This is a work of pure fiction, but based on the author's feelings, beliefs, and in some cases, experience. Come to think of it -- it might not be all that pure! There may be graphic sexual encounters at times between men, so if this offends you, you are invited to retreat. If you are too young or it is otherwise illegal for you to be reading this kind if story, shame on you for reading it - - please stop here. If not, - - ENJOY!
Cast of characters:
Brian Weber -- That's me! Deena -- my wife Ronny -- my son. Chris Willows -- kid in bathroom. Mike Riggs -- new friend. Chanelle LeBelle -- Ronny's girlfriend. Gary Foosdorf -- Mike's friend Dmitri -- Neighbor Ericka -- Dmitri's wife Muhammad Zarindast -- Friend Stan -- Muhammad's Afghanhound. Kohfi -- 30 year old Persian Freedom Contender Mick -- 26 year old American Freedom Contender Ammad -- 45 year old Iraqi Freedom Contender
From Chapter 7:
Now it was his turn to pull me down to him. He took off my robe and we cuddled and kissed and -- cried a little -- not too much. What we were doing seemed to be enough -- under the circumstances. We fell asleep in each other's arms.
We awoke to knocking on the door. "Dad! Gary! It's time for our meeting!"
"We'll be right out, Ronny!" Yelled Gary and I together. We rolled around and kissed a few times then popped up and put on shirts and sandals -- and shorts. We laughed when we came out of our apartment into the common area and saw everyone else. Everyone had the same idea we did. Shorts and as little clothing as possible! We wanted to live and act like westerners for as long as we could before we had to start acting like primitives -- again.
Chapter 8
"Ron!" I said. "What happened to you?"
Ronny was all smiles, and his teeth looked sunny bright compared to the rest of him. He was filthy. He looked at Mick and they both laughed.
"There is a horse back there that put's Satan to shame! It's the most beautiful black Arabian I've ever seen! Well, actually there are two of them, but Mick's is dark chestnut -- almost maroon colored! They are very fast -- and know how to run in the sand and dirt out here!"
"Are they as dirty as you are?" I asked.
"I'm a little worried about that. If we're not allowed to bathe - "
"Oh, I think in this case we will make an exception." Said Mo. "It never fails to amaze me how a boy can get more dirt on him than is on the horse! But when you ride more, wear clothing that covers you. When you shower of the dirt, don't use soap, please. Some of these people don't bathe except going in the river sometimes."
"Dad, Mick can ride! When we get home, he'll be coming up to ride Satan with me!" Said my exuberant son, all smiles.
I am so happy that Ronny has a couple guy pals now. First Kevin -- at home -- and now Mick. He never really fit in with a lot of guys, I suppose because, especially since he suspected I was gay, he probably was afraid to get close to anyone for fear of them discovering what he did - - about his dad. I almost hope that Mick really is straight. It'll make a friendship easier.
I'm still not sure I'm ready to come out in any general way -- once we get back, but it is easier when those close know.
"Let's go get this dirt off us!" said Mick. "Do we have time before dinner, Muhammad?" Mo nodded, and the two young men disappeared into their room.
"We can postpone the planning meeting until after the evening meal. It is rewarding to see two young men develop close bonds in a non-sexual way." Said Mo.
After dinner, we were told of the new plan. Besides adopting the look of the peasant locals, Mo, Ammad and Kohfi would wear turbans. And since they all had longish hair, they would ft in well with the other locals in that vicinity. Ronny, Mick and I would continue to wear the egal and shora headdresses -- to cover our western appearance. We would be shadowed by another -- not-so-elegant cab. Mo and Ammad would be in the cab, and the other four of us were to muscle the unwilling young men into the cab.
"I will be the only one with a gun. I wanted to avoid the use of any firearms, but it seems that we must be flexible. This may attract more attention than taking them into the limos, but Gary is an excellent driver. Kohfi will teach you others how to disappear and fade into a crowd after an abduction.
I felt nervous about this, but when I looked at Ronny and Mick, they seemed to be almost salivating about it.
