My (Arabian) Summer Nights

I loaded most the bags but she did heft a few herself. We then headed back to her gate. I could not help but think of this morning's vision of her heading in that very direction, but pushed those thoughts out of my mind.

Rohaifa unlocked and opened the gate and I followed her back to her little suburban oasis. The pool was the main attraction obviously, waterfall burbling at the far end. Rohaifa had planted bright gardens of roses and Mexican Petunias on the end nearest to our fence. At the rear of the yard, she had planted palm trees, which added to the atmosphere and were just high enough to shield her yard from the eyes of her back neighbors who had a two-story house, the only one with any view of her yard. She had the pool deck done with flagstones. At the rear of the house, she had had an outdoor kitchen installed with gas burner grill, a small refrigerator and even a full hot and cold sink.

"Did you ever think of putting a hot tub in?" I asked, commenting on a standard feature in our neighborhood of an in-ground jacuzzi, attached to the pool.

"Thought about it, but these yards are pretty small and I used the space for the kitchen. Besides there's always yours." She was referring to our upgraded back yard which featured a deck and a fairly large hot tub, over behind our bedroom windows. Leah didn't think we would use the tub that often, with the Texas weather being so hot, but it was nice for cool days and the few cold months, plus in the summer, you could turn the heat down so it was a lukewarm tub, which we both enjoyed using after exercise.

"Do you mind if we put the bags on the other side of the house, don't want to have them lying around during the party?"

"Sure." I pulled the dolly wagon over the flagstones, past the kitchen to the unretouched other side of her house, where we both unloaded them into two neat stacks.

Rohaifa walked over to the little fridge near her back door and grabbed two bottles of water. "Sorry, it's not a beer." She winked.

"In Texas heat, beer is counterproductive until after you have rehydrated." I responded.

We stood there in the shade of her enclosed patio and sipped our waters. As per yesterday, she asked me what I planned to do today.

"Cut the grass and then weed whack. Since putting in the deck, it's funny, my mowing time has been cut in half but I swear that has been made up with double the edging and trimming."

"That's all?" She enquired.

"Well, I usually get so sweaty and covered with grass, I get itchy, so when I finish, I may treat myself to a bubble bath."

"Bubble bath?" Her eyes widened in a bit of surprise, and I may have caught a bit of blush on her cheeks. "Really? That's a bit unusual for most men."

"I know, I know, it's kind of funny, it goes back to when I was growing up. My parents were from the Great Depression/World War II generation, and they were pretty tight about everything. Never got over saving every dime. Bath time was no fun. I had to bathe in about three inches of water, no Mr. Bubble, no filling the tub, no bath toys. I was always so jealous of the kids who got bubble bath and fun stuff in their Christmas stockings. So, as I got older, I used to take luxury baths in secret and really got to enjoy the tub. I love the big soaking tub we have in our house, especially after yard work. Also, I read somewhere most men don't exfoliate like they should, so it's a good excuse to rub a loofa over my whole body."

"Interesting." She spoke. Now those high-boned cheeks clearly turned a bit red. Was she thinking of me? Was she imagining me in a big tub surrounded by suds? Was she imagining, (dare I think it), she and I sharing a tub together?

I wanted to change the subject. "Say Rohaifa, can I ask you something? Something about your culture, if you don't mind?"

"Certainly Bob, what is it?"

"I notice your little social group has a variety of different styles of dress, if you don't mind my saying it that way?" Her slight nod indicated she didn't. "I was always curious. Do Muslim women, uh, like you," I gestured to her pale hijab, "ever take it off when in the presence of other women, I know you can't do it in front of a man who you are not related to, like me, but what about when it's just girls."

"I'm impressed you know that much about it." She seemed surprised.

"Taught world history for five years; you learn a few things about different cultures and religions. I've always been fascinated by religion, even have a minor in theology."

"Well, it varies. Yes, we can take our hijabs off in front of a group of women. Some choose to, some don't. Are you thinking about our little party today? A lot of the girls like to let their hair down, literally and figuratively." She chuckled at her little joke.

"So does the dress become a little less modest in a group of close women?" I dared to start down a certain path.

"It can." She smiled. "Depends on the crowd and how comfortable the women are with one another." She called my bet and raised on this discussion.

