Katyusha Babies

Nawruz was the Kurdish New Year celebration. Legend spoke off an evil king called Zohak ruling the Kurds many years ago. On the first day of spring, Kawe, the blacksmith, revolted against the king. He sprinted past the guards. With this powerful blacksmith hands, he grabbed the king by the neck and hammered the king's head with the soot blackened hammer. Ever since, the Kurds celebrated the day with dancing and bonfires.

Delal sharply pulled on the handkerchief to Talti and hissed to stop yanking her. Her lips and eyes narrowed into dark slits. Talti had been utterly lost in the dance and his strength. His face expanded into a questioning helpless expression with searching eyes.

After the dance, their clothes had dark sweat marks. Pearls of sweat glistened on their faces. Their throats felt dry and slightly frustrated for being on the mountain top instead of their comfortable homes.

BACKFLASH: PEKHAT AT PEACE RALLY

"Felek, come down. We have to leave!"

It was the last big peace rally before the West had fallen, years ago. A handheld sign lied on the kitchen table "The world is big enough for all. Let the West live in peace!" Pekhat was dressed in trim pants and a sky blue shirt. His hair was neatly dressed in hair product. He had his shoes on and a backpack with water and snacks on his back.

Felek, his eighteen year old daughter, stepped down the stairs. The first thing he noticed were her shiny shaved shins. The next thing he noticed was the overly bagged bright orange knee long pant that she wore. The oversized wife beater t-shirt with a deep cut in front that reached beneath her boobs took his breath away. The inside edge of her well sized boobs was exposed. The shape of her boobs showed through the hanging fabric. The American, British, and French flags painted on her cheeks and forehead was beyond anything he had believed of his daughter. Here hair was an intentionally wild mess.

"There is a boy. For weeks, you don't care about the war and suffering. And, today you dress as sexy as I have ever seen you."

"Dad, isn't this what you are fighting for?"

"Not exactly. It's more of a right to choose and tolerance that I advocate than say this. I don't even know what to say."

"Well, daddy, you won. You protected the right to choose and I chose."

"Well, this may be the last stand. So, I will let you get away with it. We are late."

With the first step outside, they could feel the euphoric tension in the street. People walked with swift and focused steps toward the center of the city. Talking sounds of people were sharp, abrupt, and full of anticipation. Signs stuck out of backpacks. Mixed in between were people dressed as McDonald clown, Marilyn Monroe, and Donald Duck. Chants of "You are dumb Americans, but we love you anyway" erupted among friends gushing with feverish excitement.

Felek stepped with a little too much energy for Pekhat's liking. She jumped up and skipped a step. This definitely drew attention. The baggy clothes on her body flew into its own direction during her jumps. Her fleshy back thighs exposed for a moment. Her delicate belly skin flashed the world for a moment. God knows, if Pekhat were in front of her, he may even she her nipples flashing for a moment.

The reason for her wild behavior soon showed up. He called himself Marcus, yet had a deeply Kurdish face. His hair was bleached blond. He wore a headband. He did not wear any t-shirt or shirt. His skinny olive body with meager hints of muscles was evident to all. His bottom was dressed in tight needle figure jeans.

Marcus instantly locked lips with Felek. His hand grabbed her butt. Pekhat slapped him on the hand: "Be respectful." Marcus looked boisterously into Pekhat's eyes. After a second, he let go off the challenge and satisfied himself with walking on the opposite side of Pekhat.

The central square of the city was crowded with more people than Pekhat had imagined in the city. Everyone was calling out for peace. A stage was at the center of the square. Loud speakers and metal barriers were erected, yet the stage was flooded with the crowd. Chanting and arm waving erupted in waves. Felek's feminine voice dissolved into the crowd voice. She let herself go without reserve. It was her first time.

The loud speaker screamed: "We are winning. The whole world is coming together to ask for peace. The military must stop fighting. Chant louder. Make them hear it. You can achieve peace today."

A woman with red dress and blue sign 'mothers for peace' stood with her heavy weight like a rock in the swaying crowd. A little boy with a toy car in his hand was on the shoulders of a man. The boy looked around bug eyed and amazed. A young woman screamed with her face distorted into hysteria. Her whole body contracted and shivered with each yell – unintelligible from a hoarse mouth. An old couple hugged each other and enjoyed the ceremony with silent joy.

