It is mid afternoon on a summer day. The day of the week and the month of the year no longer matter to me, for I am imprisoned without hope of rescue. Freedom will come only if the man who has kidnapped me is exorcised of the demon that has possessed him and made me the victim of his odious desires.
I had fallen asleep to the sound of wind rustling through the leaves outside of the mountain redoubt in which I am being held captive. Before drifting off, I had marveled at the odd shadows cast by the sun through the wooden slats hammered haphazardly over the bedroom windows to prevent my escape into the deep forest that surrounds my captor's hideaway. I fantasized that I had been cast into a dark world by an evil sorcerer, and that if I could only remember the proper incantation, I would be magically transported back to my apartment in Pittsburgh.
There is not another house for miles. My captor's log cabin sits in a hollow along a stream and the dirt road that connects it to civilization meanders for miles from its juncture with a West Virginia country lane that is itself miles from a main highway. And, if the man I know as Garth's vigilant eye is somehow distracted permitting an escape attempt, what will the local farmers, deeply suspicious of outsiders and bearing a resentment of the yolk of government that goes back generations, think of the appearance of a big city Jewess in their midst?
My peaceful torpor is interrupted when my kidnapper bursts into the bedroom. I rub my eyes and look outside the doorway. That there is a noose dangling from a beam in the middle of the main room of the cabin doesn't surprise me. I know that momentarily I will come face to face with death.
It won't be the first time Garth has forced me to act out his lurid fantasy, which is to stage a mock execution, bringing his victim to the brink of death. As his victim, if his fantasy becomes to see me die, I will never know.
After being tortured by this monster for months, I no longer believe there to be an Eternal Reward; instead, only oblivion awaits one whose heart had stopped beating. Or, if my captor's beliefs hold true, one such as me is damned and will never see Paradise even if such a place exists.
I close my eyes, hoping that I can dream away what is about to happen. I dare not utter a protest, lest I be beaten; or worse, not rescued before it is too late.
"Wake up, you lazy bitch!"
My room is not much of a prison. The door to what once was the master bedroom is always left unlocked, as is the front door. When first brought here, I was locked in this room, chained hand and foot to the bed, and raped whenever my captor got the urge. But now only the isolation of this cabin in the southern Appalachian Mountains keeps me his prisoner.
I sit up in bed, and try to hinder my captor from fulfilling his fantasy by acting not angry or terrified but apathetic. I do not try to stifle the yawn that has resulted from my forced awakening.
"If you don't want to die, bitch, then I suggest you get with the program!"
"Get with the program," I mutter, mocking his use of a cliché just enough to raise his hackles but not sufficiently to elicit violence. I stand up. I am wearing only a tattered white tee shirt that covers my shoulders and extends to my upper thighs. Written in crimson across my breasts in cursive script are the words 'Atlanta Braves'.
I stand on my tiptoes to address my captor, who is clad in the brown short sleeve shirt and pants of a Nazi Storm Trooper. A red armband with a black swastika set in a circular white field adorns the sleeve over his hugely developed right biceps. On his shaved head sits a brown stovepipe hat regaled with the German Eagle insignia. Jackboots complete his anachronistic costume. I do not know if the Lugar in the holster on his hips is loaded.
He is a Nazi. In the early twenty-first century a tiny group of losers is kindling the embers that still smolder after the horrific war that had destroyed the most notorious group of evildoers of the previous century. I, a Jew, had been unlucky enough to be kidnapped by one such man when he needed a getaway car after a botched bank robbery.
"So what would you like me to do?" I whisper as I began to undo the buckle on his holster. He jerks away, but not before I give one stroke to the tumescent mass that has erupted in his crotch.
At first, sex with him had been rape. But compromises had to be made.
There are only two of us here, miles away from another human and hours away by automobile from any sizeable settlement, and only one form of recreation for a man and a woman living in such isolation. For him not to become insane hiding from the law as a recluse in the mountains and destroy us both, my body had to give him pleasure, and for my body to pleasure him I had to give myself to him willingly.
At first lying with him was odious, but as we shared our bodies, our hate began to dissipate. A spark of love has grown between us, which I struggle desperately to nurture.
"First of all, take off that mousy tee shirt!"
I leisurely pull my top off and stand naked before him. "If you'd buy me some nice things to wear around the house, you wouldn't see me in shit like this."
"You are an enemy of the Reich. You deserve only to wear rags!"
I puff my lips out as if pouting. Luckily for me, the Reich to which he referred was destroyed three generations ago and will never rise again. Or so I hope. "Well, you did get a few nice things for me. They're just not the kind of things that are comfortable for a girl to wear around the house. Would it please you if I put one of them on?"
