It's pleasure to finally be able to drive without being trapped in a convoy. We can stop whenever we feel like it, buy some food, take a break, whatever. Although we've filled up our kitchen supplies from supermarkets in DF, so we don't really need to stop for much. It's a 10 hour drive to Oaxaca, so we push on. But that gives me time to adjust a problem that has been nagging me. By that point of the trip I'd been with Melly 4-5 times (she's as greedy as me!), Liss 3 times, Maki and Masnia twice each-- but never with Magga. Got to admit, she was an intimidating target for seduction. She's huge: seven foot three, three hundred-some pounds. Muscular density of a horse, not at all soft and fluffy. One Big Mama. Sí, tengo un poco de miedo, pues. But it's getting embarrassing, considering the happy free-sex scene on this bus ride, to see her every day and not invite her for a cuddle. It feels impolite. Not that I feel obliged to screw her just to be polite: I really like her, and in her own way she is just as beautiful as any of the other girls-- and we're talking about a very high-quality collection of mujeres hermosas. Every time I see her face I fall just as in love with her as I do with Mel or Liss or Masnia. Actually I want her pretty bad, greedy me. But she doesn't seem interested in a tiny little hombre like me, which I can easily understand. I try to flirt with her, but she seems less friendly every day, like she resents my not choosing her even once. Actually, I do try, couple of times, but she isn't responding to my celebrity charm. I even do the guitar trick, my standard Tears in Heaven, but she only leaves the lounge. It's Adam who tells me, "You need to offer some love to Magga, she's upset, thinks that you don't like her." "Hey, I DO like her. But she doesn't seem to like me." "Oh she does. Magga thinks you are a magic man with the guitar, definitely likes that about you. But she doesn't want to hear the same song you used to get Masnia. She has her pride." Oh-KAY, I figure, something other than Tears In Heaven I guess. Flamenco? Malagueña? Phantom of the Opera? Eye of the Tiger? I rack my brain, get no inspiration. Finally I just go to her. Everybody on this bus speaks honestly, no false agendas. "Magga, we need to talk." "Yes. Good." "I want to invite you for a yøramma." "You really want? Don't seem horny." "No, I'm not horny yet, but I could be if we just go back to the big bed, I'll play you something on the guitar, we can just be together, talk, touch. See what happens." "I'm too big for you." "Okay, you ARE big, but I like that about you. I mean, I could say you don't want me because I'm too little." She obviously considers commenting on that, but politely holds her tongue. "Come on," I insist. "We'll have a good time." "All right, I come." She sounds almost reluctant, but we go back to the big bed together, where we have as much privacy as two people can get on this bus. We sit on the bed, I strum my guitar, still uninspired. "Adam says you like my guitar music." "Some," she admits. "Any favorite numbers?" "Numbers? Don't understand numbers. One-two-three?" Magga is not as good at languages as Masnia. English makes her sound dumb sometimes, but Adam had assured me that she is pretty smart and has an impressive vocabulary in Nokhontli. I try to help her out. "Favorite myøsik?" One of the few Nokhon words I know. She smiles for the first time, "Hamm-kro yøramma!" Their hit song, the Nokhon version of I Like To Run. Of course, I know how to play that one. When I start playing Magga bobs her head like squatches do, feeling the beat. When we get to the vocals she starts singing-- the Nokhontli version, naturalmente, which is encouraging because I know what it means. And she CAN sing, we sound good, her voice and my guitar. But then Masnia comes running, excited, wanting to sing too. They both get excited; this is their song, after all. Then they try to dance on the Big Bed in the back of the bus, which starts rocking with the shifting weight of those thump-bumping Bigfoot Babes. Maybe not the best seduction situation, but hey, I'm making Magga happy. Although wondering if the floor will hold. When the song ends Magga and Masnia chatter together in Nokhontli, of which I understand basically nada. Then Masnia looks at me, "You wanna fuck?" Nice little smile offering me a real good time. I have to say "Well, yes, but later. Actually I'm trying to fuck Magga right now. We've never been together yet." Masnia is a smart girl, she gets it right off. "Oh… well hey, I'd better let you get to it then." She says a last something to Magga, they giggle, of course (I guess girls are the same everywhere), then she leaves us alone. Then it gets quiet. I put my guitar in one of the other bunk rooms so as not to risk laying it on the bed with a 300-pound BIgfoot chick I hope to have rolling around. I show Magga a big smile, although it feels kinda goofy. She looks relaxed and content. I hold her hand. She smiles. But nice, not goofy like me. I take off my clothes, she isn't wearing any. I move toward her, she lays back, spreads her legs. We have sex. Slow and easy, very sweet. She's being careful not to scrunch me. I'd been worried that her pussy would be too big for me to feel anything, but the muscles on that girl! She is so tight that it's hard to push it in-- but then it really feels great, Dios mio!. I even get a whimper out of her before I have to come. We've been together 5 times now.
