As time past, my will powers only grew stronger, even though my tears where running down my cheeks every moment I spent in the same room as Yen. Days became weeks, weeks became months and months and months. It took nine long months of total humiliation to put together the escape plan. A time when I, and the other captives, ate whatever we could get hold off. To keep moral up, we started to joke about everything that happened, and eventually we became quite good at recognizing bugs that were tastier than others. Every moment that I had the slightest of chance I planned for my escape, and finally it all came together.
We were four young men that one night put our plans into action, and in the pouring rain a lot of blood ran over the muddy grounds. As we were running on a road two of the others got hit by the flying bullets that were fired into the dark, but the two of us which been luckier to avoid the flying metal of death picked up our friends and continued to run. The adrenaline level must have been enormous, but looking back at that night, it's really sad the amount of lives we terminated, the fathers and brothers that would never meet their families again, and the only excuse for that was that there was a war going on. To honesty say that the plan was executed to a perfection is untrue. By the time we reached safe grounds among our countrymen, the weight of Lieutenant Hendricks was enormous, but we had accomplished our goal: To escape.
I woke up in a hospital bed, the sun shining straight in my face through the windows. My body was aching, but I couldn't help smiling as I felt clean sheets against my naked body. I was alive, and the feeling was great. I was clean, a feeling I had forgotten about. Then sleep took me away. That night my dreams were violent, returning me constantly back to the cages, and I woke up screaming twice every hour. A nurse was sitting by my bed during the night, and her blonde hair and white uniform made her look like an angel every time I woke up. She would hold my hand, and talk to me until I fell asleep and be there to repeat the process when I woke up.
After months in an army hospital treated for my wounds, I was transferred by plane back home. My bravery, yes someone called my decision to carry Hendricks just that, was rewarded with the Purple Heart, but to me it only meant a reminder of Yen. But regardless what I did, I never found the strength to throw it away, nor could I ever misplace it. For some reason it was my bad conscience and something I had to carry with me. In my efforts to escape my past I travelled from place to place, seeking a new start where I could, but none was to be found. In desperation, I took a flight to Paris, hoping Europe would provide the undiscovered country that I needed for a new start. It was 1978, and Paris had become Sin City, the capitol of everything that was tabu, yet still exploited as if it was anything else. Naked women appeared in every corner it seemed, and I found myself returning to the same place over and over again: The Velvet Room.
It was just like all the other places, except that something appealed to me in there, something that made me feel human in a world that was so unreal. The strippers became my friends, they would be the ones comforting me as the flashbacks arrived, holding me close as tears fell unmanly down my cheeks, wiping them away as if they were trying to wipe away my memories. On my better days, I would sit in my corner feeling aroused by the motion on the catwalk, and sometimes with the company of one of my friends get the jealous look from the other men in the room. Caroline and Stephanie, both dark-haired girls who had taken their names from a princess of Monaco, became the closest thing to a family I had ever felt. They knew how I felt without asking me, just the way they could sense the vibrations in the air around me, and the compassion in their hearts was overwhelming when I received all their care.
Time passed, and in this atmosphere I saw new strippers come and go, and even now I'm amazed at the numbness I felt to the nudity around me, but then it might simply have been the simple fact that nudity was so common it wasn't thought of as anything special. When I was in my quarters, I was usually alone, but sometimes Caroline or Stephanie came to see me. It was like seeing a rerun of an old movie when either one of them did, because it all ended up the same way. In a way they asked me to perform for them without saying the words, just like they performed on stage, and as their "safe man" I was used when they needed to reveal pressure.
