relief was at hand wherever and whenever you chose to take it. As if he knew that he was being observed he turned to me while still walking and asked if I too needed to relieve myself. So preoccupied had I been with everything around me that I had forgotten about such mundane matters, but now that my attention had been drawn to it I realised that my bladder was indeed full to bursting, and I indicated that I definitely needed to halt for a minute or two.

He stopped and turned to me, his penis now hanging heavy and flaccid but still dribbling a diminishing flow of urine, which he seemed unaware of. Unaccountably overcome with self consciousness, and aware of the still hard tool hidden in my pants, I turned away from him and undid the buttons on my fly, pulling out my semi-erect member and struggling to relax enough to loosen the flow I so desperately needed. Finally it came, and I stood there for a couple of minutes enjoying the release, my cock remaining obstinately stiff as I thought about the man watching just a few feet behind me.

At least I thought he was still behind me. A slight noise above in the tree I was pissing against caused me to lift my eyes and there he was, crouched on a low-hanging branch watching intently as I completed my toilet. A wicked smile spread across his face as I hurriedly tried to manhandle my erect tool back into my pants.

"So, you do like my home after all!" he observed, amused at both my embarrassment and my excited state. "You will travel more comfortably without the encumbrance of clothes, time to rid yourself of that vestige of civilisation. You are a handsome man Tom, and have nothing to be ashamed of."

As anyone who knows me will tell you, I am not prone to blushing or embarrassment over physical display, but I believe I blushed like a virgin schoolboy at this unexpected compliment, and stood there shuffling like a child as he descended from his perch to stand before me once more.

At his behest I slipped the rucksack off my back, allowing him to take hold of my tattered shirt which he lifted over my head, revealing my solid, hairy body to his intense gaze. Handing it to me I stuffed it into the bag with his own clothes as he gestured for me to remove the rest of my attire, which I did somewhat reluctantly. My cock, fully erect now with so much attention, was sticking out of my shorts as I removed my pants, and he laughed at the sight, making me even more self conscious.

"Is it the jungle, or something else that makes such a man of you?" he asked, unashamedly admiring my engorged pole. I laughed too, secretly pleased to be the object of such approving attention. Pulling down my shorts I now stood before him as naked as he, save for my boots, my circumcised manhood a fair match for his own, which now twitched noticeably while still remaining soft and heavy.

"Whatever happened to that loincloth Mr Burroughs was always dressing you in?" I asked, seeking to draw attention away from my arousal and maybe help restore my equilibrium, which had been sorely tried.

"Mr Burroughs created that item of attire at the behest of Jane, who felt it indecent to have me prowling around the continent as you see me now. But I ask you Tom, how could such a ridiculous piece of scrap seriously cover a man, and for what purpose anyway?"

I chuckled at this observation, aware that any loincloth needing to cover his private parts would indeed have a job on its hands! I was also pleased that my own view would continue to be undiminished.

My stiffness eventually subsided as our march continued under that ceaseless canopy of branches and vines, the sun's rays slanting through the occasional opening to bring a semblance of daylight into the stygian gloom of the forest floor. I was now pleased to have foregone my clothing as the air was humid and close around my body, a sheen of sweat covering every inch of my straining flesh. I was going to have to rest soon, and was about to call out to my leader when he stopped suddenly in his tracks, motioning me to be still, his every sense alert to the chattering  jungle around us.

In one swift movement he was upon me, his mighty arms enveloping me in their strength, pulling me down into the verdant vegetation that grew waist high on either side of the almost invisible track. His hand covered my mouth, and I knew that to move a muscle could possibly bring calamity upon both of us. I relaxed into his tight embrace, fearful and yet foolishly happy, perfectly still. His cock, hard as a rock again, was pressed into my back, a barometer of his body's response to the ebb and flow of this primeval land which coursed though his veins. His lips were pressed against my ear, breathing silently and deeply into me, calming me, keeping me still and quiet, holding me there breathless, as if the world had stopped on its axis.

I closed my eyes, foolishly content in his firm embrace, when the very earth beneath us seemed to tremble and I realised that some vast form, or phalanx of mighty creatures, was passing all too close to our meagre refuge. Then in a flash he was up and away, releasing me from his grasp, bounding through the undergrowth towards the sound, his unearthly jungle cry filling the air once more with its ferocious ululation.