"You know, Ronny," I said, later when Ronny and I got a moment to ourselves, "James Bond is only a story. This is an adventure to be sure. But there is a very real chance that one of us could not come back from this adventure. Let's be very careful not to take any chances that are unnecessary"
"I know Dad. I know!!"
"I'm right there with you, Ron. I know that in the heat of the moment, we can't be overly worried about each other -- it can distract us. But if you see me being to -- um -- excited or too -- well, maybe too complacent, let me know. Not at the time, but beforehand so I have time to think about it. And don't be offended if I do the same. I want both of us to come home unscathed."
"Okay, Dad. Sorry if I was defensive."
We played and ate and -- got stinky -- and dirty -- for six more days. Then we were taken -- by two dirty taxi cabs -- to our humble abodes in a somewhat less savory part of Tehran. In this part of the city, indeed, there was a smell that pervaded everything. We thought we had gotten used to the smell of rancid body odor -- in the company of one another.
One thing no one was willing to do was abandon toilet habits. Ronny asked Mo if it was really necessary to smell like poop. If everyone else did, then would anyone notice? Then the only problem was -- when we got to our houses, in that part of town, it took us another day of getting used to several other sickening smells -- and poop was not the worst of it.
Of course there was no air conditioning, so we couldn't even close the windows against it.
Next door to us were a couple - a couple of guys. I watched them as closely as I could without being intrusive. I believe that they were gay, and anywhere else, they would probably be assumed to be. But in Tehran, people don't believe in being gay. If a boy -- or young man -- told his parents that he was gay, they would laugh and say he was being silly or immature. I learned this before we came, from internet articles about gay Tehran.
The problem is that some of the young people don't want to remain silent about their being gay. Now is not the time to come out in Iran. It will get you stoned or hanged. If you are quiet about it, it's not so bad. We were not there to save those who were quiet about it.
Lucky for some young people, their parents are loving enough to want to save them from this, and that's where Mo comes in. His carefully guarded underground movement abducts those youths whose parents are cognizant enough to save their children.
Because of the secrecy of what we were doing, we had to ignore many young men who made a spectacle of being gay. It was only a matter of time before they would be caught, dragged before the swift judgment of a religious government, and put to death. It is usually done quietly, because the government doesn't admit that there IS such a thing as homosexuality in Iran.
"We are here to save only those we are directed to." Mo Reminded us. "For our mutual protection, I advise that you do not make friends with the locals. If you do, you may be putting us all in jeopardy. You may have noticed that our neighbors next door are very pleasant fellows -- probably gay. But we would probably be the only ones to notice this. If you make friends with them, and then feel some warmth for them, it may distract you -- and you may want to save them too.
"Make no mistake -- they do out themselves at risk, but we must be focused upon saving only those that we are assigned to save. We are not the only ones doing this. So you may be putting not only us at risk but others too -- if you get distracted this way. Keep to yourselves -- and be careful that you are not openly making any overtures to one another. Even in jest -- as is often done in America -- it may be taken seriously here. I cannot warn you enough about the gravity of what we are doing -- nor the risks."
The next day we abducted two young men. Following the plan, four of us surrounded them and muscled them into the dirty taxi cab -- driven by my Gary. They were easy catches, as neither was the type that worked out and were not strong enough to fight two men. The taxi sped off and we melted back into the crowd, wondering what might become of these boys.
We melted into the crowd and then made our way back to our houses. As soon as I was in the house, Ronny started to weep. I ran to the bathroom and barfed. When I came out Ronny looked chagrinned.
"I saw it too, Ron. Both boys were terrified and -- I think one at least crapped his drawers -- for real."
"He did. Dad, that first guy, last week, was so -- so - "
"Belligerant?"
"Yes! I didn't have a problem helping get him. I think it was good he was alone. His testosterone and -- adrenaline, I guess -- made him put up a fight. These kids -- Dad, they couldn't have been more than 15 or 16! They were like a couple little grade school boys!"
"I don't know what to hope for, Ronny. How about you, Mick? How are you doing?"
