Saudi Lady Into Black Men

A lot of people have all kinds of misleading and misconstrued notions in their heads when they think of life inside the Kingdom. Saudi Arabia has long fascinated outsiders, from western feminists who ponder the fate of women inside this male-dominated nation to foreign oil prospectors, adventurers and rogues of all sorts. The Kingdom attracts its share of oddballs, besides the millions of Muslims visiting annually for the sacred Haj. I've seen a great many of them, but I have never seen the like of Solomon Haverhill.

It's often been said that much of Muslim society is two-faced, and nothing could be truer than Saudi Arabia. Here, in the heartland of Islam, tourists from places like Belize, Spain, Turkey and Kuwait enjoy the charms of 'pleasure girls' recruited from exotic places such as Ethiopia and Kenya, as well as among the throngs of impoverished Saudi girls whose families abandon them because they don't need extra mouths to feed. I was such a gal, until fate sent me a man who changed my life. My name is Maya, short for Mayameen. I was born in the town of Dhurma, about forty six kilometers from the bright lights and gleaming spires of metropolitan Riyadh, the fabled Saudi Capital.

Whenever I tell people that prostitution runs rampant in Saudi Arabia, they shake their heads and say that I must be lying, that such a thing would never be permitted in the heartland of Islam. And they're absolutely wrong. You see, the world's oldest profession tends to flourish in places where sexually is repressed. Don't believe me? Take weed for example. In many western countries, it's a problem because many people smoke it, become addicts and get involved in crimes both petty and serious. If it weren't illegal and forbidden, it wouldn't lure so many otherwise decent people, would it?

The same goes for prostitution in Saudi Arabia. In a land where men and women spend a LOT of time apart due to socio-religious restrictions and age-old traditions, sexually frustrated men with a lot of time and money on their hands need an outlet. Since most Saudi men would rather experience the touch of a lovely woman rather than to fuck other men, that's where girls like myself come in. Create a demand for something and the supply will soon follow. Visitors entering the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia will be told that drinking, sex outside the marriage bed and other such vices are haram and punishable by whipping and imprisonment. The Saudi vice police is the biggest joke in the world. Half of my clients are sexually frustrated Saudi policemen. The other half are preachers, clerics and government agents. Those I call the morality enforcers. They look the other way while girls like myself do our thing because they get to reap certain benefits, you see? It's no different than anywhere else, really. Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours and all that jazz.

Of course, ladies like myself have to be careful because the same man who smiles happily at the 'pleasure provider' whose pussy he just rammed will go home, pray, and then decide the next day that he repents from his sinful urges and try to tip off the few 'legit' members of the Saudi vice police about our brothels. It's a roll of the dice at the end of the day, I guess that's why I trust no one. I've been in this game for a long time. In many ways I could almost say that it's all that I've ever known.

In every society, there are the haves and the have-nots. My parents, Amir and Hafizah Abdul-Rahman were definitely part of the latter category. In Saudi Arabia, the gap between rich and poor is so wide it's not even funny. You have the rich, which includes the countless princes and princesses of the Saudi royal family, and those directly under them, the governors, the wealthy merchants and the powerful clerics. And then you have people like my parents and myself.

We are the real citizens of Saudi society. Those you seldom hear about. Westerners know about the wealthy Saudi princesses seen shopping at high-end stores in places like Milan, Paris, Vienna and London. They don't know about the Saudi poor, which form ninety eight percent of the country's population. We who live lives of such heartbreaking poverty and misery that the late great Norman Rockwell would have a field day photographing and painting us if he knew about it. My father wasn't a wealthy sheikh, I did not grow up in a villa, and quite often my siblings and I went hungry. Not because my father was cruel or mean but because he was heartbreakingly poor.

Still, that did not excuse what the family did to me, though. My older brother Ali, the sole male heir of the family, left our household when he was eighteen and I haven't seen him since. As for my sister Halima and I, our fates were sealed the day our father failed to arrange a marriage for us. You see, he intended for me to marry one of his friends, an old farmhand named Hussein, but Hussein died three days before our wedding was supposed to take place. Since bride price money had already exchanged hands, I was considered the property of my prospective husband's family, and in his absence, his sixty-year-old brother Hassan took over. It was Hassan who sold me as a sex slave to the brothels.

