Mandy in Dubai

The camel with its big rump, oversized lip, and floppy hump walked closer and closer to her. She started panicking. The camel touched her shoulder with its lips. She remembered that camels kill by grinding people to death. They camel will sit on the person and grind with its weight on the person until it is dead. In self-defense, Mandy screamed with all her might at the camel.

The camel fell over onto its side stiff. She remembered that cow tipping can give cows a lethal heart attack. The party around her stopped. The music stopped. The bonfire was gone. All of her friends stared at her, the eyes accusing her of murdering the camel. In terror about the ostracizing, she walked closer to the camel to bend over. When she could almost see if the camel was still breathing or not, she was an arm's length away.

The camel head raised. It jumped onto its feet. Its teeth, the dirty, yellow grinding teeth, bared themselves to threaten her with deadly anger. She knew that the camel would not stop until she was dead.

In mortal fear, she ran as fast as she could. The soft, deep sand was slowing her down. Ah, there up front was the black entrance into an Egyptian tomb. She ran into it. The camel was close behind her. She took hard turns into hallways left and right in the tomb. She shook off the camel. She could hear the camel walking nearby. However, there were a few turns between them.

She barely moved, pressing herself against the wall, stifling her breathing to be almost soundless. She begged, "I hope that camels cannot smell like dogs, or it will be able to smell me out."

With a jerk, she awoke from her dream. She was still on the airplane. Black nightfall was outside. Her hand was still buried under her skirt on her crotch. Her juices had dried on her skin and hand. The dried juices had become a thin, dry layer that pulled on the skin. She could smell her own pussy. The musky aroma was wafted through the air to form a bubble around her.

She needed to clean up. It had only been a dream. She had dreams of losing her clothes all her life. Her mother had explained that losing clothes in the dream meant feeling unprepared. She certainly felt unprepared for Dubai, not even knowing what it was she was not prepared for.

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The next day, she made her first step into the new office in Dubai. The sun was headache inducing blind even inside limited to the two windows. Her Portland eyes were not used to it. A white window air conditioner with black grills rattled in the far window. Blue plastic bands fluttered in the airstream. The ceiling had cheap office tiles that were suspended from the ceiling. They looked dusty and old. The sole furniture on the room was foldout tables and foldout chairs.

There were seven desks. Five of them had computers. Three of them had people. In the far end was an old man with salt-and-pepper beard and traditional white Arab dress. His chair was all the way in the corner, so that he leaned against the wall. He was too far from the desk to work. That was Aban.

In the middle of the room was a muscular Indian man in modern slacks and a collar shirt. His hair was curly with a beautiful shine from the product he used. He had an air of sexy, the way that he put a pencil behind his ear. He confidently typed away on the keyboard with the sleeves rolled up. That was Raam.

At the front of the room was a round ball of a woman. Not only was she chubby, she was also dressed into multiple layers of sari wrapped around her to make her look like a Band-Aid ball. She had a red Hindu dot in between her eye brows. Her eye brows were so bushy that a beat would have slowly slunk away in shame. She smiled a warm smile and waved at Mandy. That was Lalana.

"Just because I don't know what an iPhone is doesn't make you the boss. I'm still the boss. And I will be long before you are gone, Raam. Never forget that you are the hired help!" said Aban, the old man bitterly in the corner.

"Aban, I don't mean to argue. I need your signature to send the cell phones to the sales team," Raam pleaded with a big friendly smile.

"You and your procedures. I don't need a Harvard degree. In the old times, we spit on the hand and that sealed it." Aban spit in his hand and circled his flat hands against each other. His hands were skinny, old, dry, and hard.

"Hi, I'm Mandy. I'm the new office assistant. The taxi dropped me off here," she said weakly waving her hand next to her head.

Lalana smiled warmly and reached her arms out wide like a mom would welcome a daughter: "I'm Lalana. Don't mind those guys arguing. They do that all day. Pick any desk you want."

Mandy carefully eyed around, observing the coffee spill on one desk, the leftover papers on another. Facing the window might be bad. Having Abam see her screen might also be bad. She stood in the doorway pondering. She was wearing a colorful full length dress. Her hair was stuffed under a baseball cap. She figured that a baseball cap was a compromise between bearing her hair and wearing a traditional head covering.

