A Brazilian Lolta. A man's tortured desire for her. The dark inner nourishment fed by lust from the flesh pots of Rio to the teeming jungles of Amazonas...
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Amazonas is an exotic journey to Brazil. It takes you from the primal jungles of the Amazon to the sultry boulevards of Rio de Janeiro. You enter the life of Doyle Keene Reeve as he faces the greatest crisis of his life – a crisis every man must face as the years, and all the pleasures of those years -- slip away. His actions – and the power of events that swirl around him – force him to delve into the shadows of his psyche and explore the very roots of the desire that drives him. In the process, he makes some surprising discoveries about the flawed human condition that helps him – at last -- accept who he is.
The Inquisitor wanted his pound of flesh. The predatory edge in his voice told her he was going for the jugular.
“We have no recourse but to bring charges against you,” were the final words she heard coming from his lips. But Alicia was already packing her things.
She’d had enough of the Institute. It was everywhere in the walls of this place -- the disease of a badly run society. It was in the pallor of their hands and faces… in the palpable odor of disinfectant that had soaked into their lab coats and now clung to them like mold on a bathroom wall.
She grabbed her valise, turned her back on them, and left the room. Their protests faded as she approached the exit to the building. She paused… succumbed to one final liberating impulse… and a faint smile teased at her lips…
She wasn’t going to let these bourgeois values trump the sweet anarchy of life.
She made an abrupt left turn… took the bit in her teeth… and set a course for the cells of the inmates. She had already reached the first ward before the attendant at the front desk realized what she was up to. Wide-eyed, the girl picked up the phone.
The Director snapped an order when he got the news.
“She’s in Ward ‘D’. Get security. Fast!”
* * *
Alicia Cavalho kept her eyes fixed straight ahead as she strode down the corridor. Voices burst from both sides of her, smearing the air with graphic descriptions of where they’d like to shove their tongues or quivering organs. One heavy-lidded patient pressed his face against the mesh, his tongue an obscene worm squirming through the opening and gesturing at her. His hands clutched his groin and he panted with a dark rasping sound that urged her to gratify him.
Behind her, in the distance, two orderlies raced down the corridor armed with rubber truncheons. As they ran, they lashed their truncheons against the wire mesh, but the inmates only roared with laughter, deftly danced away each time. Behind them, wielding hypodermics and shouting for someone to stop her, a cluster of white-coated doctors.
* * *
She knew how to push it to the very edge… her slightly parted mouth, the frank, daring gaze of her eyes, the erotic thrust of her shoulders that caught the lethal charge between carnality and innocence. She knew she was an attractive woman. Tall. lithe, with the olive skin of her Brazilian heritage. But it was the movement in her walk – a liquid sensuality that lapped like slutty waves on the tropic shore -- that always spun heads, put men’s instincts on alert. And she made sure they got the message.
Alicia peeled off her blazer… threw her shoulders back… wearing her nipples like jewelry against the silk fabric of her blouse. She could feel the chaos rippling down the halls of the ward as the cages shook and rattled with animal menace. Boots stomped with pent-up frenzy and she felt a cold, delicious shudder at her power to stir the primal lust in these missing links. Their howls filled the corridor and in the twisted thrill she got from the din, Alicia bit into her lip. Her eyes rolled up with a vision… the tip of a dagger drawing blood across the smooth surface of white flesh. And in the midst of the madness she felt suspended in time… eyes dilated from the rush of adrenaline as her fingertip touched the droplet of bright crimson that rose on the fullness of her lip…
* * *
She knew very well why Doyle Keene Reeve had done it. The obliteration of desire in one preemptive strike. He had struck the blow that every man must eventually strike… more decisive, more brutal, perhaps than the average man would do to rid himself of the tyranny of lust, but it had to be more brutal… or still the hissing beast would be inside him.
He had been waiting in vain for the flesh to outgrow its promptings. But it would never let him sleep. In every waking moment and in every fevered dream, they were there… shimmering Botticellis rising from the sea on pearled half-shells to create this aching vortex of desire that swirled inside him… their soft seductive beauty caressing him in his sleep, his mind, his loins… clutching his heart and turning his free will into painful servitude.
He had to annihilate the world which had made him its slave. He had to strike hard… decisively… short-circuit every hard-wired vestige of desire.
* * *
The orderlies swept down upon her… grabbed her by the arms. A roar went up from the inmates… their arms lunging through the bars… chanting for them to hand her over. The doctors rushed up… puffing… out of breath.
“I’ve a good mind to give her to them,” grunted the Director.
“Get her out of here. Fast!”
* * *
Gripped firmly by the orderlies, she was escorted to the front door of the institution. Alicia defiantly yanked her arms free.
She slung her coat over her shoulder… pushed open the doors… and descended the steps. She stopped and cast one long last look at this monument to the Dark Ages… an asylum slowly molding on the edge of a jungle… attempting to turn men sane… even as the hungry vines were busy wrenching the pillars from their foundation.
Her tongue whipped wickedly across her lips… and she felt her nipples harden as a delicious quiver coiled down through her flanks.
“Fuck ‘em,” she smiled in triumph.
* * *