What madness was this? Whatever the monstrous beast was, surely even Tarzan could be no match for it? No matter, I could not stay concealed knowing that my friend and protector was risking his life to protect mine. Gathering up my courage I followed him a few moments later, little thinking of what I might find at the end of my impetuous charge, or how I would go about defending myself once I found it!

No sooner had I burst from concealment than I was stopped in my tracks by the scene that confronted me. Expecting a landscape of terror and ferocity I was instead witness to a tableau that could almost have been called charming, had it not been so bizarre. There was Tarzan in all of his naked beauty, surrounded by a throng of the largest apes it was possible to imagine, huge, hairy and magnificent beasts huddling around him, their mighty hands reaching out to touch every part of his body, his own hands caressing and stroking the savage heads as if they were puppies.

Stranger still, and shocking to my civilised sensibilities, I observed each of the mighty anthropoids push and shove to get close enough to sniff his mighty, erect penis as he stood amongst them. He appeared to welcome their intimate attentions and went to some effort to ensure that each and every member of that startling tribe inhaled his tumescent scent. It was a sight I never expected to witness and, truth be told, I found it strangely erotic and thrilling.

My revery was broken however by a sudden roar of disapproval from within the savage crowd, and I realised to my horror that I had been discovered by the pack who clearly saw me as some type of threat to themselves and, more importantly, their lord and master. Tarzan, aware of the danger, immediately started growling at them in low, guttural, primeval tones, calming them with his gestures, baring his teeth and snarling at the ringleaders like some even wilder beast.

Breaking away from the group, and forcing them to stay behind through the savagery of his voice and gestures, he quickly came up to me, cautioning me as he got closer to remain still and do exactly as he commanded, no matter how distasteful I might find the task. I assured him I would do whatever he asked, my eyes firmly fixed on the barely controlled mob seething a short distance behind him, ready at the slightest wrong move to charge upon me and rend me limb from limb.

"Bend down slowly and make out that you are smelling my cock" he commanded, standing directly in front of me and in full view of the tribe, his hands placed firmly on his hips in a pose of regal indifference. I can only imagine the look on my face, but it was enough to make him repeat the command, adding that if I didn't do it immediately he could not  be held responsible for the consequences.

I wasted no further time debating the niceties of the situation, nor did I endeavour to explain that my hesitation was caused more by shock than a feeling of distaste for the task. Bending down I put my face up close to his thick, veined shaft and inhaled his smell like a drowning man drinking in air, letting the loamy, musky smell of his cock flow through my senses like the most exotic perfume.

Perhaps I was down there longer than he had expected, but after several blissful seconds he placed a hand on my head and told me to rise and once again stand perfectly still. I did so, somewhat dizzy from the power of his scent, my own cock bolt upright and leaking juice, which he no doubt noticed as he told me to put my hands on my head and remain perfectly calm. I did as he commanded and was even more surprised when he came closer and buried his nose in my stinking armpits, inhaling both deeply before bending down and placing his face within inches of my own hard member, making great show of breathing in that stench as well. I wanted desperately to feel his lips and tongue against my engorged shaft, but realised that this might not have been either the time or place to test our peculiar friendship. Behind him a low murmur of growls and barks and strange murmuring came from the throng, and I could only guess if his actions were pacifying or infuriating the frightful mob.

Raising himself he gave me a look both quizzical and knowing, a smirk spreading across his face as he told me to remain stock still and cautioned me to suppress any panic I might feel at what was about to occur. Turning to the impatient gang he uttered more of his low, guttural commands, and before I could brace myself the horde descended upon us, their massive hairy bodies pressing against me, their calloused, leathery hands pawing every extremity of my body, their great snouts seeking out the smell of my manhood, inhaling my scent as if their lives depended on it. Standing close by Tarzan was laughing and growling in equal doses, observing my discomfiture with glee, cautioning me to allow the tumultuous attention of the apes to run its course, welcoming me to their tribe, becoming family. I began to laugh as well, caught in the most extraordinary moment of my life.

From then on I knew that I had nothing to fear from my new brothers and sisters, and I knew also (as did he) that Tarzan and I had embarked on a path together from which there was no retreat. The idea was both liberating and terrifying as I felt the jungle seeping into my veins, transforming me into something I barely recognised from the worldly and cynical journalist desperate for a few paragraphs to fill the next edition of some meaningless periodical. What would become of me now? I didn't care, I just needed to be here with him. 

How wise Jane was to fear the jungle, to be so jealous of it.

(To be continued)