Jenny Marie Stevens was apprehensive as their boat skidded to shore. They had ridden in a small boat from Cordillera Central in the Dominican Republic down the Aribonite River through the Artibonite Valley to Gonaives, on the coast of Haiti.
They had taken the longer less conspicuous route rather than just fly in and attract suspicions of why they were there. Joe, Jenny's husband, did not want to have to answer any more questions than needed.
His wife, Jenny had been active for many years in the Red Cross helping to relocate homeless orphans and getting them adopted into better homes. It was kind of a waste of her talents as Joe saw it. His beautiful wife had done well in college sports and academics. She had gone through on a track scholarship and was smart enough to have gone through on a music scholarship. She was a late bloomer and had grown up through high school with a lack of self esteem.
She had met Joe by taking some elective classes she needed to get her degree. She had taken lots of music and art classes and had decided to take something she knew little about. Joe was a professor in Forensic Social Anthropology; trying to study and analyze how different societies act the way they do, and the similarities between vastly separated societies.
On this trip, Joe was taking advantage of Jenny's long-standing activities within the Haitian Society. He had a longstanding fascination with the Voodoo concept of Zombies. He had read the "Serpent and the Rainbow," seen the film, Zora Neale Hurston's story about Felicia Felix-Mentor, the Zombie, and also talked to Wade Davis, the Harvard ethnobotanist about his book.
Joe was convinced there was something there, but discussions with Jenny had ended ugly whenever he brought it up. She insisted there was nothing to it. Joe insisted on coming along with her on this trip to help her.
His lab assistant, Marcel Devereux had volunteered to help also. He had a good understanding of several of the local dialects and might make their trip a little easier.
Approximately 95% of the population speaks Haitian Creole, which is a blend of French, Spanish, Portuguese, English, and some African languages.
Nobody thought to ask Marcel how it came to be that he spoke Haitian Creole. They just assumed he must have learned Creole in New Orleans, which is also where they assumed he grew up.
When they got off the pitifully little boat, It was mid-afternoon, and Caribbean hot. The porter whisked up their backpacks as they took our first steps over the bridge into the city. A white jeep emblazoned with the blue hotel logo waited on the other side. They hopped in and watched Haiti unfold from their passenger windows.
Motorcycles, often heavy laden and carrying more than one rider, are common means of transportation in that area.
The sheer volume of people milling about the streets impressed the group. Each turn produced new and overwhelming sights. Motorcycles whizzed by carrying whole families, a woman in red sat beneath an enormous tree selling used clothing, brightly colored God-invoking phrases lined the sides of well-ornamented buses.
It was amusing to see small reminders of home. Within seconds of one another a boy and a man each walked by with t-shirts that read, "Ormond Beach Elementary," and "I heart Orlando Regional Medical Center," both cities they had visited recently.
Everywhere they turned, someone wore a t-shirt completely disconnected from the Haitian reality, "I'm so Brave I Vacation in Detroit" and "Seattle Supersonics Fan." Jenny explained that there is a huge influx of used clothing into Haiti, which is why most people are decently dressed despite the poverty that plagues the country.
They drove down the recently paved main road. It was unveiled a month ago to joyous fanfare. New roads bring progress, a means with which to get goods to market. It was once nearly impossible to get from Port-Au-Prince to Ouianaminthe. One leg of the road, which now only takes 40 minutes, used to take a stomach-lurching, back-twisting, head-lashing four hours. Road conditions in Haiti dictate economic growth. Increased traveling ease also means increased trade possibilities.
Jenny and Joe checked into a modest room on the top floor of the Roubidoux. Marcel had a room next to them. Jenny set her back pack on the stand next to the dresser holding the T.V as a couple of green lizards scurried up the wall over to the sliding screen door to the outside balcony. It was sweltering and Jenny could hardly wait to put on her swimming suit and beach dress.
She wasn't quite ready to lounge in the pool, but it was a way to beat the heat. Jenny looked right at home, with her bronzed complexion. Joe, on the other hand, looked like the typical 60 year-old college professor that he was. A little paunch, no tan, balding head and thong slippers that flapped when he walked.
There was a knock on the door. Jenny went to open it and was a little stunned at what she saw. It was the first time she had seen Marcel in casual, or beach clothes. She had known he was tall, but never dreamed he was so athletic looking.
He stood there, with a button-front oxford cloth shirt; unbuttoned, and some form-fitting boxer-type spandex swimming shorts on. His leather thong slippers almost looked too small for his size 12 pigeon toed feet. She knew in the back of her mind that he was slender and athletic, but she tried not to stare at the rippling muscles of his abdomen. She could tell his biceps were just as well defined as the rest of what she could see.