For ten years I led the life of an escort, courtesan, prostitute, lady of the night, pleasure woman or whatever you want to call ladies like myself. I have brought pleasure to countless men, from the wealthy white businessmen who come to Saudi Arabia from Europe and North America to Turks, Kuwaitis, Indonesians and so on. I never discriminated against paying customers. To me, they were all the same. Men want their pleasure taken quickly, and we women are but a conduit to that pleasure. What man seeks is his own pleasure, and the woman is only the means to that end. That's what I believed, until I met Solomon Haverhill.

We get a fair amount of American soldiers, mostly affiliated with the United States Military Training Mission or U.S.M.T.M. I'd had a few American soldiers as clients, usually accompanied by their Saudi male friends. I had never seen a black American soldier until I met Solomon Haverhill. Understand that, as a Saudi woman, even one of my station, I was taught that blacks were inferior. The only black people who stay in Saudi Arabia year-round tend to be the descendants of migrant workers from places like Ethiopia, Senegal and Nigeria. Black Muslim visitors performing Haj from nearby African countries usually couldn't wait to leave the Kingdom. I was used to seeing submissive blacks, the types brow-beaten by centuries of mistreatment at the hands of Arabs. Nothing prepared me for the African-American warrior who came to my chambers that evening...

Solomon Haverhill, six feet three inches tall, broad-shouldered and seemingly made out of solid muscle from head to toe. Dark-skinned, clean-shaven and absolutely masculine. About as different as can be from the slender men of Ethiopia and Kenya whom I was used to. In slightly accented Arabic, he wished me a good evening. I stared at him, eyes wide with shock. Understand that up until that point, I'd never been with a black man before. I was hesitant, but he put me at ease. Nothing will happen that you don't want to happen milady, Solomon said, addressing me as one would a highborn woman of the upper crust. In spite of my misgivings, I was touched. Men are seldom polite when dealing with ladies like myself. Hello brother may Allah bless your path, I replied.

Solomon joined me in bed, and I uncovered myself, letting him feast his eyes on my womanly flesh. Do you like what you see, sir? I asked him. I'm five-foot-ten, a bit too tall in the eyes of most men, and my curvy body doesn't appeal to many Saudi men, who prefer their women slim ever since they started meeting European women overseas. Solomon, on the other hand, he looked at me as if I were a vision of beauty. You are magnificent, he told me. For some reason, my heart skipped a beat when he said that. Thank you sir, I said.

That evening was one of discoveries. Solomon laid me on the bed, and brought me such pleasure that I felt like I should be the one paying him four hundred Riyals and not the other way around. Most men think only of themselves when they come to a lady like myself, seeking their pleasure alone. Not Solomon. He kissed every inch of my body, and although I was reluctant to kiss him ( I don't usually kiss male clients on the mouth ) I didn't regret it. He kissed me full and deep, then licked my breasts, flicking his tongue on my tits while his hand found its way to my thighs. He slid first one finger then two inside of me, and my eyes widened in surprise as he began pleasuring me.

Soon I found myself moaning in pleasure as Solomon licked my pussy, his fingers going deep inside of me. He touched me in places no man had before, partly because no one else bothered to care about my pleasure. Solomon was passionate yet gentle with me when we finally did the 'do'. Rolling a condom on his long and thick member, the first black one I'd seen up close and indeed the first and only uncircumcised member I've ever seen, he slid it into my womanhood. I gritted my teeth as Solomon thrust his hard dick into my pussy, wrapping his arms around me as I hung on for dear life.

After we'd gone at it for about half an hour, Solomon wanted to try something else. I grasped his member with both hands, marveling at it. Are all men of your color like this? I asked him, hesitantly. Solomon smiled and shook his head. There are well-endowed men of all colors but us black men do stand out a bit among the competition, he laughed. Absolutely, I said, and, tentatively, took the head of his thick black penis in my mouth.

I began sucking on it, slowly at first then with gusto. Take your time sweet lady, Solomon murmured to me. I managed to take most of his dick in my mouth, and even then it tickled the back of my throat. I sucked on it, and massaged his balls until he finally came. Oh yeah, he blew his load and it shot out of his cock like fire from a cannon. I don't usually do this but I tasted him and liked it. You taste wonderful, I said to him. Solomon smiled and rubbed my head and cheek affectionately. Thank you kindly dear lady, he replied.