My throat grew dry, so I chugged a large gulp of water. My exotic neighbor

hadn't realized it but she was dancing very close to one of my "things." For most of my life I had always been turned on by the whole Middle East/Arabian Nights milieu. I loved it all: scarves, belly dancers, silks, veils, luxurious pillows, slave girls. The scenes, such as watching alluring dark-haired beauties in veils, their exposed breasts bouncing, shaking their hips for the pleasure of some sultan and his guests at a sumptuous banquet with the torches and braziers burning, played out in my fantasies often.

So, back to reality, the thought of Rohaifa and her friends frolicking in the water and poolside, not just hijab less, but possibly in various stages of undress, flashed through my mind briefly.

"I kind of thought so." I stuttered a bit, just trying to find something to say." I imagine Rabia would be pretty liberated"

"Oh, yes, of course, but she's not the only one." I was now convinced Rohaifa knew she had me on the hook regarding the direction of this conversation. She took a step closer. "You get a bunch of observant, obedient Muslim women together in a safe female-only space, with no men around, and a bit of freedom, the boundaries can get pushed a little. One lady may wear a secular bathing suit, rather than her burkini. The secular suit wearer might wear a bikini instead of her usual one piece. Perhaps even less than that may be worn," she paused, "or not worn at all." At this point she was standing very close to me, water bottle in her left hand, piercing gray eyes riveted on mine.

At Rohaifa's last words, I was gone. Just the hint of the possibility of nudity among her friends was the last straw. Helpless to the unmistakable feeling of the blood flowing, the stiffening, the front of my black shorts began to stretch toward my neighbor. There was no way I could hide this. I wondered what embarrassment and shame were in my immediate future.

"You better get going Bob. We both have lots of work to do" She changed the subject, maintaining eye contact. "Besides, I have a hunch that if I were to look down right now, both of us would be committing some kind of sin in our respective religions." With a devilish grin, her left eye winked and she turned on her right heel and walked toward the house without ever looking back or down. "Thank you again for the help." She spoke while striding towards her kitchen door.

"No problem, anytime." Blushing I turned away, my stiffened dick at about three quarters, protruding straight out. I was grateful for her face-saving action. Ugly visions of potential negative outcomes had flashed through my mind, which ran the gamut from Leah finding out when she returned to an offended Rohaifa reporting me to the HOA for sexual harassment.

When I saw that she was back in the house I returned to get the dolly and rolled it back through her gate and back to my garage. I was breathing a bit heavily and my face was still flushed but I managed to get my composure back, and my blood settled back down and I returned to a flaccid state. I knew that I had to stop thinking about Rohaifa's party (let's be honest, Rohaifa) or I would never get any work done today.

Part II: By the Waters of Babylon

I cut the grass at ten, rested a bit, and then went out to do my weed whacking. No bubble bath, maybe later, I took a full shower after peeling off my sweat soaked clothes. I reheated some left-over wings for lunch and then started to watch Sunday's Pirates game. A life-time, long suffering Pirates fan, I pay for the Extra Innings package to see my favorite team. About 2PM, I heard the unmistakable sounds of peppy Middle Eastern pop music emanating from Rohaifa's back yard. The Girls' party was in full swing

I hit pause on the DVR of the game, got up and walked outside, through our kitchen door, which was on the Nassar side of the house, which led to a small concrete slab, and a step up to our wooden deck, where my barbecue grill sat, as well as a medium grade quality patio furniture set.

I looked to the back corner of the yard, where a few years before we had planted a live oak tree in honor of my late Mother. All yards in our neighborhood were bordered by a standard plank fence, with five-inch-wide boards, six feet tall. My eye was drawn to a specific board in that back corner. Due to water gathering there during heavy rains as it is a poorly drained spot, some of the wood is rotted. I had noticed when I had stained the fence last year. During that time, I observed a knothole that was fairly large, and would provide a glimpse into Rohaifa's yard. Thinking about our earlier conversation, my curiosity was getting the best of me.

I went back to the potting bench we had placed on the sheltered slab and grabbed a little gardening shovel and a small hand rake, for "cover" I guess, or to give me a reason for being on my knees at that back corner of my yard.

