Stockholm Syndrome

The weathered green jeep drove up to the vine-covered gate. The driver of the jeep, a tall red-headed man in a white t-shirt and rough brown trousers, got out of the vehicle and looked up the hill to towards the cabin. After he confirming he was in the right location, he went to the trunk of the car and opened it. A man lay inside the trunk, his body curled into a fetal position. He winced at the sudden light, but regained conscience enough to scowl at the captor.
“How long have I been in here?” he asked, in Spanish.
“I think the trip took about eight hours or so,” the redhead answered, also in Spanish.
“I feel like I’ve been here for a week,” he complained, “Why did I have to ride in the trunk again?”
“I told you, someone might see you. Kidnappers don’t let their captives sit shotgun, after all.”
“We’re in the boondocks. Who would have witnessed?”
“You never know,” the redhead replied.
The redhead helped his client out of the trunk. The man stumbled out and dusted off his clothes. The young man was upset about this indignity. He was a professional, a doctor, from one of the great families of Bogota. If it weren’t for his money problem, he wouldn’t have agreed to this.
His problem was women. Well, there was the matter of his bad investments, but mostly he had spent too much on women. He was proud to say that they were his vice. He didn’t mess with prostitute, only women with expensive taste. He only courted women of his class or higher, though he knew he could impress some lower class woman just by having decent hygiene like some of his friends did. He wanted a woman who knew when he ordered the best wine. He loved the look in a lady’s face when he gave them diamond necklaces. So, even with his income, he managed to run out of money.
The other night, he was in a bar with his best friend Francisco. They had been friends ever since they were both five and discovered they were both named Francisco Javier. Francisco became Paco and he became Javi. They were also related to each other by marriage (Francisco’s uncle married Javier’s eldest sister). They had in fact met at that wedding. They had gone together to medical school, Francisco going into pediatrics and Javier going into cosmetic surgery.
Javier didn’t need cosmetic surgery on his own face. His face was smooth and blemish free, a milky coffee colored mask of perfection. His nose was somewhat aquiline and his chin-line was soft and almost feminine. His sable hair shone without being greasy and he kept it cut short. He kept his slender body in shape by exercising at a private gym twice a week. He paid attention to his dress and hygiene and always cut a stylish figure. He was a very attractive man.
Unfortunately, all that wouldn’t pay the bills. Well, he probably could pay the bills doing certain things, but he had far to much pride for that. He also had to much pride to go to Papa. Pride and fear. He hated going to Papa, since he always got a lecture. Papa did not approve of Javier’s Ways. He didn’t like Javier spending all his time Carousing with Loose Women. He want the young man to Settle Down and Have A Family. Papa made him feel like a little boy again. Mama was kinder, but cheaper. She wouldn’t spare a peso for him.
On that night, he was explaining all this to his friend Francisco. Francisco tried to hide his schadenfreude as he listened and paid for the drinks.
“How did things get so bad?” Javier complained, “I should have never invested in McGruffen.”
“Nobody could have foreseen their collapse,” replied Francisco, who had foreseen it.
“Dios mio, has anyone ever been as misfortunate as me?” Javier whined.
“Probably not. I got to go, I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Thank you for the drinks. Sorry I can’t pay now.”
“No problem,” Francisco said as he left.
When Francisco was gone, Javier stared at his last drink of the night, unsure of what to do. A man pulled up beside him at the bar, unnoticed by the morose young man.
“Hey, you,” the man said, startling him.
Javier turned to the man next to him. His red hair startled him again. The man had a head of curly hair and a close cut beard and moustache. He wore loose, dirty jeans and a muscles shirt, and had a tattoo of the US Army insignia showing on his right forearm. The stranger smiled at him.
“I heard you had money problems,” he said in Spanish with an American accent.
“You were eavesdropping on me,” Javier shot back.
The man said, “I just want to help you out.”
Javier asked, “Who are you?”
“Name’s Charlie McLean.,” he said, holding out his hand.
Javier didn’t take it. “Why are you bothering me?”