"Wow, when are the other people arriving?"

"What?"

"There is space for five more people. When are they arriving?"

"Oh, no, sweetie. The people behind those desks have left. The UAE has a debtor prison. If you don't pay your loan back, you go to prison. With the financial collapse, banks called in all their outstanding loans. Most foreigners left the country before the bank could serve them a notice. Me, I don't have any debt. I live responsibly. I have nothing to worry about."

Mandy felt a little pang in her stomach. The omens of this place were not good. She wanted the money. Uncertainty was crawling through her bones. Her face turned a little paler. The bright sun had painted her face paler than it usually appeared. And among these dark skinned people, she was the whitest person regardless of her only average white complexion.

She sat down on the desk next to Lalama. She pushed the button on her black Dell desktop. The familiar, finally something familiar, BIOS and windows screen came on. They were still on Windows Vista despite the rest of the world having moved on to Windows 8. She snickered a little bit, feeling superior. There wasn't even a password to log in. She clicked through the file explorer to examine the network. Everything was unprotected and open to her. She found the file with everyone's salary. She could have given herself a raise on the spot. She pinched her lips together and quickly closed the Excel spreadsheet.

"Raam, you have to buy Mandy a hijab," said Abam from the back of the room. "With the foreigners leaving, women have to dress properly again. The morale police are again enforcing morality in the streets. Take her to my tailor. He makes a good hijab."

"Of course, Abam." The Indian man stood up. Standing tall, his muscular strength was evident. He must have worked out in the gym a lot. The white collar shirt was exquisitely pressed flat. The folds and draping appeared very luxuriously. He grabbed the BWM car keys with the thick black plastic eight ball on the chain and tossed it to Mandy. Startled for a moment, she quickly reached her hands to catch it midair. "Have you ever driven a 7 series?"

"Raam, women should not drive cars."

"Of course not, Abam." Raam took the car keys back and walked out of the door. Mandy bent a little forward like a helpless girl, when she had to hurry to catch up with Raam down the bare concrete stair well without windows and only a metal railing.

The white 7 series BMW was a convertible. The seat was humongous. Mandy felt lost siting in it. The leather burned against her skin, because the sun had super-heated it. Raam's face was covered with large fully mirrored glasses. The streets were a mad mix of ulta-poor farmers in old beater Kia's and Ferraris fresh out of the show room pushing into traffic. There was a contrast of pedestrians in conservative, traditional pants and collar shirts and a small number pedestrians in Western style fashion.

Mandy leaned her head back to look at the wide open lightly blue sky, the ever bright sun was completely unlike Portland. She let the air flow over her face and play with the tussles of her hair that had fallen out of her baseball cap. She looked at Raam. There was a kind of cool confidence and masculine sexiness about him that made her feel happy and comfortable in his presence.

"So, what's your story, Mandy?"

"Well, I finished community college. They offered me this job. And I took it."

"I got an MBA at Harvard, $200K in student debt. This is the fastest way to pay it off."

"Aren't you afraid about debt like the other people?"

"As long as you keep paying the interest, you are fine. However, if I can tell you the truth. If I needn't be here, I'd leave. There is nothing left here. When I started Abam was afraid of foreigners. He feared them being smarter than him. Now with the religious taking more control each day, he feels emboldened. He's nothing but a grumpy old man."

"Oh, I know this area. This is where the airport is!"

"Yeah, the tailor is close by the airport."

Abam drove the car into a seven level high parking structure. He spiraled the car higher and higher. The upper structures had more desert sand collected. The sand would pool in the dead spots of the wind behind pillars and walls. Finally, at the top most level, Abam drove the clean, polished BMW out into the sun. The desert and ocean were visible from the vantage point. The place had a foreign mystique that made Mandy excited.

The walk in the heat and gleaming sun was heavy. Mandy looked forward to the darkness and air conditioning of the elevator, when a black Jaguar cut them off. The Jaguar blocked their path like in an action movie. Abam instinctively pushed Mandy behind his big body. She instinctively hugged him from behind like a little girl, pressing her body tightly against his butt and big back.

