Five were dressed in the simple, draping gowns of white traditionally worn by women in
that town, on the day their virginity would be taken. Only one of the five knew this. She
had lived ”off the books,” as they said in that region of the country, among resistance
women until she was eleven. Then her cell had been infiltrated, and she’d been wrenched
from her mother’s arms and taken to the orphanage. All the years since, Andrea kept the
truth of the world outside the walls of the institution a secret from the other girls. Let
them have their peace. When they came of age, they’d lose it forever. Even the ”lucky”
ones. The bleeders.
As soon as they were robed, Amy was taken off on her own, nervous, but more excited than
scared, and Andrea felt sorry for her. Andrea thought of her mom and figured that, really,
Amy had it the worst of all of them. Even if her first wasn’t so bad, as soon as she’d had
her baby, she’d see.
Old Miss Mary herded Andrea and the other three downstairs, into a dark and polished
chamber furnished differently than any of the rooms the girls were normally allowed to
enter, with upholstered chairs and sofas, colorful drapes, and wooden tables with gleaming
surfaces and ornate legs.
“Be still and quiet, now, until we’re summoned,” Miss Mary ordered in a hushed voice.
All the times she’d thought of this day, Andrea had imagined how she’d be brave. Not
scared. It was just her body they’d own and use. Her self, her soul, would always be hers.
But waiting in that somber room, it was hard to believe in the distinction. The thought of
some strange person, a man with a rough face and rough hands, licking and touching and
lying on top of her twisted her insides in a knot. The waiting, there in that foreign room
filled with all their nervous uncertainty, her hands were ice cold and damp. She felt a
little dizzy.
A heavy knock on a door by the window rattled her body under that heavy white gown.
“Keep quiet now, girls, and do just as you’re told,” Miss Mary admonished for the
hundredth time, and led them through the door.
Silent except for the rustling of the white cloth draped around them, the four followed
Miss Mary into the adjacent room. Then there was a small sound, like the sucking of air
from a room just before the wind slams a door shut. The sound of four women catching their
breath.
Andrea fought to keep her gait even, to do as Miss Mary was directing, but the stares of
all those men, it was like a wave rushing at her, pushing her over, sweeping her feet out
from under her. It must have been worse for the others. At least Andrea had seen men
before.
As the four took their places, lining up along a wall papered in russet hyacinths on a
yellow background, Andrea counted them. Eleven. Like she remembered from before the
orphanage. All of them bigger than the largest of the girls or their watchers. Taller,
wider, older, rougher.
Would they do it right here? With Miss Mary watching? Would it be all of them at once? Or
would three girls watch what they did to the first, each knowing her turn was coming?
Andrea glanced over at the others, and regretted her silence. The last few days of peace
weren’t so precious they were worth the shock, the terror they’d endure, now. She should
have told them. Should have coached them, the way her mom and the others had coached her.
Just a body. Just a body. Just a body.
“Let’s start.”
Andrea followed the strange bass voice to the man sitting at the center of the
semi-circle of chairs. Blue eyes. White hair. Older, smaller than the others.
“Tamara.” Miss Mary took the first girl’s arm and led her before the crescent of men,
their eyes following her, locking on her as Miss Mary let go of her arm and retreated to
the wall, beside the other three. From there she instructed, “Tamara. Remove your gown.”
Again there was that soft, quiet sound of air pulled from the room. Tamara stood there,
her arms at her sides, fingers twitching to clutch at the white cloth or ball into fists
or cross over her torso. They hadn’t been trained to undress before strangers, but they’d
been conditioned, ruthlessly, to do as they were told. Always. But she seemed frozen
there, except for those twitching fingers, and her chest, heaving up and down under the
folds of her gown.
“Tamara.”
If they hadn’t been in the presence of the men, she wouldn’t have gotten that warning.
Andrea breathed, “I’ll go first.”
“Shhh!” Miss Mary hissed back.
Tamara seemed to fix her gaze on the gold tassel at the end of a braided cord adorning
one of the curtains behind the men staring at her. Her hands shaking, she undid the clasp
behind her neck, and her gown fell to the floor, leaving her pale form naked to the eleven
men. She brought her arms back down to her sides to stand as she’d been taught, except
that her hands were balled in two tight fists.
The men’s eyes scanned over her body.
In her stern, quiet voice Miss Mary commanded, “Turn around.”
Keeping her light gray eyes fixed on the wall across from her, after a moment of
hesitation Tamara pivoted slowly around, giving the men a chance to examine her from every
angle. When she was back to facing that gold tassel, Miss Mary told her to pick up her
gown and return to her place by the wall. Some of the men started writing on white,
rectangular cards.
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