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Afghanorama

By: DevisPixi



Tate was sitting in the jeep, waiting for me. He had his MP helmet in his hand and his sidearm in his lap.

"What do we got, Jake?"

"We got a tip about a female Talib holed up in Quetta. We gotta go get her."

"A lady Taliban?" said Tate, holstering his pistol and putting his helmet atop his clean-shaven head.

"Her name is Afsoon Golbahar," I explained as I sat behind the wheel. "She belongs to RAWA—the Revolutionary Women of Afghanistan. She's one of their most effective wranglers, very good at convincing young ladies to immolate themselves for the cause."

"We gonna blow her away?" Tate asked as I fired up the ignition.

"No, orders are bring her in alive," I told Tate to his disappointment. "Karzai wants to put her on trial, a big show in Kabul."

"Got a picture?" Tate asked. 

I showed him the blurry long-distance shots in the manila envelope that I had picked up at base command.

"She's hot!" Tate proclaimed, showing the space between his two front teeth.

"Keep it in your pants, brother man."

"Blow me, Jake."

"You wish."

"Don't ask, don't tell...Ha-ha!"

"We'll head out with a squad in the morning."

"Fuck that!" Tate scoffed. "Let's go get her ourselves...Tonight!"

"You wanna go ahead of the advance team?" I asked him.

"We could get written up for it," he smirked.

"Big fuckin' deal," I laughed. "Let's go get her."

"They'll never send two guys out there by ourselves."

"Better to apologize than ask permission, my brother."

"You're fuckin' crazy," I chuckled. "You know that?" 

We talked trash all the way to the outskirts of Quetta, over an hour, only pausing to survey the roadside for IEDs or unfriendlies, especially as we crossed the invisible border from Afghanistan into Pakistan.

Tate checked the GPS coordinates for the location of the house where our target was hiding.

I used my binoculars to locate the building—a shack really—amid the village cluster. Then I used my smart phone to frame the structure and enlarged the image.

"Let's drive right up to it and storm the front door." I laughed, "I don't think Ms. Golbahar is expecting us."

I drove the jeep over the unpaved path into the village at fifty miles an hour, sending up a swirl of dust, and slammed on the brakes a few feet from the doorway.

"Taliban Afsoon Golbahar!" Tate yelled in Pashtoon: "We are American military police. You are under arrest. Come out with your hands on your head."

There was no response. We never expected any. We drew our pistols and stepped out of the jeep. 

Tate repeated his calling her out in Pashtoon as we approached the door. I scanned the environs for suspicious activity and saw none. Tate kicked in the door and faced a burly, bearded Pashto with an AK-47. A volley of fire ripped into my partner's chest and neck. Before the anti-freedom fighter could train his sights on me, I put a single shot squarely in the center of his forehead. He fell away and behind him stood a tall, thin figure dressed in black. Her eyes wide with fear, she raised her arms and dropped to her knees.

"I am Afsoon Golbahar," she said in English. "I surrender."

I kept my pistol pointed at her as I knelt to feel for a pulse on Tate's neck, which was shredded like raw hamburger. His mouth and eyes were open but lifeless. My friend was dead and so was the gun-wielding Talib. I would cry for Tate later.

First, I needed to wrap up our captive.

"Hold out your hands in front of you," I spoke to a trembling middle-aged, veiled woman. She looked nothing like a jihadist guerrilla. I locked her hands together with a pair of handcuffs and motioned for her to stand on her feet. "Is anybody else here?" She shook her head. "Don't lie to me," I warned her. I poked her chest with the barrel of my gun. "If there is, I'll shoot you first before they kill me." She shook her head again.

I prompted her toward the jeep and sat her in the backseat, where I tied her with a nylon rope. She didn't speak. Then I went back into the house to get Tate.

"Man, I'm sorry, bro'."

I lifted him over my shoulder and carried him outside. Afsoon watched me lay poor Tate's carcass on the ground alongside the jeep. I grabbed a tarp from the supply chest and spread it over Tate. I wrapped him in the tarp and hoisted him once more.

"Damn your fat ass for dyin' on me." Tate would see the humor in what I said, but Afsoon the assassin was confused and frightened by my razzing of my dearly departed comrade.

I texted base command that we had taken the target and suffered a loss in the process. I didn't wait for a reply and deliberately failed to sign off. The guys back at base wouldn't know whether it was me or Tate who bought it. 

I motored away from Quetta with a handcuffed female jihadi, and a bundled up corpse. A few minutes passed and I asked Afsoon, "Why do you fight for men who despise you?'

She replied defiantly, "Allah akbar!"

"I know God is great," I mocked her. "Why do you fight for men who hate women, abuse you, treat you like slaves?"

"The only man I serve is Allah," she asserted proudly.

"Allah is the same God as the Hebrew Yahweh," I said without turning my head to her. "The name of God is unspeakable and his nature is unknowable. He isn't a man like the Christian Jesus."