I walked past the live oak and knelt at the corner of the fence. The hole was nearby. My heart was pounding as my fevered brain raced through the gamut of possibilities, everything from the utterly disappointing, a group of women sitting around in hijabs and burkinis chatting, to the "dream come true" scenario of ten or twelve uninhibited women, cavorting in naked merriment, swimming, sunbathing and loving each other. I took a breath and moved my face to the knothole.

The peppy music was louder of course, upbeat, high pitched singing in (I assume) Arabic or Farsi, not a bad beat, but over produced with the Middle Eastern percussion sounds. 90% of pop music, no matter where it is from, is terrible, I have always thought. The first thing my eyes caught were two of Rohaifa's rose bushes on either side of my field of vision. She could not have planted them any better to give my little attempt at voyeurism a chance to succeed.

Looking toward Rohaifa's house, she had put out her round white patio table, with a bright green umbrella in the middle, already fully extended to provide needed shade. The table was loaded down with a vegetable tray, various fruits and Rohaifa's special lamb kabobs. Those were a true delight, which the Nassars had served us when they invited Leah and I to dinner, right after we had moved into the neighborhood a few years back. On the buffet counter next to the outdoor sink, two pitchers of fruity drinks stood, next to a stack of glasses, little pieces of fruit floating in the orange and dark red liquids.

I cast my gaze around the area to see some exposed Muslim flesh and I was not disappointed. Two women were in the pool at the far side, enjoying the waterfall, letting it cascade over their hijab-less heads. Even submerged I could tell they were wearing traditional bathing suits, not burkinis, as their cleavage was slightly exposed. Three women in bikinis were lying on the palm tree side of the pool, where Rohaifa had set out some chaise lounges, sunning themselves. I didn't know any of them, but the sight of their exposed legs stretched out, toes arched skyward was a pleasant vision, the Muslim "Three Graces," I thought to myself.

Two others were sitting at the shallow end of the pool, feet dangling in the water and they were wearing the traditional modest bathing costume with its tight scuba-like head covering and material extending below the elbows and knees. One of those I knew as Anusha Darvish. Interesting to see her without the abaya. I had a prideful thought as to the fact that I may be the only man other than her husband and her immediate family to see her in this state of undress.

At the other corner of the pool was Rohaifa's sitting area, similar to our patio set but a lot nicer: two chairs, a love seat, sporting sumptuous, multi-colored cushions surrounding a coffee table, all made of weather treated fine wicker. Rabia Kiraz was sitting in one of the chairs, no hijab of course, but hair and makeup like she was heading to a black-tie affair, wearing a short, cream colored silk robe, that looked like it belonged in a Victoria's Secret ad rather than a pool party. I have a hunch "terry cloth robe" was not in Rabia's vocabulary. The short robe insured most of Rabia's firmly toned thighs were exposed as her perfectly pedicured feet rested on the coffee table.

She was chatting with two women, seated on the love seat, one a rather buxom lady, whose full breasts were kept out of sight by an actual pool coverup. The other was the only other woman I knew from Rohaifa's circle, Kadisha Aziz, from the UAE, married to a history professor at U of H, a man who spent a lot of time travelling and researching. Kadisha was very slender, probably about a size 4, she had very dark brown eyes, a thin aquiline nose, and she had much lighter natural hair than most of the other women, very light brown, practically strawberry blonde. Kadisha's waspish form was actually the most exposed as she was wearing a silver bikini, her b-cup (on their best day) breasts were on display, most of her thighs exposed by the fairly high-rise panties, and she also had very fit and toned legs. Her feet were on the table across from Rabia's. At this point I began to stiffen a bit.