The driver door opened. Abam stepped out and starred Raam in the face with anger: "I knew it. I knew that you were going to run away to the airport. I could feel it how you waited for me to send you on an errand to sneak away."

"Look, Abam. I'm nothing to you. I'm only a stupid foreigner that comes and goes. Here, take my BMW." He tossed the BMW keys over the Jaguar. "Here are $10,000 cash." He pulled a bundle of American bills out of his back pocket and tossed it over the Jaguar. "Here are my house keys. Take anything. There is a big screen TV." He tossed his house keys across the Jaguar. "I have a wife and daughter back in India. Please, let me go back to them."

"Raam, you know that you have debt. You can't leave the country without paying it back. I only need to make one call and you are in prison." Abam held up an old flip phone. "What else do you have?"

"That's it. Please, Raam."

"You need to give me the value of your loan. Period."

"Here take Mandy as a slave. She owes $30K. She has to earn her sign-on bonus back first. According to Arab law, you can take slaves."

"Interesting, I need someone to cook. Mandy, is it true that you were given $30K in exchange for the promise of working."

"Yes."

"Well, it seems that if you can't pay that money back now, you are his to give to me as a slave. Can you pay the money back now?"

"No, my mom used it to pay the mortgage."

"Go, Raam, before I change my mind."

The Indian man ran with the speed of a cricket player. He disappeared into the staircase. And with him, the Western world left Mandy in the clutches of the old Arab man. The old Arab man bent over with effort to collect the keys and dollar bundle. His black traditional robe was fluttering in the breeze the came from the ocean and was blowing above the buildings. "Get in the car."

Mandy grabbed the passenger door handle. The metal felt smooth and freshly cleaned. "No, women sit in the back." So, she had to sit in the back. She could only see his hands with the age freckles turning the steering wheel through the tight corners of the parking structure. He said nothing. She saw the other luxury cars sprinkled in the parking structure on the way down. Some had left their doors even open in the haste of leaving the country.

The tailor was indeed near the airport. The entrance door had a mechanical bell above the door. The sales room had photos of men in suits on the wall with signatures. There was a little platform in the center of the room. There were no racks of clothing. Apparently, everything was custom tailored.

A man with a white dress and red headdress entered the show room. Abam and the man hugged each other warmly. "She needs to be dressed properly." "Of course my friend." With a finger snap, two women with black dresses and hijab entered the room. They took Mandy's hand silently and guided her through a curtain into a side room. She heard someone requesting tea to be brought to Abam.

"Take your clothes off. We have the finest dresses here."

There was no changing room. The room was barren. There was a simply, short carpet. They waved for her, because she was pausing. She pulled the dress overhead. Being in her underwear in the big room with the fully dressed women made her uncomfortable. With eager nods, they raised their hands to motivate her to keep going. She undid her bra. Her amble breasts fell out freely. She pulled her panties down. They even took her shoes. Being completely naked, she could hear the old man talking in the room that was merely separated by a curtain slightly swinging from the air stream.

The women returned with plain grand ma panties and a big, white bra. The fabric felt foreign on her body. There was so much coverage. She felt like it made her another person. It was like the pep was stolen from her personality. They showed her how to wrap a dress around her body. They put a hijab on her head. All Mandy could do was giggle nervously. They threw her clothing in the trash the transformation was complete.

Mandy felt helpless to submit to the process. After going along, it became hard to fight against it as well. So, when the women took her purse and studied it, she did not resist. With passive eyes, she watched them take her password and walk out to Abam with it. Then, her white pocket rocket vibrator was discovered with much horror. The tailor placed his hands on Abam's shoulders lots of times, presumably to assure him that the pocket rocket would disappear and never be found again. They acted as if it were a hot gun.

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The days grew a predictable pattern. Abam had given Sandy an empty room with a mattress in the corner. The house was an hour into the desert. It was white washed brick. There was a basic shower and rough, thin towels. They'd eat rice and lamb. During the day, she made photocopies in the office.