“I have a way for you to make money,” Charlie replied.
Javier was apprehensive yet curious. He was afraid this way involved his good looks. He shook that idea off and decided to take the bait.
“How?” he asked.
Charlie leaned in and whispered in his ear.
“Fake a kidnaping.”
Javier didn’t raise any alarm. He just sat for a moment mulling this over. He had heard of people pretending to be kidnaped in order to get a ransom.
“I’m in,” he answered.
“Good, good,” Charlie said, “Let’s go and talk this over somewhere.”
“Okay,” Javier answered, “Oh, let me introduce myself. My name is Francisco Javier Maria José Ynfante de los Rios, but you can call me Dr. Ynfante or Javier.”
Charlie just nodded, as by this time he was use to Hispanic names.
They went outside to discuss the plan. The kidnaping was set for early Thursday morning. An alley near Javier’s house was chosen as the spot. Javier didn’t have any appointments on that day til 11:30, giving them time before anyone discovered he was missing. The next day, Charlie would release a tape, via an associate, showing the poor kidnaped Javi. They set the ransom to 235,000,000 pesos, the equivalent of $100,000 USD. This amount would be spilt among them 50/50. After the kidnaping, Dr. Ynfante would go to a Mister Blue , who owed Charlie a favor. This Mister Blue would offer Dr. Ynfante work that would earn him around, say, $50,000 USD. This way the money would be safely laundered. It was a good plan.
So far, everything was going all right. Charlie had managed to smuggle Javier out of Bogota and into the mountains. Nobody had seen them, and they hadn’t run into any soldiers, guerillas, or paramilitary men. It was afternoon, and they were at the cabin where Javier was to be “held hostage”.
The ridiculously quaint white-walled cabin was in some disrepair. Vines grew over it, and it badly needed a coat of paint. Still it was serviceable. Charlie grabbed some bags and walked up towards it. Javier followed him.
Charlie explained, “An associate of mine had a dream to build a cabin outside Bogota, marry his childhood sweetheart, and spend his honeymoon up here. Guess which one of his dreams came true.”
Charlie took out a key and unlocked the door. Inside, the house was dusty, but still in good shape. It was basically a one-roomed house, with a large bed, a kitchenette, and a small bathroom. The furniture was of a cultivated spartan design, perfect for roughing it without roughing it. Charlie put the bags down and closed the door.
“There’s only one bed,” Javier pointed out.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” said Charlie.
For dinner, Charlie cooked some spaghetti and sauce. Over dinner, Javier explained further his money troubles. He had been seeing a woman, a certain wealthy widow called Sra. Rivera. Though she had tons of money from the death of her much older husband, Javier still paid for all the meals and drinks. Now, he wasn’t just only seeing Sra. Rivera, there was also a young medical student whose books he paid for, and then there was the receptionist at his friend’s office whose husband still thought the money was a friendly loan, and he also always bought the drinks when he was out with his friends, but mostly it was Sra. Rivera.
Javier thought he had the money for all this. Besides his job, Javier got a good deal of income from stocks. He was very lucky. All his investments bore fruit. So, when a now ex-friend of his mentioned his pet project McGruffen, Javier jumped abroad. He sold his other stocks to buy McGruffen. In high spirits he took the lovely Sra. Rivera to Grenada, where he showed off his English skills. One morning after a wonderful night, he decided to look at the paper to check his stock. McGruffen was dead, and Javier was broke. When Sra. Rivera woke up, he told her he had to go back home for work reasons, but in reality he wanted to avoid more debt. For a month he had been living simply, not going out, avoiding creditors and girlfriends. Charlie patiently listened and ignored his rant.
After eating the simple dinner prepared by Charlie, the two rested on the bed drinking beer. Javier didn’t feel like talking more about his depressing problems, but he couldn’t really think about anything else to talk about with this stranger. At first, they just talked about football, which Charlie didn’t know that much about being an American. Javier got tired of explaining the rules of the game, he decided to ask his captor more about himself.
