The Introduction

This is the first story I have ever attempted to write. I'm fairly well educated, and am pretty imaginative when I'm half asleep in my huge bed. My entire life I have wanted to be a Special Forces soldier in the military (either Recon or Green Berets), and like to fantasize about rescuing beautiful women from dire situations :D. If you would like to comment, please do - negative or positive. I've been reading on Literotica for more than 7 years now, and finally figured I'd give it a whirl...

The story is fairly long with plenty of background (character development, I hope) because if ya'll like it, then I hope to make it into a series of stories. This first one will be light on the erotica, but will set up the other stories.

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Another fat bead of sweat is rolling down my forehead. This damn heat is really starting to make me wish I hadn't decided to stay these extra three months out here.

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My name is Meagan Gerano, and I am what my parents always wanted me to be as I grew up a little girl in Laredo, Texas - an accomplished orthopaedic surgeon. No expense was spared to put me through the best university and medical school the United States had to offer. Undergraduate work in mechanical engineering at Duke University readied me for the hellish four years of medical school at Harvard. Too bad for my parents I had other plans than working eighty hour weeks and spending my rare free time at their damn country club around their stuck-up professional friends. You see, ever since I was the little girl growing up in Laredo, I wanted to travel to far-flung corners of the world - seeing everything and doing everything. I always wanted to see what the world had to offer; to see it, taste it, feel it, live it. I grew up an adrenaline junkie, doing everything I could to push my life to the limits. I was young and invincible...nothing was beyond my reach. I dove on ship wrecks in the Bahamas, carved up some backcountry slopes in Tahoe, BASE jumped from El Capitan out in Yosemite, and endangered my life in every way my parents hated. Oh, and the boys...there never were enough MEN to satisfy my hunger as I was growing up. Not to say that I was a slut - far from it. Most of the time, I did not have the time or the desire to devote to a guy. Not that many of them lived up to my demands.

Coming from a well-to-do and educated family, I had a command on life that was only enhanced by the time I spent with my uncle. Ben was my father's brother - and his antithesis. While my father, the older of the two, grew up as the straight laced southern gentleman of the romance novels, his brother Ben was the wild, party-child that made his mother roll her eyes just about every day.

Ben was two years younger than my father, but was more intelligent, more athletic, more charming, more of everything that a woman could want in a man. He was my role model in life, everything that I ever wanted to be. In fact, I even wanted him when I was about thirteen or fourteen, but that was a foolish child's admiration for such an amazing man. He had been in the military after college, but quickly developed a reputation for partying too hard and disobeying all the "unspoken rules". Wild trips to strip clubs, small but inventive pranks on commanding officers, stealing the army humvees at night for a little rowdiness - nothing was out of Ben's reach. Lucky for Ben, he was charming and persuasive enough to get others to go along so he never took the full heat of his officers. The problem with Ben was that being enlisted was not the adventure he had planned, hoped, and wished for during college. He joined the army halfway through an escalating war in Africa, but ended up as a desk jockie after the military found out how intelligent he was. Army Intelligence does not quite live up to its moniker... So, he passed his time by generally pissing off "The Man" (as he so fondly calls any person of authority), until he was called for Special Forces Selection. Special Forces is the cream of the crop of the military, and the Army only takes men who have gone through Ranger School and Jump School into Selection for Green Berets. Ben was just the type of man that Special Forces seek out...tough, intelligent, creative men that work well in a small tactical team and will do anything to help their country. While Ben did some amazing things in Special Forces, his story is long and complicated, most of which he tells only after about half a fifth of tequila. I only bring him up to explain how I came to be in Nigeria during one of the most brutal civil wars that ever rocked the continent of Africa.

Ben taught me everything I wanted to know about life. In the backcountry of Texas, he taught me how to shoot and hunt, drink beer with the best of my high school boyfriends, repair my old beat-up truck...pretty much everything a young Texas boy would ever want to learn. I was the daughter he never had, mainly because his wife was killed at 29 when their first house collapsed in one of Texas' famed tornadoes. Not to say that I was much of a tomboy, I just had a multi-faceted youth that prepared me for a life of adventure. It wasn't until high school that I realized my combination of intelligence, wit, and tough upbringing made me the desire of most of the hot guys in my school. Well, my athletic build and full, pouty lips probably didn't hurt.

