The Arab

Chapter 1.-2

Amir stares at me in silent protest. He doesn’t want the dark-haired one. She is of average build, and I fancy her body more than the blonde’s, but my cousin prefers girlishly thin women. If he could, I think he would swap their parts around and put the blonde’s head on the dark one’s body. He is a bit disappointed because he knows that the choice is mine. He is older, but I am of higher status, as he is royal only on his mother’s side. As I said, maternal lineage doesn’t count for much in my country.

The blonde puts the plates on the table without taking her eyes off me. I like her brazen manner. It’s cheap, but she will be amusing. The dark-haired one sets the syrup in front of us and gazes at Amir with her doleful eyes. I feel a strong desire for her because of those eyes. It’s decision time.

“How much is this lovely dessert?” I ask, and I only hope they get my drift.

They look at each other and the blonde laughs out loud. She has beautiful teeth, but her laugh is uncouth. Then suddenly she stares at me seriously.

“It’s for free, sir. Consider it a favor.”

I like her calling me sir and showing us respect. I show her none. I look at Amir and I can see that he is not interested in anything but getting laid. He has a suite in the Hilton hotel nearby, and so do I. That’s the most convenient. The receptionists are discreet, and they get anything we want. Once I wanted three girls, but Amir was nowhere to be found, so I made my request personally at the reception. The receptionist didn’t bat an eyelid. An hour later three girls arrived to attend to my every need. I like to show my gratitude for such things. When I checked out I gave the receptionist a set of car keys. It was an A8, and he was so happy he nearly jumped for joy. All the receptionists have been extra attentive to the royal family ever since.

“Well, ladies, we have some very special needs, you know.”

Amir sounds threatening—he almost announces that he is a perv. And I would say he is indeed. He loves his wives, but he is much more aggressive with prostitutes than I am. He once paid for a twelve-year-old girl in Russia. That made me sick. No wonder he is into skinny women. Yet his wives seem normal, and I’m sure they have no idea about their husband’s craziness. Then again, they couldn’t do anything about it even if they knew.

“Will you taste it?”

The blonde doesn’t even look at Amir. She teases me. I sure as hell won’t taste this syrupy American thing, but I will taste her instead. Now I really want to know whether she is so subservient in bed.

I stand up and try to fold my shirt back into my trousers. I put on my jacket; she glances at my c**k. She wants to see how turned on I am.

Don’t worry, sweetheart, I will be hard. Hard enough to make you scream!

I pull out my wallet. The dark-haired girl and my cousin are both watching me. I look at him as if asking, “Well, aren’t you coming?” He seems embarrassed when he gets up and starts adjusting his trousers.

So he is turned on too. Yes. We are of the same blood after all.

He is stroking his strong stubble, dreading the chance that I will cancel this party. I enjoy his worry but I don’t want to make it last too long. I put thirty dollars on the table, and then I take out another wad of hundred-dollar bills. I’m not showing off, as it’s not a lot of money; I just want to make sure they understand that cash is involved in the business if all goes well. I don’t like to talk about it, and I hate these small denomination bills, but this is America. The blonde looks at the money and her hand twitches a bit, but she doesn’t reach out.

Such a w***e. She will do everything to get that cash.

Amir looks at the dark-haired one as if saying, “You will get just as much if you’re good enough.” The girl chews her bottom lip and grins.

“We work until eight,” she tells my cousin, and the blonde nods in agreement.

“Okay, then let’s make it nine o’clock.”

Amir immediately relaxes when he hears me say this. Now he can be sure he will get the girl, although I’m sure he wouldn’t have even noticed her if she hadn’t made a move on him. He never misses a chance, and neither do I, usually.

I take out a Hilton business card and I take the pen from the girl. Her fingers caress my hand and I notice that she gasps.

I will eat her alive.

I write our names on the back of the card, and then I return the pen and give her the card too. She tries to read it for a while, then blinks at me.

“We will be there, Jamal.”

She responds like an Arabian woman, not like an American. Her obedience makes me expect quite a pleasurable night.

“My name is Sarah, and this is Monica,” she says with a mysterious smile.

I feel like saying I don’t give a f**k, but I mind my manners. Amir is probably thinking the same, and he nearly laughs out loud. He walks up to the girls and answers condescendingly, “Dear Sarah and Monica,” he pauses and looks them up and down, “lateness will not be excused. Just so you know.”

I don’t understand why he wants to show off. The girls already know he is of high status. When we travel to other continents we wear suits, not long, traditional robes, but we look like nobles nonetheless.

