Unnatural Instinct: Amazon

3.

'Strip him!'

My eyes widen. My heart is pounding in my throat as the fat woman sneers at me. I look at you, begging you with my eyes to reconsider, but I know it's futile.

Dropping your spear, you release my wrist to grab the collar of my shirt. I try to pull away but you yank me back with your phenomenal strength. I know I shouldn't resist; no matter what I do, you will overpower me, outrun me, outfight me. I should let you do what you need to do. But I just can't. I'm terrified, not to mention humiliated.

All pretence is gone as I thrash in your grip, shouting in your language to let me go! Vaguely, I see the old women looking at each other.

'So you can talk!' you snap.

'Let go!'

I'm not the kind to get violent. In all my life I've never been in a fight. I kind of regret that now. My punches are awkward; you dodge my kicks. I manage to slam my fist in your gut but all it does is make you angry. With a snarl, you backhand me across the face, knocking me flat onto the ground.

All I can do is look up at you, stunned, as my head pounds. I can feel the blood rushing to my eye. The sheer strength of your hit has taken me by surprise. It's knocked the breath out of me. Not to mention it's broken my glasses. It's popped out the left lens and cracked the other.

'You will do as you're told, man,' you snarl as you stand over me.

You crouch beside me, and I do not stop you as you fist your hands in my shirt and rip it open, popping off all the buttons down the front. You pause, disturbed by what you see. I can hear women sniggering. And I know it's because of my hairy chest. It's usual practice for the men to remove their hair.

'On your feet,' you say with a grimace of disgust.

I don't move.

'On your feet or I'll hit you again.'

I struggle to sit up, pressing a hand to the side of my face with a wince. You stand away as I get to my feet. Dizzy, I stagger.

'Take off your pants,' you say. 'You should not be wearing the clothes of a woman anyway.' You've retrieved your spear. Standing tall, you brace the butt of it against the ground. Clearly a warning, though I hardly need it. Your eyes are narrowed and your lips are pulled back into a scowl.

Again, I don't move, panting, flicking my eyes between you, the old women and the rest of the camp, which has grown silent as they watch my humiliation.

'Now!' you snarl, tightening your fist around your spear.

With trembling fingers, I unbutton my pants and drop them. I shrug off what remains of my shirt. And there I stand, struggling not to cover my groin with my hands.

'All of it,' you snarl again, thudding the butt of your spear against the ground as you point at my underwear.

I try to swallow but my mouth is dry. 'I can't hide anything in there.'

'Off with it!'

When I don't move, you take a threatening step towards me. I yank them down. Then I slide off my shoes and kick my clothes away. I can no longer fight the urge to cover myself. I lower my eyes to the ground as heat fills my cheeks.

I can hear laughter. All around the camp, men and women are murmuring. A group of men to my left are shaking their heads and sniggering to each other.

'He's so hairy!' a little boy yells to his father. The father shushes him.

The fat woman leans over her lap, and I don't like the way she's looking at me. Like she wants to eat me. 'We'll ask you again, man, what tribe are you from?'

I try to think how to answer. I know so many tribes—I study them everyday—but none that could explain my foreign looks and strange clothes. So all I can do is shake my head.

'Does it matter?' the blind woman with the milky eyes asks. 'He's ours now. Wherever he's come from, he's obviously run away. Else, they've abandoned him.'

'They'd be fools to do so,' speaks the woman with the sagging breasts. She drags her eyes up my body appreciatively. It makes me feel so filthy my face burns hotter. 'He's lovely, this one. Or at least he will be once he's cleaned up.'

The fat woman nods appreciatively. 'He should make a satisfactory partner. He's still young and with balls like those, he could provide many children.'

They all nod in agreement.

'Send him to the men's hut. The others can take care of him,' the blind woman orders. 'In the coming days we'll see if he's worth our time.'

Then they all turn to each other, murmuring quietly as they study my GPS Locater. It makes my heart sink. There's no way I'll be able to get back to the ship without it.

'Come along,' you say, gesturing me to follow you. 'We'll get you some clothes, food and water.'

All I can do is follow along meekly in your wake, still clutching my groin. I remove my broken glasses and throw them aside. I can still see, just not as well as I should. I try to ignore how everyone is watching me, but it's impossible. I can feel their eyes sliding over me. It sends my skin prickling.

The men's hut is near the centre of the camp. I know it well. It's where all the single men dwell. Several men are siting on logs outside the entrance, smirking at our approach. One is brushing another's hair. Another is smearing some kind of primitive lipstick upon his lips, turning them glossy.

I turn to you. 'I don't want to go in there.'

You raise your eyebrows. 'There's nowhere else for you.'

I could go with you, leaps to my lips but I swallow it down before I can speak it. It might prove to be a much worse idea.

A pretty man with flowing brown hair stands to meet us. He's taller than me but not by much. He's wearing numerous bangles made of wood and bone along his wrists. Several ornate necklaces click against each other as he moves. Henna darkens his eyes. The juice of crushed berries reddens his lips and highlights his cheekbones.

He looks up at you with more than a friendly smile, his eyes bright. He thrusts his hips out so it's impossible not to notice the bulge beneath his skirt. It's the usual flirtatious display, much like how women back on Earth use their figures to get male attention. It's clear to see he desires you. You smile back but without the same enthusiasm.

'I trust you will take care of him,' you say.

'Of course. We'll treat him like a brother. He is our brother!' Two men seated behind him whisper to each other behind their hands.

'Clean him up. Feed him. Clothe him. Make him useful.'

'Of course, Sister.' He bobs his head, still grinning brightly, still thrusting out his hips.

You nod your head, then look at me. Your forehead furrows but otherwise you're expressionless. I can do nothing as you turn and leave me behind.