"Bonswa" the almost naked black savage said with a big smile and outstretched arms. Jenny smiled weakly and opened the door to let him in. Her husband was a pitiful sight when he emerged, with his slight paunch pushing the sides of his unbuttoned aloha shirt open and his milky white legs poking out of the bottom of his Bermudas. Joe pushed some dark glasses up on his nose as he reached for a beach towel.
"Let's go see how the pool looks." He said as he started out the door. Marcel followed as Jenny closed the door behind her. She was too embarrassed with her husband to walk beside him. Marcel waited as Jenny closed the door. He stood back to let her walk in front of him. He was determined to watch this middle aged woman whom he had never seen in anything other than denim Levis and a man's oxford cloth button-down long sleeved shirt.
Her little sun dress did little to cover her long legs. The green, almost transparent garment barely covered her butt. That was okay. Her splendidly long legs tensed and rippled as she clip clopped in front of him in medium height cork sandals. Her long reddish brown fishtail braid bounced back and forth with each step she took. Jenny had the feeling his eyes were burning through her skimpy one-piece suit. She wondered now whether she should have brought something else a little more modest.
The suit was not a bikini; thank god for that. The top was not cut outlandishly low, but the sides of her suit were cut quite a bit higher than she realized before she had put it on. She did not know they would have any company when she bought it.
They went down to the pool and flipped their beach towels down on the pool chairs. Jenny adjusted hers so she was almost sitting up on the full-length chair. Joe laid his out so he was laying down flat. He rubbed himself down with r-80 sun tan lotion.
Marcel didn't need any. Jenny pulled about an R-10 tube out of her beach bag and nervously started rubbing it into her legs. She wasn't really quite sure what Marcel and Joe were talking about. She was too engrossed in trying to hide her nervousness of being almost naked in front of this French-Creole speaking monster in front of her. His 6'-6" frame seemed to block out the sun as he sat next to her on the next beach chair.
Jenny's breath almost stopped when he moved over onto her chair and took the tube from her. He never lost a beat in his conversation with Joe as he began rubbing the lotion on her back. Jenny was too stunned with his closeness to register any protest. He was doing it right in front of her husband, wasn't he? Why should she be nervous about that? Soon he was done with her back. His massive hands moved down to her legs; rubbing it on the bottom of her feet. "You can get sunburned on your soles too" he chuckled. Joe peeked over when the conversation shifted to Jenny.
Joe seemed to chuckle a little as he laid his head back down and adjusted his dark glasses. Jenny's heart seemed to skip a little as he moved his hands up her ankles. He resumed his conversation with Joe as he paused to add more lotion to her legs. If he had just added it to his hands, Jenny might have been able to assume it would stop at mid thigh. Instead, she felt the cool liquid being applied from the base of her ankle all the way up to the crack of her ass. It was cold. The lotion was cold and the implication of where his hands were going to go to rub it in startled her.
"What should she do?" her mind screamed as she felt the massive fingers rubbing the oil into her. Marcel rubbed; he massaged her legs until the ointment was gone, inching slowly up.
Finally, his hands were inching up within millimeters of the juncture of her legs; creeping up between them. Her face turned red as she felt his hands pull her legs apart. Her cheeks burned as he massaged her inner thighs.
"Okay, Miss Stevens. Turn over so I can get the front." He said as he slid the zipper down her back so innocently between sentences with her husband. Jenny didn't know what to do, and felt powerless to resist as his hands helped her turn over so she was on her back. She couldn't struggle much as she desperately held the top against herself as he turned her over.
Jenny was speechless. She turned desperately towards her husband to see his reaction. He had his eyes closed and covered by his sun glasses. Marcel continued with his meaningless banter to whoever seemed to be listening.
Marcel shifted his position. He turned towards Jenny and stood with one foot on each side of her lounge chair and lifted one of her legs in each hand. He spread her legs to the outside of his hips and sat down facing her with her legs up above his thighs. Jenny had her hands full holding the top of her swimsuit up against her. Marcel tugged on her legs, pulling her so her knees were bent up and resting over his thighs. He handed her the tube of ointment and held his hands together, palms up.
Jenny was too dumfounded to know what to do. Numbly, she held her hand out towards him and squeezed the bottle; pouring a small puddle of it into his hands. He continued talking to the couple as he rubbed his hands together and then began working on her legs. He worked on her left leg first; starting at her ankle and working up towards her crotch.
"You're a fine looking young woman, Miss Stevens. Half the women here are half your age and you are twice as good as they are. The ones without tops don't look as good as you; even with your top on. Joe don't you think it's time she tried to blend in with the rest of the women here?"
