My Descent

Steve and I were high school sweethearts. My brother, Tom was Steve's best friend ever since they were in grade school. I never had those teen aged dreams of who I might marry, or when. It had been assured when I was a freshman, that's when Steve and I knew we would always be together. In college we even roomed together, practicing for the day when we would finally tie the knot. Then we graduated, Steve went to medical school and I went off to save the world.

I was able to get a job with a United Nations supported non-governmental organization (NGO) helping refugees in the Balkans. At the time we began the aid mission the war was in far off Bosnia, and we were working in a small southern area called Kosovo. Of course in 1993 the Kosovars were beating the drums of separatism because the Balkans was splintering into the roughly historic ethnic divisions that had been suppressed for over fifty years. We tried to be neutral, but our contempt for the Serbian army and our compassion for the people we were supposed to helping forced us to take sides almost from the first.

The Serbs were brutal. Their methods were medieval, and their hatred for the Muslim Kosovars was legendary. In the dark ages of Europe warring factions used rape as a psychological weapon. Soldiers would raze the towns of their enemy, and rape the women, preferably in front of the men of the village. This accomplished two very important strategic measures: One, the women were so debased that they became a living memory of the ultimate subjugation, especially if they became pregnant as a result. Second, the men felt humiliated and emasculated, and a man without his manhood felt inferior, whether it was true or not. His inability to protect the women robbed him of his pride and dignity, without these he would be unlikely to be anything but a nuisance, nothing more.

In 1996 the Serbs reconstituted the aged-old practice of rape and torture when they moved into Kosovo with the intention of exterminating them as an ethnic threat. I was only six months from completing my assignment there when the Serb army moved into the village we ran our mission out of. The men of the village were often beaten, or just carried off into the dark of night, never to be seen or heard from again. The women were raped and beaten, over and over again. Some were so abused that they often just lay in the street, where they were dumped, and died.

At first the Serbs left us alone, but soon they became irritated with our compassionate treatment of the women and children of the village, and started making threats. A woman who worked with us, Vivienne, a nurse from France, was not deterred and taunted the Serb soldiers when she ran to aid the few women left alive. She was able to help a small old lady to the mission steps before a gruff looking Serb they call Vladic caught up with her and drug her by the hair, kicking and screaming back into the street. The rest of us were terrified of the brutality, and just watched as he ripped her clothes from her short, portly body and began to rape her while several of his men held her down. As he finished, the other soldiers had their way with her. One after another, they violated her in her vagina and her anus and some spat on her as they left her to die in the street.

As the soldiers left we ran to retrieve her from the street to no avail, she had died sometime during their brutal rape of her. No doubt the last few men had been raping her lifeless corpse.

We buried her in the small courtyard in the back of the mission, too scared to go to the cemetery. We stayed there in the mission for several weeks, sometimes the soldiers would ignore us, most times they threw rocks at the windows as they passed, shouting obscenities. As we were without contact with the outer world no one knew we were in dire straights. Soon it would become apparent that the women of the village had all been run off or had succumbed to the same fate as our beloved Vivienne.

The soldier's protracted use of rape as a weapon had turned their minds into primeval organs of carnal destruction. They began stalking the mission, not to subdue an enemy, but to annihilate that which had become the object of their psycho-sexual obsessive desires; women. And we were the only women left in the village.

There were three of us left now that Vivienne was gone, Jude, Carmelita, and me. We were not aware of the change in the soldier's intentions until it was too late. As we lay sleeping they burst in upon us and drug us from our beds in the dark of night, cast into a small closet in what had been the village elder's home, now the headquarters for the man we only knew as Vladic.

They took Jude first and for hours Carmelita and I huddled together in a corner and listened to her screams as the soldiers abused her, their brawling amongst each other for turns with her became the only respite for her tortured existence. Then Vladic came in and was furious at them for having abused one of the U.N. women. A lone voice spoke up and explained to Vladic that the other U.N. women were in the hall closet. Vladic exploded in a rage and the sounds of a great scuffle ensued, punctuated by a single shot of a gun that left our ears ringing as loud as our hearts were beating from the terror of what was to become of us.