Back home we are also allowed European clothes, but our women are not. As soon as a girl has her first period, she must start covering her face with a veil. Young women can only go unveiled in front of their brothers and fathers. I have two younger sisters, a younger brother, an older brother and an older sister. I remember my mother keeping my sisters’ first period a secret as long as she could, to postpone the time her daughters must start dressing in grown women’s restrictive garments. Girls often have their fates decided while they’re still very young. In some families, marriages are decided almost at birth. Yet it is another misconception that young people are forced into marriage by their parents. This used to be true, but not anymore. Mothers always make sure their daughters are happy with the suitor chosen for them. Romantic love doesn’t have to be involved; mutual respect is enough. Muslim women appreciate being respected. Love is just a fleeting emotion, but respect and appreciation are not. My sisters had their suitors chosen very early on; the question was just the timing of them leaving the nest. Of course it also applies the other way around. I know the girls chosen as my future wives, I just don’t want to marry them yet. Perhaps it’s considered despicable, but marriages within the family are common. My family has a firm hold over our country by uniting distant relatives in wedlock.

“Okay, we’ll have to go now.” Amir is standing next to me, nodding in agreement. He is eying up the dark-haired girl. His imagination is running wild. I look at “Sarah,” and I give her the facts just so she knows: “We will do it in pairs. You will be with me. Understand? And you will get three thousand dollars. That’s the price.”

She seems shocked at first, then she nods. She blushes, and I’m thinking of other situations when I could make her blush. I like these games. She pretends to be my “femme fatale,” then she ends up as shy as a virgin.

I sigh at the thought of virgins. I go weak at the knees when I think of them. I love purity, and there is nothing purer than a virgin. Of course there are no such women in Europe or the USA. Virgins here are practically still children. But back home… I remember that my future wives are all virgin brides, waiting patiently for me.

Amir walks past me, signaling our departure, but I want to enjoy a few more moments of the sight of the blushing blonde. Her blue eyes sparkle as she watches me. She is embarrassed, but she is willing. I turn and silently follow Amir.

As we step outside my cousin reproaches me.

“Why didn’t you give me the blonde? She has an awesome body!”

“Amir, I don’t understand why you enjoy f*****g these skinny ones.”

“Same reason why you like curves.”

I can’t say I only like curvy women, but as a matter of fact I prefer them to fragile ones. To put it bluntly, when I slap an ass, I want it to jiggle and wiggle. This blonde’s ass won’t, that’s for sure.

“Besides, you’ve just told me off about sleeping around, and now wouldn’t let me pass this chance up.”

“Don’t even try to pretend you wanted to pass it up. You can f**k blondie in the ass, so don’t tell me it’s so bad.”

I say nothing, although I know what I want to tell him. I don’t feel like f*****g blondie at all. Maybe she could give me a blow job, or not even that, it’s still four hours to go. It’s five p.m. now. Okay, I must admit, if she gives me that innocent look again, she will turn me on.

Our Mercedes is parked on the street. We get in. Back home I usually go everywhere by huge, chauffeur-driven cars, but when I’m abroad, I don’t. My father was quite upset about it and told me that “a prince should not drive.” But what’s the use of luxury cars if I can’t even drive them? The personalized F800 model was custom-made for me. I keep one in Europe and one in America. Both have gold exterior and cream-and-brown interior. By gold exterior I don’t mean the color, I mean the actual precious metal. It is invaluable; I would never leave it on the streets unguarded. The steering wheel is like an F-1 race car’s. I would be an i***t not to drive it.

Amir seems irritable.

“Why are you so casual here? In Riyadh your car is too big for the parking lot, and here you spend your cash on hatchback luxury.”

“You know me. I like curves.”

Amir laughs. For the next few hours we won’t be talking about anything but s*x. s*x has ruled our lives ever since we had our first opportunity. I don’t know about my cousin’s first time, but I distinctly remember how I lost my virginity.

My father walked into the men’s quarters in our palace in Riyadh and told me to go to the women’s quarters because someone was waiting for me. I was fifteen and I knew exactly what would happen. Male family members had been teasingly educating me for years, telling me how I should act rough and dominant with women. They told me stories about tugging their hair and injuring their v*****s during s*x. I was disgusted to hear all that because I dearly loved my sisters. The relationship between brothers and sisters is different in our society; even more so in the royal family. I was treated as a god, but my sisters were treated like normal kids. At first I didn’t understand this, but after my first s****l experience I realized what male superiority truly meant. I never mistreated my sisters though. But the way I treat foreign women…