Unfortunately for most of the boys at my school, I was mature and an ass-kickin' adventurer, and most could just not keep up. I tested the water a few times, Bobby and Johnny being the best I had (yeah, they had me at the same time on graduation night). I even played around with some of the girls on my cross-country team, but nothing beats the feeling of a hard cock sliding in and out of my tight cunt, ever so quick, ever so rough. My appetite for sex is much like my appetite for life – quick, dangerous, and hard as fuck. There was one man who lived up to my expectations (most guys I ran off after a few weeks because I tend to scare men) during medical school at Harvard. I met Chris while doing some rock-climbing over Spring Break down in North Carolina. His hot body and full blue eyes drew me into him before I knew what happened. Twelve tequila shots and a hot night of passionate fucking in the back of his Silverado, and I was in love. Being a tough redneck that was six years older than me did not seem to matter as our personalities quickly meshed. He was spending the spring and summer guiding backpacking trips on the Appalachian Trail, and I flew down to see him several times over that summer. Too bad for me that Chris was a wanderer; never content to stay in one place, or one pussy, for too long. He broke my heart, and I cursed his hot, thick cock that filled me up just so, leaving me longing for more on the lonely Harvard nights in my single apartment. He taught me the pleasures of playing with myself, and I would rub my pussy raw dreaming and crying over him for that final year of medical school.

After I graduated from medical school, I took an internship and residency in orthopaedic medicine in North Carolina (so I could be close to my mountains), but never made it past two years. I spent too much time staring out the windows and dreaming of the life I had wanted before Dr. Gerano set in. One day after helping perform a closed reduction on a seven year old girl's arm, I walked up to my prick of a supervisor and told him to kiss my sweet Texas ass. I went back to my apartment, called around to some old medical school buddies, and packed my bags. That night I had joined a medical relief team that was dropping into Nigeria in order to help relieve some of the atrocities that were occurring between the ruling factions of the civil-war torn nation. Civilians were being slaughtered whole-sale by both sides in attempt to genetically cleanse the nation...not much we could do for those folks. But the poor civilians caught in the cross-fire of automatic weapons fire, mortar rounds detonating, and decades old mine fields were the target of our relief team. Composed of four trauma surgeons, two orthopaedic surgeons, three anesthesiologists, and a slew of nurses and med techs, our team was funded by private donors who had an interest in preserving human life. We were to stay in country for six weeks, until another team of doctors and nurses could fly in to replace us. Not knowing what kind of horrible injuries and surgeries I would have to perform, I readied myself for the next adventure of my storied life – an adventure I would never have guessed.

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That bad, oily bead of sweat trickled over the vein in my forehead, down over the bridge of my nose, and dripped off the tip onto what the Nigerians call an operating table. It's late, and it's been another hellish day in the middle of a hellish trip. Not that I'm upset at all, but I'm starting to become disillusioned with what God allows men to do in His name. I've always been a believer, but never really had the time to devote to calling on Him. I'm standing in the middle of a makeshift operating room next to Marianna, the cute young CRNA that is desperately trying to help me remove shrapnel fragments from a mortar round that exploded all too close to a young pregnant mother. Her black, velvety skin is poring sweat as her eyes roll back into their loose sockets. She's bleeding out, and there isn't much I can damn well do about it. We performed an emergency c-section to remove her premature baby that thankfully escaped harm. But the baby's poor mother is losing the battle that too many of her countryman have already lost. Covered in her blood, I set down my scalpel and forceps, and take her limp, clammy hand into my own. I lean down and whisper into her ear "May God bless you and keep you..."

The young woman regained some form of consciousness at hearing my voice and her baby crying in the background. She opened her half-closed eyes and began to whisper weakly in Nigerian. She uttered about three sentences before her heart began to arrest and finally gave up for lack of blood to pump to her vital organs.