Several terrible moments passed and then the door to the closet opened, we were told to stand and exit into the hall. Carmelita led, I followed. The glare of a single light blinded me as I tried to see who had been the victor in the altercation, as if it made a difference. Vladic spoke to a small, troll of a soldier and he took the arm of Carmelita roughly dragging her down the hall out of sight. Vladic turned to face me directly, and smiled a devious, sinister smile, one that made my stomach turn; I wretched on the floor in front of him.

I was taken to the dinning room and two soldiers began ripping my clothes from me. Standing naked, I quivered from their dark stares, and tried to cover myself; trying desperately to maintain some semblance of dignity. The soldiers took coarse twine and secured my hands and legs tightly as they bent me face down over the table lengthwise, my feet still on the floor, tying the other end of the twine to the legs of the table. They left me there, bent over, and spread on the table, the tiny bits of food and dirt on the table biting into my breasts and face.

I fell asleep and didn't know when they returned, but the sun was now up, and the soldiers were readying for the day's activities. No one acknowledged me, or for that matter, did I actually see anyone, they just seemed to pass by behind, and around me. I fell asleep again and awoke when I heard a loud thump. I tried to move my head, but my hair had fallen in my eyes. Finally I was able to flip my hair out of my face, and looked around the room. There in the corner of the dinning room was Carmelita, eyes wide open, staring straight at me; dead. I screamed, but there was no one to hear my shriek of horror. I couldn't stand her staring eyes so I turned my face away and cried.

The sounds of unruly men returned as the sun dimmed in the early evening hours. I had been ignored for some reason, but I could not fathom why. I soon found out. Vladic came in and took a seat in a chair at the end of the table in front of me. He had a flask of foul smelling ale-like drink that he gulped in huge mouthfuls, obviously not a person of culture – at least not polite culture. He stared at me with one eye squinted and chewed on a piece of undercooked red meat between gulps from the flagon. He bit off a chunk of the meat and spat it into my face, saying "Hungry?" in heavily accented English. I looked away, and resisted the pangs of hunger which pleaded with me to slurp up the foul flesh and eat it.

Then Vladic left the room. A soldier came in and removed Carmelita's body, stiff now, and difficult to move. The noise of drunken partying emanated from an adjacent room. Soon Vladic returned, staggering to peer into my face from the side of the table. He reached with one thick, meaty hand to my head and brushed the hair from my face, fear and revulsion welled up in me. I cringed from his touch and he noticed my reaction.

"Fucking American bitch! You are too good for Serbian man?" He slurred.

I was too terrified to respond, but I was sure I didn't want this man angry with me.

"I will teach you how to make love, Serbian way." He growled as he moved behind me.

I could hear him fumbling behind me, and then his rough hand grabbed the cheek of my buttocks, his thumb rubbed the puckered flower of my anus, stinging my tender unprotected skin. His other hand made its way along my inner thigh to my vagina. The revulsion I sensed was overpowering, I started to wretch but there was nothing to vomit, so the dry heaving continued for several minutes. His hands were pawing over my exposed body scratching as they made their way across my bare skin.

Then I felt the thumb of one hand penetrate my vaginal lips. No one had ever been inside me but Steve. I closed my eyes and cried, thinking of Steve and the life we may never have. Vladic's hot breath stunk as he bent over my back and growled into my ear a guttural primitive laugh. Then I felt it; his penis was poised at the opening to my most precious sex, my vaginal muscles clenched in protest. He rammed his cruel weapon into me violently, he retreated slightly and rammed forward again and again. My mind reeled, I felt faint, the pain was so exquisitely intense there was nothing in my experience that could approximate the absolute anguish that pierced my soul like a red hot metal rod to my core. I wavered just barely conscious, and then I passed out.

He would return from time to time and on each occasion his unmerciful penetrations became more painful than the last, something I would have thought impossible in the beginning. He kept me this way for what seemed like forever; but in reality was just two months. Kept alive by drinking a gruel made of goat's milk and barley, Vladic knew how to kill and he also knew how to torture. Mine was the fate most cruel; insidiously kept alive only to extract the most depraved satisfaction from my misery.