We arrive at Oaxaca late in the day and decide to stay overnight and spend the next day there. It's a rustic town, no big industries around, living off tourism and handcrafts: the famous Oaxaca wedding dresses with all the fancy embroidery, ponchos, serapes, patterned shirts. The Mercado Central is great: traditionally maze-like, so typical it's almost unique, since no modernizing has ruined it yet. In the comida section of the mercado we eat the local chiles rellenos floating in caldo de res and ripe aguacates mashed onto fresh tortillas. Adam and Melly are our guides this time; I've never been in this part of Mexico before. I'm impressed by how much they can remember, considering that they haven't been there since they were 11 years old--half their lives ago. Adam says it has to do with how he remembers words, one of his Orator talents, but Melly has no such excuse; except for being really smart. They take us 6 miles up the hill to Monte Alban, the 2500 year-old Zapoteca ruins. Adam says it was here that he first realized how perfectly he could understand Spanish during a conversation with an old man selling popsicles, who'd described the ancient life in the temple complex as if he'd been there. He is slightly disappointed that the old vendedor isn't there this time. There's an amusing hippie-gringo scene in Oaxaca: lots of young student-types rather than wealthy retirees. Mostly American but also a whole bunch of other nationalities: bus-tour backpackers, a few dying-breed hitchhikers, groups in vans (like us, we just have a bigger van). Day or night there's always a healthy portion of long-haired travelers hanging out in all the cafés and restaurants surrounding the zocalo. Sometimes the Oaxaca State Orchestra plays from the gazebo in the middle of the square and Mexican families show up, but they're still outnumbered by young foreigners wearing the local shirts and ponchos and hats. Oaxaca has lots of places to eat good Mexican cuisine, although the food stalls in the mercado are probably the most popular. Everyone we meet seems to have been here for a while, they all know each other-- and they know who we are. So it's hard for us to hang out there because we always draw a crowd of fans who want to party party party: fun the first time, but not again and again. Tequila is deadly stuff. But it's a cozy town and we're tempted to stay yet another day, but the Full Moon is coming and Adam tells me that we have to get our squatch chicas far out of any town before then, so we head south again in the afternoon. But we do take a break in Tehuantepec on the way by, specifically to hear all the birds on their zocalo go crazy singing to the sundown. So many, so loud, es una cacofonía!. Then we aim for Tuxtla Gutiérrez and shove onward into the night, pushing on past the constant windstorm of La Ventosa and up into the mountains of Chiapas State. I relieve Pokey and take a turn at driving, getting into the swerve and sway of those mountain roads so much that I take an extra shift to get us all the way to San Christóbal before dawn. Yes, I endure a whole six hours without having sex. Luckily, it has become a tradition for someone to service the poor overworked driver at the end of his/her shift. Melly offers and I get into the bunk with her, but am so tired I just fall asleep. Do get her in the morning, though. I think I my sexual needs are beginning to peak, I feel pretty content just loving everyone on a spiritual level without so many orgasms. Okay, getting laid 3 times a day is still a strong priority for me, but everybody is getting/doing twice that. I remind myself that they are all really young, the only ones older than 21 are Magga and myself (nobody has any idea how old Magga is, but she seems about my age)-- so they're a bunch of naturally horny kids with a brand new license to fuck everybody in the band. I assume they will cool down eventually-- although, not quite yet, please. There's also the fact that we've all been locked inside this bus for days and days with nothing else to do. Bunk beds handy, willing lovers handy-- what's the best remedy for boredom?
