One

The monthly market, in the centre of the rain forest, is a profusion of ochre-coloured skin. Half-naked indigenous females in tiny colourful skirts and overly tight tops laugh in lurid ways; throaty and mischievous.

Sweat stained and bosomy, they are thrilled by bartering and selling. Everything must go.

Calling out to the local men, they whistle and click their tongues, signalling their intent with crude hand gestures. Scared boys carrying baskets of fruit hurry past groups of pubescent girls.

For Dr Jennifer Rock, an ambitious Professor of anthropology at Oxford, this is the complete opposite of the male-dominated world she has left behind in England.

Like everyone else amongst her study group, now six hundred miles away in Campo Ana, Doctor Rock had read about the mythical Amazonian woman. A feared female warrior; six foot tall and large-breasted, with an appetite for fighting. She set out alone to find if they existed. What she actually found in this lost South American rainforest was beautifully different. Short, strong-limbed women with an appetite for power and sex.

As she later told guests at her book signings; ‘The tribal women of the Selva are like the Arabic women of the sixth century. Honoured as wealthy traders, powerful jurists, and democratic leaders.’ What she didn’t tell her audiences, is how she found their earthy sexual freedom, exciting, and highly addictive.

Two

Doctor Rock stands naked at her apartment window and stares through her own reflection. Her mind races past the empty office blocks and brightly coloured neon, towards the raked monochrome of a sinking moon.

Behind her, men and women gather their clothes, pick up the cash and head for the front door. One of the women runs her finger over the residue of white powder on the glass table and rubs it across her gums.

Without turning towards them, Doctor Rock licks her swollen lips and sighs deeply. The salty taste of semen and sweat doesn't surprise her. Kaleidoscopic pictures play out in her brain.

Like a badly performed play, she sees herself licking, sucking, and fucking the hired actors, in some ridiculous hope of recapturing the magical moments that continually haunt her mind. When the grotesque drama closes and the curtain falls, there is no encore and no applause. Just the stale taste of disappointment.

Stretching the fabric of her cocaine-fuelled mind, she pictures herself on the moonlit lake.

Floating on her back, vines and lilies gently support her limbs and suspend her in the warm shallow water. Powerful orgasms consume her naked body, like irritating thorns that scratch at her breasts and travel through her core. Her eyes grip the tyrant moon; hypnotised by its demanding light.

Fingers and lips caress and explore. Unknown sounds bubble around her simmering sex. An effervescent shower of erotic sparkles. Something hot and hard slides between her pursed lips. Organic, musky and eager. Below the water, a tongue slides deep inside her folds and steals her nectar.

The already huge moon expands further until it blocks out the black sky. Another breathless orgasm courses through her body, causing ripples to form across the lake that swell and attract. Flamboyant parrots flash from the overhanging trees and join the shoreline spectators in a raucous salute.

The hardness in her mouth pushes deeper. It twitches in full appreciation and floods her throat with a milky tribute. Sighs and moans dance around her body; goose bumping her skin. A silken finger slides into her other place, one she had kept untouched. Before today it was dirty, but now she wants it all.

Open thighs slide across her chest, breasts rub against wet slits. Every joyful part of her is pleasured by a different lover.

Transported on the raft of human flesh, she is carried above the stirring water. Paraded like a sacrifice to the gods. The audience acclaims their new potent queen. An excited queue snakes along the shoreline, ready to pay fertile respect.

Earth's bright satellite now covers them in silvery shards of light. Shadowy shapes dance to the beat of their queens’ fervid moans. Every sweat-covered body is smothered by another. Two’s, threes, fours and more pay homage to their monarch.

Her orgasms now come in quick succession, until a ceaseless mask of muscle clenching spasms frees her from her outer body. She looks down upon herself illuminated by unclouded light. A sexual deity ordained and worshipped; ready to rule until the next harvest moon. At last, she has the recognition she always craved.

Three

A watery morning sun rises above the mist-glazed forest as Doctor Rock pulls her exhausted body from the bed of leaves. Shapes run chaotically in front of her half-open eyes. Shrieks and shouts invade her subconscious. Gunshots mix with blood-filled screams.

A hand grabs her arm and drags her to her feet. Someone wraps a blanket around her naked body. “Quick Doc, stand up. We need to go.”

Ten months later and the chat shows and book signings merge into one disgusting media slime. One city becomes like any other.

The story of her rescue from the jungle rapists’ spreads like wildfire until they all want to meet her. Everyone wants a selfie with the glamourous Doc Rock as she is known around the world.

Her husband left her months ago, and now the drugs don’t work.

The click of the closing door breaks her hallucinations. She turns away from her apartment window and with bloodshot eyes surveys the lonely mess of empty glasses, discarded clothes, and the flickering porn movie.

Wrapping her Valentino jacket around her naked body she takes the escalator underground.

In their abstract world, commuters don’t ask questions. That strangely familiar woman standing at the end of the platform is no concern of theirs.

Doctor Rock closes her eyes: female faces laugh at her betrayal as the approaching moonlight crashes through the dark. Stepping off the platform edge she greets the freedom that awaits her at Lago del la Luna.