I was sleeping when they came. There was a resounding explosion, a flash and then shots. But these were different from the shots that I had heard previously, these were muffled, close by, but almost a 'whiffing' sound. I could hear grunts of men as they labored from exertion, running and falling, someone was crashing into the house. Then silence. The next sound came from behind me. I tensed as I prepared for the brutal onslaught that had now become routine. Then a male voice shouted out "medic" and the shuffling of feet again as someone moved in front of me. The twine that had long since so numbed my legs and arms was cut and gentle hands picked me up and laid me on the table, face up.

The medic talked in kind, gentle tones as he put an IV into my arm, gave me a sedative and began first aid on my brutalized body. He spoke with an English accent, maybe Scottish, but he was an angel to me; my guardian angel. They patched me up, but their leader said they had to move quickly, as they were behind schedule already. I was wrapped in blankets, placed on a make shift litter and taken with them.

I wavered in and out of consciousness as these silent professionals glided over the steep ground with the practiced ease of mountain goats. Soon I could hear a helicopter's distinct whop-whop sound in the distance. The men stopped and waited as the huge machine growled, and roared overhead, then sat down nearby. I was flown to an American military hospital, a field hospital in a tent, as it were. The army doctors there explained that my 'angels' were really British SAS, some kind of secret military unit. All I know, is they will forever be in my prayers.

I spent six weeks in various stages of rehabilitation and recovery in a hospital in Germany. My vaginal walls had been destroyed by the brutal assaults I had endured. The doctors had to remove my uterus because of the damage to the cervix, along with other tissue damage. They were able to repair me into some semblance of a woman after several surgeries, although the emotional damage was even more debilitating. I resisted calling home; I didn't want to expose Steve to this debacle. The pain and suffering couldn't be shared, I couldn't share it.

At night I would remember Vladic's face as he gnawed on his bloody red meat, as he rammed me from behind, as he languished over me, the stale smell of ale on his hot breath. The visions recurred less and less as time went on and the nurses deadened me with sedatives.

Soon it would be time for me to return home, but first the U.N. wanted to debrief me. They were as sensitive as werewolves as they asked their questions: "Did you provoke your attackers? Had you been intimately involved with him previously?" and on and on.

Until I screamed that "I've had it!" And stormed out of their offices.

Finally home, I tried to appear as if nothing was wrong. Everyone knew something had happened, just not 'what' had happened. I didn't tell them, not yet anyhow.

Steve and I were married and moved into a flat overlooking a scenic view of the city. We appeared to all as the perfect couple, just like we used to be; only...It became apparent to me that I couldn't have an orgasm when Steve was having vaginal intercourse with me. This had never been the case before, and so I believed it to be because of the surgery and all the damage done to me. I talked to my gynecologist.

"Not so," she said, "The damage was severe to the interior structure, but not the clitoral area. Did you have clitoral orgasms before?" She asked.

"Yes! But..."

"Then I see no reason for you to be worried, just try to make the sex good for you, work on your pleasure and you will find it." She said.

And so I tried. I purchased several large dildos and vibrators and began experimenting with what felt good and what might seem to work. I tried some of my ideas out on Steve, who thought I was becoming kinky now that I was a married woman, to no avail. I then enlisted a girl friend, Sandy, to assist me. She had a history of being bisexual so when I asked her to help she was all for it.

That evening Sandy approached me and stared down from her stance, not unlike a queen summoning her subjects. She was so close that I could feel her warm breath on my face, heating my skin like a heat lamp.

"I've always thought you were attractive, Charlene." Sandy whispered, reaching her hand to the back of my head to remove the clip that held my hair back.

Sandy's presence was intoxicating. I felt a drop of moisture drip onto the fabric of my panties. Never had I felt so ripe for someone's touch. "I...I've always been attracted to you, too." I replied dreamily.

'Is this really happening?' I couldn't help wondering. I felt my heart thump rapidly behind my rib cage, like a prisoner pounding for release from the confined cell. I was feeling like a timid schoolgirl, but really did want to explore this situation thoroughly. I begged myself to make a move, to let the bewitching woman know I was hot and ready. I was hard-pressed to summon up the courage to seduce my friend. Luckily, the need for improvisation wasn't required on my part.

