I sat, in a vague state of fright and bewilderment. Two very normal feelings that any sane person would respond with when presented with my current situation. However my annoyance and slight lack of interest as I gazed into the heat rippling through the desert, was not something that usually went hand in hand with being held hostage in the back of a stolen truck. With 5, practically army trained, men. Who think you are also a man.
To clear the confusion my brash description may have created in the quickest possible way: I am a woman of 21, barely not a virgin and extremely bored with life. I decided to join a gang rivalry that could be considered to be a small war between countries, not through any obligation, in fact I was quite intelligent in school. However going back to my previous statement, I found myself very bored and with nothing much to lose, so I jumped headfirst into danger to get some kicks. When my pride is at stake I don't go down without a fight.
As to why my fellow captors think I am a man? Common sense. I thought this through, war dogs with just as little to lose as me can be rougher sexually than I would like to expose myself too. In all honesty I was surprised that people believed I was male, I covered my tied back, long, brown hair with a hood and never looked any one in the eye and spoke with a gruffness that made me feel foolish, but that was it. When we were in the field, my height, 5' 8'', and deadly precision made the role fairly easy to master. When imprisoned? Even if I keep my fellow captors fooled, that barrier might not be enough.
As the truck slowed, I kept my wits about me; silently judging our surroundings and visually mapping the landscape for a sense of security in perhaps knowing my own location. I mentally processed... Desert. Brilliant. Biting back a smile at my usual carefree attitude, I took the opportunity to look at the solemn faces of the people sitting near me, trying to replicate their body language. I found that boring and couldn't even try to look so serious. I pressed my chin hard against my chest so the others couldn't see my stupid smile, our demeanour was like night and day. Training my expression to a subtle poker face, I studied the other's facial features and judged the size of their penises. They were all six feet or above, with strong large hands. I really needed to work on looking manly, the 5 sitting next to me couldn't have had anything less than a solid 6-7 inches. Minimum. One of them looked up at me without warning and I dropped my wide eyes reflexively, cursing without parting my lips for being so blatant.
A medium built man with a gun in one hand stood by the opening doors of the truck. The man looked around my height. I'd love this guy to be huge, while the guys I'm sitting with should be embarrassed about their small packages, just for the sake of irony. Maybe I should be supporting my side? I very much felt like slapping myself at that point, and worked on shutting my thoughts up as we were led through a camouflaged door in the sand. I hardly looked up as we were led through a few crude underground passages, I just watched the slightly brown, trampled sand pass beneath my feet. Remembering the exact turns and passages to take, just in case.
As we left the corridor and entered a room, I looked up. There were 3 bunk beds, in a room that could fit around 9 bunk beds if it were literally stuffed to the brim. Three solid walls and the other devoted to thick iron bars, impossible to escape. Of course, I wouldn't be able to get very far in this terrain anyway. I quickly took the bunk bed furthest away from the door, and climbed on the top. I'm pretty sure I saw some prison documentary and people fought for the bottom bunk, I shouldn't be causing too many problems here.
"Who's the weird guy?"
"Who?"
"The one who just took the furthest bunk, just jumped straight to the top."
"No idea. Seems like a pushover, proper scrawny too."
Brilliant, it seems like doing nothing gets me even more noticed. God, I hope they drop it. What if I'm made to talk? HAH, that's genius! What if I CAN'T talk? I'll be mute, there'll be something wrong with my throat. With an air of smugness, I curled up further into the rough blankets, getting comfortable satisfactorily.
My ears pricked up as I heard the door opening, but couldn't really be bothered to turn my head. I heard glimmers of conversation along the lines of "...got you too?" And "Yeah but I cracked a few skulls before they got me to the ground..."