I wistfully looked at the painting as I walked by it and paused. The warm deep desert colors radiated from the canvas; the soft blues and golds washing over me like a mellow summer day. My ankle itched as I looked at the beautiful single silver belled ankle bracelet laid upon the golden hued silk cloth beside the blue rounded jar. I almost caught a scent of spicy musk oil. That was a time in my life when I had felt ultimately female with its many contradictions, powerful in my sex and at the same time, powerless.
I reached down and caressed the blue jar that sat at a table directly beneath the painting. I imagined the warm scent of the musk as it was poured on my heated, aroused skin. I let out the breath I was holding slowly opening the top drawer of the table. It slid open smoothly as a fold of luxurious silk was exposed. My flesh tingled at the remembered sensuality as the silk had enfolded my naked body. The soft fabric brushing over erect nipples and sensitive thighs. Closing my eyes, my breath quickening from the memory, I felt for the ankle bracelet.
The slight jingling of a bell caused my fingers to close over the cool metal. I pulled the bracelet out and held it to my cheek, the coolness felt good against my heated skin. Opening my eyes, I looked at the delicate yet bold piece of jewelry. A thick band of silver was encased in intricate carvings of flowers with small rings for charms. Two large bells formed a type of clasp that locked when attached to the ankle. A surge of melancholy, desire, joy and pain suffused my body and mind. I needed to sit down, to remember.
I headed out to the wide porch overlooking the open Mediterranean Sea. Sitting in my antique rattan chair, I lithely bent over and quickly fastened the ankle bracelet to my right leg. The response from my body was instantaneous. I was immediately aroused. Gasping, I trailed a hand up my trim calf to my thigh and under my skirt. Not wanting or needing to hold back, I fingered the epicenter of my body until waves of exhilarating fulfillment rippled over my nerve endings. My fingers buried deep in my wetness; I felt my muscles spasm. Gasping, I began to calm like a satiated lion after a swift kill, I gazed out over the rolling waves and let myself remember Al Mamlakah al Arabiyah as Suudiyah - Saudi Arabia.
#
I met Robert L. Becker III at an American Consulate party in Washington. I had just finished a brief vacation and attended the party as a guest of one of my acquaintances. After walking through the front door, my date had left me to pursue a business venture. Sulkily, I had wandered around the huge Embassy, enjoying the paintings, sculptures and artwork. One painting in particular had caught my eye, a sultry earthy painting of a dark complexioned man wearing the thobe and gutra of the Middle Eastern countries. The dark, passionate eyes looking out from the painting were unnerving, exciting. The oils captured the smooth glow of his skin and it seemed I could reach out and touch human warmth.
At that moment, Robert Becker III walked up and began to talk about the man in the painting. He told me the name of the man in the painting was FAHD bin Abd al-Aziz Al Saud, the King and Prime Minister of Saudi Arabia. He proceeded to entertain me with talks of his visits to that distant land until I was enthralled. The talk continued on into the night and to his penthouse apartment. I was surprised that over the night, Robert did not try to make love to me. I didn't realize then that he had his reasons.
Over breakfast, he invited me to go with him on his next visit to Saudi Arabia. He warned me that it was difficult for women over there, but he would protect me and we would stay in American compounds much of the time. His business would last a month, at most 2, and then we would be back in America. I enjoyed new sites, new sounds, new people and places. It seemed the perfect adventure at the time, going to a distant country and sampling a distant culture. Robert was pleasant and treated me well. I decided to go.
#
I stepped off the plane with Robert L. Becker III to a wave a sandy heat. The hot yellow sun shown down on me like a molten, angry god. I adjusted the brim of my hat so it would shade my face from the damaging rays. The stifling heat made it hard to breathe. After the languid vacation I had just had, the mystique of experiencing a different culture intrigued me, but this heat was horrible. I saw a long black limousine stirring the desert sands as it drove towards us.
Robert leaned toward me and said, "This man we are about to meet is Sayyid Jal Dhul Fiqar, a Sultan of the Qasim province and my ticket to several million dollars." Robert went forward as the Prince was getting out of his car and began to talk to him.
Several minutes went by and Robert did not look like he was about to introduce me. Walking up to Robert I almost interrupted his conversation with Sultan Sayyid but I saw a warning glint in the eyes of the tall Arab as he flicked them briefly at me. Huffily, I stood up straighter, squaring my shoulders but didn't say anything. I know Robert told me about the customs, but it's too much making us stand in this heat, I thought. I licked at the first drops of perspiration on my upper lip, the light traveling suit already sticking to my skin. Taking off my jacket, the white silk blouse clung to my full, round breasts barely concealed by a lacey skin-toned bra. The skirt hugged my trim waist, accentuating my breasts.
Sighing quietly, I looked around. The airport was not much more than a long runway with a small square building at one end. The heat radiated off every surface as the sun's rays beat down relentlessly. We had landed in Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia, then flown in a smaller jet to this tiny airport in Buraydah. Growing faint from the heat I finally felt Robert grasp my elbow.
"Erica, we will be staying with the Sultan instead of at the American compound. He has graciously offered his home to us," Robert said smiling. "Sultan, this is Erica; Erica - Sultan Sayyid Jal Dhul Fiqar.
The Sultan barely acknowledged me but he did look long enough at me to see my breasts blatantly exposed for anyone to see through my sweat soaked silk shirt. Disapproval ripe in his voice he said, "Miss Erica, you will attire yourself according to our custom while in my home."
Not to be intimidated, I asked boldly, "And how may I address you?"