Sandy reached for me slowly. Her well-manicured fingernails glided on the skin of my shoulder through the delicate silk. Goosebumps quickly formed in the trail of her touch. I licked her lips and closed my eyes, relishing the sweet softness that only a woman's fingers could offer. I concentrated on the gentle glide of Sandy's left hand as it trailed up to my neck and slowly down my chest. When I felt her eager fingers caress the delicate lace of my bra at the top of my breasts, I was unable to restrain my desire. I had to touch Sandy.

Gazing through slightly-parted eyelids, I placed both hands on Sandy's shoulders, wanting to explore the safer areas of her body. Sure, I had touched her before. Sandy had been my girlfriend for years, but this was different.

She massaged the firm flesh of my shoulders with her thumbs, acquainting herself with a woman's body in a sexual manner. Why had I never noticed how soft-yet so strong-a woman's skin is? How could I have looked at attractive women everyday of my life and not seen them as I was now seeing Sandy? The thought that I and my about-to-be lover were experiencing identical explorations made my knees weak. 'She is seeing me the same way I am seeing her.' I mused, 'so unlike sex with a guy.'

Sandy moved her hands southward, palming the full weight of my breasts. My quick intake of breath at the possessive action made me so hot I thought my clitoris would burst with the sudden rush of blood.

She prodded and squeezed my fleshy globes, as if touching breasts for the first time in her life. She mirrored my actions and our eyes locked.

Without breaking the electric current which flowed between our eager eyes, Sandy began to unbutton my blouse. When I was left leaning against the table, clad only in my white lacy bra, Sandy leaned back to study me. My flesh felt cold and lonely where Sandy's knowing hands were caressing me moments before, and I longed for more contact. I reached out and grabbed Sandy's satin lapels and pulled her onto me.

Sandy gasped at the action, but followed with a wicked smile. She arched her neck to kiss the soft swells of my breasts, grazing her tongue along the delicate fabric which encased them. With Sandy's concentration solely on my chest, I was able to reach down and run my fingers along the firm softness of her neck.

We simply caressed each other for a long while, taking the time to acquaint ourselves with the other's touch. Sandy paused from her exploration of my chest long enough to reach back and unclasp my bra, letting the heavy weight of my breasts fall free. My skin tingled where my lover's fingers glided across my skin, and when I felt the wet heat of Sandy's mouth on my nipple, I moaned softly. I felt the pink nodule peak into a rigid spike as Sandy's tongue flicked the sensitive flesh back and forth. Sandy tangled the fingers of her left hand further into my hair as her right focused on the removal of her tight blazer. When she finally unfastened the top button, it was to me as if she could not remove the rest fast enough. I wanted to see the bronzed beauty of this sexy woman's body.

When Sandy's top finally slid off her form and onto the floor, I opened my eyes to drink in the sight of my friend's black satin bra. She was as dark and sleek as I was fair and soft. I reached down to Sandy's left breast and pulled the nipple out through the top of the bra. Her skin was flawless. I longed to suckle the ripe peak, but Sandy's body language was making it clear that I was not the one orchestrating the lovemaking. When I felt Sandy's head aim towards my own chest, I moved away, teasing my lover mercilessly.

"Don't move." Sandy commanded sternly, but with tenderness in her voice. "I want to please you first."

I surrendered to Sandy, as if finally receiving permission to just lay back and enjoy the ride. I felt the cheeks of my ass clench tightly as Sandy's hot breath brushed my knees and thighs. Without awareness of my own moves, I gently guided Sandy's head slowly between my legs. I felt my pussy lather up as Sandy's breath came closer and closer to my core, maddeningly slow.

Sandy's commanding hands clasped the hem of my silk skirt and began to inch it slowly northward. I arched my back and raised my hips slightly off the edge of the table to facilitate the undressing. I smiled at Sandy's sudden intake of breath when she saw the white lacy garter belt holding up my tan hose. I made sure I wore the sexiest undergarments I could find. It made me feel beautiful and sensuous. I was especially pleased that my lover was appreciating the delicate lace as well.