Jungle Revelation

As one of the Sons of the Holy Martyr, I am, of course, deeply devout, but I’m certainly not a sick-o pacifist or else I could not be a captain in the United States Marine Corps. At the time of my profound revelation, I was in charge of 20 horny jarheads off the USS Enterprise. They had the itching inclination, pockets full of pesos and were here on shore for two weeks of rifle practice, but I would not allow them off the base at night. Olongapo was just over Shit River from Subic Naval Base, a town solid with hookers. Clubs like New Jolos, Checker Spots, Twat City and the Big Ballut. Sodom and Gomorrah were nice towns in comparison.

Without any R&R, though, my men were becoming rebellious. I felt that what they needed was a good, healthy way to let off steam. Something wholesome, uplifting and close to God and Nature. So I chartered a Special Services bus junket out to Pagsanjan Falls. Manly stuff. Outrigger canoes up the rapids. Sweat, strenuous workout, swimming in the raw under the waterfalls of the palm jungle. Working off that thing lurking in the loins. Concentrating on higher things—good companionship and camaraderie.

The bus trip out of Subic took several hours. The highway to Manila was more of a dirt path than a real road and the bus bounced around nauseatingly. How our Filipina Special Services “hostess” stayed upright was something miraculous, but she stood at the front of the bus, one hand on her microphone and the other grasping an overhead railing. In her thick Tagalog-inflected accent, she was going on and on about the beauty of Pagsanjan, pointing out places of interest on the way. “We want to lick your clit,” someone shouted at her. But that was the least obscene remark my rowdy guys made as time went on. In fact, the little brown fuck-bunny seemed to enjoy it. These people have no morals.

We stopped for lunch at a cheap restaurant in Manila and then continued onto the falls, about two hours more. I paid for all the food. I tried to make certain none of the men had any cash. Just before the trip, I had confiscated all the pesos in our detachment, booked some commercial overnight cabanas near the river and assigned Sergeant Downly to take charge of food and beer for the men when we all arrived at the jungle compound. As an officer, though, I had to have my own quarters. No fraternizing with the enlisted in the Marine Corps. That’s the rule. So I ended up in a shared double cabana with a vacationing civilian math professor from Harvard. I was wary of him at first, then flattered when he seemed interested in me. He respected the Corps and what we were doing for our great nation.

Shortly before midnight, the craziness began. Hooting, hollering, laughing, screaming—what my new Harvard friend called “drunken revelry,” and “a Dionysian romp.” The Sergeant appeared in the doorway.

“Don’t know how they did it, Captain, but they seem to have scrounged together enough pesos for one hooker. Just one hooker. They sent one of the outrigger boatmen down to the local village to get her. Now all the guys are taking her on—one after the other. I know you don’t even like to hear about such things—but, honestly, Captain. All that beer. Only two weeks off the ship and no women. Maybe you can try not to be too hard on them.”

A woman whimpered in a nearby cabana. “She’s getting dry!” someone yelled. “Stick it in her ass.” “She’s got a mouth, fer Chrissake!”

The professor chuckled. “Sounds like she’s getting it in every orifice,” he said. We were drinking his single-malt whisky together. The Sons of the Holy Martyr are not teetotalers. But it was too bad my brain was half gone already. I should have known better. I couldn’t very well go out and get rid of the hooker when I was half pissed myself and all my men were on a rampage.

“Ah, the lovely sounds of an orgy in the jungle,” sighed the professor. “Music to my ears. It’s really marvelous, too, how we win the hearts and minds—and cunts and assholes—of all the people we protect and liberate. But, politics and higher morality aside—don’t you think it’s rather exciting? In the jungle here, you can just sort of let yourself go.” He had his hand on my knee and I was about to slug him. I saw a gecko run up the wall near the naked light bulb hanging from a wire.

The next morning the professor and I led the procession of outriggers up the rapids. Most of the guys thought the force of the waters was pathetic. Some jumped out of their boats and swam upstream. Flowers, ferns and huge green leaves stretched out from the nearly vertical cliffs along the river. I felt aglow with the power of Nature. So did the professor by the looks of the smile on his face. When we reached the falls, we stripped to our shorts and splashed around like kids. Then we shot back down the rapids to the compound. The professor suggested we go down into the village to see if there were any interesting trinkets for sale. He bought a little carved wooden totem god with a big penis and gave it to me as a present.

Several years later my lovely, new wife and I visited Boston and dropped in on the professor. By that time I had three kids, two girls and a boy. I told him what I had been up to since I met him and how happy I was with Carla. He had taught me something and now it was his turn to learn. At dinner I thought he was a bit rude to Carla, correcting her on how to hold her fork and making some off-color remarks.

We left immediately after dinner. Carla seemed disturbed. “Your professor friend is a pain in the ass,” she said. This was something I knew all too well.