Something happened to my ability to choose “friends” during my stint in the military. Through grade school, high school and college I chose my friends well and had normal things happen in my life. My relations with women were good and my best male friends were always there for me, as I was for them.
After my service years, I was everyone’s dependable, caring patsy. A great long time friend borrowed my truck and never returned it; a live-in girlfriend stole things from my house and tried to get even more; my brother conned me out of my savings because of needed “cancer treatment” which was a lie. Add twenty-five more years and my wife had cheated on me and split. I raised my son and daughter and put them through college, only to discover they told lies about how bad their rather privileged childhood was. Still they came back to the well often.
My reaction to my shortcomings was to withdraw, work my growing, ever more successful farm longer and longer hours and watch crazy things on the news that I could not understand.
Almost dusk one Thursday, Alcario, an ever present, ever willing worker on my farm, came racing toward me. His English was usually passable even though he often seemed slow witted. He was so excited that he could not remember his English and just pushed me toward my four wheeled Kawasaki “Mule” and pointed toward a distant bank where the state highway ran along the property line for a couple hundred yards. He seemed relieved that he had passed on some responsibility and hurried toward the little house he shared with his wife and two young children. I had no idea what to expect but I headed into the lengthening shadows cast by the forest on the other side of the highway.
On my first pass I looked along the base of the hill that rose thirty feet up to the highway. I did not find anything but spotted a break in the wire fence and went to investigate. Among the thistles was a deathly still, beaten and bloody young girl. She looked older than the high school girls you see at the mall but she was dressed like them. Her skin was medium brown and her hair was cold black. When I moved her, she groaned. Most of the blood came from a slit along the side of her neck and two cuts on her head. She had been rolled down the bank. Every way I tried to sit her up caused her to moan in pain. I remembered a story about how in-crowd high-schoolers haze others. She would be pretty all cleaned up. Her blouse was torn. Her skirt was above her waist and her legs were scratched from her tumble. Her panties were torn and there was blood between her legs.
We were twenty miles from what passed for a town and over forty from a small hospital. I tried to be gentle, but every part of her seemed bruised when I laid her onto the flat deck of the mule. As we bounced along back to the house, I thought of how to describe her to the police – “5’6″, 130#, 18 or 19, Arab-like features.”
I put her on my bed and reached for the telephone. Her voice was hoarse; her throat was dry and she was using all her strength to plead with me, “Don’t call the police. I’ll be alright. Please, don’t.”
She nodded, “Thank you” when I put the telephone down. She did not have the strength to object when I put a chair in the shower, removed her clothing and sat her under the warm spray to clean her and examine her wounds. Under other circumstances her soft, pretty body would be sexy and fun to bathe. I had stripped down to my boxers. Mentally I was full of concern for her and my decision not to call the police. Physically, my cock began to respond. She noticed but looked away. I dried her and tended her torn skin as best I could.
“Did you start your period?”
“Were you raped?”
I figured she had been making out with her boyfriend but then resisted when the asshole penetrated her. I could see him irate and pushing her out of the car and her rolling down the hillside. Now she wanted to protect him. Later, I was to find out my imagined story was way off.
Her hands worked but both her wrists were badly sprained. I had two carpal tunnel braces among some clothing that a former girlfriend had left in a closet. As she sat nude on the side of my bed I put them on her while I admired her artistic shaving of her pussy’s hair. She made some attempt at closing her legs. She only had to open them again when I put some panties on her along with some pajamas and a robe.
“Can I get you to the kitchen and give you some food? Or would you like for me to bring you some things in here.”
“I can make it to the kitchen.”
“What’s your name?”
She decided on some milk, eggs and toast. While I cooked for her, I talked, “Johara, I’m John, John Innas. This is my farm. You are twenty miles out of Cottonwood. Tell me who to call, so your family will know you are alright and can come get you.”
The tears began rolling down her cheeks and she was inconsolable. I stopped cooking and just sat with her, touching her left forearm gently. Her sobs hurt her bruised ribs but she cried anyway. It was close to eleven p.m. before I got some food into her and got her to talk to me.
