The Cute Terrorist. Adult. They come in every shape, size, and sex. (standard:drama, 2031 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 06 2020	Views/Reads: 1405/990	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
I met her in Germany. I was stationed with the US army back in 1964. We often hung out and drank together. Then, thirty years later, she shows up on my porch in NYC.

I met her while stationed in Germany.  At the time, I was drinking in a
Turkish bar.  I was in the US army, back in 1964, in an armored company 
stationed outside a town named Zirndorf.  It was only a few miles from 
the larger city of Nuremberg. 

As a company clerk and having a bum leg, a result of falling downstairs
while drunk, I often stayed back when my unit took its tanks and went 
on maneuvers.  Somebody had to stay to answer telephones and guard the 
buildings. 

My company spent a lot of time on those maneuvers, up to three or four
months a year.  I knew I would probably be denied reenlistment because 
of my leg and attitude, so I didn't really give a damn anymore.  I 
would wait until they left, and then go wild, drinking and smoking dope 
all day and night.  Nobody was ever around to catch me, and I could 
always explain away any missed calls.  “I was out checking the 
buildings when you called, sir.”  Or, “I was in the crapper.” 

There were a lot of excuses when I was actually living it up in a bar
somewhere or sleeping off a good drunk.   What could they do, kick me 
out of the Army?  I'd simply lock the gates and go on my way. 

In any case, I was drinking in this Turkish bar, watching belly-dancers
and smoking some fine hashish, when a beautiful dark-haired girl tapped 
me on the shoulder. 

I'm a dark Hispanic myself and she probably -- as often happened --
mistook me for Turkish, spewing out a string of the language at me.  
Being both high and an experienced bar patron, I caught the drift and 
signaled the bartender. 

Not wanting to break the atmosphere of the moment, I smiled at her and
kept my American mouth shut.  She continued speaking a mile a minute as 
I listened to sexy phonetic sounds, trying to catch even a little 
meaning. 

When the bartender brought over two drinks, I raised mine to get it
clinked by hers.  She gave me a big smile, grabbed me around the neck 
and gave me a wet juicy kiss on the lips.  I, of course, returned it, 
and sat for another few minutes, listening to her jabber on -- with an 
occasional nod from me. 

Women like men who are good listeners.  I guess it doesn't make much
difference if we're good understanders' or not. 

Finally -- the moment was bound to come -- she sat quietly, lovely dark
eyes boring into mine, waiting for some sort of answer.  I nodded ... 
and got a cute little fist in my face.  Throwing the remains of her 
drink at me, she rose and stormed out of our booth.  Well, I thought, 
at least I got a couple'a nice kisses out of it.  I motioned and got my 
hookah refilled. 

After a while, by then sporting a nice mellow high, the room drifting in
strange colors, I looked down beside myself and saw she was back.  That 
time, she smiled and had a drink for me, even paid for it herself. 

Again, she began jabbering, and again I nodded, sometimes from the smoke
and not on purpose.  I don't know how long it lasted, not having much 
concept of time by then.  I did notice, graphically, when I was jerked 
from my seat. 

I looked up at a large, and I do mean huge, Turkish dude.  He drew back
his arm for some nefarious purpose. I didn't wait to find out, though.  
I jerked my knee up into his groin.  He released me and I took the 
opportunity to jam my fingers into his eyes -- or at least gave it my 
best effort.  It must have been sufficient, since he folded, grabbing 
his face, and fell to the floor. 

The girl grabbed me around the waist, pulled me against her warm body,
filling my nostrils with exotic perfume.  Jabbering wildly, she hustled 
me out of the bar and to a small room around the corner.  Still 
talking, she doctored me up and we began a process that could be 
understood in any language, mostly in generic cries and moans. 

In the morning, I woke to the smell of coffee.  She was in a robe,


Click here to read the rest of this story (170 more lines)