Alright.

Alright, alright, alright, just . . . ease up, old chap.

Alright.

Now. How had I precisely gotten myself into this predicament?

Well, let's see. I am - or rather, I was - on an expedition to find gorilla nests with Mum and Mr. Clayton.

I got held up by an at first adorable and then a rather insolent baby baboon. A baby baboon who had no respect for sketchwork, and had relatives. Relatives that, while I was in the right, mind you, were very adverse to my company, since I had made the little scamp cry, but really, how was that my fault?

Naturally I ran like the proverbial dickens, wherever that phrase really came from - a run which is awfully difficult, mind you, given the typical untouched jungle terrain, and add the fact that I only had this blasted cane instead of a machete. Why couldn't I have had a machete? Or a gun? 'Ammunition shortage' my foot, Mr. Clayton! I reached the top of a cliff, of course I'd reached a cliff, and found myself with yet another problem. So, given the choice between broken bones or having my flesh torn from said bones by furious, insane primates? I chose broken bones.

This was where I had inexplicably discovered the capability of flight. Of course, that was impossible, and it felt much too real to be some hallucination brought on by a near-death experience. So I looked up to discover this wild thing holding me by my belt, it was probably swinging on a vine, come to think of it. And that's right about where everything went all to hell, and then somewhere closer to purgatory.

We were still pursued by furious, insane baboons, and the chase was rather hazy, but it involved a lot of swinging, falling, yelling - admittedly on my part - and screeching - not on my part, thank you - and mostly I remember holding on to this (rescuer?) with not much recognition to my surroundings beyond the passing, significant sensation of hair and human skin.

And so. Many. Baboons. I do not think the creatures will suffer endangerment any time soon.

Shortly after the chase abated, I discovered my confirmed rescuer was some equally insane beast, a wild woman, who bloody talked to monkeys.

And she was naked.

Well, half naked, really. But she was definitely lacking in the clothing department.

I had the opportunity to appreciate this state of undress more after things cooled down with the rain, and we, well, essentially met properly.

And this meeting was . . . different, to say the least...

First off and foremost, this young woman was half-naked. As in, only a loincloth around the . . . hips. And to date she has been my most intimate interaction with the female of the species. Not that I haven't had my share of female company. Oh, not like that. It's just, well, a scientific mind certainly intrigues the fairer sex at first. But while being able to engage in and enjoy intelligent conversation, the women of society do tend to go for men with a more . . . brazen physique and outlook on life. Not someone who prefers books and biology in the medical and scientific senses. I suppose my type was not in fashion. Certainly this woman before me wasn't, either. But I repeat, this is my most intimate encounter with a female, and...

And...

Well, goodness, when I compare this woman's figure to the medical drawings, those books did not do the real thing justice . . .

So, here I am, up in a tree, in the rain, with a half-naked woman, who evidently has no sense of personal space or shame.

Her skin is dark, a darkness I'd compare to a native of India, and her facial features, though sharp, looked English around the bone structure. Her hair was dark as well, a brown that was almost black, thick and matted in dreads, and long enough to cover her, er, her chest area. Her body was . . . lean. Strong.

And she was very much half-naked, for lack of a more subtle or decent term.

Her eyes were the deepest green I'd seen, and her expression strange.

"Uh, y-yes, well, thank you for rescuing me, madam, but, uh, what? No. N-no, no, stay. Stay. St-stay back - er, that is my foot - aaand those are my toes...!"

Somehow I'd lost a shoe, and she was, well, inspecting my foot of all things - that was when I discovered I was ticklish.

It was when she'd started moving her hand up my trouser leg that I kicked her, out of regrettable reflex. I was quick to apologize, but my offense oddly didn't seem to deter her.

"S-sorry, sorry! Uh, no, no, st-stay away like a good wild girl, and, uh...

"No, really, please, stay, my mum really wouldn't like this sort of thing with strange girls and, er...

"Oh, that is enough, madam!"

She had started touching my face, and I made to shove her away, but she'd grabbed my wrist instead, and was staring at a rip in the glove.

I seemed only able to watch as she took off the glove, and stared at my hand. The way she was looking at it were as if . . . well, as if . . .

You'd think she'd never seen a hand before.

. . .

Had she never seen a hand before?

She raised her own hand, a hand strangely crooked like one of a gorilla, and spread her hand against mine, palm to palm, straightening her fingers until the tips almost met with mine. The contrast of our skin was clear, but she seemed to look on the meeting with some sort of dawning reverence, and turned that open expression of reverence right to me, her eyes wider and looking hopeful. I swallowed.

