[postmanuk]

A long tiring drive and a friction free border crossing into a southern east European state was just what we needed. Then a short drive to our pre-booked hotel and vacation

But, of course, we arrived at the border and spotting two west Europeans equals time to ‘play the arse’ and ‘see if we might shake down’ this young couple from near London.

I have always felt, right or wrong, you cannot argue with such people as petty bureaucrats magnified ten times in a zone where the monthly pay cheque does not always arrive

So when we found ourselves at truculent central, I tried to calm my girlfriend Jane into just going with the flow.

But no, she had to say something, not so much the words, but the tone of her voice that put the back up of guards at the entry point.

So yes, it was ‘out of the car’, and go to the check point. I have never been comfortable seeing guns at close quarters, even those that were holstered

Once inside, our blue passports were shown, and all should have been well. But no, what was it, some irregularity and my thoughts were already irrationally thinking of the film ‘Midnight Express’ and the customs and pastimes of this part of the world.

We sat on some chairs, surveyed flies crawling up some posters extolling the virtues of this un-named country as a tourist’s idyll; more like a place to extract £££s and $$$s from the west.

We sat some more, and after 20 minutes were called forward. No, not me, just my wife.

I was not happy with this, of course – I would not be happy in the UK either. But she had an ‘interview’ and was taken through a door with a sign, which I imagined said ‘private’ in some non-familiar alphabet

After 10 minutes, I went to the desk, protested. Just what was happening. I demanded to see her at once.

A minute later, another guard in an olive coloured uniform who looked like one of the reserves from soccer team Beşiktaş, gestured for me to come though the ‘private’ door. I did so, following him along a hallway lit by bright neon tubes and was then shown into an interview room lit by perhaps just a 15 watt bulb.

My eyes took a minute to adjust, and the ‘reserve’ said to me ‘all is in order’, but we were worried your young lady friend was being disrespectful to the officers. They were only doing their duty

‘So’, he said, ‘we have a formula to straighten things out and smooth over any unpleasantness.’

He tugged on a curtain pull, covering – well I would have no idea as I clocked it as I came into the room - and then we were looking into another interview room, clearly through sone way glass.

‘As you can see, your GF is fine’ we are just awaiting the Doctor’

Doctor? What doctor?

‘Well, we find it helps to just bring the temperature down from such unpleasantness if the doctor just checks all is OK. Argh, here he is.’

And with that an older man in a white coat, stethoscope thrown around his neck, comes into the room and, without looking up, consults his chart.

At that moment, two more ‘officers’ came into the interview room, one carrying a tripod and video camera, which he set up pointing directly through the one way glass.

‘Fear not, we are required by law to make sure that interviews are recorded so that there can be no foul play.’

And in this whirl of action, I could see a female guard ask my GF to stand up, and the doctor, almost without acknowledging her, began looking into my GF’s eyes as he took her pulse.

This bizarre medical consultation continued as I watched the female guard gesticulate to my GF to remove her clothes.

What? WTF?

‘Just wait sir, All will be settled soon.’

So I watched, and watched some more as she stripped to her undies and then the female guard unclipped her GFs bra and placed it, after it had fallen from her shoulders on the table whilst showing with her hands to remove her panties too

This was unbelievable, a disgrace. I would be onto the UK consulate pronto. But I was routed to the spot.

Watching, watching, knowing my cock was straining (so wrongly) in my underpants as my GF faced away from the camera, touching toes, as what I imagined her anus was probed and then her pubed c*nt. There was a little uncalled for laughter from the guards

Writing some 30 years later, this room, the smell, the buzz of the lights, comes vividly back.

She stood facing the mirror, or what she thought was a mirror, the older Doctor standing behind her, weighing her young English rose breasts in his hands, testing the nipples between his thumb and fore-finger with one hand traveling south and touching her pubic mound and running down her natural slit, where the doctor fondled her clitoris between her fingers

Routed to the spot, I could see my GF was frightened and intimidated. This surreal scene unfolding before my unprotesting eyes.

I should tell more of her ordeal, but I believe you have an idea of what it was like crossing this border on a hot and sticky June afternoon.

The interview ended, she was told / gesticulated to dress after showering in a rather open plan and primitive shower at the back of the room.

The ‘reserve’ officer turned to me. ‘Well, sir, that’s how we deal with lippy women in this part of the world. There is no charge for this service, but if you would like to buy a VHS tape of it, we can make a copy immediately for £10.

Would you have ‘bought the evidence’? Seriously? I know I did, treasured it for a good few year when, quite by accident I recorded and episode of who care what over the top. Always pop out those ‘non record’ clips!