Trigger Girl

We walk along the water front. I have come for a specific reason. I grip her skinny arm bringing her to a halt like to lovers pausing their romantic stroll. I reach into my bag pulling out the toy car remote used to trigger the bombs. Her face turns pale.

"Stand close to me," I command. She hesitantly moves to my side. Leaning her direction, I try casually look around to see who can see us. No one is close enough to notice much. The remote falls to the water below. I do not even watch it. Instead I whisper into her ear, "I have never killed anyone but I know it takes time to get over the grief of killing, if you ever do." I think back to my buddies in the infantry before I became a fashion professional. What they had experienced, that I did not, when we were in Afghanistan, and how it affected them. My grief is that others have suffered under the demands of killing and that I could not be their stead, to have suffered in their place.

Her head turns back into my chest crying. I hold her tight. She is wondering if she is still part of humanity. It will take many repeated caring touches to remind her that she is a person and people care about her. We turn back toward the hotel.

Sometime in the night

Hands roll my body over. I start to tense wondering what is happening. The only light I can see is a green LED in the air and a faint glow from window curtains to the right. I remember we are in the hotel room and the green LED is the air conditioner running above us. Under the covers Nu Nu's hands pull at my penis. She must have gotten me hard in my sleep. Something wet covers the head of my member. It must be her mouth. She licks and nibbles precum out of me.

Her head comes off of my head. She is moving around so I reach down to figure out what is happening. My hands slide over her busted chest, her abs, to her hips. She straddles me. She has gotten me hard so that she can ride me again. Her desire for more sex is unending. My hands grope around the firm small body of a tough Burmese girl. She blindly guides my piece into her vagina. How is she so wet? She starts slowly, not fully inserting my penis, just building excitement at her opening. When she does slide it all the way I push up as much as I can and hold it there. My piece twitches inside of her. Then it is in and out as she rides me.

This is for her. She needs this, not me. This may not be some crazed erotic insanity, just simple sex, me inside of her, us moving together, but with each stroke, with each push, with each motion maybe she can work through the pain inside of her. I push and grind into her as she rides on me. My hands clasp her breasts. She whispers things in Burmese that I hardly hear, but I understand clearly what she means.

She drops forward. I am afraid my penis will come out of her vagina. Almost doing a curl, I thrust my penis in but now in the missionary position rubs my member towards a climax. Her nails scrape across my back as she clutches on to me.

"Uh... uh..." she grunts each time she pushes, as if the air is being forced out of her lungs with each thrust. I hold onto her butt cheeks to keep our rhythm steady. My hands must strike a nerve in her cheeks because her body clinches at my touch. She does not stop.

"Am" her moans become louder. Other rooms can definitely hear what is happening.

I feel it coming into my piece but I do not slow down. She seems to notice and speeds up in a final frenzy. I may have come earlier but there is still something for her now. I feel my pulsations in her vagina, and she responds by gripping down. She continues. She is making sure that I am finished. Her sliding on my shaft right after I have come forces what feels like the last of the endorphins to release rippling into my body.

By how she lays on me not moving and how wet I am, I can only assume she came as well.

Two days later

I sit in the hotel lobby waiting, wondering how Nu Nu will hold up. Many readers believe that Homer used the nymph, Calypso, as a metaphor for the sexual escape of traumatized soldiers seeking to reaffirm their humanity. Was I Calypso for a young trigger girl? I know that I will dream about Nu Nu when I am back in the US. She found friends who could hide her while she continues the resistance. I can imagine her carrying an M-4 carbine wearing black cut-off shorts and a tight multicam patterned tank top. Though she more likely would wear a nice button up shirt with a sarong and carry a simple backpack. In either imagined image of her, her long black hair elegantly flows down her back.

The taxi pulls up. I step out with my bags in hand but see a woman begging out at the street. Two children hang onto her. The taxi driver prepares to open the trunk for me but I just open the car door and slide the bags into the back seat. I ask the driver to wait a minute. I walk intently to the woman begging.

"Sa pi bi la" (what do you want to eat?) I ask pointing to a food vendor. We walk to the vendor where she orders mohinga noodles. The vendor deftly mixes the noodles, curry, vegetables, and egg. The two children quickly sit at the tiny plastic stools to eat their noodles. I pay the vendor before heading back to the taxi. I have a long flight to look forward to.