“I live with my uncle. My mother sent me to him so I could continue going to school. I should have graduated but he does not approve of girls learning to read. He is a mullah. He will never accept me now. I cannot go back to his house.”
Johara’s judgment was as bad as mine. She wanted to be an American and was sucked in by a clique of spoiled bigoted kids. She had told her “girlfriends” way too much. They knew where she was from, how some in her family fought against American troops; how her uncle would reject her if she was not pure; and how he disapproved of almost everything she did because she did not wear the burka and adhere to his traditional ideas. Today was the day her “friends” choose to betray her, lash out against all Muslims and defile her in the eyes of her family. Five people held her while the boy she liked, laughed at her, spit on her, called her horrible names and plunged three dry fingers into her, and in the eyes of her family, ripping away her value as a human and bringing shame into her uncle’s household. In her mind, her world was gone now. Any publicity would make everything worse.
“If we do not notify your family, they will report you missing.”
“I don’t think they will. I have never been accepted by them. Maybe, you can tell Ramin, my cousin, and he will tell my uncle not to look for me.”
“Where will you go? Who will help you?”
There was no answer. Only more tears. I put her to bed; told her we would work things out in the morning and that everything would be alright. She did not believe me. Still she struggled to give me a pain-filled smile.
After two tries, I got Ramin on the telephone and told him the gory details. He did not ask any questions about Johara. He thanked me twice for not embarrassing his uncle. I started to react in my western way when his last words, sealed my lips, “Please, honor my uncle by telling her not to use the family name in her life. It is best she does not return.” I was stunned and quiet. The telephone clicked as he hung up.
I thought a lot that night. Johara had finished breakfast by ten in the morning. I presented her with the first of several shocks for her day, “If you are not going to see a doctor, you should let me examine you between your legs to make sure there is no damage that could set up an infection.”
The shock on her face was difficult to observe. She was complacent because of her feelings of being totally degraded. She lay back on to the bed and opened her legs. Her eyes were closed, tears rolled down and her head was turned as far to one side as it would go. I tried to make light of the situation, “Consider me as your country doctor making a house call. Now, open and say, “Ahh.”
Johara almost laughed. Her ribs hurt and she wrapped her arms around them. That gave me time to open her and look. Her hymen had been a significant barrier. The rips were substantial through thick tissues but I could not see any deeper damage even using an old speculum that I still had from a night of kinky play. I even stretched the hood away from her clit to examine that. The overall view was magnificent. The scent from her made my head swim, my mouth water and my dick harden. I had used some lube but she was adding to it.
My reply started out serious but my true nature crept back into my words, “The attack you endured must have been very painful. I can see where your hymen has been torn away. I don’t see any other damage. I’m sure you are sore but in a couple of days, physically you will be fine. By the way, I like the way you have trimmed your pussy’s hair. She is beautiful.”
I had not thought about doing anything. My body just automatically responded. My fingers traced up through her crease, rubbed lightly on her clit and my lips kissed it lightly. My tongue licked even more gently to say that the inspection was over. Her entire body arched. A little tremble went through her just when a soft moan escaped her lips. As I stood up, her eyes flew open and sparkled in shocked, excitement.
I was as shocked as she was. I sincerely apologized, “I’m sorry Johara. I should not have done that. I was not mentally ready. My body just responded to your beauty. You have no reason to fear me. If your hands are too sprained, I will help you with your hygiene, body function cleaning and baths until they are better. Nothing like that will happen again.”
She was quiet and I rushed from the room to clean my implements and hide both my embarrassment and excitement.
At lunch, Johara, helped set the table and put together her own salad from all that I had sat out. She commented, “You have so many things to put into the salad.”
“I do not know what you like to eat. I was providing options. You are welcomed to stay here while you recover and decide what you are going to do. I’ll have to learn all the rights and wrongs related to your culture and diet.”
As if a light bulb lit in her mind, she ignored my words and asked, “What did Ramin say when you called him?”