Pekhat pulled Felek and Marcus with his both hands through the crowd. He wanted his daughter to get the full experience of a rally. Deeper and deeper, he pulled them into the crowd. And, he pulled them up the wooden stairs to the top of the platform. He knew three of the organizers. They let them pass. Everyone who knew everyone could get on the platform.

Then, he sat down with them at the side. The stuck their legs in between the metal fence. They let their feet dangle off the platform. For a moment, they looked in complete aw at the crowd beneath them. They felt like kings, rules, deities. By some counts, ten thousand people were at the square alone. Just immense stretches of heads, signs, and colorful shoulders.

"Kids, let's pitch up the crowd. Yell with me 'Free America.'"

They started yelling 'free America.' The people sitting next to them on stage joined them. The crowd beneath could hear their chant faintly over the roaring crowd. More they could make out the fervor in their mouths and the pumping fists. They joined. "Free America began to spread.

When Felek pulled down the left side of her wife beater top to expose one beast, the crowd roared. The breast was large, plumb. It sagged a bit. The volume had stretched the areola far. Her embarrassed father reached his hand sideways to cover her breast. He could feel the soft youthful skin. It felt like a prettier version of his wife. He could feel the soft tissue under his hand.

The chanting had a fascinating aspect. Sometimes, she could hear her voice reverberating in another person's voice. Sometimes, the voice of the crowd carried her. Sometimes, she could elicit the crowd to chant more feverishly by putting more effort in. Every time that she bared her boobs, the crowd went feverish. Her skin prickled at the intense emotional response of the crowd. She lost herself in the goal of reaching the end of the square with the arm waving that she kicked off.

By noon, the police brigade moved into the square. At first, it seemed unreal like watching a harvester mow down a ripe field. When the water truck with the water gun moved closer, the panic in the crowd was tacit even up on the stage. Half the square ran away from the hulking water riot trucks. The trucks turned in circles. Wherever they turned, people were running.

A few daredevils with black face masks started running in front of the trucks directly into the high powered water blast. The drivers were intimidated by their weapon no longer working. The drivers now feared that the crowd my run over them. So, they aimed their water guns at protesters that were still running.

Felek jumped up and ran down the stage. Her father swiftly reached for her and grabbed empty air. Twenty year olds had started to treat the water trucks like water park play. They enjoyed the water. They doused their heads in the refreshing water. Girls flicked their heads to shake the water out of their hair in a wild spiral. Guys twiddled their butts in front of the truck to dare them to hit them on the bum.

Felek's shirt was immediately soaked. Her breasts clearly shimmered through the wet fabric. They were large and bulging. She ran after another turning truck. The high powered water gun hit her in the side. She fell over into the mud and her t-shirt was pulled over her head. She kept running out of the aim of the truck without worrying about the lost t-shirt.

In the safety of the crowd again, she calmed down and realized that nothing had happened to her. The laughter and screeching of fellow girls fired her up to run back into the action zone. She wanted to have the mud hosed of the side of her body. She ran after the water beam with a guy and a girl chasing beside her. The cold and hefty water projectile hit her in the side. It took her breath away in an exhilarating way, as exhilarating as running around topless and wet.

Her father finally caught a glimpse of her again, when she was standing in front of a water truck with her arms stretched out over head in a V. her legs were wide in a V. The water gun pushed hard into one of her boobs. The soft fabric was dented in deeply. Her boob wiggled under the water pressure. She screamed out in ecstasy and joy to release the rushing sensation in her body.

A young guy next to her ran and jumped chest down to slide through the mud. More twenty year olds ran and skidded belly down through the mud. A party broke out. Naked limbs covered in dark brown mud. Faces painted eerily black by mud. Hair clumped together from mud. Under the anonymity of mud, girls and guys stripped out of their clothes naked. They rolled and rubbed in the dirt.

Pekhat could no longer keep track of where his daughter was, because he could not recognize her among the other topless mud covered women. He tried to hold the elbow of a girl that was the size of Felek. However, the girl in exuberance only full body hugged him, pressed her mud covered boobs against his clean, neat shirt. Then, she kissed his lips full on with tongue.