Solomon and I had a great night together, and it was the first of many such nights for us. I'm always the one chastising the younger women in the business about boundaries between them and our clients, for we are disposable to them. Yet I exchanged personal information with Solomon and we began meeting regularly to have a good time. Solomon is definitely a passionate guy, and he taught me a thing or two. With him, I felt like I never had before. I felt happy, accepted and wanted, like I mattered. Understand that the fate of Saudi women, from princesses down to the poorest women in rural areas, is to be nothing more than conduits for men's pleasure as well as the vehicles through which they bring their offspring into the world. That's all we are to the men of our culture. That's the fate of women in the Saudi-led global Islamic caliphate.

It took a foreign man, a man from another faith, another country, to show me that for women in other places, life can be different. As we lay in bed together, Solomon told me about his life in the United States of America. He spoke fondly of the City of Atlanta, Georgia, where he grew up. He spoke lovingly about his parents, Georgia State Patrolman David Haverhill and his mother, schoolteacher Myra Jones. Listening to Solomon, feeling his arms around me, I began to think about things I'd never given serious thought to. At least not recently. Hey, does it surprise you that a woman like me has dreams? It shouldn't. We all have dreams, it's part of what makes us human. I too long to have a normal life, a husband and a daughter or son. A life away from...this. What I've been doing for the past ten years. Of course, that dream is long gone. What man in Saudi Arabia or anywhere would take a woman like me as wife? I live in a country where, if a woman is found to not be a virgin on her wedding night, she can killed in the name of family honor. What chance do I have?

Solomon Haverhill, the strong American Infidel warrior turned out to be nothing like what I expected. The ruthless, mighty American soldier I thought him to be turned out to be the most gentle, kindly soul I'd ever known. That's why I began meeting him at my place in Riyadh, away from the brothels, away from the prying eyes of the Saudi vice police. Tell me about America one more time, I whispered to him as we lay in bed together. I wish you could come with me when I leave, Solomon said, looking me in the eyes. When those words left his lips, I pulled away from him. You don't know what you're asking, I replied.

Solomon looked at me for a long moment, a sadness filling his dark eyes. Think about it Maya, he said, then he got dressed and left. Long after he was gone, I lay in the dark, and wept. I wept for what would never be, such as happiness for someone like me. I wish I could say that Solomon and I saw each other again, and that we escaped to America where we got hitched, and lived happily ever after. Unfortunately, dear readers, we live in the real world. When I woke up the next day, I knew in my bones that I would never see Solomon again. I found something on my table, though. An envelope containing three thousand three hundred and seventy five Saudi Arabian Riyals, the equivalent of nine hundred dollars U.S. Next to the money was a note from Solomon, advising me to use the money to start a new life. I crumpled the note in my fist but couldn't bear to throw it away. Don't ask me why.

In the end, I did walk away from the life of a prostitute, but not for the reasons you think. A few days after my last meeting with Solomon Haverhill, U.S. Army Captain and tactical officer with the United States Military Training Mission in Saudi Arabia, I found out I was pregnant. Damn. The one thing all female sex workers dread the most, next to catching an STD, had finally happened to me. How could it happen after all these years where I'd been so careful? Easy, now that I think about it. In my private meetings with Solomon at my house, I wasn't always careful. One moment of carefree passion left me facing a lifetime of consequences. I had helped the other women at the brothel terminate many a pregnancy, but now that it was my turn, I couldn't do it.

Thus I decided to keep the life that was growing inside of me. Nine months later, I gave birth to a son. I named him Suleiman, for it's the Arabic name for Solomon. Like his father, he would grow up to be tall, dark and handsome. A beautiful blend of African-American and Saudi Arabian bloodlines. For the sake of my son I left Riyadh, and returned to my family's ancestral home in Dhurma. My brother Ali had come back to us in disgrace after the Saudi vice police caught him in bed with another man in Riyadh and imprisoned him for it. What wonderful people my family, the Abdul-Rahman Clan produces, pederasts and whores!

Surprisingly, my brother welcomed me home with open arms, and he wholeheartedly accepted my mixed-race infant son Suleiman. We shall raise him together, Ali said. I smiled and wept tears of joy before embracing my brother. Thank Allah for you, I said. Ali, Suleiman and I are a family. We take care of each other, and life is okay. Someday, when my son Suleiman comes of age he'll have questions about his father and I'll tell him about Solomon Haverhill, the brave African-American soldier who tried to save me from myself. The one who showed me that, no matter what circumstances I'm facing, like all human beings created by Allah, my fate is up to me. If he chooses to go to America to seek out his father, I won't get in the way. After all this time, and the things I've done and been through, I know that family is everything. Peace be upon you, fellow creation of Allah.