I turned to Noqimba, a local Nigerian woman who has been assisting with the surgeries, and asked her what the young dead mother had said. Noqimba looked quite unsettled, and whispered so rapidly in broken English I couldn't understand her. I put my arms on her shoulders, and quieted her before asking her to repeat herself. Looking up at me with her huge white eyes with inky black pupils, she told me what the woman had said: "Please...Please kill my baby. Do not let her live my life. May God have mercy on her soul..."

Taken aback, I never for once considered killing the child. She would be sent to the Red Cross refugee camp, and would hopefully find a family in the surrounding nations that would adopt her, and take her away from the poverty, rape, and famine that plagues this nation. Exhausted and heart-broken, I went to the flap of the tent as Marianna began to clean up the operating room. I pushed back the flap and turned my ear to the night sounds of our hospital (a set of six tents that doubled as operating rooms, morgues, and sick-bays). The quiet moans of horribly injured people almost covered the soft clicking of the crickets in the field nearby. Not being able to stand the sound of dying people for another minute, I turned to Marianna and told her I was going to walk back to our apartment in the city. The hospital was on the edge of town, but the doctors and nurses had apartments in the town, about a fifteen minute walk away. Marianna looked about as dead as I was, but she offered and quick smile and said "Ok Meagan, I'll be right behind you".

Not accustomed to being coddled by men, I had always been independent and never thought twice about setting off into the pitch darkness of the Nigerian countryside with nothing but my flashlight and a weary mind. My body was screaming for sleep and my mind was rapidly growing numb. The thought of having to wake up again in six hours to see more blood and more death only made me shut down my brain ever more. As I came into the deserted streets of the city, I didn't notice the group of four large black men standing in the shadows of the building I was nearing.

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It's late, and I'm fucking irritable. This damn country and whole damn war is finally starting to get to me. This bottle of shit the Nigerians call alcohol is only worsening the headache I already have. An entire two days wasted following empty leads from uneducated rabble in this backcountry town has made me tired and edgy. My partner Rodeo is dead asleep in the corner of this filthy ass room overlooking the town square of this dirty little town in southern Nigeria. He always can fall asleep whenever he wants...kind of like the time he fell asleep during the shelling we took in Afghanistan back when we were still in Delta Force. A quick smile plays over my lips as I think back to those days, the good ol' days about now. Back when everything was so much simpler. My job was to kill – kill the Taliban and everything their ass-backwards politics and religion had instilled in the minds of the Afghani populace. Now, I'm sifting through intelligence, if it can be called that, about two rival clans in Nigeria, trying to determine which group the US could exploit into killing off the other completely. Damn, I really am getting cranky. It's pretty rare I allow myself such a realistic thought about US politics to cross my mind. I'm just a foreign grunt on the front line of a meaningless civil war, trying to prevent the two warring factions from completely slaughtering their entire country. Sweat slides down my back, between my shoulder blades, along my spine, and soaks into the band of my briefs. "Damn, it's fuckin' hot" I whisper to no one in particular, as I take another quick swig of the filthy liquor.

The window I'm sitting next to is permitting too small of a breeze to waft in, but it's better than nothing in this God-forsaken hell of a country. As I tilt up the bottle for another drink, a movement across the plaza catches my eye. Not sure if I had seen something out there this late at night, I put down the bottle and picked up my binoculars. Scanning the area quickly just like my Delta instructors had taught me, I quickly catch the sight of a young woman plodding through the town, oblivious to all that surrounds her. Her blood-stained camouflage pants and loose shirt tell me she must be part of the medical team that is fucking wasting their time trying to stem the tide of bloodshed flowing through this country. This war was going to be decided by people, such as the ones I work for, who had unlimited resources and the willingness to kill bad people. Even from the distance and the dark night, I can tell that this woman is smokin'. It's been awhile since I've seen a woman with skin lighter than coal out here, and even with my man-just-released-from-prison sex drive, I can tell this woman definitely has attractive written all over her. Her 5'7" frame is done no justice by the loose clothing she is wearing, but she still seems to have ample breasts surrounded by a tight body. Her shoulder length brown hair seems to frame a face unlike any I've seen before. A perfect nose mounted above two luscious lips is topped by two of the most startling eyes I've ever seen. I can't tell the color thanks to this infernal darkness, but I quickly feel my thick cock begin to harden in my jeans. I reach down to massage it when I catch another glimpse deeper into the shadows ahead of the woman.