The dazed Pekhat stumbled on worrying about his daughter. A completely naked twenty three year old pulled the shirt of his body to make him more part of the protest. Two images burned in his mind: One, the naked two mounds of the sides of her snatch and two the deeply blue eyes in the black mud covered face, like glowing eyes.

Finally, a blast of high powered water knocked his glasses of his face. Everything turned into a blur. The pushing and shoving made it impossible for him to find the glasses on the ground. Finally, a man showed mercy and guided the near blind Pekhat to the edge of the protest. The man disappeared without leaving a name.

That night on TV with his second set of glasses, Pekhat saw the details of the rally. The water gunners had withdrawn. Non-governmental Islamist had stormed the square with sticks and batons. Everyone had been savagely beaten to death by broken bones, skulls, internal bleeding, and plain destruction of the human frame. He cried.

STORY CONTINUES

The afternoon, everyone went to search for downfall from trees to build a bonfire. Abda labored hard under her black full body dress. Her feet were not used to stepping in between a maze of roots, rocks, and other debris. Her feet sunk into the dirt holes. Bothersome dirt collected in her shoes. Yet she kept walking on into the green bushes and ascending slope.

Once she felt out of view from the other college kids all spreading in their own direction, she took the shoes off. They were simple shoes that she never liked. Her tender bare soles were pierced by occasional sharp stones and pine needles. However, she loved the feeling of freedom. She loved that the muffled feeling of shoes was replaced with fresh air and stimulating rich sensation of rough bark, smooth stone, cool spots, dusty patches on the skin of her soles.

Further out of earshot, she started humming a little song. She had heard the men sing with her father at night sweet melodies over the sitar. The lyrics were about a man from a poor village, who debated with the king. The king deeply ashamed at his lack of wisdom ran out of the country. Her voice sounded softly and a little high pitched squeaky.

A quarter hour away from camp, she boldly dared to lower her head cover. The wind blew into her face. She untangled her long, soft, silky hair. Without the fabric covering her head, she felt like she could hear the sounds from a mile a way. She could feel the wind from the far mountain top blowing down and across her face. The sun warmed her hair into a soft burning sensation. She took a deep breath and exhaled without her face mask bellowing up. Her breath just drifted into the distance.

Klaus had silently watched her from a rock above her, "Abda, Sadiman is close. Cover up. He might see you. Of course, I don't mind and won't tell. We both keep each other's secrets."

Abda swiftly covered up. She did not dare say anything, because Sadiman might hear it. Klaus looked down to her with the big smile of someone at home out in nature. Behind her Sadiman stepped through the fallen pine needles. His chubby, round face appeared behind a turn.

"Oh, Klaus and Abda, the two outsiders! What a surprise! You aren't plotting an evil axis, are you?"

"Allah bless you Sadiman."

"Klaus, aren't you from Bavaria?"

"Yes."

"They make good beer there."

"I would not know anything about such impure and disgusting behavior as drinking alcohol."

"C'mon! I am starting a secret alcohol club. And, knowing the special Bavarian beer recipes would make our club a winner."

"Allah forbids me to get near any of that."

"Klaus, let's make a deal. What do you want for the beer secret?"

Klaus walked away.

BACKFLASH: LAYILA'S DREAM

Layila tasted her mouth. Sweet, watery saliva made her tongue feel happy. Her skin was humming with a low, warm vibration. Her closed eyelids were shining in a cheery bright yellow orange. The good feeling came from anticipating being near the red haired Eric again. She could imagine the cheeks of his face and the shadows at the edge of his muscles vividly. His chest with its little hair and wide layer of muscles invited her hands to caress it.

She opened her eyes to look for him. Around her was the concrete compound of head quarter. The black paint on the walls with rough concrete edges told her that she was three levels under ground. Black, long boxes were piled long the hallway. They contained weapons, food, or other military material. Non-descript doors with security card scanners lined the hallway.

At the end of the hallway was a wide double swinging door. The lights were off. The half darkness made it hard to see. Yet, she knew her steps to wood crate with the rough, unsanded surface. With her strong arms, she lifted the lid of the box.

"I have been waiting for you, sweetness."

