Soraya, a Saudi princess (so she said) and chief Public Relations officer for a major organization funded by the Saudi government, expedited my journey into the world of "loving wives." She taught me how to use my position to seduce women and play the DC "insiders game," as she so appropriately called it, on my terms rather than be at the bequest of others. She also enlightened me to the amazing wonders of Arab women.
Over the five years I knew Soraya she introduced me to a diversity of Arab women from different parts of the Arab world, many of them Saudis and women from the other Gulf states, Egyptians, Moroccans, Lebanese, Iraqis, and Syrians (some of the most beautiful). Many of them were single, quite a few of them, like her, were married. I never quite knew what she gained from setting the stage for the affairs I had, but I'm sure it wasn't just out of good will. I know she was using me, but I had nothing to lose; in many ways I became her personal gigolo that she leant out to friends.
In return Soraya offered me a lot for my professional development. She arranged meetings with ambassadors, political dissidents (for all the different Arab countries except Saudi Arabia!), journalists, and many others I would never have had access to. With such interviews I was able to develop a Middle East expertise for my organization that didn't exist earlier.
More thrilling was all the women she also gave me access to.
I first met Soraya at a seminar focusing on migration and other issues in the Gulf Arab states. I was far from an expert on the Arab world, but in those days, there were few around, thus my director suggested I attend. At the time I didn't welcome the prospect of the additional work; only in hindsight was I glad to discover a whole new world waiting to be conquered.
Soraya was the coordinator of the conference. I met her first when I went to register. She was striking: early 40s, rich green eyes, perfectly coiffed hair (not something I find particularly attractive, but it made her stand out), and curves like you wouldn't believe. She was definitely well endowed, though showed only a hint of her cleavage. Later I would discover her breasts to be 38DD. Her makeup was perfect, her perfume undoubtedly expensive, her clothes tailored for her body, and enough gold and diamonds to open her own jewelry store. Her brown-hued olive skin highlighted her rich green eyes, framed by brunette hair.
Counter to my naïve, media-generated expectations, Soraya was anything but a submissive, veiled Arab woman. Soraya was in charge; she commanded everything she saw. She was a director, a leader; nothing was left to chance. She had an army of underlings, male and female, tripping over her heals running around fulfilling her every command. She welcomed every guest individually, playing her role as hostess perfectly. She subtly flirted with the men and connected and conspired with each and every woman. Wherever she went, eyes followed. Soraya stood out; she was there to be noticed and she thrived on it.
I was one of the most junior people at the seminar, except for a group of Arab students; the majority of participants were senior diplomats both Arabs and Americans. Soraya seemed to know them all personally. She welcomed me warmly, guiding me into the conference room and introduced me to a group of Arab men, one of them a distinguished scholar whose work I was well familiar with.
The seminar, like most, was full of vague policy analyses and political rhetoric, with little on-the-ground specificities. It was, however, a place to see and be seen. And I did enjoy the views.
There was a group of young Arab women who were all graduate students at Georgetown, I would learn. Most of them wore the ubiquitous black robe (the abaya) with veils wrapped around the top of their heads, covering their hair, but not their faces. In the question and answer period, many of them stood up and asked very directed questions; not shy at all from the attention they drew upon themselves.
During one of the coffee breaks, two of them approached me and we started chatting. One was a bit fat, but with a very attractive, round face; the other, on the thick side, with a long face and sharp cheekbones. Both wore a ton of make-up. They were curious to learn more about my organization and questioned if any internship opportunities existed. I gave them my card and told them to call me and I would introduce them to our personnel director.
They were both from Qatar and I asked about their friends. Two were from the United Arab Emirates, one from Kuwait, and the other three were Saudi. Most of them were quite good looking, at least from what I could tell. They introduced them to me and having recently completed my own graduate studies, we chatted about the trials of graduate school, living as a foreigner here, what they liked about DC, etc. I was finally able to move the conversation over to their lives as Arab women, but soon the seminar started again and my questions had to wait.
Regretfully, during the rest of the proceedings I did not get the opportunity of chatting with any of them again except in parting. I gave each of them my card with no expectations or hidden intentions, but I did hear from a few of them afterwards, which turned out to be quite the delight.
Soraya overheard my parting invitation to the girls for coffee and to chat further and after they departed approached me and kidded me about being attracted to Arab women.
"Beautiful women are beautiful women, wherever they are from," I offered.
"Yes, but we Arab women do have a seductive charm, yes?"
"So I'm discovering."
"But do remember, girls are girls and still bound to their families. They know how to giggle, but not how to gratify."
I chuckled, "perhaps, but even then, we all start somewhere, girls becoming women is a process, yes?"