Another one of my "things." I like to say that I do not have the cliched "foot fetish" most men seem to get accused of having, but I definitely have a "foot preference." In other words, I don't jerk off to close ups of women's feet on the internet, but have always appreciated the aesthetic beauty of feet and toes. Growing up I just thought it was a normal part of my sexuality, no different than preferring brown eyes, long hair or a curvy butt. Never thought there was anything odd or different about it

My gaze at those luscious feet on the coffee table was disturbed by the sound of the kitchen door opening. Surprised I heard it over the din of the music. Finally, the hostess entered the scene, carrying a tray of tortilla chips and hummus in the attached bowl. Rohaifa Nassar, my hijabi, "good girl Muslim" neighbor strode out to the patio, exposing more skin than I ever thought possible. Her one-piece black bathing suit with silver piping along the sides and hems was very stylish. While not a plunging neckline, I could see a hint of cleavage. Her thigh cut outs were not as high as some of the other ladies I had seen, but her legs were revealed as shapely. At that distance I could not find a freckle, a scar, a mole or any flaw on that olive skin. And the most amazing visual prize was no hijab. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a pony tail, revealing stylish dangling silver earrings. Already at half-mast, so to speak, I continued my rise to attention to salute her revealed beauty.

Rohaifa put the tray down on the table, turned to the buffet and poured herself a glass from the darker pitcher. She strode over to the sitting area, which meant walking in my direction. She got closer and my mouth grew drier. This was so wrong, but I was entranced. She took the unoccupied chair across from Rabia. I really wished someone would have turned down that annoying music, so I could eavesdrop on their conversation.

My neighbor was facing away from me, so I turned my attention back to scanning the entire pool area to see anything more exciting. I rotated my gaze back to the Three Graces in bikinis on the chaises. From my angle low to the ground, I was basically looking in an upward direction, so I could really only see the woman nearest my field of vision.

The one in the middle sat up. She had jet black hair and a fairly curvy figure. She was pretty, but her nose was a bit too big, and the eyebrows could have used a bit of trimming. Still, she was wearing a turquoise bikini. Her breasts were full, barely restrained by the bra. She looked to her friends on either side, both still lying prone on their backs and said something to each of them. Again, I cursed the music, and my loathing for Middle East pop intensified even more. She paused, and then gave out a tiny giggle. Even at this distance, I could tell it was a nervous laugh. She then reached behind her back and undid her bikini top.

The straps slid down her arms, revealing her breasts in their downward plunge. Big and they appeared to be fairly firm, with large brown areolas ("silver dollars" an old fraternity brother of mine used to call them) and pokey nipples that were already starting to extend. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, and my reasonable guess was that her action just now was some kind of dare, but then she sat up fully straight, threw her shoulders back and displayed her fine assets with pride. I could not believe my good fortune or the chain of events over the last 24 hours that had led me to this front row seat for this window on Islamic female intimacy that I had never dreamed possible.

Her friends on either side rose up and propped themselves on their elbow closest to her. The lady on the far side blushed a bit, as she tried not to stare at her friend's newly exposed flesh, but she couldn't take her eyes away! I couldn't see the expression of the other as she was facing away from me, the view of her bikini clad bottom was not unpleasant.

I glanced around the party to see the responses of the guests. The two in the pool, near the waterfall both raised hands to their mouths to cover their gasps as they blushed wide-eyed. Anusha and her foot-soaking companion were sitting on the same side as the bikini-clad trio, so they had to look over their shoulder to check why the focus suddenly shifted in their direction. I couldn't gauge their reactions. As if in answer to my prayers, the current song ended and the music went silent.

Over at the seating area Rabia smiled and gave a thumbs up to her friend. "Very bold and daring, Dariyah." Kadisha also seemed to approve, her face beaming. The unknown woman on the love seat with Kadisha lowered her gaze. I did not think her vote was in the affirmative column.

Rohaifa turned to face the exposed woman, so she was in profile to me. "Aren't you glad I planted the palm trees so my neighbors aren't able to see you right now Dear?" I got the feeling my neighbor did not disapprove, but wouldn't be whipping her top off any time soon.

Dariyah looked to her prone friend closest to me, "Ok I went first. Your turn." She smiled mischievously.

"I never in a million years thought you would go first." She seemed surprised as she shifted her weight off her elbow and assumed the seated face-front position of her now exposed friend. Finally getting a good look at this girl and she was also not unpleasing to the eye. Mid-thirties, her face was above average with brown eyes, medium high cheekbones and full lips. She probably had the shortest hair of any of the non-hijabed ladies present, brown of course, and barely to her shoulders. She was a bit stocky, if her friend in the middle could be called curvy, she was the next category up. She did have nice legs, and only a bit of a muffin top, peeking over the waistband of her red and white striped bikini.