Eric lay inside the box like a corpse with his eyes opening that moment and the hands folded over his belly. The box barely fit the silhouette of his body. His arms had been stuffed in with straw as packing material. He was naked. The arms and limbs were as she remembered. His erection was strong and rising angled up towards his body. This had been what the good feeling in her body had been about. She wanted to feel the erect penis inside of herself.

She closed and opened her eyes for a moment. Eric was out of the box and lying motionless on a table. His body looked limp. His eyes looked warmly at her. His penis was on fire: a sturdy shaft, the soft bulge of the rim of the head, and the uneven texture beneath the skin made it look strong. The rim of the head had a soft pink color.

Her body was naked as well. The skin wrapped around her figure smooth and sleek. The boobs stood in place, where unsagging eighteen year old boobs stood. Her belly was smooth, not sticking out further than her hip bone. The depth of her navel button was flush to the rest of the skin, no navel hole. Her pelvis was slightly tilted forward. She was naked with bare feet on the dusty ground in the middle of headquarter. Her clothes had simply disappeared.

She didn't care about her clothes. She only cared about her two vaginal mounds, left and right, to touch the tip of the soft penis head and then to push down to glide along the shaft until the whole dick was devoured. She climbed on top of the table to straddle him. Her soft, smooth, and cool skin touched his rough, hairy, and warm skin. The triangle of her kneeling thighs straddled his hips. With her teeth biting her lips in concentration, she guided the penis inside of her. Her whole body felt happy. She went for a second stroke just like a kid in a candy store that can't stop.

She started slapping her pussy towards his feet on the down push. That way her clitoris got stimulated. She pressed her small pubic bone against his big one to the point that a sharp pain erupted. Yet, the pain had a deep erogenous feeling beneath it that made her repeat the pain over and over with each stroke. She'd fear the pain and love the feeling radiating from her pussy into her thighs.

Taking a break, she lifted her breast to his mouth. He sucked on her nipples, trying to pull in as much of her breast tissue into his mouth. The glittery feeling stretched from her nipples into her pussy. She thrust her pussy up and down on his penis in desperation. The more she thrust, the more the good feeling radiated and drove her on.

Suddenly, everything turned black. Eric was gone. She opened her eyes. She was in the barracks inside a room with ten field beds next to each other. The nighttime light shone softly through the fly mesh in the windows. The windows were open for the soft and cooling nighttime air to waft into the room. Next to her, the other recruits slept in neat beds with gray sheets. Metal bars were at the top and bottom of the beds. She had only dreamed.

"Mohamed help me. The American devil is still alive and he is haunting me in my dream. He tries to tempt me into becoming a wild American. Those Americans are not human. They are immortal devils with magic powers."

She sat up in her bed to shake off the dream. The thin gray sheet fell of her front. Her white sports bra was exposed. The warm temperature made it a good idea to wear scant clothing. She slipped her hand down the front of her stretch panties. Her mound was wet and dripping as if she had peed her pants. Yet, she knew the difference. The liquid was slicker than water. Even her inside thighs were coated in pussy juice.

"My body is falling under the spell of the American devil. I must discipline it. Only strict discipline will save me from hell."

She slipped out of the bed sheets. Her bare feet stepped onto the cold, clean, and smooth floor. The scent of dry trees outside filled the room. Everyone else slept peacefully and calmly under the soft nightlight. She stepped carefully around the beds and boots on the ground into the communal shower. Her hand held an army flip knife.

For a moment, she looked at herself in mirror in the half darkness of the night. She could only see herself in black and white. The details of herself were blurred by darkness. She looked more handsome with all the little details obscured. The moon crescent look in through the window. At this time of the night, she was alone by herself in privacy, even with nine other women sleeping right next to her. During the day, she was always in a crowd of soldiers with superiors ordering her around.

She felt the cooling and healing sense of being alone. Her subconscious had to be punished for the dream. She lifted the knife to her shoulder. The edge pushed onto her skin sideways made the skin paler as the blood was pushed out. She feared the pain. She pushed the knife edge a little deeper to make a dent in the skin, yet not break it.

"If I want to live for Allah, I must be ready to make the ultimate sacrifice. A little punishment with a cut is so much less. I must act for Allah."