Trigger Girl

This story contains descriptions of violence and suffering. It also contains some basic sexual activity. Please consider yourself warned.

"Hard-hearted you are, you gods! You unrivaled lords of jealousy - scandalized when goddesses sleep with mortals..." Calypso of Homer's Odyssey

Stepping into the tea shop from the busy sidewalk of Yangon. I glance around to see if someone matching the description of my contact is sitting at any of the tables. I am early and no one is wearing a black jacket. My contact will wear a black jacket. With only a couple of other patrons during the middle of the afternoon, I can choose from several of the open tables to sit at. I carefully walk toward the back of the shop where I can observe everyone in the shop and have a quick escape out the kitchen if needed.

A school aged boy comes over to put a tea pot on the table and ask my order. I order milk tea with some patongko (fried dough). Eating this reminds me of coffee and donuts back in the US. Having finalized the inspections at the factories this morning I have the entire afternoon to myself. The clothing company I work for has received some bad press at continuing to use factories in Myanmar, but unbeknown to the activists, it provides us a secret way to support the disobedience movement. Had we cut off production in Myanmar, travelling to Yangon would have been blocked.

The sugary milk tea comes with the greasy fried dough. Dipping the dough into the tea I slowly chew off bite after bite. Hot tea on a hot day, such is the way of Burma.

A short man in his twenties comes out from the kitchen asking something of the boy waiting tables. The man is wearing gray pants instead of a lungi and a black jacket. He takes only a second to spot me and sit down at my table but not without carefully looking around to see who else is present.

"Mingalarbar" (Hello)

"Mingalarbar, I am Tin. You had messaged about a car repair." Car repair was our code sign.

"Yes, it seems the computer no longer is connected to the engine." I answered with the counter sign.

"Here is the number to someone who can help." Tin hands me an envelope with a phone number written on the back. The phone number scribbled on the back covers the real reason for handing me the envelope. I will empty the contents soon as possible but not here in tea shop. I want to finish my sweet milky tea but it was not worth the trouble. We should not be seen together any more than is necessary.

"The money and items are in the bag on the seat next to you." I tell Tin plainly. "Please do not touch it until I have left."

I stand grabbing my bag from the back of my chair. "Jiisehbleh, thank you for this advice. I will call to see if they can fix it for me." I hold up the envelope indicating the phone number pretending we are just talking about car repair and walk out. As I walk down the street toward my hotel, I dump out the envelope inside of my pants pocket. It kind looks like I am scratching my balls while I have my hands in my pockets. What must be micro SD cards fall out. Those will hold information for my manager. She has developed connections with human rights activists and intelligence agencies that will want that information. So much for the days when business trips were about following up on garment tech-packs and quality check sheets.

I act like I am inspecting the phone number before placing the now empty envelope into the front pocket of my currier bag. On the raised curb, a woman begs with her shrinking child in her lap. By her clothes she looks like she comes from a rural farm area. The rumors about farmers being forced to sell at less than market prices must be true. I briefly wonder how long before the child dies.

Five military trucks are parked along the road and the police check people. Back in 2019 avoiding check points was easy, but now there is no way back to my hotel without a check point crossing. I walk up to the police as the soldiers mill around with their rifles in hand. A couple of the soldiers look like they should still be in school. A policeman asks for my passport. I hand it to him. A woman cries as the police drag what is apparently her teenage son into the back of a truck. Foreigners such as I do not have to fear random arrests like that of this teenage boy.

"100,000 kyat." I turn to see a middle-aged man in light green button up shirt and checkered lungi. He holds out his hand indicating that I am supposed to give him money. I turn back to the policeman pretending that I did not understand the man's poor English pronunciation.

"100,000 kyat," the man in the checked lungi repeats.

The policeman looks up from my passport to the man and back to me.

"Give him his money," the policeman orders. Shocked I stand there for a minute trying to understand what is happening. The policeman lowers my passport and looks at me like I am an unruly child not obeying his parents. I pull out my wallet and extract ten 10,000 kyat bills. The man in the lungi grabs the bills. The policeman, pleased with my obedience, hands back my passport and waves me through. Can I write extortion off as a travel expense?