San Christóbal de las Casas is a pretty little town in the mountains of Chiapas, colonial style with cobblestone streets, most of the locals are Tzotzil or Tzeltal Indians and lots of foreigners from everywhere. Backpacking American and European tourists, like in Oaxaca, were all over the place. We get coffee and pastries for breakfast in a bakery which caters to hippie types, called Casa de Pan, and have an-- no, wait--two amusing encounters there. We come into the café, three squatches, five normies (as Pokey calls us). There are four people already inside; two customers and two behind the counter, all gringos just by chance. We expect a fuss about the Bigfoots and we get it, but not the way we usually do. The two customers, a couple in colorful hippie clothes, turn and gawk, then freak out. Positively, not negatively, smiling like tontos. "Hol-ly shittt! I mean, ho-o-o-ly shiiiittt!" We know that means that they have recognized Squatch & Friends, probably fans. And then they do a double-take of me and freak some more: "And Mig-wow-Miguel de Santo, aw how cool, man!" Me thinking, hey, MY fans! By then Adam is paying attention, and he shouts "Holy shit indeed! Zak and Butterfly! Hi, you guys!" And suddenly there's hugging going on, Zak and Butterfly throwing themselves all over Adam. If you've read AooE you'll know that Adam met Zak and Butterfly while on his way back to civilization along with the first 5 squatches to come out of the woods. So they already know Magga and Masnia too, in fact they know who we all are in advance, have all the albums, seen all the interviews, Biggest Fans, etc. So when the hollering and laughing settles a little we start to order breakfast in that café. The owner of the bakery is a mature but definitely attractive American woman, who still dresses like a hippie with long hair down to her shapely butt. She's standing behind the counter beside a younger and very nubile version of herself. "Hello, Adam Leroy Forest, and welcome to the Casa de Pan," the mature gringa greets him. "I just want to say that I used to be... good friends with your father, Art Forest." Adam does another double-take, considers a second, then snaps his fingers and says, "Kissy Benson, right?" She smiles wide, happy to be famous too, "Oh, Art has mentioned me?" "Sure, and that you lived somewhere in Mexico with your husband Don Benson. And--oh yeah--that you’d started a bakery. I guess this must be it!" More introductions are made all around. "You know, Adam, I lost contact with Art years ago-- well, we both married someone else --but I couldn't avoid hearing about him again when he and his wife raised a Baby Bigfoot to be an American kid, so we have watched you growing up on TV." Standing beside Kissy, her nubile daughter gushes: "And I grew up hearing all about you. And oh my God, I just love you guy's music!" She’s definitely adorable, I can’t help lusting. But too young, I quickly tell myself, struggling to not be interested in yet another beauty. I look over to Masnia's lovelier-than-human face and that helps. Then the sight of Melly in shorts almost makes me immune to any other girl. Lissandra does me the favor of “accidentally” nudging my arm with her boobs and I can stabilize enough to ignore any teen-ager. Whew! Kissy invites us all to a dinner party at the Benson house that evening. Adam has to decline, saying how we have to head out towards Palenque in the afternoon, but that we'd love to take her up on that offer on our way back north next week. It is agreed. He doesn't tell her that we’ve got to get out of town before Magga and Masnia drive the entire population of San Christóbal sex-crazy with their shyøma, which should be starting to flow in a matter of hours. Actually, I’m still wondering if this shyøma stuff is as potent as they’re saying; I’ve never smelled it.
