Pakistani Whore 1

His dreams were plagued by thoughts of her over the next year and a half. Eighteen months whose nights were long, joyless eternities for a hormonally driven adolescent. Finally one night the urge was too strong and rather than ignore it he yielded to it. Intense emotions gripped him as his body surrendered to his hand and he quietly brought himself to climax. And it had felt good. So good in fact that the guilt didn’t affect him like he had expected it would. He did not confess his sin that week, or the week after. His critical attitude toward the Church had led him to question a few of the things he had been taught– a completely new concept for him. By the third week his mind was made up not to confess it at all. He didn’t care to hear the harsh words his priest would speak, nor did he desire the absolution the man could or could not offer him. It was none of his business. Besides, as a good Catholic he knew his confession would have been meaningless because the truth was he was not. I have my GO trunk and one additional suitcase of clothing for a short trip on the underground railroad. Liz wants me away from home until the men and the sisters are debriefed, to determine how much they really know about me. I kiss Claire goodbye and Marta escorts me onto the private jet. I let the Talisker burn its way down my throat as the plane starts its takeoff roll. I suddenly begin to shake uncontrollably. Marta reaches across the aisle and takes the tumbler from my hand. "Wh-wh-what-t's h-happen-ing?" "Don't worry, Ma'am. It will pass soon. Try to enjoy it." It's not an unpleasant feeling, it's just disturbing that I have no control over it. It reminds me of an experience I had long ago, only it is much more intense and lasts much longer. Marta's confidence soothes me and I slowly regain my cool. "Wow! That was freaky. Thank you for taking that." She hands my glass back to me and I take another sip. "I didn't want to witness any alcohol abuse, especially not with something.
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