Boom!!!

An explosion rips the sunny afternoon apart. I hunch down, not knowing what is happening. The first army truck has blown up and is now burning. People start to scream in agony. Others just lie on the ground. As I partially crouch trying to understand the situation, it happens again.

Boom!!!

An explosion knocks me to the ground, blackness swallows me. The dust and debris momentarily block out all light. Aside from the dirt and the feeling of being punched, I am ok. Stunned I stand back up. I brush my clothes off to check for any injuries, no injuries. Glancing around I see a couple of the soldiers thrashing about as they burn in a puddle of fire next to the remains of a truck. Those poor fellows will not be alive long. I gag trying not to vomit. The attackers obviously targeted the first and last trucks aiming for the soldiers, probably avoiding the middle vehicles with prisoners.

No shooting, if there were shooting, I would seek cover, but since it is just two explosions, I should distance myself from the attack site. I stumble down the street to get away from the carnage.

Right then she enters my life. Running out from a stairwell onto the sidewalk, a slim young woman less than 50 kg (120 lb) trips and falls flat on her face dropping the remote for a toy car. The remote slides off the curb into the street. Her hair which normally reaches to her butt spills in a black mess on top of her. Horrified she looks at the police and soldiers coming from up the street. Fear freezes her.

Toy car remote, detonated bombs, stairwell leading to a view of the street, young woman running, my mind puts the pieces together. Thinking quickly before anyone else notices, I snatch up the remote and hide it in my bag. Sliding my arms under her, I pull the young woman up, dragging her down the street with me. As a foreigner I would not normally touch a woman in public but the current situation is not normal.

"Come with me, we have to get out of here," I tell her. Fortunately, she understands English and nods. My arm wraps around her to support her, she leans into me. The results of the explosions have shaken her. Evidently no one warned her what would happen when she pushed the trigger, the regret, the shame, the realization. This must be her first-time taking life. Soldiers push past us rushing toward the scene. For two more city blocks she holds onto me, her head against my chest. Into the third block she pulls away.

"You cannot go with me," she says. "Thank you for helping me. You cannot know where I go."

We walk a couple more blocks in silence. Bowing slightly, she indicates she is leaving me. She starts to turn down the alleyway but stops. Police vehicles with their white and dark blue colors cluster not halfway down the alley. She stares at the police running into a building. Standing there stunned she does not move except to cover her mouth in horror. Somehow the police knew about her hiding place.

Taking hold of her tiny waist, I push her thin body out of the alleyway back onto the street. The police that look our way give us only a passing glance. Hopefully they think we are a couple out together.

"Aswii... Aung... Tun," she mutters names in shock.

"No going back. We have to keep on going," I tell her holding her against my body again. We eventually make it to my hotel. At the front desk I release my arm from around her but she remains clutching on as if I am the last thing she has left.

"Room 310," I ask the desk clerk for my key. The clerk gives me an odd look because of the woman hanging onto me.

"We were right next to the trucks that blew up! I thought we were going to die! My interpreter is very scared. We will have to wait to get her home." I make up a story for us. The desk clerk's face changes to sympathetic and slides the room key over.

"Bombs? You were there?" the desk clerk asks.

"Right there! The police were checking my passport when everything started to blow up! O God I have to call my home office right away!" I scoop up the key. My new "interpreter" never loosened her grip even as we enter the elevator. Thankfully the hotel generator keeps the elevator, air conditioning, and other necessities going. The key is one of those regular pin and tumbler locks with an extra big plastic card to slip in the slot turning on power to the room. The air conditioning clicks on indicating that power for the room is on.

The click of the air conditioner flips an emotional switch for the young woman, she starts to cry, her arms wrap around my body. Her face buries into my chest as tears soak into my shirt and tie. I have the sense to kick my shoes off before sitting her on the bed. She cries in my arms releasing her fear, grief, shock, trauma.

"I don't know... I didn't know... I don't know..." she mumbles repeatedly as if she is trying to say something but does not know how to say it. I listen and hold on.