We spend the morning in town, along with Zak and Butterfly, walking together as a crowd of 3 squatches and 8 normies, a small parade turning heads everywhere we go. We are 8 because 17-year old Shiianne wants to show us around town, if only for a little while. It doesn't take long for us to pick up on how bad she wants to be a groupie. Not so much for sex, as for hanging out with a famous band. No, wait, it’s sex too, I know groupies and she wants to be one. Lucky for us all she has it just like I've had it for all the girls in our band: she can't choose which guy to be hot for. I mean, she's looking at me, naturalmente, sexy latino guitar-hero from Chrome Pie. But she keeps looking at Pokey too, lean & lithe Indian brave & now-famous drummer for S&F, even though it is clear that a super-cute Japanese beauty is hanging onto him. And I can see that she actually wants to get close to Adam, but is afraid to. She is lovely, brown-haired, sweet-faced-- one of those innocent girls whose pants I'd have done my best to get into less than a month before. Now, I can't be bothered. Well, I could but I won't. I hope. But, mierda, she is dangerously pretty. Some guys (like me) just can't seem to help making a play, even if they're not really interested in a chick. Nothing drastic: just being friendly, attentive, complimenting her, playing her your most seductive guitar number, etc --yet pretending to keep it very casual and low-key. The most attractive thing a seducer can do is convince his victim that he's not desperate for her. Or maybe I'm full of shit. Don't take advice from me. Because when I think about doing anything that would hurt any of my girl friends in the band and losing them, my heart freezes. I am so NOT out to get this delectable Shiianne. It doesn't take long to see San Christóbal: main street, cathedral, mercado, city hall, hippie restaurants and bars, done. Adam is busy chatting with his hippie friends, Pokey is talking with Maki. I'm staying close to Masnia, trying my best to keep my attention away from pretty Shiianne, who fortunately seems most interested in Melly and Liss. Moving closer, I can't help overhearing. "Melly, I so want to know: are you and Adam...?" "May-bee," Mel answers teasingly, then has a little mercy on the kid. "You must know we never blab about that, and I've explained why so many times. We just let the scandal rags write whatever lies they want, and if it gets too nasty we sue them." "Unless they write rumors we rilly like:" Liss says, "the one about Mel and me in a licentious lesbian relationship is one of my favorites." Shiianne gasps, "ARE you? I mean, you two are GAY?" She is SO amazed. Mel and Liss laugh, then say, "No, definitely not gay, but you see how easy it is to manufacture rumors?" "Oh, uh, yeah, I guess." Shiianne giggles, slightly embarrassed. What a relief, I think, she's an airhead. But then I remember just how many airheads I've nailed just because they're so easy. She'd be easy too... I notice that a boner is growing in my pants. Now I'm getting pretty upset with myself for feeling what I don't want to feel for literally the very first pretty girl who comes along-- I'm here with all these goddesses whom I actually LOVE, I've been having more and better sex/love as Mike than I've ever had as Miguel deSanto, rock god supreme. I suddenly feel like an unfaithful man, an ungrateful shit... By then my boner is getting so big that I can't hide it, really embarrassing. I'm wondering how can I BE so horny? This young girl isn't THAT hot (although apparently she is!). Then I finally notice the smell of sweet fresh meat. I look around: Pokey's got a boner too, trying to hide it. Mel and Liss are sweating and it isn't even warm yet. Zak has his arm around Butterfly and is pawing her boobs in public. I catch Adam's eye, he looks at Pokey and me: it all goes click. "Well, we need to get rolling," Adam says abruptly, "gotta drive to Palenque NOW. So let's go, folks. See you next time Zak, Butterfly." "But I haven't showed you guys the cultural center yet," Shiianne complains. "Next time! Not now! See you and your mom next week, okay?" Adam looks around, then turns towards where our bus is parked, about a kilometer away. He turns to Masnia, who is now the embarrassed one, "There's an open field over there, you wait out in the middle of it while I run for the bus. I'll pick you up fast as I can!" And he's off running. Coño, are those Bigfeet fast! But when I turn back to Masnia she's already half way to the field, also running fast, easily leaping a fence in her way. Magga gives the rest of us the eye, making sure we all know what is going down, nods and splits after Masnia. Everyone in the band has caught on by now, but Shiianne, Zak and Butterfly are totally confused. The acute emergency is over for the moment, so we take a quick moment to shake their hands, clap them on their backs, say "itwasgreat,seeyalater,bye!" But when I give Shiianne my hand to shake, she clamps on it and won't let go. She's sweating, her nostrils are flaring, her eyes are dilating and absolutely not looking innocent any more. "No, don't go!" she says, then pulls in close to me with scary strength, pressing my wrist