"Stop mocking me, Jewess! Your insolence may cause your life to end today!"
He and I are trapped together, not unlike the characters in "Huis Clos." There is certainly no easy exit for either of us. But unlike those condemned in Sartre's play to eternally punish one another, I see the possibility of my captor's redemption.
I saunter over to the dresser drawer where I keep the few things I am able to call my own and take out a pair of black lace bikini panties and a matching brassiere.
I hold them up to the wannabe Jew killer. "What were you thinking about when you bought these for me? Or rather what was the saleslady thinking?"
Garth's face reddens. It will take only a little more provocation for him to strike me. But I know he will want to make love when he cuts me down after he's hanged me. So I chance that he will hold his temper or only rough me up a little if I continue to egg him on.
My captor remains silent. His eyes turn into angry beads.
"I know what she was thinking. That these are no where near your size!" I cackle.
"I ripped off the damn things!" he protests, and holds his hand up to strike me.
I wave my index finger in his face. "You know how bad it makes you feel when you see me covered with bruises." I then worry that on one of his forays for supplies he will be arrested.
"Crazy kike bitch!" he mutters, and settles for slapping my rump, just to assert that he is in control. But we both know that the opposite is true.
"OK Garth. I'm going to put these nice things on, and then I'm going to wash my face and put on a little makeup, just so I'm presentable when you have your way with me."
"You might end up food for the bears and coyotes this time."
"And if I do, you better get a subscription to Playboy to help you jack off, because any other girl you bring out here will kill herself in three days."
"Fuck you. Just get dressed."
I slide into the panties as Garth watches, and then spray onto my neck a little of the cologne that he had purchased for me at the J. C. Penney in the town nearest to our abode. Even though every little gift he gave me signified the progress I had made wearing down the hate he had for modern society, I was afraid that such a man purchasing or stealing female accoutrements might arouse suspicion that something illicit was going on, like holding a woman at a remote location against her will.
I don't need my imprisonment to end now. If I am ever to be free, Garth will have to free me himself. He might be a hero in some circles, as far as I knew. For me to be known as the Jewess who was the downfall of this modern Siegfried would put me in danger for the rest of my life. Instead, Garth must learn the life that brought us together is evil and accept punishment for his crimes.
I feel his hands on my shoulders. I see his face in the mirror. Hate did not register on his visage. "Honey, do we have to do this?"
"Just hurry up!" my lover shouts. The angst in his voice suggests that he is wavering in his desire to torture me. But fulfilling his dark fantasies increases my value to him. He still vacillates between despising who I am and accepting that we have fallen in love. Thus, I still need to play along.
I ignore his entreaty and begin brushing my hair. Garth towers behind me. He is at least six feet tall; a good six inches over my height. No anger is yet visible on his face.
I need a haircut badly. The last time I had seen a beautician was the day Garth kidnapped me as I left a hair salon. Exposed to hard water that had caused it lose its luster, my mane had paid a price for its bearer being held captive. If we ever return to civilization, entering a beauty salon will tempt me even more than stopping a police officer to end my captivity. When I am satisfied that my hair is free of tangles, I tie it up on top of my head in a bun so I don't suffer the additional torture of having strands of my hair ripped from my scalp as the noose tightens around my neck.
After splashing cold water on my face my sleepiness is gone and my eyes are wide open and alive again. I pat my skin dry and paint thick blue lines on my upper eyelids before brushing mascara onto my lashes. I finish my eyes with a thin coat of gray eye shadow, hoping that when he stares at me with the noose around my neck, I will look alluring enough to earn another reprieve from death.
I then apply foundation to hide the blemishes and wrinkles that have accumulated during my thirty year sojourn on this planet. I am pleased that I can still look good, hopefully at least enough for my cabin mate to want to keep me around. A touch of blush goes on my cheeks as I wonder if the man standing behind me will be overcome by his sadistic urges and snuff out my life today.
"That's enough!" he shouts and grabs me by the arm.
I was almost done. I hate to leave any task unfinished, even if it is primping before my captor tortures me. "Please, just a little lipstick!" I beg.
I feel his grip relax. My hand shakes as I reach for a tube of lipstick. Putting on my makeup, an activity reminiscent of a happier time such as getting ready for a date or going to a club, had made my mood playful. But the tone in Garth's voice reminds me of why he awakened me from my nap. He is going to put the noose around my neck and suspend my body so I will strangle under my own weight.
I steady my hand and coat my lips with the purple lipstick as my mind races. What can I do to buy time to make him forget about hanging me? The thought of sucking his uncircumcised cock enters my mind.
