Kidnapped and a Daring Escape

by Gian Bordin

  "Come, love, straddle me, ride me."

  "How?"

  He helps her. She has never done that. At first, she moves timidly up and down. He guides her to increase the tempo and intensity. He cups her breasts in his palms, letting them slide up and down with every bounce.

  "I love you Bianca."

  But she hardly hears his words. All her senses are focused on her well, her rapture rising each time she takes his penis deep inside her. She tries to fight the inevitable explosion of ecstasy, but it is too late. Bliss suffuses into every cell of her body. She can only whimper.

  She wants to collapse on André, but he holds her upright. "Come, love, squeeze your thighs, contract your muscles, grab me … yes, like this … let go, grab me again … and again … and again."

  She didn’t even know she has muscles there. Each contraction shoots her again to higher levels of pleasure and pain. She cannot endure it anymore and sinks down on him. She feels the pulsations of his penis against her lower belly and only then becomes aware that he is not inside her any longer.

  Eyes closed, she rests on him for several minutes, breathing deeply to slow her racing heart. His featherlike caresses on her back send shivers of pleasure through her.

  "Why didn’t you stay inside?" she murmurs.

  "Because I don’t want you to get pregnant yet."

  "But I’ll soon have my period, so it should be safe."

  "Maybe yes, maybe no. All the emotional and physical upheavals and stress these last few days could play havoc with your cycle."

  She lifts her head, not knowing whether she should get mad or love him all the more for his thoughtfulness. "How can you remain so rational when we make love?"

  "Because I love you."

  "That doesn’t make sense."

  "Yes, it does. Loving you means that your welfare is always uppermost in my mind."

  She puts her head down on his chest and murmurs: "André, I love you too. I thought that I loved Franco, but what I feel for you is … I don’t have words for it."

  "That’s the way it should be. But why did you let Franco into our loving. Let him be banished from our bedroom. When he rises in your thoughts, force your mind back to that moment on the shores of that enchanted lake when you said: ‘Take me, André.’ And then let your heart be filled by what your body felt then, because that’s when your body knew that you loved me, even if your mind still fought it."

  She kisses him and then says smiling: "Se non è vero, è ben trovato. How many women have you seduced with your clever bullshit?"

  "Bullshit? Did this word really cross your celestial lips? Come, kiss me again so that I can lick off the stench that this word left on them."

  "How about making love instead?"

  "What a delightful idea! But first you have to wipe off that sticky stuff from our bellies."

  They do make love again. In fact, they stay in bed until late afternoon, skipping lunch. As she lies sated and content in the crook of his shoulder, she can’t explain what is happening to her. She, who has always maintained that sex is overrated, can’t get enough of André. What she experiences has no relation to the few tame, pedestrian encounters she had with Franco — the words ‘dignified but bland’ flashes through her mind, and she laughs silently. And then she notices that Franco has again sneaked into her love-making, and she lets the vision of André’s silhouette against the moonlight shimmering on the lake surface rise in her mind.

  * * *

  Grumbling stomachs finally drive them out of bed in search of a restaurant. The sun is already sunk below on the western horizon. They pass by a telephone booth, which reminds André of their intention to check if Franco is still in Popayàn.

  "Let’s call the Cipriano and find out when Franco left," he suggests. He is certain that the man left either with the students as scheduled or maybe at most a day later. Bianca agrees. The problem though is that they have no phone card or credit cards to pay for a call and André is not keen to use the phone of the guesthouse. ‘Le trapu’ must surely know that they have escaped, that 120,000 US dollars have gone missing, and that all attempts to recapture them have failed. He could be waiting for them to turn up at the Cipriano, expecting them to pick up their luggage, and could well have either bribed or threatened the desk clerk there to inform him. If the Cipriano has the caller-display facility, and as a four-star hotel they may well have that, then ‘le trapu’ would soon know that they are staying at Casa Familiar Yacinta. That means they could expect a visit later that night. He tells Bianca his thoughts.

  "André, how do you dream up these scenarios. You’ve such a devious mind —"

  "— but that’s what has kept us safe so far, and how do I do it? I simply put myself in the position of these people and figure out what I would do in their place."

  "Oh, I’m glad you are that way. I know you’ll keep me safe."

  He replies by kissing her cheek.

  They find a public phone at the bus depot where they can pay cash to the clerk at the ticket office. He also looks up the number of the Cipriano. André disguises his voice to the lowest range he can manage. He asks to be connected to Professor Visconti and is told that there is no guest of that name staying with them.

  "Are you certain? Professor Visconti from Rome? He is leading a group of Italian students on an archaeology study tour, and they were all staying at your hotel ten days ago. I understood that they still planned to make several excursions."

  "Ah, yes, Professor Visconti stayed here, but he and his party have left."

  "Oh, what a pity. I was supposed to give him some important information. When did he leave?"

  "They all left last Monday by bus."

  "Even Professor Visconti?"

  "Yes, they were actually scheduled to leave already on Sunday, but then postponed departure to Monday."

  "May I ask why?"

  "Apparently one of the students, as well as another of our guests went missing."

  "Oh, I see."