Joe raised his head a little; tipped his dark glasses up and looked around. He saw Jenny clutching her top against her and their questionable pose together. He had a faint smirk as he lay back down and flipped his glasses back down to cover himself.
Jenny was shocked at his nonchalance. It was true, that there were a few younger women parading around topless, but she had grown up thinking she was expected to dress a certain way. She was not used to being out of the country and surrounded by foreigners. Jenny was struggling with her top; her sudden abandonment of her husband; and the massive hands creeping their way up to her most private area.
"Oh, Miss Jenny. You are some kind of special lady. Joe, you are some kind of very lucky man to have married a woman who looks like this." Marcel whispered softly with his eyes and face getting closer and closer to what he was about to massage. Jenny was thunderstruck. Any minute now, this savage was surely going to get his fingers under the edge of her swimsuit. She turned towards her husband. "Joe?" she whispered desperately.
Joe seemed a little indifferent as he turned casually towards her. Joe wasn't quite certain what to do. He needed this Creole speaking savage for his secret exploration. He was obsessed with finding the secret to whether Zombies were real or not; and how it was done. He was going to need this man; but at what price?
Joe had turned towards his wife as he pulled his dark glasses up to assess the situation. He could see the fright and discomfort in his wife's eyes as she struggled to keep her top up against her. She was unable to reach down toward the man away from her lower half. She watched in anguish as Marcel kept the backs of her thighs against his as his hands worked their way up against the edge of her swimsuit.
He put his hands under the back of her thighs and pulled one last time; shifting her butt almost against the bulge in his shorts. She could feel his heat. She could feel the familiar throbbing against her. Joe watched as Marcel and his wife's eyes locked together. His thumbs turned at the edge of her suit and disappeared under the edge.
He held his position. Jenny was petrified. She struggled with letting go of her top in order to ward off his invading thumbs. "Marcel ... please ... please..." She was begging for him to stop.
"Why don't you two go for a swim? It's getting hot out here." Joe said in a dismissing manner.
Marcel smiled as he grabbed one of Jenny's hands and guided her up off of the lounge chair. In a semi-victory, Jenny pulled her legs around to one side of the chair as she managed to reach behind herself to zip most of her suit together. She almost got away with it, but for just a moment she was not quite able to keep the suit up and reach around to pull on the zipper. Both Joe and Marcel got a good glimpse of at least one shinning pink nipple before the suit was zipped back up.
Jenny tried to tell herself they had not seen anything, but deep down she had to have known. The fresh breeze against her nipples told her what they had to have seen.
Jenny's hips wagged slowly from side to side as she leaned back while Marcel teasingly tugged her towards the pool. At some point she had to lean forward and jump in anyway. He had her hand as he jumped in and she knew she had to leap to clear the corner if she didn't want to slip and fall.
They were at the medium depth where they jumped. It was about three feet deep. When they jumped, they didn't really know how deep it actually was. Jenny's legs were bent when she went in. She went in and fell forward, getting completely wet. She jumped to her feet; gasping for air. By then, Joe and Marcel were laughing.
Despite the warm Haitian air, the water was chilly and took her breath away. Joe still had one of her hands. When she surfaced, he grabbed her other and raised her up. Instinctively she flipped her head around to get the wet hair off of her face. When she did, she suddenly realized that her suit was practically transparent.
The thin Lycra stuck to her skin like a layer of green powder coated paint. You could see that her nipples were twice to three times the length of a pink pearl eraser on a number two pencil. The little bumps at the edges of her coral pink areoles were clear. The cold water hardened everything and made them rigid and alert like British Palace Guards.
Once she saw what Marcel was starring at, she tried to turn. As she did, Marcel raised one of her arms and helped her pirouette away from her. When she stopped, she had her back against his front and her arms crossed in front of her with Marcel's over hers. Her arms were crossed, but not covering her nipples.
Joe watched as Marcel had pinned his wife against him, with his arms over hers. Joe had forgotten how wonderfully looking his wife could look. He struggled a little with the scene of his thin athletic wife standing with this black savage wrapped around her. She was whispering something; probably begging him to let her go. Unable to free herself, she pulled her feet up, trying to at least get her breasts under the waterline.
Marcel turned with her so his back was against the pool wall. He bent his legs to form a "chair." With his arms still covering hers, Jenny was forced into his lap. She didn't want to be there, but at least her transparent suit was underwater.
She looked over at her husband. Could he tell what she could feel? Jenny could feel the creature between her legs start to throb. Even in the cold water, she could feel his heat.