It was evident that Abam was very clueless in the office. When his frustration reached a boiling point, he'd hit her face. There was a strange familiarity with the black and yellow spots on her face changing colors and slowly fading in the days after. The healing process for some reason made her feel better, as if there were hope for her situation to heal as well.

Despite the non-sexually stimulating environment, Mandy had to masturbate every night. Some nights, she didn't even feel like it. Yet, she could not fall asleep without brushing her bean. She'd have to wait until Abam fell asleep, when she'd brush her bean and fall into immediate slumber right after.

In the afternoon, they would go to the mosque for prayer. Her, as an infidel, had to wait outside. She'd stand around in the dust and extreme desert heat. The ocean of shoes left outside were her only company. They were dusty, mostly slippers. She'd stand there starring at the shoes, shifting from one leg to the other. When she spotted a shoe with a flair or a familiar Converse sneaker, she'd feel the kinship of another American even if it was only a shoe, not even a person. There was at least some anchor that connected her to home.

One day, a blond young man of her age showed up. He had the purest blue eyes. His hair had a raggedy fashion cut. He was wearing jeans and a pop culture t-shirt. He had to stand outside with her. He stretched his arms over head and then leaned against the wall casually.

"Are you a slave as well, because you have to stay outside?" Everyone had gone inside. They were alone in the dusty street.

"No, I'm Muslim. They simply don't trust me."

"Really? You were jeans."

"It's not the jeans that make you a Muslim." He lifted his t-shirt to show his ripped abs and those pink nipples on his man chest. He shrugged like he didn't care. Having been depraved of boy for days, Mandy wanted to kiss and softly bite his abs. She wanted to run her hands through his ragged hair, taste his lips. He was a very sexy Swedish model. "You are 90% Muslim already."

"I'm not Muslim."

"Well, Islam includes the old testament. The whole creation and Abraham story are part of Muslim. Even Jesus is part of the faith. The only difference is that Islam simplified things. There is no weird three gods, but no there is a three leaved clover, and that's why three is one. Jesus wasn't god. He prayed to god. How could he be good? He was the messenger. However, his message of love is just as true in Islam as it is in Christianity."

"Hm, I never thought about it like that."

"You know nothing about Islam. You have been brainwashed by the Western media. Islam is a very loving, peaceful, and family-centric approach to life. There are one billion people on this planet that believe in it. It is the fastest growing religion, because it is easy and makes sense. It's been a gift that you came here to experience the truth about it. My name is Sven."

"Why are you out here, when you are so convinced of it?"

"Today, I'll convert to Islam. This will be the last day that I have to stay in the street like a dog. When they come out, I'll say my vows: 'There is no good except Allah; Muhammad is the messenger of Allah.' That's all there is to converting to Islam. They will take me inside."

"Where are you from, Sven?"

"I'm from Sweden. Come let's pray together in the street. The morale police might come with their sticks and beat everyone not praying."

Sven got on his knees to bow down. Mandy followed his example. She followed the rhythmic bowing of him. When she raised her head, she saw his taut butt that titillated her to grab. She saw his feet, such sweet feet. When she kissed the ground, she imagined herself in between his knees bowing to kiss his erect penis resting on his belly. With the skin dry from the desert air, the wetness on her vagina felt even more like a torrent. Everything was salacious about Sven, his ears, his elbows, his eyebrows. She desired to touch his body and ravish on him.

The Imam yelled from the tower above them. The yelling came to an end. Sven and Mandy got up. People stirred inside and started coming out. They'd search for their abandoned shoes in the ocean of shoes. Sven stood tall in the stream of people leaving and yelled:

"There is no good except Allah; Muhammad is the messenger of Allah."

Three men came, patted him on the shoulder and pulled him inside of the mosque behind the closed doors. Feeling her heart breaking in loss, Mandy screamed out as well:

"There is no good except Allah; Muhammad is the messenger of Allah."

Women with a veil came and pulled her into the mosque. Only with a sad heart, she realized that the men and women were separated into different rooms. The veiled women chattered around her. There was a throng of people moving around her. She did not know what happened. Fifteen minutes later, she was back outside. Abam had a big smile on his face, when the Imam shook his hand and praised him. The imam was a tall man in a white flowing dress that stood a head above everyone else.