  "We have their luggage in storage. Would you by chance know what we should do with it?"

  "Oh, I guess, keep the things for another while. Did Professor Visconti not leave any further instructions of what to do with them or give you a forwarding address?"

  "No, he only said to store the student’s items until he contacts us again. He thought she might turn up later. But we have no instruction of what to do with the luggage of the other guest."

  "Oh well, keep it for another few days. Thanks for your help. Good day." He hangs up.

  At the start of the conversation, Bianca put her ear close to the telephone. Her face gradually loses its color as she listens. Now she is blinking away tears of anger.

  "So, you were dead right about what Franco would do."

  "Yes … You still have any doubts that he was behind the kidnapping?"

  She hesitates only for a moment before shaking her head and saying: "No … Oh, André, what am I going to do? … I mean, when I see him again in Rome? How can I face him after he tried to have me killed? And what do I tell my parents?"

  "There’s no rush to think of that now. Maybe by then we know more."

  "But you promise that you’ll stick by me, that you’ll help me."

  "I will, in fact, I intend to marry you."

  She smiles through tears. "Is this a marriage proposal?"

  "Yes, this is the genuine article, if there ever was one … and what’s your reply? Or do I first have to go down on my knees?"

  "Yes, André, I want it too," she replies.

  He lowers himself, ready to kneel in front of her.

  She pulls him back up, exclaiming: "No, you silly man. I meant, I want to be your wife." He grins, and she slaps him lightly. "You’re so mean. You’re always teasing me."

  He briefly pecks her cheek and whispers: "But I also love you like you’ve never been loved before."

  Yes, I know, is her silent response as she kisses his cheek.

  They check the bus schedule to Popayàn. The
re is a departure every hour from early morning. They buy two tickets. The clerk accepts a twenty-dollar bill and gives them the change in pesos. André reckons that the exchange rate is rather bad, but he doesn’t care. There is a lot more where that money came from.

  * * *

  To buy a change of clothes, they need pesos. Monday morning André inquires with ‘la chèvre’ about foreign exchange services. The man informs him that only the two major banks exchange dollars. He also adds that they will demand identification papers. Since he accepted dollars for the room, André asks him: "Would you be willing to exchange another two hundred dollars for me?"

  ‘La chèvre’ wags his head back and forth a few times and then answers: "Yes, but I cannot give you the bank rate."

  "That’s fine, señor."

  After breakfast, armed with a fat wad of peso bills and directions to the town’s major department store, André and Bianca venture hand-in-hand into the center. They spot the department store at the far side of the town square. A small shop displaying handcrafted local fashion attracts Bianca’s curiosity. She pulls him back to look at the garments displayed and points to a blouse. "Isn’t it nice. I mean I would consider buying this at home."

  "It is. Why don’t we go in?"

  "You think so? Didn’t we want to go to the department store?"

  "Yes, but this stuff looks nice and I’m sure will cost a fraction of what you would pay for similar things in Rome. Come."

  He leads her into the store, where a fashionably dressed woman in her mid-thirties greets them. He watches Bianca as she fingers the blouses on display and hanging on racks. Her eyes, her face, her movements, all betray her excitement. The woman also studies her critically and then takes a different blouse from another rack.

  "Señora, this blouse here has been made for you. It is one of a kind."

  André likes that she addresses Bianca as señora rather than señorita.

  She places the blouse on Bianca’s chest, turning her toward the mirror. He has to admit that it is, in fact, a stunning garment.

  "Try it on," he encourages her.

  "Should I?"

  "Yes." He turns to the woman. "Do you have a matching skirt or a pair of slacks, and maybe a jacket?"

  The woman answers his smile. "Certainly, señor."

  Bianca eyes him, uncertain. He simply smiles.

  The woman picks out a black skirt, holds it up critically, puts it back and reaches for another one, nods, and then removes a black jacket from a bust at the front of the store.

  "Oh, how beautiful," exclaims Bianca, as the woman shows her the garments.

  Both disappear in the changing cubicle at the back of the narrow store. A minute later, Bianca, comes out, barefoot. She looks a different person, distinguished and stunning in the beautifully tailored jacket. Her face is beaming as she turns around in front of the mirror. The saleswoman clearly seems pleased by her choice.

  "They are made for you, señora," she says, and André has to agree that these garments fit Bianca perfectly.

  "Take them, Bianca. You look stunning."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, and look, over there … the sandals? Check if you find something suitable." He turns to the woman, switching to Spanish and giving her his most charming smile. "Señora, somebody stole my wallet when I stupidly put my rain jacket on a bench at the soccer stadium. Are you willing to accept American dollars?"

  She only hesitates for a second and then answers: "Certainly."

  Bianca tries on several sandals. Again, the woman finds her a pair that complements the new garments.

  André pays, thanking the woman for her help. They leave, Bianca wearing her new outfit, her boots and old clothes in a paper bag.

  "Are you pleased with your purchases?" he asks, as they walk hand in hand toward the department store.

  "Yes, they’re beautiful and the woman was great. She advised me well."

  He squeezes her hand. "How much do you think you would have paid in Rome for similar things?"

  "I don’t know … over a thousand euros."

