A little bit of thunder

When the Peruvian python got my forefinger in its mouth, it made a ginchy feeling in my belly. It held me only for an instant, but the suction was incurably strong. There I was, outside the tent in my PJ's trying to have a pee. I leaned against a skinny, smooth-barked tree, a kerosene lamp at my feet. I watched ants bigger than any we have in the States scurrying in a single row toward the damp mossy ground. I pissed all over them. They could've been endangered for all I knew.

The python sniffed my hand, its forked tongue darting back and forth like a pilot flame. The damn thing was camouflaged. I thought a butterfly was tickling me, and I thought I could snatch it for the professor. A new species would get them off my back, maybe then they'd give me back the bug spray. I caught a glint. I pointed it out to myself. The snake accepted my challenge.

It held me only for an instant. I felt its row of stubbly teeth, which surprised me. The pressure was astounding. But largely it felt warm and damp, tight and soft. The ginchy feeling in my stomach, I know, rose from the snake's sensual mouth. That's why I yanked away. My pants were down. Yelling I smashed the kerosene lamp on its head. I hoped it would roast the damn thing. I hoped it would burn the whole rainforest down.

The ground was too damp to catch. It retreated, alive but scorched. I hoped the liquid fire got in its mouth. That's why I yanked away, because part of me desired to wiggle all the way in.