Looking at me like I was a bug, he replied, "There is no reason for you to address me." Turning back to Robert, he smiled broadly and began walking to the limousine.
I stood speechless as I looked at this impertinent man, but he was completely ignoring me. I was not use to any man ignoring me and felt a twinge of interest along with annoyance.
Robert whispered to me, "Erica, it is a great honor to be invited to Sayyid's home. Not many American's, if any, have ever been invited there. This is a very good sign, I think you are my lucky charm!"
"I don't feel very lucky! Did you see how he looked at me? Like I was beneath dirt! And what's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I asked, glaring petulantly in the Sultan's direction.
"Nothing, you look ravishing," Robert reassured me. "But I did mention that women here don't expose anything and are covered head to toe outside their homes. Come on, sweet, this is an adventure for you! Enjoy it!"
I was led into the back seat of the limousine while the Sultan and Robert sat in front of me. As they conversed about business, I soon forgot my pique at being relegated to the back seat and began to watch the desert go by. I had to admit that the desert was seductive in its beauty. At first glance, it was all one color, but the more you looked the more subtle shades of gold, yellow, tan, green, brown, umber, red and other warm colors radiated their sensual heat. They appealed to my artistic heart. I smiled as I watched the colors swirl past.
Glancing up, I saw the half-lidded stare of the Sultan. Catching a chill from the air-conditioned air, I felt my nipples harden. Blushing, I watched his eyes travel to my breasts and linger. He didn't hide his appreciation and stared boldly. My belly suddenly tightening with fear and desire, I casually pulled my jacket over me like a blanket. The Sultan looked up with an imperceptible upturn of his lips and resumed his conversation, ignoring me again.
The ride took four long hours but I was able to see the beauty of the desert, the small towns and people along the way. I marveled at the subdued, veiled women that I saw walking sedately through the streets. What would it be like to be them? To grow up in this country? Shivering, I wondered if I had made a mistake coming here.
#
We drove through the town of Buraydah near the end of our ride. Robert turned around and said, "We are almost there, sweet, about 20 minutes more." They began talking quietly in earnest again. I gathered my things together and determined to be polite but cool.
Once in the compound, 20 or more women and children surrounded the limousine. Once out of the limousine, Sayyid handed out candies and toys to both the women and the children. The children ran off squealing in delight laughing and chasing each other across the hot desert sand. The women, some veiled some not, were more discrete but equally excited. I watched all this from the limousine, trying to understand this new world. How could simple candies and trinkets make these women so happy? What did they do here day after day?
Robert finally helped me out of the limousine. The women swarmed around me, touching my hair and the fabric of my suit. I was not alarmed but it was disconcerting to be handled so. The melodic swift language surged around me, engulfing me as the women chattered to each other. Their faces were curious, some smiling and giggling, others frowning or confused, a one looked angry.
The Sultan said something to an older woman and she looked at me and smiled, nodding. Coming toward me, she said in halting English, "You come for dress before gahwa."
Looking to Robert for help, I saw that he had already left with the Sultan to enter a large stone doorway into a shadowed interior. The women clustered around me and led me in a wave of chattering and giggling to a large entryway.
Inside I stopped and took in the richness of the scene before me. A lavish fountain flowed into a deep pond with large koi. The air was scented with flowers and earth. Ornate benches with cushions decorated the perimeter of the pond. Seeing this display of water after the parched landscape on the four-hour drive was unexpected and impressive. The women plucked at my clothing and hurried me along into a spacious entry hall that led into a cool shaded great room. Inside were luxurious carpets and cushions, benches and chairs that I knew to be expensive antiques. Tiffany lamps and Ming vases vied for my attention with paintings by Renoir, Carpenter and an exquisite painting by Angelica Kauffmann depicting women with a swarm of children.
The older woman, I learned her name was Usajnah, let me appreciate the room before prodding me along to yet another interior room. This one held a spacious pool with marble steps. All around the pool were low tables with padded cushions. The air in the room was warm and heavily scented with a pleasant spicy aroma. All the women were gathered around tittering and talking in their melodic language, watching me. Usajnah tugged at my hand and led me toward a table. In halting English she said, "Now bathe and clean after trip. Then we find you abaaya and veil. You are perfect for this." The other women looked at me expectantly and giggled.
I felt distinctly uncomfortable as I realized that I would have to go through with this public bath. Perfect for what? I thought. Shrugging, I began to strip from my clothing and laid them in a pile. I was hot, tired and sweaty from the long journey. The warm water of the pond would feel wonderful. No sooner had I put my clothing in a pile and stood naked then a woman whisked away my clothing.
"Never mind, never mind," Usajnah said, "Get ready now." She pulled me toward the table instead of the large bathing pond. I resisted a little but firm hands gripped me and pulled me down. Lying on my back, the women swarmed around me, chattering and giggling, clucking and sighing as they felt my skin, tugged on my hair. I was not a prude by any stretch of imagination but neither was I used to the prying hands and fingers of women poking and prodding at me. I tried to get up but was pulled back down by the giggling women. Suddenly firm hands gripped my ankles and pulled them wide apart. Struggling in earnest I fought with them, giving up only when I realized it was futile.
With my legs spread I felt warm oil poured over my breasts, down my belly and on my clitoris. Gentle fingers began messaging the oil in expertly, knowing how hard, how fast, how slow until I was breathing heavily, my body responding despite my ambivalence. My body was humming now with coaxed desire. The heat, strangeness and assault on my senses throughout the day made me susceptible to the whims of my body. My experiences with women were few and only Etienne had captured my adoration. But this was different, almost unreal. I was tired and just not able to fight the languid sensuality spreading over me.