“So,” he asked, pointing at the tattoo, “You were in the U.S. Army?”
“Yup,” answered Charlie as he took a swig of his third beer, “I use to be in the Army. They called me Foxtrot there. Funny story behind it.”
“Tell me.”
“It started when I was a private. Now, there was another private, think his name was Brian Seager but that’s not important. Now this private was complaining about me to the sergeant, I forget what it was about, but he told the sergeant, he said “he’s a fucker”. The sergeant said he didn’t like bad language, so the guy said, “he’s a foxtrotter” and then people started calling me Foxtrot and the name struck.”
“I don’t get it. What’s a foxtrotter?”
“It’s a joke with the international phonetic language...oh, forget it,” Charlie said, “God, I have to translate all my jokes into Spanish.”
“It was a stupid joke anyway,” Javier said as he drank from his fourth beer.
“Shut up,” Charlie mumbled.
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the jungle noises and finishing their beers. Finally, Javier decided to make another go at socializing.
“So,” Javier asked, “How long have you been in Columbia?”
“Only three months, but I spent a year in Mexico,” Charlie replied.
“Your Spanish isn’t half bad.”
“Thanks.”
“Columbia has the best Spanish,” Javier boasted.
“Yeah, Columbian Spanish is kind of nice sounding.”
“It’s true. Ask anyone.”
“Hmm.”
The silence appeared again. Javier got his fifth beer and Charlie finished his fourth. Javier ventured another question.
“Why aren’t you in the army anymore?” he asked.
Charlie frowned.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he said.
“What? Was it dishonorable? Kill the wrong person?” Javier asked.
“It wasn’t like that,” Charlie growled.
Charlie took a moment to gain his thoughts through the alcohol. He spoke again.
“Have you heard of Don’t ask, don’t tell?” Charlie asked.
“I understand the English but I don’t know what you mean,” Javier replied.
“It means,” Charlie explained, “that the military can’t ask if you’re a homosexual, but if they find out from some lovesick woman that you sometimes go to gay bars on your off-time they can kick you out.”
Javier mumbled, “Were you the lovesick woman or what....”
“No, that was Kensey...” Charlie replied, “I mean, they kicked me out for being gay.”
Javier jumped off the bed. He stared at Charlie in horror.
“You....” he sputtered, “You’re a maricon?”
“I told you I didn’t want to talk about it!” Charlie yelled.
“You just want to fuck me!” Javier accused.
“I don’t want to fuck you!”
“Yes you do!”
“You’re not my type, pretty boy,” Charlie said, “I like them big and hairy. I like bears.”
“Bears?” Javier translated, “You fuck animals?”
“I mean guys who are like bears,” Charlie answered, “Big and furry and stuff.”
Javier smiled a strange smile. He kneeled down on the bed.
“You’re not interested in me at all?” he asked.
“No,” Charlie said, “Not interested.”
Javier moved in closer.
“You sure it wasn’t my looks that drew you to me?” Javier asked in a seductive tone.
“I keep business and pleasure separate,” Charlie said.
“Don’t take any pleasure in me?” Javier asked.
“Not with your skinny ass,” Charlie said.
Javier turned angry. He lifted up his shirt and bared his toned chest to the bear-chaser.
“I’m not skinny!” he yelled, “I work out! What do you say to this?”
“Purple nurple!” Charlie yelled as he grabbed Javier’s nipples.
Charlie twisted the sensitive flesh, causing Javier to laugh. They both started laughing and fell on top of each other. They just started laughing some more as they playfully wrestled with each other. Javier felt a lump in Charlie’s pants.
“Ha,” Javier said, “I knew you were horny for me!”
Charlie rubbed his hand on Javier’s pants.
“You’re horny too,” he said.
“Dios mio, I want to fuck,” Javier cried, “It’s been too long.”
“Me too,” Charlie complained.
Charlie tore off his shirt, revealing his hairy red chest. Javier finished taking off his shirt and took off his pants. His chubby dick stood waiting for attention. Charlie unzipped his fly and his longer dick popped out. Javier looked at it as if there was a joke printed on it.