"It -- wouldn't be what I'd want to do for life -- and I didn't enjoy strong-arming boys -- but remembering what I was doing -- it was -- well -- pretty invigorating - - awesome!" Said Mick. "What's strange is how I feel now."
"How's that?"
"I think I want to kill something -- or someone! You know what kept going through my mind?"
"No, what?"
"Those two dudes next door. I haven't said a word to them but yesterday, as I stepped out of the cab, they both smiled at me and this morning one of them said hi. Just being friendly. I was imagining -- first -- what might happen to the two we abducted, if they were caught by the wrong people. Then my mind went to the guys over there." He said pointing in the direction of next door.
"That may happen to them! The may be abducted by someone who doesn't have the same ideas we have. I made the mistake of looking the one in the eyes when he talked to me this morning. I don't recommend it! Just that one little thing made me -- um -- I guess -- care about him."
"That's how I felt about those boys!" Said Ronny. The one I forced into the car looked at me and his eyes pleaded with me. I could read `WHY!!??' in his eyes! And then I made the further mistake of watching him leave. He kept looking at me like I could maybe save him somehow. And all within less than a half minute -- I saw a light go out in those same eyes -- as if he lost hope.
Ronny started to cry again. I pulled him into my embrace.
"It's gonna be okay dude!" Said Mick. "Just think about how you probably saved their lives." Mick touched Ron's arm gently. It made my heart happy to see these two straight boys sharing a tender moment!
A tap on the door startled all of us. I opened it and Kohfi was there. Looking triumphant. "I'm thinking of staying here and doing this for awhile!" He said.
"You liked that?" said Ronny.
"Duh! It was a total rush!" he said. I didn't like the -- (was it evil?) grin on his face. It makes me feel creepy.
During the next two weeks, we abducted between one and four guys each day. It was nearing our time to go home. I knew there were thousands more who were at risk, but -- we were not asked to do more than we signed up for. Kohfi asked about staying, but Ammad made a violent show of objection, so he immediately backed down.
Kohfi looked at me and I felt like he was trying to read my thoughts -- and I have to admit, they weren't too pretty. I had not really liked him -- or Ammad -- from the beginning. It seemed mutual. They were putting up with us -- for the greater good -- and vice-versa.
"Tomorrow's our last day." Said Ammad. "I understand that there is only one guy to save. I think we should also save the guys next door."
"Have you talked to Muhammad about that?" I asked.
"I talked to the guys next door -- that's good enough! I'll TELL Muhammad what's going to happen."
I wished Gary was here with us. It was decided that it may excite some curiosity if the cab driver was seen living with us. And also -- we both were a little relieved -- because we wanted to do so much more than we had. His body odor seemed to do the exact opposite form what others odor did to me. Gary's strong, heady odor made me horny!
After everyone else was settled I told Ronny I'd be right back. I walked back to the rear abode and tapped on the door. Mo answered with gun in hand. I started to tell him what was discussed earlier, with Ammad and Kohfi. He looked concerned and then alarmed, and then I heard a commotion in the front house. I ran back and into the arms of two smelly beings with dirty rags on their bodies and heads. They were not exactly large, but were enough to overwhelm anything I tried to do -- even my Taekwondo. This time it was I who was thrown into a cab. I felt a sharp rap to my head and woke up later, blind folded, with a splitting headache.
"Get up!" A voice screamed at me. It seemed that I had heard it once before, somewhat echo-ey, but this time it came with a sharp kick to my ribs. My hands were tied behind my back and there was a foul tasting rag in my mouth. I recoiled from the kick and then another "Get up -- I have told you!" And a kick came from the other direction -- to the ribs on the other side. This one must have cracked something.
Four hands grabbed me and jerked me to my feet. I felt a deep pain in my side that almost made me forget the pain in my head. I was pushed from the rear, and then I remembered Ronny. I tried to cry out his name but could do no more than mumble through the filthy rag stuffed in my mouth. For trying I received another sharp blow -- this time to my testicles. I crumpled to my knees and was again jerked to my feet. All I wanted to do was know where Ronny was -- and rub my balls.
Why hadn't Mo followed me back to the house?