I drop the binoculars and knock over the bottle as I jump up from the chair and sprint out the door. A quick turn down the hallway, stumbling down the steps, I burst through the crappy door into the hot, sticky – dangerous – night air.

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I try to scream around the big dark hand that wraps itself around my face as I feel myself jerked off the hard-packed dirt ground, and pulled deeper into the shadows. My mind races as it tries to catch up to what's happening, and my only thought is that I was going to die. Die like the rest of the stupid rabble infesting this country who were simply in the way of two greedy warlords. I feel huge hands all over my 115 pound body as I'm lifted clear off the ground and thrown face-first against a wall.

I feel a man's dank breath close to my ear as a huge body is pressing up against my back, pushing me further into the cracked concrete wall. He begins to whisper into my ear in guttural Nigerian, and my mind has gone blank with the fear that is gripping my body. I feel my body hesitating to respond to my commands to fight as the fear begins to paralyze me. "I'm going to be raped and then I'm going to die, just like all those other poor women I see" was all I could think of as my body went limp under the hard muscle and fantastic strength of this fucking pig pinning me to the wall. My entire life of adventure and Ben's teachings never prepared me for an attack by unseen assailants in a dirty back alley in a quiet town in Nigeria. As my mind begins to shut down again, I feel heavy hands tearing at my shirt and pants, too many hands to be one guy. My bra is ripped away and the cold stone of the wall immediately starts to chafe my soft nipples. From the laughing behind me, the man whispering in my ear is probably telling me how he is going to fuck me with his huge black dick and then strangle me as he cums, until I die. "God, please...I don't want to die...not like this...not like this" is all I can think of as I wait for this man who's probing my dry pussy to rape me and kill me. His thick, cracked fingers scrape on my soft skin of my dry cunt, while someone else begins to pull my pants down around my ankles.

From somewhere amidst the swirling confusion and screaming in my head, I hear a sharp crack and a thud. I know I've just been shot and now I'm dying. As the pressure eases up on my back, I begin to fall along the wall until I'm lying on the ground. My numbed mind tries to make sense of what's going on as I plead God to make my death quick. As I open up my eyes, all I see at first is the dusty ground of the alley and my torn clothes littered nearby. The blood on them has to be mine, and I'm going to die. "Please God, let me bleed out quick. Please let me die without a black dick in me..." All of a sudden, I realize that everything is not what it seems. I no longer feel any hands on me, and my mind is starting to clear the fear from my body. My focus sharpens, and I see the most amazing sight.

Laying two yards away from me with blood streaming from the crack in the back of his skull, a man as dark as the night is not moving. His mottled and torn clothing looks familiar, but I can't place it at the moment. I achingly scan past him and see another man crashed against a wall, gripping his leg that's dangling broken at the knee. He seems to be screaming, but his voice just won't penetrate the fog of my mind. Lazily, I continue my mystified search, and see a large white man...no, that can't be right, my mind must be tricking me. A ghost must have to come to save me from these wretched men – a ghost in tight jeans and form-fitting black shirt. His cowboy boots are kicking some serious ass as he fights the largest black man I've ever seen. Sensing this was the man who had held me against the wall, I hope to every god I know that my ghost kills him. Obliging me, my ghost kicks out, catching my attacker's left knee on the inside, and I hear a muffled crack as the bones snap. He falls, crying in agony, and my ghost turns to face me...not to face me, but to snap my attacker's neck. A quick twist and pull, and the black man's body slumps to the dirt – broken and hopefully dead. My ghost looks over at me, and I scream, the first sound I've made in what seems an eternity. His hand flashed so fast, I'm not sure what he even did.