to her nice bosom. "No wait-- DO go: just take me with you!" I'm sure I look just as savage as she does, I know I'm sweating, and I don't want to let her go and I do want to take her with me. Or better yet, nail her here and now in the street. Mostly I feel really weird. Out of control. Desperate. Melly steps into my line of vision. And I am suddenly just as desperate to fuck her too-- even though I just had, nice and gentle good-morning sex, about an hour before. She lifts a dried clump of funny little blue flowers to my lips, says, "Here, eat this," and nudges them in. Does the same to Shiianne and our new hippie friends, who have forgotten about us and are groping each other in the street. Then she separates me and Shiianne, gracias a Dios. To her Mel says, "I'm going to take you back to the Casa de Pan. There you need to lock the door and avoid being around people for maybe an hour. That's pretty important." "No, I want to stay with him." Pointing at me with her left hand, her right busy at her crotch. Melly says, "Shiianne, you asked about my sex-life. Okay, here's some secret information for you and you only, okay?" The girl's eyes light up, she nods eagerly. Melly nods back, says, "Mike and I fuck a lot. So he's taken. Got that?" Shiianne's eyes go sad, then she nods reluctantly. "Just promise not to tell anyone, okay?" The girl nods again, but now glad to be in on the secret life of Squatch & Friends. And hey, Chrome Pie secrets too! We are all squared away by the time Adam drives up with the bus. Shiianne has gone back to her mother, the hippies have gone to their hotel room and are probably having a lot of fun-- although Melly tells me when shyøma wears off it's anaphrodisiac, so that you end up being all out of horniness for a while. We've all eaten the antidote, those little blue flowers, so that we aren't so affected by the smell, which makes you horny, but also makes you feel terribly sick if you're not used to it. Which I was not. So Masnia and Magga get back on the bus, and we quickly drive out of town with all windows rolled up, so as not to cause a whole lot of traffic accidents in our wake. Although I'm having accidents in my pants.
Once Massnia is inside the bus the smell becomes strong enough to notice. At this time she’s the only one flowing, because she's so much younger than Magga, they tell me. It's not a bad smell, sort of like deep inside a whore-house. I like it. But without the little blue flowers I would have been dry-heaving, they also tell me. Actually, I don't feel any hornier than normal-- in fact, less. Nobody else seems to be interested in sex either, which is pretty unusual with this crowd. But as we travel up a highway that becomes a gravel road, the smell keeps getting stronger. Then I feel horny: more and more, very, very. I invite Melly to make love again, but she says: "Sorry, Mike, but the Nokhon tradition is to refrain from shyøma-sex for the days before the kha-rat, as the shyøma builds up power. They do this to make magic and induce visions. Liss and I may not be squatches but we are studying squatch magic with Magga. There's a lot of power in sexual desire, we want to tap it." "I'd rather tap you." "I know, but sorry. It'll probably be hard on you, since you don't do magic, but the kha-rat will be in two days and then we'll all be having more sex than we know what to do with." "Liss is going celibate too?" "Yes, poor baby. And Masnia and Magga." "What about Maki?" I had to ask. "Well, she and Pokey aren't studying magic yet, although they've been considering it. But they usually take advantage of the horniness when the shyøma hits and screw non-stop. Listen: …yep, they're at it now. But you can ask them to pity you and loan you her cute little Japanese twat once in a while." "Maybe I should have brought Shiianne along after all," I say, as a joke. Melly even laughs, though we both know it wouldn't have been funny. The smell gets a lot stronger when Magga's shyøma kicks in. I have to eat more flowers. They keep me from getting sick or going crazy but I really do get ridiculously aroused. I volunteer for more shifts driving the bus just to keep from constantly beating off. All the girls-- now even Maki, it seems-- are doing some kind of yoga together in the Big Bed, chanting in Nokhontli. So now Pokey is looking hollow-eyed and desperate too. At least we both get a good laugh out of seeing each other like that. Adam looks calm and unruffled, I ask how he's dealing with the shyøma. Says he's doing magic, like a good Nokhon should, a really irritating fucking guru. But he does have some advice: "Don't masturbate, it wastes magic. Play your guitar, channel the desire, you'll learn a lot." So I plug my Stratocaster into my mini-amp, put on my headphones, so as not to disturb everyone on the bus, and let it wail. Sounded like shit. Sexual frustration becomes musical frustration. But I keep at it-- mostly to avoid beating off, not because I had any discipline (plus I'd already worn myself pretty raw). Didn't learn nada. Outside the bus, the Lacandon jungle begins surrounding us. We drive farther in, on past Palenque's town and Mayan ruins: we can't stop where there are people. Deeper