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Utilizing the alarmingly brazen but quiet furtiveness of cat burglars, Douglas Michael Harper was drugged in the middle of the night and taken from the suburban Long Island home of his parents.
Months before, having graduated from high school, the jobless lad had scraped together some funds to travel. Impressionable, in dire need of some role in life, casual conversations with a seemingly innocuous fellow traveler, in fact a terrorist recruiter, resulted in a side trip to Afghanistan, there to attend bomb school, there to raise the concern of monitoring intelligence services, there to change his role in life.
Yet, as suggested, Douglas is not the type to ultimately pull the trigger. It quickly became apparent to me that the terrorist recruiters need some basic psychology training in identifying the attributes of callous suicidal psychopaths. Douglas is not one.
He was rudimentarily trained and returned to the United States under the guise of a ‘sleeper’. But his trail was apparent, apparent to which intelligence service will probably never be known. Where he was taken and interrogated will never be known.
But what is known, as my directing hand brings him to a stop and I raise his nose, face and head following, having him sit up like a little doggie, is that information flowed and Douglas was rendered useless, to his terrorist handlers, to himself, and to women. He was left impotent, his ordeal both bizarre and effective in forever altering behavior.
Use of his hands denied him, kept naked, his hairlessness augmenting his sense of exposure, if and when Douglas experienced the slightest degree of tumescence, a cattle prod or some such shocking electrical device was applied to his genitals. Yes, in more Pavlovian conditioning, he learned to remain flaccid in the presence of his captors, despite the soft, sultry and alluring voice of his interrogator. It was she who seemed to most often coax stiffness, and it was she who most often applied the prod. But it was she who ultimately had Douglas divulging all. In the end he so much wanted to please her.
Yes, there was the good cop, in the parlance of the standard interrogation technique used in police dramas.
“Please don’t stiffen like that Douglas. You’ll force me to use the prod again.”
In my office interview, Douglas choked in repeating those oft heard words.
Yet, it is the woman fulfilling the role of ‘bad cop’ I would most desire to meet some day, she of unfathomable wickedness.
Sight permitted only when it was she governing, Douglas described her as a brute. Tall, heavyset, Russian, Ukrainian, some Slavic accent, she broke Douglas daily, sending him into the ‘caring arms’ of the good cop, there his p***s to be shocked to flaccidity should his organ react disobediently.
His bondage was constant, except when directed to crawl about, nostril leash offering a most humiliating degree of control for the good cop. I have assumed, judging from Douglas’s description and the level of immobility, that the bindings utilized were the Segufix system. Proven to be inescapable, the choice of equipment evidenced impressive professionalism, the women had many times handled men, violent men, determined men, psychopathic men, killers.
And so a boy like Douglas must have been refreshing for them, I think to myself peering down at his pubescent front side, n*****s puffy with the hormonal build up of chastity. And after the described weeks of captivity, I cannot help wondering if his ‘visit’ was extended more for entertainment than for acquiring more of what little Douglas knew.
My eyes move to gaze down at his long useless organ.
“Douglas, we will need to do something about that prostate gland. Your p***s is drooling.”
Though in the s****l prime of his life, Douglas is unable to ejaculate. Such nasty women.
- Writer