"Don't blaspheme, you foul infidel!" She spat, "You know nothing of what you speak."

"Oh, I know what I'm talkin' about." I laughed falsely. "I know you're on the wrong side of history and the government wants to put a noose around your neck."

Instead of replying, Afsoon began to pray in Pashtoon. "There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his great prophet. Blessed be his name."

Just as we reached the Afghan-Pakistani border, a flash of light blinded me. A small IED blew two tires on the right side and I lost control of the jeep. We ran into the underbrush, but luckily we didn't roll over. We were stuck, however.

I didn't need to be clairvoyant to read the lady jihadist's mind. She was weighing her options and odds for escape. I made her a malevolent promise. "I'll shoot you dead right here if you try anything." Surprisingly, she nodded to indicate she understood.

Afsoon Golbahar had a rectangular face with a long pointed nose and bright blue eyes, offsetting thick black eyebrows that matched the hair on her head, covered but for a wisp peeking out from her temple. She was wrapped from neck to foot in a black linen dress. A shawl formed a cowl to cover her head and shoulders. Yet I spied the outlines of modest breasts, flat tummy, and full hips. Her hands were smooth, pale, and long fingered. I imagined her strangling a man with ease—and likely enjoying it.

I texted the base and waited for a reply, which usually either came instantly or after hours of seemingly endless waiting. 

I was thinking out loud: "There's only one spare tire and base camp is too far to walk. If we stay put, we run the risk of gettin' ambushed."

Afsoon laughed, "This is Mujahadeen territory. They'll kill me. They won't kill you."

She smiled, fairly beaming. Were it not for some shown broken teeth, Afsoon would be considered beautiful by any culture's standards.

"I won't let that happen."

"I believe you," she spoke softly to me. "That's why you will always lose." 

"How so?" I asked, curious, not challengingly.

"You're all the same—you Americans, the Russians, the Israelis. You're too civilized to be brutal enough to destroy your enemies. You could never do to us what we would do to you."

"We have principles," I replied calmly. "But we'll stay till the job's done."

"No, you won't." Afsoon laughed at me as if I were a complete fool. "Someday you'll all be gone and we'll still be here. We live here. It's our home."

Without another word, I texted base camp and requested a Huey. Only a chopper could get us out quickly and safely. My smarty's screen read: "MESSAGE RECEIVED." 

I opened the storage box and retrieved the two emergency candy bars Tate had stashed away. 

"Butterfingers keep better than Hershey or Mars bars," he schooled me. 

"Have it," I told my captive. "It might be a while till the chopper gets here." 

With difficulty, Afsoon's cuffed hands unwrapped the candy and held it to her mouth. She gnawed at it rather than biting it. I uncapped a water bottle for her, although locals could drink the unfiltered aqua au naturel.

"Thank you, but that's not what I need."

I understood and paused to weigh the danger of her escaping after peeing. I untied her from the backseat, but kept her tethered by tying the rope to my belt. Afsoon stepped out of the jeep awkwardly and lifted her dress with her bound hands. She didn't reveal any private places, but I glimpsed her white cotton panties. She wasn't flashing fashionable string thong undies, but her underwear was a sufficiently Westernized contradiction. She crouched slightly and sent a waterfall of urine to the ground, forming a bubbly, steamy puddle at her feet.

I jumped from the jeep and said, "That looks like a good idea." I stood diagonally between Afsoon and the jeep and whipped out my dong and wee'd. She never averted her eyes, watching every drop of my whizzing.

"The sight of a man's rooster doesn't excite a woman, you know." She paused and added, "No matter how muscular it might look."

I tugged our tether to coax her back in the jeep. Instinctively, I offered my hand to help her step up. She responded with an amused and surprised smile.

"I don't know your name," she asked sweetly.

"Jake...uh, Jacob," I told her meekly, then more resolutely, "Jacob Nelson."

Afsoon smiled, whispered "Yakoob," my name in Arabic, and sipped from the plastic water bottle, her lips glistening attractively. 

"How do you convince young women to blow themselves up?"

"We kidnap their family members and threaten to kill them if they don't do what we want." She answered while eating her candy, inspecting it after each nibble.

"And so they go commit suicide to protect their families?"

"Of course they do," she said, continuing to eat her candy bar in snippets. "There is no choice."

"People always have a choice," I countered. "That's the difference between our culture and yours."

Afsoon scoffed, "No, just take my circumstance right now. I'm your prisoner. You can do anything you want to me. I have no choice. I'm your slave."

"We don't enslave people," I chuckled.

"You Americans were a slave-owning society for centuries." 

"That's in the past."

"That's your history." She motioned toward Tate's body. "Your man here would've been your servant."

"Tate was my friend, my brother..." I was growing agitated.

"Still I'm your prisoner, your slave." She put the last bit of Butterfinger in her mouth. "You can rape me if you want and I can't stop you."

"I wouldn't do that," I said sincerely.

"But you can," she repeated. "You have all the power."