"You sure are a beautiful sight; Miss Jenny." Marcel whispered softly into her ear as he repositioned his own arms. He switched his grip of her so that their arms were now both at her sides. With her arms pulled down to his lap, she could still not get away. She might as well have been handcuffed to him. She could feel the hard muscles in his thighs, abdomen and arms against her.
The only ones who could see what was happening were the lifeguards and the people on their patios a floor up. They watched as Marcel guided her hands behind her; under her. Jenny could not escape his grip as he guided her hands to the bulge growing between them. She struggled to keep her fists balled up, but Marcel was strong enough to squeeze her wrists. With enough pressure, she could not close her hands. She struggled to remain impassive.
"Can Joe see us?" she wondered. "Does he just not care?" Jenny was tormented; not knowing how much to struggle. "Did Joe care?" A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. "Could anybody else see?"
Slowly, Marcel raised her hands. He guided them between his abdomen and the woven belt at the top of his shorts. "Oh, my fucking God. He is going to rape me right here in the pool in front of everybody." Her mind screamed.
"How ironic." She thought. "If this was happening on a dark night on a side street, she would scream for all she was worth." But here in broad daylight, she seemed reluctant; powerless; and unable to react in the middle of a pool full of people.
Marcel's incessant whispering didn't register in her mind as he guided her unwilling hands across the growing creature below her. Marcel was now able to trap both of her hands with his left. With his right hand free, he inched his way up her suit to cup her left breast. He squeezed. He massaged. Jenny's mind screamed in humiliation. She didn't know what to do.
Jenny didn't know how to get out of this situation. Marcel slowly positioned his fingers around her left nipple and squeezed; slowly at first but increasingly harder until she relented. Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her fingers. Marcel could tell that she was slowly reacting to the threat of pain. Gradually her fingers seemed to recognize the unspoken commands. It seemed like just an involuntary flinch at first, but gradually her fingers began flexing. They flinched again, searching for the evil creature between them.
She started to massage it. "How fucking far does this have to go before he releases me?" her mind screamed. To Marcel, it wasn't as much as "How far would she go," but whether he could make her do it at all. Once he had been able to coerce her into massaging him, he was ready to quit.
His hands moved from restraining her to her neck. He began massaging her neck and shoulders; above the water. It looked innocent enough. Jenny went back to "frozen in fear" mode; reluctant to continue massaging the creature between them. Still, she didn't know if she could pull away yet.
Marcel continued his jabber; nonsensical, mindless jabber. He caressed her neck as he whispered. Finally, he stood and guided her to the ladder. Jenny would almost rather stay there; underwater, massaging his monster phallus than climb the ladder with everybody looking at her.
When Jenny pulled herself up to the top of the ladder, she was unable to shield herself from the stares. Her suit clung to her. It was obvious how long her nipples were. It was obvious what color they were. It was obvious she had shaved. Her pouty cleft showed everybody how well formed it was before she could reach down and pull the garment out away from her and get some air in it. She pulled the edges down farther along the bottom, and away from the crack of her ass.
It was a wonderful sight. Everybody; even the women ogled as she padded her way back to her lounge chair. Marcel handed her some dark glasses out of her beach bag as they both went back to their lounge chairs. Marcel went to the bar and got everybody a drink.
The next day, Jenny was up, dressed and gone before either of the men had waked up. She had gone to the volunteer center to help assess the children and go over papers to see who was open to getting adopted.
Jenny had managed to keep herself busy for the next few days and avoid the two men. She didn't really know quite what to make of the situation she was in with her husband and his assistant.
Finally, one day she was waiting for the two men to get back to the hotel for supper. Several hours went by. They were both late for supper. Finally Marcel showed up. "Where's Joe?" she asked.
"Well, Miss Jenny; it seems like he got in a little bit of trouble. He claims he came here on a sight-seeing trip, but I know different. He told me what he is here for. He is here to discover the secrets of the Zombie. He is here to get the formula for the secret potion used to create zombies. He tried to bribe a witch doctor for the secret. I know because I have translated for him. If you want to see him, you have to come with me."
Jenny was petrified. It was as if somebody had kicked her in the stomach. "How could her husband be so stupid? They would kill him for this." She told herself.
Numbly, Jenny followed Marcel. They walked along in the dark. The streets were still filled with children running and playing in the narrow streets. As long as there was light, people were out; working; playing; looking for mischief. Jenny stuck as close to Marcel as she could. The dark streets of a Haitian village are no place for a woman to appear to be alone. Wandering bands of young men could find a lone woman like a shark can find a wounded seal. They seem to be able to smell that sense of desperation.