There was sadness in my voice, “He said he would tell your uncle; that you should not use the family name in your future life and that it would be best if you did not return.”
She was hurt to the core but her eyes were cold, hard and determined. My answer had just confirmed what she had expected. I knew the feeling so very well. I knew she had hoped that she would be wrong and that someone loved her enough to reach out and say they cared. She did not want me to see her hurt. She stood to walk away from the table. I stood too but I pulled her to me and held her for a good five minutes.
“Sit back down and tell me what you like on your salad and what you hate. What you like to eat and what offends your pallet. You and I had better talk about food or you’ll be cooking something I hate and I’ll be buying things you hate.”
That evening I got her to tell me the names of all of those involved in violating her. She knew I was going to do something but she did not fight me. In a couple of days, she asked what I had done. The harshness of my actions surprised her. “I did not identify myself. I called each of their parents and told them what their offspring had done. I told them that I would be watching. Starting next week, if I saw any of their offspring again I would do everything I could to notify their kids’ employers, colleges, friends, churches and future spouses and tell them every detail about what they had been involved in. I reminded each parent that what happened was a bigoted hate crime and that their children obviously learned that at home – a fact that I would always remember to add to every conversation.”
For the next few of days, I was gone when she got up but I was back and forth enough to help her. I touched every inch of her when I washed her. She knew some of my touches were not necessary. We talked long into each night. I learned about her hopes and dreams. She learned about mine and some of my great disappointments and failings with the opposite sex. We learned to laugh together and were beginning to tease. I was disappointed when I saw that she did not have on the wrist braces, three evenings later. She had cleaned the house some and cooked a fine meal. I returned the cooking favor the next night. Both nights we bathed ourselves and talked and talked. She had been with me for ten days. She had been wearing what clothes she found in the closets.
“Saturday, let me drive you to Redding. We’ll go to the mall and shop. You need to get some clothing that suits you better. You are way to pretty to wear things that almost fit and are too old for you.”
She lit up. My cynical mind said, “Oh God, another world class shopper.” But I liked to see her happy and having something to look forward to.
Johara had never been so free to shop and purchase what she wanted. The sales people were all friendly and helpful. Only once did I offer a suggestion, “I love all that you are choosing. You will be beautiful in everything. Most of the time, we do work on a dusty farm. You might want some jeans and work clothes.”
I teased her a little on the hour drive home before I got serious. “I hope you’ll model the items you purchased at “Victoria’s Secret” for me.”
She blushed. I don’t think she knew that I had seen her shopping there. She needed everything. Considering that, the eleven hundred dollar total was not bad. Luckily she liked Ross’s. She was worried that I would comment about how much she had spent.
“Do you know how to drive?”
“I don’t have a license. I tried a couple of times. I think I could learn.”
“I know you can. I have an older Subaru in the second barn. If you can learn to drive it, you can have it.”
She was shocked.
“Are you a citizen of the U.S. and do you have a social security card?”
“I’m a citizen and have a card. However, I’m not supposed to use my family name.”
“We’ll get you driving and settled; then we’ll get an attorney to do an official name change for you.”
That night was quiet. We both were tired. Johara snuggled against me closer than she had ever done before. I chalked that off to wanting to feel safe. She did not try to keep her legs covered under her robe as much as usual. She did not react when she caught me looking at any exposed skin.
The next day, she worked hard with me in the orchard. She was exhausted and her feet were tired from being in new shoes. I had her take a long soaking bath while I cooked for her. Later on the sofa, she sat on one end; I sat on the other and massaged her feet, ankles and calves. I kept one foot warm nestled into my crotch and half-hard cock while I worked on the other. She dozed. The nightly news was boring as usual. Each time I moved or changed where I was touching, one eye slitted open to see what I was up to.