"Keep moving forward, pig!" came the demand in strongly accented English. I received another shove. I then noticed that my clothes were drenched. They must have had trouble bringing me too after the hard blow to the head.
I was brought to another room -- which seemed somehow cooler. I was roughly backed up to a hard wall. And two of the men stood at my sides. They removed the blindfold. I was in a shadow, and in bright light, across what had to be an enclosed patio, I saw Ronny -- tied to a chair. I again tried to cry out and again the muffled sound earned me -- this time an elbow -- to already searingly painful ribs. But my effort was rewarded by Ronny's eyes turning to me.
"Dad!" He cried.
"Shit!" I thought, with a sinking feeling. Now they know. Then I saw what was beside Ronny. A crumpled body lying in a puddle of blood. I couldn't help crying out, and was again rewarded -- this time with another blow to the head. My mind was reeling. Could it have been? Was the lifeless body I saw really - - Mick?
"Oh -- so that is your father?" Said a very evil sounding voice. "Maybe we can get HIM to talk!"
Immediately a knife was wielded and a line of blood appeared on Ronny's face. But then it seemed to open up and a steady stream of blood poured out.
Ronny's response made my horror multiply: "Go head, Fucker! Do the other side! It will be a badge of valor when I stand in front of the God of Abraham and Isaac! While YOU vanquish under the Satan you call Muhammad!"
Ronny had done his homework. He knew that citing the God of Isaac would most enrage them. They believed that it was Isaac whom Abraham cast out with his mother, and that Ishmael, his half brother was the chosen son -- and the father of the Arab and Persian empires. And of course calling Muhammad "Satan" was enough to get Ronny his wish. They slashed his other cheek.
I was sure that they would kill both of us, but my immediate emotion was to save Ronny. I was able to chew the filthy rag enough to spit it out of my mouth. "Ronny -- NO!!" I screamed. I received another kick to my groin. My knees buckled, but the two men beside me kept me up, rapping my knees hard with a metal pipe, to get them to straighten out.
"Dad! -- Dad!" Said my infuriated son. I was distraught about my son. Why was it he seemed more infuriated than distraught? Was it because he was straight and I am gay? NO! I don't accept that! Then it dawned on me: Ron had witnessed whatever it was that they had done to drop Mick. Something caught my eye to the right. There stood both Ammad and Kohfi -- neither of them tied up. Kohfi was whispering something to Ammad. Ammad smirked, then shushed him. Ammad looked straight at me and didn't even acknowledge me. It was more like he looked through me.
Now the interrogator quick-stepped over to me. "Who is paying you to do these things?" Said the interrogator, who was better dressed and cleaner than anyone else there.
"No one is paying me. I -- uff!" I was hit again with the metal pipe, this time harder, across the abdomen. I doubled over in pain, but was wrenched back up by the men holding me. Tears were coursing down my face -- from nothing more than the sheer pain that they were submitting me to.
"Why hit him, Ass holes!" screamed Ronny. "He's only telling you the tr - " I saw Ronny's head jerk to the right, as he caught the back of a hand form one of his persecutors - and I could swear I saw teeth through the gash on his left cheek. He seemed to be so enraged that he felt no pain -- or was ignoring it.
Well, I guess I was too when it came down to it.
"Ronny!" I screamed. "Shut up! Don't give them - " This time I was punched in the gut so hard that I vomited blood -- and whatever was left in my stomach.
Ronny started to scream something else, as the interrogator said something in Farsi. The razor-sharp knife that was used to cut Ronny's face was readied to draw across the jugular in his neck, when there was a noise like thuds, but more like someone was trying to silence a couple of farts. All eyes turned to the side wall, and dark spots appeared in the foreheads of both Kohfi and Ammad.
In deadly silence, they both fell as two of the men by me ran to them, as did the two that were beating Ronny. The interrogator was still standing by me. In seeming slow motion, chaos ensued. The wall behind where Ammad and Kohfi were standing moments before, came tumbling down, as a large black truck rammed through it, crushing all those who were next to the wall.