The path started to wind up the hill. It was heading towards a compound of tin shacks surrounded by Catalpa. The paths between the tin shacks was so narrow, two people could barely pass. Strangely the sound had stopped. There were no children running by. There were not any lights. Jenny was terrified. Something was not right.
Marcel opened a door. Actually it was more of a gate. Through the gate, they walked up to a steel door into the side of the hill. They went inside. Now it was light. It hadn't really been a village. The tin sheds were actually a way of concealing an area. The sheds were not occupied. They stepped up the hill; mainly to conceal the fact that the hill had been dug out. It was a secret meeting place.
The "cave" was about sixty or eighty feet in diameter with a domed ceiling about half that high. Jenny could see air shafts which opened to the stars. The floor was stepped, like an amphitheater. At the front, were a series of large oak chairs. In the center, was a pole? Joe had been tied to the pole. There were a series of torches; mounted like wall sconces all around the perimeter with their flickering lights sending fluttering shadows in all directions.
"We have caught your husband trying to steal the secrets of the zombie. By our rules we can kill him. We can kill him, bring him back to life and make him a zombie. You are here to witness it and take the story back to your country. If anybody else tries to steal our secrets, they will all be dealt with the same way." Marcel said.
Jenny was trembling and whimpering now. "Please don't do this. Isn't there any other way?" she sobbed.
"What are you willing to concede?" Jenny flinched. "Was there a choice? Could she actually bargain with them?" she wondered.
"W ... w ... w ... what ... what will it ... t ... t ... take?" She stammered.
"You could take his place" she heard somebody say.
Jenny began to tremble. She struggled to form words.
"I ... I ... I'l take his place. I'll do what a zombie does. I will work for you forever on one condition. I will do the work as a zombie would if you don't kill either of us; if you don't make either of us zombies."
"If you aren't a zombie, how do we know you wouldn't escape or change your mind?" Marcel asked.
"You have my word. I will do whatever you ask."
"Joe, tell her what to do. You are her husband. She has to listen to you. Tell her to strip off her clothes. Tell her to suck my dick." It was almost a whisper, but Jenny heard it. The room was all stone. The whisper skipped along the walls until Jenny heard it from several directions. "This is a continuation of what he was doing in the pool." Jenny said to herself. She had resisted him all she could in the pool, now he was making up for it.
"Please, honey. Please do what he says." Again it was a whisper, but she heard it perfectly.
"That's not good enough, Joe. She has to hear you give the command. She is your wife; your loving wife. She will do anything for you. Tell her what to do."
There was no sound except water dripping out of the cracks in the walls onto small puddles on the floor. "Jenny, honey, please take off your clothes." There it was. It was like six different people whispering for her to take off her clothes. The skips came from her right. They came from her left. They came from behind her.
"Take off your clothes. Take off your clothes. Take; take; take off ... off your clothes; clothes; clothes." It was like everybody in the room was chanting the same thing as her husband's voice skipped around and around the room.
Jenny felt like the whole room was against her. They were; but the only voice she heard was her husband's. So much had changed in just a few minutes. She had trouble soaking it all in. She had no assurance they would listen to any of her requests as she slowly moved her hands up to the top button of her light summer dress.
Slowly, she pushed the top button through its eyelet. It wasn't just one button. It was the sign of capitulation; like sitting on Marcel's lap in the pool. It was a sign of one will over another. Defeated, Jenny continued her signs of resignation as she moved her hands down the row of buttons to her waist.
Her eyes moved slowly back and forth from her husband to Marcel and then to the gathering of steely looking men around her. When she got to her waist, she knew the dress was ready to fall off. Instead of continuing on down, she changed and went to the last button at the hem and started back up.
She stood up straight and held the top together with one hand. She pulled the hem up with the other hand and started to push the lowest button through that eyelet. As the lower half became unbuttoned, she exposed more and more of her long slim legs. Finally the last button at her waist was undone and the sides started to part.
Jenn grabbed both sides; reluctant to continue. She had to stop for a minute to clear her mind and force herself to the next step. She took a deep breath and arched her shoulders back as she slipped the garment over her right shoulder. Once the thin, light garment slipped off of her shoulder, she pivoted it around in front of her to hide what she could.
The dress was a flimsy psychological barrier between them and her. It did nothing to hide her body. Marcel extended his arm; palm up. She couldn't look up as she covered her breasts with one hand as she placed the garment in his. Instantly she crossed her hands in front of her; her forearm across her breasts and the other hand across her sweet, sweet Lady Jane.
"Put your fucking hands down."