Georgette of the jungle

GEORGETTE OF THE JUNGLE!
It was the end. I was tired, half starved, thoroughly lost, and did I mention that I had somehow strategically placed myself between a baby rhino and her irate mother? Trapped as I was in the local vegetation, my ankle seriously twisted, I had no hope of escape. The Congo is a gorgeous place under the right conditions, and to a budding Ph.D. zoologist like myself, it should have been a dream come true. But the dream had turned into a nightmare. I could see the outskirts of the jungle less than half a mile away. Mama rhino was much nearer and closing fast. 100 yards, 80, 70, it was like a kickoff return but with no defenders between the runner and the end zone. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get a chance to see much of the celebration. 40, 30, 20…, I fell to my knees and prepared for the end. Suddenly out of nowhere there appeared a most remarkable creature, a woman of proportions that are rather difficult to explain. She quickly positioned herself perhaps 15 feet away, squarely between the charging beast and myself, her back thoroughly blotting out my view of the attacker and just about everything else on the vast African plane. Reaching out, this magnificent woman grabbed the rhino by the horn on its snout as it charged. Planting her feet and using nothing but her raw strength, she virtually halted the rampaging beast.
	Pushing up from underneath, she threw the enraged creature over my head and into a large briar patch some 20 yards or so the other side of me. Remarkably unhurt, the confused rhinoceros scrambled to its feet and looked to its baby, then to us, trying to decide if the threat had passed or whether it needed to charge again. My savior quickly strode to my side and let out a yell that would have made Tarzan proud! As she did so, she tensed herself causing every immense muscle to ripple, bounce, and dance on her sleek, ultra-powerful body. And like Tarzan, she beat her fists high on her chest as she did so. The rhino seemingly thought better of it, collected her child, and the two lumbered off with a speed that belied their size. The woman then relaxed, turned her eyes downward toward me, and smiled. I only wished I could smile back, but I was simply awestruck, more than I’d never imagined I could be. I had never dreamed there could exist such a combination of beauty and power all rolled into one package. She was a black woman of long, flowing hair, flawless complexion, and a smile to light up the darkest African midnight. About my height, perhaps a bit shorter (I being 5’ 10”) she possessed a physique the likes of which I never imagined.
Covered in a scandalously tiny hand-made leopard skin bikini, her body was a massive fortress of muscle upon muscle upon yet more muscle. Not an ounce of fat could be seen. I never had any particular interest in body building, men’s or women’s, but I had seen the covers of the magazines in grocery stores. The goddess standing before me would put any of the men to shame and utterly dwarf the women. What did she weigh, I wondered, 300 pounds or more?

Yet I saw in this mass of bulges nothing unsightly or unfeminine. Truth be told, (and how do I put this delicately,) the top of her bikini was, shall we say, working overtime? Even compared to her immense musculature, her breasts would have to be considered huge, being much larger than the largest surgically enhanced stripper on the circuit and with a look so firm I guessed someone could easily crack an egg on them! I finally regained some semblance of composure and attempted to communicate. “I - - I don’t suppose you speak any English, but I hope the tone of my voice will communicate my eternal gratitude.”

Broadening her smile, she lowered a hand and I took it. To my chagrin, she responded in a rich, melodic, upper-crust Bostonian tone, “Actually I do speak English as my native language, and am quite conversant in French, Spanish, German, Urdu, Cantonese Chinese, Mandarin Chinese, Togalog, Swahili, numerous local dialects, and if there’s another with which you’re more comfortable, try me! I’m quite good with… tongues.” And with that, she slowly licked her lips, raised and lowered her eyebrows a couple of times like Groucho Marx, and gave me a wink.

She pulled me up, then bent down to my right ankle, took the vines that held me captive and gently snapped them, setting me free. I had tried in vain to break them for some time before the rhino had spotted me, but couldn’t begin to make headway. They were almost an inch thick and quite green, yet to her they offered no resistance.

“Ooooh, your ankle is terribly swollen! I’d better get you back to where ever it is you need to go. Where is that?” she asked, she now looking up at me, her lovely eyes filled with concern.

“My base camp is at Ogani village. I can only guess how far or in which direction. I’ve been wandering around for 3 days!”

“You are lost” she exclaimed. “That’s about 25 miles west of here. You’re in no condition to walk that far, let me take you”. With that, she rose, put her right arm around my back and under my right arm, swept me up with her left arm under my knees like I was a 4 year-old child, and started toward the forest. Whatever semblance of masculine pride I had was disappearing fast, and I could only tell her, “Madam, I’m obviously in no position to refuse, but I certainly can’t ask you to take on such a task as that!” By the time I had finished my half-hearted protest, we had already arrived at the jungle. She gently stood me up and stepped back a few feet.