“Ha,” he said with some amusement, “Your penis is bigger than mine.”
Somehow they had forgotten they weren’t attracted to each and simply decided to follow their horniness. The two began to hump each other. Javier’s legs were wide open for Charlie. Charlie’s hairy bulky body rubbed up against Javier’s smoother trim body. Their excited hard-ons rubbed against each other. Tons of sweat poured off them. They panted and giggled. Outside, the jungle screamed.
In the midst of this, penetration occurred. Charlie spat on his hand and rubbed it on his pre-cum-moist dick. With this limited lubricant he pushed into Javier’s apparently virgin hole. Javier pulled away but then pushed down. He gave a joyful hiss at the joy of penetration. The alcohol acted as an anesthesia for the pain, leaving only drunken pleasure. Javier laughed at some private joke.
“I knew it!” he cried, “I knew gay sex was great! You faggots all have AIDS but just keep fucking!”
Charlie, if he heard or even remembered Spanish at this point, just reacted by pushing harder. Javier gasped as he felt Charlie’s cock against his prostate. With his right hand Javier grabbed his thicker dick and jerked it like a teen that had just discovered masturbation. With the other he caressed Charlie’s ass, trying to find his sensitive hole. Charlie grinned wide.
“This ain’t your first time, is it?” he asked in English.
“First...first...” Javier moaned.
When Javier got closer he grabbed Charlie’s ass hard, forcing him all the way down on Javier’s body. They were so close together that Charlie’s furry stomach pressed down on Javier’s wet dick. Charlie was now farther into Javier’s body than anyone had ever been. Javier came into Charlie’s chest hair, and with a roar Charlie came into Javier’s body.
“God fuck!” Charlie yelled in his native language.
“Dios mio!” Javier replied.
After a second of rest, Charlie removed his dripping cock and fell down on his back beside Javier. Javier gave a happy sigh and turned his head to Charlie.
“That was truly wonderful, dulcinea,” Javier whispered.
Charlie replied in a very southern English, “Thanks, sweetie.”
The two then joined together for a very innocent kiss, after such rough sex. The exertion and alcohol proved too much for them and they passed out soon afterwards. They slept the comfortable sleep of those who haven’t realized their horrible mistake yet. Outside the jungle laughed, happy that it had succeed in its traditional literary role of overturning civilization. Even the cooler mountain attitude hadn’t ruined that.
The morning rays hit Javier’s eyes first. He opened his eyes, only aware at first that he wasn’t in his artificially dark Bogota bedroom. A glance revealed he was in a cabin. He held his head, feeling the effect of a mild hangover. He then looked down at his naked body. He was covered in sweat, cum, and down between his legs were traces of blood and other unspeakable things. His eyes wide in horror, he looked over at the sleeping man next to him, with traces of blood on his sleeping cock. Javier screamed.
“AHHHHH!!!! You monster!”
Charlie woke up with a start, and looked over at Javier with bloodshot eyes. He then looked over at the mess they were lying in.
“Oh God,” he mumbled.
Javier pointed his finger at Charlie and said “You raped me! You took me up here to rape me!”
“Look back into your memory,” he replied, “and you’ll see it wasn’t exactly rape.”
Javier looked back and realized an even more horrify truth. He had willingly, if drunkenly, given himself up to a man. He had let this strange fag fuck him in the ass. He had fucked a man and he loved it.
“Oh God, you’re right,” he said.
He ran to the bathroom to vomit. He didn’t have to vomit, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do in this situation. When he was done he walked back into the room and stared at Charlie.
“You got me drunk for sex,” he accused.
“What?” said Charlie, “I didn’t want to have sex with you.”
“But you did have sex with me!” Javier said.
“You were the one who started it,” Charlie said, “What with your little “Am I sexy?” routine.”
“You were the one who started playing with my nipples!”
“Playing? That was a purple nurple, it’s a stupid schoolyard thing, not foreplay. You were the one who lifted up your shirt.”
“I was just fooling around. I didn’t expect you to attack me!”