Without warning, she slowly leaned forward, very close, and I found myself backing against the tree.

"Uh..."

I felt her head rest against my chest, and I looked down, rather beside myself, probably gaping like the fool I was.

"Er..."

After a moment she backed off and I found her hands taking the sides of my face.

"Oh, dear."

She was pulling my face towards her.

"Oh-h-h, dear."

Against her own . . . chest.

". . . Urk."

I push away quickly, before I could really feel anything, and slightly regretting doing so, "Uhm, y-yes, that's-that's, ha... Nice heartbeat. V-very nice."

I'm straightening my collar, and the pin in it, thankfully hadn't lost that, when I hear her clear her throat.

"Very nice..."

"Oh, thank you, I got it from the University after gradu—uh!" It registers. "Did you speak?!" I ask as I turn to her, blinking as she looks at me.

I laugh a bit, feeling foolish.

"And all this time I thought you were some sort of wild, uh, quiet-person-type-thing, huh!"

I turn to her properly, "Why didn't you tell me you could speak? Because I honestly would've liked to kn—hm!"

Fingertips against my mouth quickly shut me up and briefly but quickly remind me of my company's state of undress.

She smells like broken leaves and rich earth.

I focus on her face, but she backs up and places hands near her . . . chest, grunting a bit before grinning.

"Tuh-Tarzan..."

She gestures again.

"Ta-a-r-zan."

Her voice is a bit lower than other women I've heard, a bit rough, but not unpleasant.

She leans into me with a jerk, smiling, giving a positive grunt. Her teeth are white. And straight. How on earth is that possible?

I stare. "Tarzan..." I carefully repeat.

She looks happy, does a funny little hop dance on the branch, and then leans in again, sounding much like a monkey. She grunts at me.

I blink, understanding. "Oh, I see..." She wanted my name.

She grins, brightening. "Oh-I-see!"

She gestures to herself, "Tarzan," then puts her hands on my shoulders, smiling, "Oh-I-see!"

Ah, miscommunication. But - oh, my, this was fascinating!

I back up, sitting cross-legged as well as I can on this branch.

"No, no, no," I clear my throat, and gesture to myself, attempting to remedy this, "I'm James." and then I gesture to her.

She mimics my pose - thank goodness for that loincloth - and tries to mimic my voice. I couldn't possibly sound that nasal.

"No, no, no," she repeats, watching me, "I'm James." She copied me right down to clearing the throat and gestures.

I fight back a laugh. No, no, try this again.

"No, no," I try again, gesturing to myself once more, "James." I touch her shoulder, keeping an eye on her face, her eyes, deep green eyes, "Tarzan."

Myself.

"James."

She touches me over where my hand touches my chest, looking into my own eyes, "James..."

I smile, pleased that this was established.

"Exactly..."

We both look up when we hear the gunshot. That hunter's signal.

"Clayton!" I said, cheering up at the familiar sound. Well, an unpleasant sound in concept to be sure, but still welcome. It didn't sound too far away.

The woman - Tarzan, strange name - nimbly hops up, hanging off the branch by a vine, looking towards the sound when the gun barks out again.

"Clayton!" she repeats.

I look down at her, the rain's fading away, the sun's coming out, and here she is this . . . this enigma, looking like the embodiment of the primeval human, completely at ease in the realm of all things wild and savage. "Extraordinary..." I comment, and then shake myself.

"Uh, yes," I manage, getting her attention, "Could you, could you please take me back to my camp?"

I point to myself, then in the direction of the gunshot, hoping she understood.

She grins up at me, then manages to make a sound like a gunshot. Incredible...

"Yes, to Clayton, fantastic!" I agree.

She clambers up to me and then takes me up under the arms, urging me to the edge. I swallow, realizing her intent.

"Uh..."

I'm already hanging on around her shoulders.

"Can...?!"

Too late, we're off, swinging from mere tree growths and flying through the air, and I'm hanging on for dear life once more.

"Can't we WAAAALK?!"

"Can't we WAAAALK!" she whoops happily.

Author's Note: Concerning the naming of Tarzan, I decided to keep the original. Evidently the meaning is 'white skin', which would've been fitting regardless of gender. That aside, one of the female gorillas was named 'Terk'. You would not believe how long I had thought that Terk was male.

That is my reasoning. Your reviews are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!