Her trendy Burberry handbag contained her passport, various professional documents attributing to her profession, some printed glamour photographs, 343 Euro cash, a sachet of Wet Wipes, a spare black M&S lacy thong, hair brush, extensive cosmetics, credit and debit cards, a Samsung device and a sachet of Tampax.The black woman had a less feminine, sports, shoulder bag, with a spare Nike tracksuit, two pair of plain white M&S panties, a packet of Durex, minimal cosmetics, a hair straightener, a hairbrush and a pair of cheap sandals. Her passport showed her name as Caster Semanya, a 26 year old, close to six feet tall, South African, middle distance, athlete who was on her way home after winning a Gold medal at the World Championships. The gold medal was not in her bag.Giovanni gave the order to rip off the hoody blindfolds, making the two women blink and shake their heads in the bright glare of two industrial overhead lamps. Still under the effects of the Rohypnol drug, administered. Right after we arrived there with my girlfriend, we started arguing. Anne hated the music and smoke, and I hated her attitude. After five short minutes, she walked out on me.You can imagine my mood for the rest of the night. I was just standing at the bar, pissed off and ready to jump in a fight. I soon had the chance.I was sipping my drink when I felt a hand grabbing my butt and a rough whispering voice by my era “Hey k**, how about coming in the bathroom with me? I’ll give you a drink far better than that vodka of yours…” I was astonished…First of all, I wasn’t a k**. I was eighteen since last midnight. Secondly, I suspected I would have to take that drink straight from its long meaty bottle…I turned around and was faced by a man in his mid forties, tall and well built, with a black pony tail. Behind him, was another man, dressed in hackey sweats. He was taller and stronger and looked at me with a look that easily translated: “Boy, your ass is mine…”I knew I couldn’t take them up.
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