Two hours passed and there was no sign of a copter or word from the base. I sent message after message with no reply and then my smarty's battery died.

"We're stuck here for the night," I told my captive. "If the chopper doesn't show up by morning, we'll set out on foot."

"I need to pass water again," Afsoon said flatly.

"Yeah, me too." We carefully stepped out of the jeep, still rope-tied together. I shielded my member from view as I unbuttoned my pants, but, unlike her prior discretion, Afsoon showed all—lifting her dress to her waist, wiggling her underpants to her knees, revealing a forest of downy fur covering her groin and thighs. She touched her pink labia with her fingers, awkwardly because of the handcuffs, to aim her stream of urine that spouted from her pubic pricker bush. My primitive instincts awoke.

She watched me looking at her as she covered up after finishing, unfazed by my voyeurism in a land without bathrooms or toilets.

There were two sleeping bags in the storage box. I planned to lay them out on the ground if for no other reason than not wanting to sleep beside Tate's corpse in the jeep. However, the line of rope got tangled between the two sleepers. Also, I worried that she could wrangle her way out of my leash and escape—or kill me if she got her hands on a weapon. 

"We have to sleep together," I told her, almost apologetically.

"Certainly," she said with a coy smile.

I yanked the rope and she dutifully shed her sleeping bag and slipped into mine. We lay face to face. My stale breath and body odor matched hers. I saw her smiling in the stark darkness.

"I do not mind this," she said in an earthy whisper. I felt her handcuffed wrists against my waist. "May I hold your manly cock?"

"You've seen it before."

"But I've not touched it."

Then she did. Afsoon wrapped the fingers of one hand around my shaft and cupped her other hand over my tip. She pumped the length of it while rhythmically massaged my arrowhead. 

"Your American penis is no different from our Afghan men's," she said while I hardened in response to her touch. "Because of our shared practice of genital mutilation..."

As a Jew, I never thought of circumcision that way, but, before I could engage her in an argument, Afsoon shimmied down inside the sleeping back and brought her face to my lower reaches. She kissed my dick with her lips and washed it with her tongue. If my cock and balls were ripe with perspiration odor, it didn't seem to bother her; she paused several times to sniff and savor the rarified aura of my crotch. 

"Undress me, Yakoob," she spoke breathlessly while removing her scarf. Her thick flaxen hair tumbled over her shoulders.

"I thought only a women's husband and father should see her hair."

"I am your whore," she said in all seriousness. "It's Allah's will that I submit to you."

She clutched her smallish breasts and I placed my hands over hers and squeezed. Afsoon moaned with pleasure as I pinched, tweaked, and bit her pointed nipples. Then I went down on her, breathing in the smell of her teeming cauldron before tasting it, chewing on her pink inner flesh, and poking her clitoris with my tongue.

As I rolled on top of her, laying chest to chest and belly to belly, Afsoon guided my cock to her smoldering vaginal slit and rubbed it. With a primal grunt, I pushed my poker into her cunt and she responded with rapid-fire thrusting that didn't let up for five minutes. I filled her tubes with my semen and wondered whether she was fertile.

After she descended from her orgasm, she kept me wrapped inside her Venus and asked me to keep my staff there.

"If you like to fuck me, I'll be your mole. I'll bring Talibs to you and you can fuck me all the time."

I didn't believe her, but her proposal aroused me. In no time at all, my cock resumed erection and we were rocking and rolling again.

"I am your whore, Yakoob." Afsoon, my beautiful terrorist, peppered my face, neck, shoulders, and chest with kisses. Then she began sucking on my dick with loud gulps and slurps. Before drinking my wad, she stopped and spoke plaintively. "Fuck me. Fuck me forever."

Afsoon spread her legs and raised her handcuffed arms over her head and stretched them behind her back. I craned my neck and nuzzled both of her sweat-matted patches of underarm hair, wallowing in her gamey scent. Then I dithered between her legs, fiddling and diddling with her sopping pussy before gliding my pistol into her holster.

We danced frantically until I was on the brink of coming and Afsoon uttered a prayer in the middle of fucking. 

Afsoon had a knife taped to her back, between her shoulder blades, which I caressed, and her buttocks, which I fondled. She had managed to get her cuffed hands behind her back, though she probably wrenched her arm out of its socket to get ahold of the weapon while I was banging her. 

I wrestled the knife out of her hand and smacked her across the face with the back of my hand.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered foolishly. I've never laid a hand on a woman or girl in my life.

"And I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely. "Now you will kill me with my own knife. I'm ready to die. Allah Akbar!"

"No," I said softly, as I rolled her naked body over so that she lain on her stomach. "We're not like you."

Then I probed her moist anus with two fingers, spread apart her buttocks, and slid my still hard dick inside her ass.

Afsoon was quiet as I helped her get dressed and tucked her into my sleeping bag.

"You're too civilized to be brutal enough to destroy your enemies. You could never do to us what we would do to you."

As I lay awake, too vigilant to sleep, I knew she was absolutely right.