She began to explain some very fundamental truths: “First, we’re going to be close to each other for the next 25 miles. VERY close. ‘Madam’ just won’t do. My name is Georgette. Georgette Peterson. Georgette works, Georgie is better. If you’re a slave to formality I suppose Ms. Peterson is acceptable. You may hear the villagers of Ogani call me ‘Onassai Malissa’ which loosely translates into ‘Muscle Babe’. I’m not fond of it, but they mean well and it beats the hell out of ‘MADAM!’

“Second, I repeat, we’ve got 25 miles to cover. You have a demonstrated ability to get lost within a distance of more like 25 feet. I’ve followed your progress for the last day and a half and if you’d been Columbus, you would have discovered Oslo! History would have been quite different and I might not have gotten so fed up with humanity that I had to give up my promising career in linguistics, my professorship at Harvard, and moved here to get away!

“Third, in following you for the last day and a half I’ve become quite fond of you. I saw the little episode where you took the time to remove the thorn from that baby lion’s paw, all the time looking out for its mother knowing full well she’d kill you if she found you out. You have a heart as big as the African planes and you needn’t speak of repaying me. I love this land and anyone who shares that love.”

“Finally, you may not have noticed, but 25 miles carrying you will be little burden to me. The environment here has agreed with my physiology quite nicely over the past 5 years that I’ve been here, thank you. QUITE NICELY INDEED! Your weight is really no burden to me… AT ALL.”

Between the “to me” and the “at all”, Georgette struck a pose that made my knees weak. She tucked her hands behind her head, elbows extended wide, placed her right ankle in front of her left, raised herself up upon her toes, and flexed. I was in a state of utter disbelief. I swear, the biceps were as big as her head. Not her whole upper arm, just the biceps! I had thought nothing could show itself from behind her incredible breasts. I don’t know the body-builder terms for the muscles involved, but her back easily managed the feat. Had they been wings, she could surely fly!

The act of raising her arms had lifted her incredible bosom up above her collarbone, yet it was clear they were supported by chest muscles that knew no bounds. Underneath was displayed an abdominal region that would surely repel a cannon shot from a distance of a few feet, shattering it to pieces; two columns, three rows each, protruding like massive cobblestones of iron.

As for her thighs, I saw massive slabs of steel erupt in glorious formation of symmetry and power that defied the imagination. Each converged upon a knee that quickly gave way to a calf flared out to a size that rivaled that of my entire torso.
My upbringing was such that I had always considered the female to be the weaker sex.

My preconceived notions of masculinity and femininity were being suddenly turned inside out and upside down as Georgie simply stood there, those haunting eyes boring a hole through my soul, her rich, full lips inviting my arrival, the unbelievable size and power reminding me that I dare not offend. The Amazon Queen (yeah, I know this is Africa and the Amazon is in South America, but cut me some slack for heaven’s sake!) then softened her expression, if not her pose, twisted to her left 180o and lowered her elbows, continuing her flex. Although every last muscle seemed to have a life of its own, it was at times difficult to tell where, for instance her shoulder left off and her back began. That back looked like it could be used as an aircraft carrier, capable of landing a Boeing 747, and her calves daring me to just run my fingers between the twin lumps of iron.

And her biceps… oh those biceps! Georgie somehow glanced over her right shoulder and no doubt saw me with my mouth agape, just staring at those biceps. She took her right fist, a fist that could no doubt shatter a boulder with the slightest intent, and rotated it a little to the left, a little to the right…

“Now that we’ve got THAT straight, what’s YOUR name?”

So what if she had been a Harvard professor? So what if she spoke God-knows-how-many languages? I was a PhD from Yale, dammit, and I was EDUCATED! I was a SCIENTIST! I had DIGNITY for Chrissake!!!

“Um… Uh… Well… Uh… David… Uh… I guess.” So much for dignity.

Her expression softened. “Please come here, David” she said turning around. I took one step forward and then collapsed to the ground with a sudden burst of pain. I had completely forgotten about my injury.
“Oh David” she cried, “I forgot your swollen ankle!” Georgie quickly knelt beside me and gently cradled my head between her more than ample bosom. Despite my pain, I was in heaven. I found her left hand supporting the back of my head with my right hand and seemingly by instinct followed it up the wrist, past her ever-so-thick forearm, past the elbow and to the glorious biceps. I couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not, but it suddenly flexed and as it did so, it wedged my hand firmly into her immense left bosom.

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