“I didn’t attack you! Anyway, you were the one striping. You took out your stumpy little dick first.”
“My dick is not stumpy! It’s like 18 centimeters!”
“Are you going to whip it out again to show me?”
“Fuck you!”
“You already did!”
The two looked at each other, then turned away. They started to gather their clothes from the floor and bed.
“God, what a mistake,” Charlie murmured.
“Why are you feeling so bad?” Javier shot back, “This was my first time disgracing myself with a man, while you’ve done it plenty of times.”
“I’m not some man-slut,” Charlie said, “I didn’t want to fuck a whiny bitch like you.”
“So maybe I’m not like the usual fags you fuck,” Javier replied, “I might have AIDS thanks to you!”
“AIDS? I always practice safe sex.”
“Always?”
“Almost always. And I don’t know if you use a condom with all the whores you fuck!”
“I don’t fuck whores!”
“Oh, I mean all the women who wouldn’t look at you twice if you didn’t give them money.”
“That’s not true!”
“Then why are you so broke and horny?”
Javier threw his clothes on the ground.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said softly.
He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
“Don’t use all the hot water!” Charlie yelled after him.
“You’d be luck if I ever came out of this shower after being dirtied by you!” Javier yelled back.
“It’s your own damn cum on your belly,” Charlie mumbled.
After using the toilet, Javier walked into shower stall. He turned on the hot water. The water was scalding hot, but Javier didn’t care. He hoped the water would boil off all the germs. He took the soap and began to lather up his body, especially his private parts. He thought about the horrible things he let Charlie do to him. How could he yet a man push himself into that unnatural region, rubbing against him over and over until he achieved such a wonderful orgasm? Even with his headache the combination of his thoughts about last night and the rubbing of his sensitive parts led to an unwanted reaction, so he was glad when the water turned cold.
Javier finished his shower and left the bathroom to Charlie. Charlie did his morning business and stepped into the shower. He was not surprised at the cold water, as he knew that water heater was tiny. Still, he cursed Javier for this and many other things. How could he have fucked that stupid spoiled playboy? Charlie had no sympathy for Dr. Ynfante’s money problems. In city with millions of starving people, this pretty boy, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, waste his money buying things for rich women. It’s not like he couldn’t impress them with his good looks, his firm body, and his nice thick dick. Charlie blushed and turned his mind to other things.
Charlie walked out of the shower with a towel around his hips. On the stripped bed sat Javier, reluctantly wearing his clothes from yesterday and drinking from a water bottle as if it were the hair of the dog.
In the corner sat the discarded sheets, waiting to be burnt. Javier looked at Charlie expectantly.
“What now?” he asked.
“Well, there is the video,” Charlie said as he dropped his towel.
“What?” Javier cried as he stared at Charlie’s nether regions.
“Yeah, the ransom video,” Charlie explained as he got dressed.
“Yes, the ransom video,” Javier repeated, averting his eyes.
“We’ll film it after breakfast,” Charlie said.
So the two ate a silent grumpy breakfast of cold, milkless cereal. They looked up occasionally at each other, but mostly said nothing. Slowly, their headaches disappeared but their regret remained. When they were done eating, Javier spoke up.
“Let’s go film the ransom tape now,” he said, “I don’t want to have to spend much longer with you.”
“Yeah, let’s just get things over with,” Charlie agreed, “We’ll get the ransom, leave, and never meet each other again.”
“And we’ll never have sex again,” Javier added.
“That’s just a given,” Charlie said, “We should have never had sex in the first place.”
“It was a bad experience,” Javier lied.
“Let me go get the camera equipment,” said Charlie.
Charlie went to go to the jeep where he kept the camera supplies. When he reached the door, he saw something out the window that made him stop. His soldier senses kicked in. Out the window, hidden in the underbrush, he could swear he saw a figure crouching. After a moment, he saw several figures stand up. They were dressed in dirty jungle camouflage and carried rifles. One of them looked directly at the window. Charlie swore.
“Oh fuck.”