"Oh you do like keep all your options open don't you? But tell me, more seriously, your thoughts on the seminar. I know your organization does not have a Middle East expert on staff and I would like to discuss some of your concerns about the region. I do hope we can meet sometime soon."
"Absolutely. Shall I call later this week and make an appointment?"
"How about the Wednesday after next? Will you be free?"
"Wednesday it is. Should I stop by and we can meet in your office?"
"Perfect. See you then. In the meantime, do be careful, there are lots of eyes around."
I wasn't quite sure the implication of her last comment, but assumed it had to do with the Arab girls and them being watched. As the case would be, they were well aware of the eyes following them, and knew exactly how to behave, in public. In private, that was a whole other matter.
* * *
Within two days after the seminar one of the Emirati girls, Soha, called. She wanted to meet at a cafe in Georgetown Friday evening after work. Could I make it? Of course! Soha was very striking looking with a thin long face and piercing eyes, a small mouth, and wisps of blondish hair under her veil. She was petite, maybe an inch or two over five feet tall and I doubt much more than a hundred pounds. She wore the abaya, a black robe, so I had no idea the nature of her curves underneath, but her face was one you could get lost just staring at.
Soha was very impassioned about her studies and returning to the UAE to work for the government. She was from Dubai, which at that time was still a little unknown place, with a big vision. She was 23 years old, about 10 years my junior, and talked enthusiastically about the transformations taking place there and the hope she had for the city. She wanted very much to gain some experience working with a non-governmental organization and was willing to volunteer at our office.
In the end, just in parting as she was getting in to a taxi to head back home she mentioned she and some of her friends were having a party the next night and that I should stop by. She handed me a slip of paper and off she went.
This was definitely an intriguing invitation; it was hard to pass up a bunch of wealthy, beautiful, and young Arab girls. I had absolutely no idea what to expect, and to say the least the party far surpassed anything I could have imagined.
The apartment was that of Soha and Fatima's in a very upscale street of Georgetown, which was upscale to begin with. It was a two-story flat with lots of modernist glass and metal furniture and oil paintings on the walls. It was not like the apartment of any grad students I ever knew. A woman I did not recognize greeted me and invited me in. She had shoulder-length wavy black hair and wore a tight spaghetti-strap chemise and tight jeans. She was gorgeous.
"You don't recognize me do you?"
I looked for a moment and then realized in embarrassment that it was Fatima, the other Emirati girl.
"Of course, I'm sorry."
"The veil and abaya can be deceptive," she informed me.
"Indeed," I said raising my eyebrows.
She chuckled and invited me in. It wasn't a large crowd, maybe about 15 to 20 people in all. I recognized a few of the girls from the seminar and there were several other Arab girls. Most of the men were Arabs too; I did notice later one young white couple. Several of the men were also older, in their 30s, one looked like he was in his 40s.
This was the type of party I hadn't been to since my college days: music blaring, young couples dancing, a few people snorting coke, and a complete self-help bar. I soaked up the scene: wow! was all I could think. Most of these girls were solid 10s with perfect bodies and a lot of skin showing: tank tops, tube tops, cleavage everywhere you looked, tight everything.
As I was taking it all in, Soha came up and greeted me with a kiss on each of my cheeks. Now that I could see her body, she was definitely petite, except in one area, she had the most perfect round ass. She wore a tight fitting designer t-shirt that gave definition to her small breasts, probably a B-cup. Her dirty-blond hair fell past her shoulders.
She offered me a drink, I settled on a beer, not being much of a hard liquor drinker, while she mixed herself a vodka and orange juice. Soha linked arms and escorted me over to a small group of two other couples chatting and introduced me. We settled onto the couch, Soha at my side. She often kept her arm interlocked in mine, making it clear to others that I was hers. As I barely knew her except for an hour or two conversation over a cup of coffee, I thought it a bit forward, but I certainly wasn't complaining.
Over the night all the usual questions popped into my mind for me to ponder, plus a few extras given Soha being Emirati. What were her intentions? Where would we be tomorrow? How often will I have to call her to keep her happy? Could I even afford going out with her? Did I want to date?
It was the first time in a while I mulled over such questions. In one of my first realizations, it was then that I recognized what attracted me so much to having affairs with married women – there were no such questions! With married women it was about the moment, the passion, not tomorrow.
Eventually, after a few beers, my mind focused more on the present and this gorgeous woman who latched on to me. I had no idea where it was heading, nor even what my own intentions were, but it was a path worth exploring.
Soon the other couples got up to dance and Soha and I settled back onto the couch. It was only then that I really started to look around again at the crowd. Most of them were paired up, and two couples were making out on another couch on the other side of the room. One girl was sitting on a guy's lap, his hands all over her ass, as they kissed and she gyrated her body over his.