into the tropical rain forest. Dirt roads off the main way. Until at last we find a perfect place to park the bus. It’s isolated, a dead-end road in purest jungle, gigantic trees with elephantine leaves, lianas and vines dangling down, incredible flowers all around. We are beside a series of small waterfalls, it's beautiful! There is even a hole through the jungle top where we can see a lot of sky, and maybe the Full Moon when it shows up next evening. Best of all, we can also finally get out of the bus for a while! All the girls go off into the jungle by themselves “to do magic”, taking their shyøma with them, which is a relief. Pokey and I can finally relax. We both realize that we never want sex again, it's such a waste of time. Adam is more realistic: "The girls are sequestering themselves to practice female ways, they'll be back for our own little kha-rat." "I'm not sure what this kha-rat thing really is," I mention, "I mean, we get EVEN hornier and everybody screws EVEN more? Sounds almost unnecessary." "There's more to it," Adam insists, "although we may be too small a group to get the big effects. But you might be surprised anyway, Magga's working on something. We'll see what happens." I feel wasted but restless, missing the emotional/erotic storm that has been raging inside for more or less the whole trip. Empty, that's what I feel. I both like and dislike it. Look around at the wildest jungle I've ever seen, wondering what's out there. Danger, maybe. Headhunters? No, that's another jungle, but Mexico does have dangerous people. Am reminded of the carteleros. Naw, they hang around cities, this is raw nature. Without the squatch girls around the effects of shyøma have dwindled away completely and we can concentrate on something other than how horny we were. We decide it would be a good time to practice music. Acoustic, feeling it would be disrespectful to disturb an innocent jungle with nasty electric hard rock noise. Besides my electrics (Fender Strat and Gibson LP) I always have my Guiterrez Spanish guitar with me, if only for flamenco. Adam has an old oversize hand-made Mexican guitar to play instead of his loud and jangly acoustic-electric 12-string. Pokey has a set of tom-toms he plays with his hands instead of drumsticks. We go organic. We experiment with some ideas, always hoping to create some new brilliantly original song, something about "On The Road In Mexico", but we don't have much more than that and go around in circles, not yet inspired enough to actually write a song. Instead we play us warm with standards, rock & blues. Then I teach them some rancheros that we could aim at Mexican audiences should we bump into a local fiesta or beach party. Adam and Pokey already know a few, but I hit them with Alla en el Rancho Grande and Otro Cigarro y Otra Cerveza, which Adam really hams up with his big vocals. Hijole, wish I could sing like him! Though it probably takes Bigfoot lungs. Adam asks if I know Malaguña Salerosa, and of course I do. It's a great song for a great voice and has been done in hundreds of variations. So the tree of us work out our own version, a blend of salsa and rock & roll and decide it sounds good enough to include in our performance repertoire. A lot of powerful singers have tackled that song but NEVER have I heard a more exciting vocalization than Adam's. He tells us how he had sung that song out loud in the Nokhon city of Aket just after his oration guru had punched him in the gut to magically open up his voice, and the whole city had gone quiet to listen. I believe him; his voice is making the jungle tingle. Pokey and I are feeling pretty good about our music, but Adam seems distracted, like he's hearing some other music in his head. Just about every time we play he tries to come up with some new song but hasn't had anything go click for a while. So now he's strumming an interesting latin beat and still muttering, "on the road in Mexico..." "You got something there?" I ask. "I think so. Almost. Something about the gringo scene in Oaxaca, maybe a little Spanish mixed in... zocalo, mercado, sombreros, tacos..." "Don't forget corazon," I instruct him, "can’t have a Mexican song without that." But no new song arrives just yet, so we play some other stuff. I figure the song will eventually come and be good, just because he's written so many other good songs already, although I know he's been fretting about it. Having never written a song myself-- although I’ve always wished I could --I don't have much advice to offer him. I mean, where do the good songs come from anyway? Anyway, we're having fun, just the guys. But then the girls come back out of the jungle, with their shyøma-smell leading the way and we defenseless males get caught up in their super-pussy-power all over again. I can't even play guitar any more, just keep mindlessly caressing it like a woman's body. Then I hear the girls say something about how we are all going on a major trek through the jungle that night, to meet some other squatches for a kha-rat under the Full Moon. Magga says that it was all set up. It finally occurs to me to ask: "Hey, do we really want to do that?"
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