Caroline just wanted one thing, which I evidently became an expert in. After performing on stage for weeks her needs was quite high, and she made no secret of that when she came to me. She wanted to lay down in the tub for a while, and wash away the dirt from her elegant golden skin, and then completely naked and clean sit down in my easy chair and lean back until almost laying down. She would then tell me to put on the blindfold, and with no visibility I would then move closer to her feet and start rubbing her feet with oils. My fingers would slowly covering her skin with the fragrance of her choice, and work my fingers to unloose her tight muscles. The slow motion of my hands over her legs, exploring her without seeing anything, often made her purr like a cat. Caroline was truly a beautiful woman, and her long legs was what attracted most men to her, but she also admitted to enjoy having men touch them. I would feel her move in my hands uncontrollably while I moved higher, coating her legs with an oily shield, slowly and patiently kneading her muscles, and listen to her sighs as my hands approached her crotch.
Caroline wasn't greedy, nor did she expect me to do this all the time, I just did. It was mutual give and take as I gave her the massage her body and soul needed, she gave my life a meaning for at least a little while. So it wasn't unusual that it took three or four hours before my work was done. By then my fingers had probed her body of passion to make her fully relaxed and tender. I used to enjoy hearing her breathing as I worked her shoulders, and the way her hair would tickle my fingers always fascinated me. Sometimes I would hum some imaginary song or lullaby, and if it was for her or me is hard to say. I wouldn't stop before I had combed her hair, and even then I wouldn't take of the blindfold before she was ready. Sometimes she would ask if she could have a blanket, and sometimes she would spend the night alone in my bed while I slept on the floor, and sometimes she would get dressed and leave.
With Caroline it was hardly ever sexual. It was her need to be treated like a human and not a piece of meat, while my search for a meaning was put aside for a while, and her desire to be treated like a lady got all of the attention. It was easy to focus on something rather than not being focused on anything at all.
With Stephanie it was more about her undying sexuality that was like a fire inside of her, eating away at her core. So she needed to shower that fire from time to time with her juices. It wasn't intercourse, it was about intimacy and some way to reveal tension. It usually over just as soon as it begun, as my strong experienced tongue started to dart her clit she began to moan. All that lust in her body just had to come out, and with me it felt safe. Her hands usually trapped in my hair as she pulled my face closer to her crotch, and the strong musky scent of her sex as I licked her to ecstasy. Her favorite position was to sit on my face and have me lick her to orgasm over and over again. I assume it had something to do with power, but I didn't care about being beneath her. Whatever she wanted, I did because pleasing her filled another one of my empty meaningless days. Perhaps it was a strange base for a friendship, but when nothing else existed, you take what you get, and Paris was full of strange things, especially for someone who didn't speak French.
The feeling of her thighs shaking against my cheeks as she approached her heights was a sign for me to take it slow, to tease her just a bit so that she would have time to enjoy the lust that my tongue was giving her. Holding her hips with my hands, while she took a few deep breathes, only to continue rapidly towards the inevitable. Stephanie never had a gentle orgasm, they always ripped her world apart while she screamed and flushed my face with her juices. It was clear that the intensity of her orgasms were equal the need she had to release. Sometimes she would feel like getting fucked, and those times she would like me to be on top, just pumping her body with all the strength I possessed until she couldn't take it any longer. Her flexibility making it easy for her to have her legs almost anywhere she wanted. I had realized that licking her toes gave her a kick like nothing else while she felt me inside her. She never lasted long, but instead had the opportunity for multiple orgasms. Afterwards she would lay near me, pressing her body close to mine with her head on my shoulder, and we would talk about anything and nothing.
It had been over a year in a single place, a record for me, and I was waking up from a dream where I once again had been trapped, and sweat was running down my face from my wet hair. My skin was sticking to the sheet, and I felt I could use a shower. My head was pounding and my vision was blurry, but there was nothing unusual about that. It was morning, plain and simple. The room seemed darker than usual, so it was probably raining outside. I turned around, the shower could wait, I had no plans.
Turning around I noticed that my cock was fully erect and aching, and I thought to myself that I really wanted to return to that dream.
"Me can tell you sleep gooooood."
My blood turned to ice in that moment. I couldn't move, I couldn't talk, I couldn't even breath.
"You no say anything?"
