The Ghost of Timor Ch. 12

December 1999

Sally and I got a couple of hours' sleep before we had to get up and go to work. We were on active duty so we could not sleep in, have time off, or any respite unless we got wounded.

Sally had to slip out of bed and back to her own lines before dawn to avoid being caught. She was not supposed to be out after dark and also not in the bed of another man. She'd planned, and slipped into her running clothes before she left. Physical fitness was definitely something that the military encouraged. The pre-dawn hours were the best time to exercise in the hot and humid climate of Timor. So Sally, being up early for a run, should have aroused no suspicions.

I stayed in bed as long as I dared before I rose to check my emails for reports and my doorstep for packages. The emails were routine and there were no new packages for me, so I slunk back into my office and tried to close my eyes for a power nap. That proved to be impossible as Sally's revelations and the events of the night before filled my head and I struggled to process them.

If Sally was telling the truth, and I had no reason to question her, then we may have gotten together three years earlier. As Beth and I were on the skids anyway, it would likely have happened in the back half of 1997. The only thing that stopped Sally from making a move on me was my meeting Alison when I did. That itself was the most unlikely thing that had ever happened to me in my life up to that point. Even that required a lucky series of events to line up for it to become reality. If it hadn't been for my accidental brushing of Alison's breast in a touch football game, then I doubt we would have ever gotten together.

And that was the real pickle. Alison had given me the highest of highs and promised me the world only to snatch it away and end it so cruelly. I had so many fond memories of her and only one awful one. I now had to live with both forever. If Sally had come along before Alison, then none of that would have happened. Alison wouldn't be the source of my current agony and ecstasy. But now that Sally was here, however temporarily, some fresh memories overshadowed the old ones.

When I finally emerged from my office, it was to attend the daily briefing in the Task Force Commander's office. Every morning at 9am sharp, the military would gather around the large maps in his conference room and tell the commander what he needed to know to run his brief war. I was there representing my agency, so got an invitation to listen in to what was being said but also to tip off the latest reports as they appeared. Any nerves that I had once felt standing up and speaking amongst that gathering of military hard cases had long since departed. I had gradually shown my worth over the past few months and they had accepted me as an equal.

I was so comfortable now that I could easily get away with a casual nod or shake of my head, even if the commander himself asked me the question. I got more than the odd compliment on the brevity of my responses and also my silence. Some others used every opportunity to speak as if they just won an Oscar. I only ever say as much as I need to. Partly because I don't like it when people waste my time, but mostly because I am just lazy.

And as these briefings happened every day, I sometimes drifted off because of the repetition of the performance. So, when something important came up that morning, I really wasn't listening. The word "kidnappings" only barely registered with me, and if I had been listening and doing my job, my life would have taken a different path. But it didn't because I spent that whole briefing remembering what Sally looked like naked.

The most prominent figure left in East Timor in 1999 was local bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo. As spiritual leader of a territory that was overwhelmingly Catholic, Belo became one of the primary spokesmen of the Timorese people. He denounced the policies of the Indonesian government despite at least two attempts on his life, in 1989 and 1991. Following the Dili massacre in 1991, Belo successfully campaigned for reforms in the military and the dismissal of two generals. As a man of the cloth, he was a firm believer in non-violent resistance, and Belo sought peaceful means to settle the troubles in his homeland. In July 1994, he outlined his concern for the people of East Timor and proposed that Indonesia reduce its military presence. He proposed expanding the civil rights of citizens and allowing East Timor to conduct a democratic referendum on self-determination. He was awarded a Nobel peace prize for his troubles, which endeared him to his fellow Timorese, but did nothing to help his popularity with the Indonesians.

Killing or kidnapping Belo at that stage wouldn't have changed the situation on the ground in Timor. The province was lost now, and Indonesia admitted it. But not all bad things happen because someone has planned it. Sometimes stupidity reigns supreme. I was about to become the major beneficiary of someone else's bad idea. But if it had all gone tits up, I probably would have lost my life, my body never found. Buried in a shallow grave in the Timor wilderness.

But that was the furthest thing from my mind at that moment. In between moments of actually falling asleep, I was closing my eyes as my body remembered being sweetly assaulted the night before. Along with that all too familiar pleasant rocking sensation, my dick's delighted at the muscle-memory of Sally squeezing the life out of it. Between closing my eyes because I was falling asleep and closing them to maximise the memory of my tryst with Sally, I barely saw the room for that entire meeting.

With my eyes closed at the back of the briefing room, I could see Sally naked above me, rising and falling as she clenched and released me inside of her. Smiling a cheeky grin each time she squeezed me. Fondling her own breasts for pleasure and for show. Fingering herself to the edge of ecstasy and then tasting herself as she closed her eyes. Each time I came to the edge, Sally would back off and release me. Clambering off, she would stand over me and finger herself while she played with her breasts, never breaking my gaze. When I'd settled down, she would lick my dick slowly, which isn't enough to make you cum. It looks and feels amazing, but without the pressure of a mouth or vagina, I could not release. Then, having teased me enough while she had kept her own motor running, Sally would climb back on and start all over again. Damn, that girl was good! No wonder we didn't get any sleep.

As the briefing droned on and my daydreaming continued, I got harder and thanked the maker that the tropics made underwear impractical. No longer semi-consciously reliving the previous night, I was now concentrating on every detail I could remember and that made me fit to burst. Sitting, my loose cargo shorts could conceal my erection, but eventually the briefing ended and everyone to stood up to leave the room. I realised I was going to have to squeeze past a dozen soldiers with a monster raging in my pants. I hung back as long as I could, hoping the extra time might cause the stiffness to subside. When that didn't work and the room was almost empty, inspiration hit me and I leapt up and rushed to the long briefing table in the centre of the room.

Scanning the table, I quickly spotted what I was looking for and moved up the table to where a large map was placed. I bent over and studied the map, hoping my erection would fade as I looked at the boring topographic details in front of me. Doubling over covered my embarrassment and gave the impression that I was deep in thought and extra attentive; I was neither. However, to my relief, that chance glance at that map was to be another piece in the puzzle of my later success and fame. Because the one thing I took away from that viewing was the location of a local church and how to get there.