  "It only cost two hundred and forty dollars. That’s about a hundred and eighty euros."

  In the department store they purchase another few pieces of clothing for both of them, including underwear, as well as an overnight bag. André does not want to travel with the backpack. They also buy shampoo, toothbrushes, toothpaste, disposable shavers for him — he needs another shave badly — and other toiletries. On their way home, he quickly enters a pharmacy, saying "wait".

  When she asks him what he bought, he replies: "Condoms."

  He sees her grin and blush at the same time.

  * * *

  The bus that departs from Timbio shortly after noon sees them among its dozen or so passengers. It is less than a one-hour ride into Popayàn. At the Popayàn bus station André goes to the display board of hotels and guesthouses.

  "Aren’t we going back to the Cipriano?" Bianca asks.

  "No, that’s the first place they’d be watching out for us. No, we’ll find ourselves a nice little guesthouse."

  "But what about our things?"

  "I’ll go and fetch them tonight, alone. In the meantime, we both keep a low profile. Tomorrow we’re out of here on the first plane to Bogotà."

  "Shouldn’t we get in touch with the police, though?"

  "No, we can let the Popayàn police know once we are in Bogotà. I don’t want to be interrogated here by them and delayed maybe for days. They’ll get my phone call from a public booth in Bogotà." He points to the plastic coated announcement of Casa Familiar Portrero, half a block north of the university. "Look, this looks like a decent place. There are some rooms with showers. Let’s take a taxi."

  He asks the taxi to take them to the tourist information office opposite the university. His index finger across his lips preempts Bianca from correcting him. After paying the taxi outside the information office, they quickly go inside and wait for the taxi to drive off. Then they walk the short distance to the guesthouse. They are lucky. Not only has one of the three rooms with a shower just been vacated, but it will be ready for them within a few minutes. In contrast to the suspicious glances they got in Timbio, Bianca’s elegant outfit makes the right impression on the woman at the reception. André again explains their lack of travel documents and pays for one night. They wait in a corner of the lobby. In hushed voices, they discuss the plan for the next twenty-four hours. Bianca wants to know when she should call her parents. He advises her to wait until they are in Bogotà and ask to be allowed to place the call from the Italian Embassy. The staff there can then provide confirmation that she is truly free and the call is not a cruel hoax.

  They eat lunch in the nearby university cafeteria. In the tourist information office across the street, André books two seats on the early morning flight to Bogotà. Again, he is lucky. The office accepts US dollars. Then they return to their guesthouse. Both are keen for a long, hot shower.

  Bianca strips and carefully hangs up her new clothes in the wardrobe. He follows suit and they both enter the shower together. For a minute or so they simply stand close together under the strong spray of warm water.

  "I would like to soap you all over," he whispers. "May I?"

  She nods, giggling in anticipation. He turns off the shower. Starting with her neck, he massages her back, her round buttocks, the legs, first their back and then going up their fronts toward her groin. He gently rubs her inner thighs, searching her eyes. She closes them. He moves up her belly, ending up at her proud breasts, circling them, lingering around her nipples. Then he kisses her on the mouth. She presses herself to him.

  "Now I’ll do you," she says.

  She follows his pattern. She pulls back the foreskin of his penis and rubs the shaft. He senses the rush of blood swelling it. She giggles and then encloses his erect penis between her thighs. She wraps her arms around his neck. He turns the shower on again and then cups her buttocks, lifting her up. She guides him to her opening. H
e takes a deep breath as his penis slides into the warmth of her well. They move in unison, first gently and slowly and then ever more forcefully, letting the warm water flow over them, between them, while kissing. He is close to exploding when Bianca cries out and bites his shoulder. One powerful thrust and he catches up with a shudder of bliss. Then they rest in each other arms under the spray of the water, letting their rapture slowly ebb away.

  They shampoo their hair. It is the first time in ten days. After drying each other off, they crawl into bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  10

  It is getting dark by the time they wake up. Bianca giggles when she sees André’s hair stick out in all direction, the way it dried while he was asleep.

  "You have a tuft like Tintin," she exclaims, while trying unsuccessfully to smooth it down. "You’ll have to wet your hair again."

  "And so do you. Your curls need to be realigned also, but I love you even like this."

  She pushes him down onto the pillow and covers his upper body, skin on skin. "I love you too, André. Will you always love me?" She knows the question is silly, but cannot help asking it.

  "Yes, always and more every day."

  She searches his eyes. They are dark blue and locked on to hers, steady, unblinking. There is an inviting smile in them.

  "Will you marry me?" he asks.

  "Yes."

  "When we are back in Europe?"

  "Yes."

  "Even if your parents are against it?"

  "Yes."

  "Even if they threaten to cut you off?"

  "Yes." Yes, to all his questions. She is completely sure of her answers.

  She lets herself be pulled down and his lips meet hers, searching, demanding, and she responds. She doesn’t think she has ever felt so happy and so secure of being loved. It is a feeling she wants to hold on forever.

  "Are you getting hungry?" he asks.

  "Yes … for you." She feels wicked, surprised by the answer that crossed her lips without a conscious thought.

  "Again already?"

  "Yes." She nods emphatically.