A figure jumped out of the truck -- which materialized into the large limo that we had ridden in when we first arrived. The figure was none other than my Gary. The stunned man standing next to me came to his senses and tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. Gary was closer than his only exit. Gary quickly assessed the situation, and then practically leaped the 15 feet between himself and the interrogator.
The well dressed, older man tried to get away, but he was no match for Gary. They scuffled a bit -- on the ground -- then shots rang out, and again everything became still.
"Move away from the cleric!" commanded the man standing upon the wall opposite where the limo crashed in. Gary moved slowly away from the older man. One more shot rang out, as we saw the now familiar dark spot in the interrogator's forehead. He got a surprised look on his face, and then crumpled within his robe, like the wicked witch of the west. A crackling, bubbling sound could be heard in the following silence, as his bowels were emptied of waste and the now exposed white underclothes he wore turned yellow.
The man on the wall jumped down and awoke us from our trauma-stunned, suspended animation. It was of course Mo, and he started issuing orders as fast as he could talk. I was untied, and -- for the moment at least, Ronny's wounds were ignored as both Gary and Mo ran to Mick. I ran and untied Ron, while Mo put his head to Mick's chest.
"He lives, but he must have blood." He said evenly. Mo and Gary lifted Mick's apparent lifeless body to the limo, and then they helped me and Ronny to it. Gary looked at me with sad eyes and turned to run and jump into the driver's seat. He backed out of the rubble -- again running over the bodies he'd hit on the way in. I could hear groans, so apparently at least some were still alive.
When we were clear of the crumbled wall, I could see that we were out away from the city -- in another of those compounds not totally unlike the one we luxuriated at (except that we could not bathe!) before we occupied the houses.
I saw at least three other men lying on the ground outside the compound -- probably dispatched by the same silenced firearm that killed Ammad, Kohfi and the cleric.
"Stop!" said Mo. Gary gently brought the limo to a halt. Mo got out, and went back in through the damaged barrier wall and we heard several shots ring out. Mowalked back to the car. "It is done," was all he said, as he opened Gary's door. "Let me drive."
Gary got out and joined us in the rear of the limo, and Mo turned the car away from the compound. Mick's chest was barely moving. Ron was by now moaning, because he could now feel what he was ignoring before. I felt like every muscle and organ in my body -- plus several bones -- were compromised. But I expended enough energy to move close to Ronny. His face was still bleeding, and there was a slight scratch atop where his jugular would be.
All of Gary's attention was taken, keeping Mick at least semi-conscious. His throat had been slit before I came into the patio, but apparently he fell in such a way that his head and neck bent to constrict much of the bleeding.
We drove for an hour and a half -- not all smooth roads, but from what I could see, I'd guess we were again exceeding 100 -- maybe closer to 110 mph. I asked Mo later and he said he wasn't paying attention to the speedometer. We arrived at the luxurious compound where we started, and there was a doctor and a nurse waiting there for us.
Blood types were taken and the only ones who matched Mick were Ronny and Mo. Mo insisted that Ronny -- who was eager to help -- even in his pain -- just rest, while Mo ordered that they take his own blood. Mick needed six pints of blood.
Three were drawn from Mo, after which he fainted from weakness, and then they supplemented that with three pints of plasma, which was sufficient to bring Mick's blood pressure up considerably. Luckily for both of the young men, the knife was not one of the filthy, dull blades you read about in the news accounts. It was sharp and -- apparently clean -- as there was not a problem with infection.
"I'm sorry," said the surgeon, as he sewed up Ronny's cheeks, "but there will be scars on both sides of your face."
"Those aren't' scars, Sir." Said Ronny, seriously, then "Ouch!" as the doctor tied off one of the stitches.
"Those are badges of his courage and valor!" I said proudly.
All that could be done for me was to wrap my torso tightly, to ease the pain of breathing with several cracked ribs.
Notes: No notes. I just think that after that, we all deserve a big slice of hot apple pie with ice cream -- American style: as rich, decadent and overdone as we can make it! Comments are welcomed -- to Steve at stevethonas535@hotmail.com. Thanks and - - Love, Steve