Slowly her breathing slows down and she pulls back to look at me. She wears a plaid button up shirt that curved with her body and a floral-patterned sarong tightly wrapping her waist. Most of her hair had fallen loose from her hair clip that had been hold it back when she tripped coming out the doorway. It drapes all the way down her back. Most of the tanaka (tan colored face cream) had rubbed off on my shirt or washed away in her tears. Only a few smudges remain to highlight her dark brown eyes.

"Why you help me?" she asks. "You know I bomb the soldiers. Why help me?"

"I don't know," I shrug my answer. How am I supposed to explain that I am already caught up in the civil disobedience movement against the government? "I do not agree with the military and you needed help."

"You did not have to help me. You saved me! Thank you!" She squeezes me with a hug. We both know that she would be suffering torture right now had she been caught. "My name is Nu Nu. I... I... I don't know what to think. This is so scary!" Her face buries back into its place in my chest.

"Well, my name is Dan Morgan." I would offer my hand but she was already holding me.

"Dan Morgan" she says my name like it is a savory bite.

"I work with a clothing company and we use a couple factories here in Yangon..."

"Kiss me, Dan."

"What? You just met me!" This is a very sudden jump of propriety for a young traditional Burmese woman.

"Kiss me."

"But what about... mmm." She interrupts me with a kiss. Her mouth barely on my mouth trying to reach me since I am taller. Feeling bad about her attempt at a kiss, I bend down and open to her. My tongue connects with her. Sucking in pushes emotion to her. Her eyes flutter when I pull away.

"You should not do this. You just had something traumatic happen. You need to recover and work things out." I present logical arguments.

"No! I need you in me... here... now!" Her brown eyes flash with anger. "I scared, I alone, I hurt, I feel like a bag that is dumped out. Hold me. Love me!" She clung on to me. Her face shows certainty that must be satisfied. I am aware of her breasts pushing into my body and her hands holding me close.

"You could regret this." I continue my logical thought. "You are in shock. When you wake up tomorrow what will you think?"

"I not care if regret is this. Me and you, here." With the last word she firmly places a hand on the bed. "I could die tomorrow. We have today."

I cannot answer as she pulls me down into her kiss. Her tongue in my mouth decides it for me. She is right we should do it right here and now.

It goes from some action between our mouths to more frantic catches as our fingers feel for each other's clothes. I feel across her shirt for where the buttons are. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as I try to open her shirt. Her fingers press against my chest quickly opening my shirt buttons. She cannot remove my tie as she is less familiar with it. We separate our kissing, so I can pull my tie loose and off. Her shirt falls off her shoulders down to the floor. Next, she unclasps her bra which falls as well.

The dark brown of her nipples stand out against her tan skin. My hands cup her breasts. They look sizable on her small frame. I caress them as she hums with pleasure. Kissing again, my mouth works its way down her neck. Her skin tastes of salt as her body smells of a sour sweat. I lick around each breast. Kneading with my hands my mouth sucks the nipples. I untuck the edge of her sarong. Pushing her down onto the bed I pull the sarong clear of her legs and feet.

Why do women cover up their nakedness and feel that they do not look appealing? My fingers pull down at her black panties. She pauses a moment trying to brush me away, but I am determined. I can see the patch of short but unshaved curly hair between her legs. She raises her hips so the panties can slide off as well. What is left is the beautiful brown body of woman. The slender shape, like many Burmese women, makes her hips pronounced and her breasts stand out. Her long dark hair spreads out under her. God, what a body.

Sitting up she pulls my undershirt up over my head. Kissing me some more I feel her hands unfastening my pants. I reach down to help, but she already has them open. Her hands on my chest steady me as I shimmy out of my pants. Those same hands explore my peck muscles with pleasure, working their way down to hold my hips. Giggling with excitement she wants me. She kisses more. A steady grasp on my penis causes my body to freeze. A hand wrapped around my member releases a flood of passion. She holds me firmly like she owns it.

Without much ado, she lays back bringing me down and into her. My breath stops on feeling; warm, moist, tight. On top of her I realize just how small she is. A woman yes, but small. I worry about hurting her. She just pushes harder. It is like hungry desperation that pours out of her. Feeding off her desperation I thrust harder. She grunts with each thrust, lost in erotic ecstasy. It does not take me long to come with her moaning. With each pulsation my member pushes cum into her. She must be coming as her body bucks and her hands claw at me to pull me tighter. Her vagina grips my penis with intensity.

