Friday (1982)
by Robert E. Heinlein. Chapter two. Excerpt from an eBook.
If I had been smart, I would have surrendered once I
saw that I was hopelessly outnumbered.--
They had to take me alive, that was clear.--But why
waste time by raping me? This whole operation had amateurish touches. No
professional group uses either beating or rape before interrogation today;
there is no profit in it; any professional is trained to cope with either or
both. For rape she (or he - I hear it's worse for males) can either detach the
mind and wait for it to be over, or (advanced training) emulate the ancient
Chinese adage.
Or, in place of method A or B, or combined with B if
the agent's histrionic ability is up to it, the victim can treat rape as an
opportunity to gain an edge over her captors. I'm no great shakes as an actress
but I try and, while it has never enabled me to turn the tables on
unfriendlies, at least once it kept me alive.
This time method C did not affect the outcome but did
cause a little healthy dissension. Four of them (my estimate from touch and
body odors) had me in one of the upstairs bedrooms. It may have been my own
room but I could not be certain as I had been unconscious for a while and was
now dressed (solely) in adhesive tape over my eyes. They had me on a mattress
on the floor, a gang bang with minor sadism. . . which I ignored, being very
busy with method C.
-- I worked on all of them - method acting, of
course-reluctant, have to be forced, then gradually your passion overcomes you;
you just can't help yourself. Any man will believe that routine; they are
suckers for it - but I worked especially hard on Straw Boss as I hoped to
achieve the status of teacher's pet or some such. Straw Boss wasn't so bad;
methods B and C combined nicely.
But I worked hardest on Rocks because with him it had
to be C combined with A; his breath was so foul. He wasn't too clean in other
ways, too; it took great effort to ignore it and make my responses flattering
to his macho ego.
After he became flaccid he said, "Mac, we're
wasting our time. This slut enjoys it."
"So get out of the way and give the kid another
chance. He's ready."
"Not yet. I'm going to slap her around, make her
take us seriously." He let me have a big one, left side of my face. I
yelped.
"Cut that out!" -Straw Boss's voice.
“Who says so? Mac, you're getting too big for your
britches."
"I say so." It was a new voice, very
loud-amplified-from the sound-system speaker in the ceiling, no doubt.
"Rocky, Mac is your squad leader, you know that. Mac, send Rocky to me; I
want a word with him."
"Major, I was just trying to help!"
"You heard the man, Rocks," Straw Boss said
quietly. "Grab your pants and get moving."
Suddenly the man's weight was no longer on me and his
stinking breath was no longer in my face. Happiness is relative.
The voice in the ceiling spoke again: "Mac, is it
true that Miss Friday simply enjoys the little ceremony we arranged for
her?"
"It's possible, Major," Straw Boss said
slowly. "She does act like it."
“--Mac, put the cuffs on her and throw a blanket over
her. But don't give her a shot; I'll be talking to her later."
Straw Boss even took the trouble to police me-led me
into the bathroom and waited quietly while I peed, without making a production
of it-and that was amateurish, too, as a useful technique, of the cumulative
sort, in interrogating an amateur (not a pro) is to force him or her to break
toilet training. If she has been protected from the harsher things in life or
if he suffers from excessive amourpropre - as most males do - it is at least as
effective as pain, and potentiates either with pain or with other humiliations.
I don't think Mac knew this. I figured him for
basically a decent soul despite his taste for - no, aside from his taste for a
bit of rape - a taste common to most males according to the kinseys.
Somebody had put the mattress back on the bed. Mac
guided me to it, told me to lie on my back with my arms out. Then he cuffed me
to the legs of the bed, using two pairs. They weren't the peace officer type,
but special ones, velvet-lined-the sort of junk used by idiots for SM games. I
wondered who the pervert was? The Major?
Mac made sure that they were secure but not too tight,
then gently spread a blanket over me. I would not have been surprised had he
kissed me good-night. But he did not. He left quietly.
-- I was roused by a slap. Not Mac. Rocks, of course.
Not as hard as he had hit me earlier but totally unnecessary. It seemed to me
that he blamed me for whatever disciplining he had received from the Major. . .
and I promised myself that, when time came to cancel him, I would do it slowly.
I heard Shorty say, "Mac said not to hit
her."
"I didn't hit her. That was just a love tap to
wake her up. Shut up and mind your own business. Stand clear and keep your gun
on her. On her, you idiot! Not on me."
They took me down into the basement and into one of
our own interrogation chambers. Shorty and Rocks left - I think that Shorty
left and I know that Rocks did; his stink went away - afid an interrogation
team took over. I don't know who or how many as not one of them ever said a
word. The only voice was the one I thought of as "the Major." It
seemed to be coming through a speaker.
--"I'm glad that you are in fine fettle, dear, as
this session is likely to prove long and tiring. Even unpleasant. I want to
know all about you, love."
--"Stand her up. Don't let her fall."
Someone-some two-did so. I wasn't steady but they held me. "Start procedure
C, item five."
Someone stomped a heavy boot on my bare toes. I
screamed. -- I am not going to give details of what happened during the
following endless time. If you have any imagination, it would nauseate you, and
to tell it makes me want to throw up. I did, several times. I passed out, too,
but they kept reviving me and the voice kept on asking questions.
Apparently the time came when reviving didn't work,
for the next thing I knew I was back in bed-the same bed, I suppose-and again
handcuffed to it. I hurt all over.
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