Another week passed along with her period. We were settling into a routine. She only wore panties and one of my long t-shirts in the mornings, until I saw her, then she would race to get her robe. She had not said anything about her plans – except for setting a date to take her driving test. We were cleaning up after dinner when she accidently turned into me. Her body froze. She could see that I was struggling not to take her into my arms and kiss her. My mind swirled with “You are three times her age,” “Don’t betray her trust,” “She sees you like a father.” It was a struggle but I turned away and did not look at her. I did not want to see that I had frightened or repulsed her.
Usually, she went to bathe first. I was just settling down when she came to me, “My wrists are sore tonight. Will you come bathe me?”
No male mind had ever gone more blank; I mutely let her urge me out of my recliner and guide me into the bathroom. My cock was twisted in my jeans but it pointed out all her assets and noticed that she did not have her clothing laid out for after the bath. She was the inexperienced one, but my hands trembled as I got the water temperature set in the shower and began to help her undress. When she was totally nude, instead of stepping into the shower, she hugged me, pulled my face to hers and kissed me. Her fingers were opening my shirt.
Our second kiss was better. She liked to suck my tongue and liked my hands on her breasts even more. I reached for my belt. She pushed them away and learned to remove my pants. My mind had no ability. She spread her legs for me and said, “I shaved it like you like it.”
Now, I understood, she was giving herself to me. I knew what to do. I would be good for her but my thoughts were already betraying my enjoyment. “Does she feel she owes me and is that why she is giving me her body?”
It had been too long. My lust and need for release, silenced my concerns. She came easily with my finger thrusting into her while she sucked my tongue. In the shower, she came for a man the second time in her life just minutes later when I lifted one of her perfect legs so her foot was on the side of the tub and I knelt down and l licked the wetness from her. Her hips tilted to guide me. Her pleasure was too great to wait. She grabbed both sides of my head and held it so my tongue and lips stayed timed with the finger that rubbed her g-spot. Her cry echoed off the bathroom walls and I supported most of her weight on my lips and finger. She was weak and still trembling when I turned off the water, picked her up and carried her to my bed. We were both wet. She was ready but apprehensive. Then she was puzzled when I pulled her on top of me.
“For this first time, guide me into your body and use my cock to bring you the most pleasure. Give me the gift of watching your beauty.”
I think she looked at my cock for the first time when her fingers reached around it. I knew her thoughts. “I will not hurt you. Go slow so your body adjusts and feels only pleasure.”
Johara worked the head of my cock in between the wet slippery folds of her small pussy. I felt her hips push and my helmet stretch into her. She was feeling the first cock she had ever known throb just inside her. Her hand squeezed to feel its blood pulse in her hand also.
Lightly, I rubbed my palms over her rigid nipples. I did not want to distract her from the new feelings in her belly. When there was no pain she pushed again and was stretched by another inch of cock opening the path to her womb. She did not move, so I sat up to kiss her. My movement forced another inch of my shaft into her. She moaned into my mouth as my cock raked over her clit for that short slide. Her body learned and instantly pushed down. It had a new lesson. As my cock slid along her clit, my helmet pressed into her g-spot. This had to be repeated. She lifted almost off me and let her weight down again.
Four inches of cock slid over her clit and the purple head teased across the magic spot inside her. She inhaled and I filled her lungs with my breath. She whimpered and I sucked her breath away. Her body trembled and another inch of me slid along her exposed slippery button.
“Pull back my beauty. Then let me go as deep into you as you body will let me.”
Johara did not hear me but her body did. This thrust would stretch her as much as I could. Her body would be tested. I felt her lift and use my cock along the path that she had shown it before. Her hands were in my hair as the stretching began. Her hands pulled at my hair and her body sat suspended around the fattest part of my shaft. Her words were from heaven and filled with total beauty, “Help me. I want it all.”
I wrapped my arms under hers and put my hands on her shoulders. I felt her legs tighten to resist. I pulled her down and waited for her to quit fighting. She whispered, “Oh my God,” in my ear, bit my neck and let me pull myself into her body. I did not want to drive into her cervix and hurt her. She began to tremble all over and the slide into her body was too much for me. “I’m going to cum in you.”