The shock of a near death experience acts as an irresistible aphrodisiac. Something about your body slowly realizing that life was almost taken away turns on an internal drive, a drive that wants to procreate with other humans. A hope that if you do lose your life, you can pass some part of life on.

Several minutes later

I try to adjust the hot water heater so that the shower does not burn or freeze me. The fourth try I think I have it. I step under the warm spray. Nu Nu shuts the toilet door as she comes in. I rub soap over my body marking spots for special attention, dirty from the explosion. Nu Nu stares expressionless from the door at my naked body. Her eyes focus on my lathered penis. It droops as I recover. The way we are going it will be hard again soon. Why does she get to stare at me while she is covered in a towel?

My hand deftly lifts the towel from where it is tucked in at her chest.

"Only fair if we both get to see each other."

She moves to cover her tits and crotch. Considering my logic, she changes her mind moving into the shower.

"Move over, Dan. Let me get shower." She shoves me out of the way. Standing next to each other, my height over her is obvious. Water pours over her body. I stare mesmerized by trickles of water flowing around her neck, around her cleavage, across her abs, and off her crotch. It takes a few minutes and the entire hotel bottle of shampoo to clean her hair. It is like a strip tease act where instead of glittery lingerie, glossy sleek hair teases across the hard body of a little resistance fighter.

"I need to rinse." I push my way back into the shower. I rub the soap off. She rubs soap on my back. I shift so she can scrub it off. Her hands work my back, rub my butt, then slide around my abs. Her body presses against mine. The hot shower keeping us warm and wet. Her breasts firmly felt poking into my back. Grinding my hips, I push my butt back into her. She rubs back groaning with enjoyment as her head leans into me. Her hands have grasped onto my member again. In rhythm with my hip motions, she massages it back to life. Hard and erect this can only go on so long.

I twist out her grasp switching places. My piece shoves against her butt cheeks. I cup her breasts so that my fingers can gently squeeze the hard nipples. My chin rests on the top of her head. The long hair gives a friction to our motions. One hand slides down to rub her mound. She trembles at my fingers massaging her. My fingers curl inside, back out and back in all while my thumb massages the top of her labial lips. She grunts with pleasure at my fingering, continuing to grind my shaft into her butt.

My penis needs to feel more than the outside. I push her forward. She catches her balance with the sink. I bend her over, her hips push back. I must be quick, she wants more. Her wet hair drapes over her head like a taggled mess.

Arching her back and raising her head she pulls the hair together. Hair gathered she drapes it over her left breast so she can look at me over her right shoulder. This arching motion just pushes her butt cheeks harder against my groin. It is like she has good posture even bent over a sink. I fumble with my piece slipping around her wet lips. I accomplish getting it in. Her hips shift back burying me to my balls. That small warm wet place feels too good.

We develop a rhythm. I reach forward to squeeze her nipples. She rests on her elbows on the sink using her whole body in her struggle for ecstasy. I must reposition my hands to her hips. I grip and guide her hips onto me.

"Ah... ah..." she calls out. She does not seem to be in control of what noises she makes. She shivers her knees buckling. She is doing her best to hold onto the sink. I hold her up gripping her waist.

I feel my climax coming. Should I hold off and see if I can keep going? She keeps pushing. I drive hard into the surge of hormones. Again, I fill her with cum. The high of sex is my favorite kind of high. We are wet and not from the shower water.

That evening

We ventured out of the hotel to find food for dinner and necessities for Nu Nu. Since she can not go home for fear of the police arresting her, we must find her a new place to stay until she learns what has happened to her friends. We buy soap, shampoo, the regular toiletries, tanaka for her face, clothes, backpack, umbrella, towel, the works. Back in the States buying underwear with a woman can be quite a sexy affair. With a Burmese woman it is about the same as buying fruit from the market. She searches through lingerie, sees what she wants, and buys it all before you can try to add your provocative opinion. The pandemic has made hiding our identity easier with face masks.