by Young
Our five-way tryst did not end at the shower room. Later that evening, Zac and I progressed to our fencing instructor’s lodging to pick up where we left off.
Other Worldly Beings
As hard as I tried to convince myself that my liaison with Zac was nothing more than lust, subconsciously I had fallen in love with this charismatic teaching assistant. During our three-way rendezvous at Dr. Lichman’s residence, I was entranced by the Norwegian’s gentleness. Much like Monsieur Dubois (my private tutor at the Quwah), this big brother was a disciplined spiritual healer.
Zac was the first to notice the abundance of books, tidily stacked and arranged along the walls. “Sir, I see you are an avid inventor and a prolific scientist,” he remarked.
“You’re an observant lad. I love Science Fiction and am writing a research paper on extraplanetary life forms,” the professor said cheerfully.
I chirped inquisitively, “I’m unaware that there is life on other planets.”
Zac chimed before my fencing teacher had a chance to respond. “We are not the only species that exists in this expansive universe. There are life forms on other planets.”
“How do you know?” I questioned.
My professor declared, “Young man, there are many entities that share our infinite universe. Our naked eyes don’t see them.”
I replied curiously, “You mean angels, fairies and mythical beings?”
Dr. Richard laughed. “You see Young, I’m reading Erich von Däniken’s manuscript. He’s a university friend of mine. He, like me, is interested in otherworldly beings. He has suggested that thousands of years ago, space travellers from other planets visited Earth. He believes that these alien beings taught us about technology and influenced ancient religions. In our field of research, he is highly regarded as the father of the ancient astronaut theory, more commonly known as the ancient alien theory.”
Zac inquired, “Is there evidence to support his theory?”
Professor Richard replied, “Erich points to two distinctive types of evidence. The first is found in ancient religious texts, in which human witnesses interact with gods or other heavenly beings descending from the sky in spectacularly powered vehicles resembling spaceships.
“The second is found in physical specimens, such as artworks that depict alien-like figures and ancient architectural marvels, such as Stonehenge and the Egyptian pyramids.”
I queried, “If aliens visited Earth in the past, are they likely to make an appearance again?”
“They already have,” my instructor declared. “Throughout the early twentieth century and even recently, UFO and alien sightings have been documented all over the world. The latest sightings have been in France, Canada and the United States.
“Last August, outside Cussac, France; a young man and his sister claimed they witnessed a brilliant sphere while herding cattle outside their village.
“A month later in Colorado, a horse was mutilated in a most bizarre manner. This unusual death is widely considered to be related to aliens.
“The most recent sighting was in October in Nova Scotia. A large, brightly lit object was reported to have crashed into the water near Shag Harbour. A Canadian naval search team stated that it was a UFO. Several military individuals involved in the search operation also claim that the unknown object was an alien spacecraft. There were other UFO sighting in the area around the same period.”
I questioned, “What is the purpose of this?”
“I think they are here to share their views with the world. And to prepare us for their inevitable arrival here on our planet,” the Norwegian replied.
I pressed, “Yet, neither of you answered my question regarding the existence of angels, fairies, and mythical beings.”
The men laughed at my remark. “You have only to look at yourself, boy. You’ll find a cute, twinky ‘fairy’ staring back at you,” my teacher teased arrestingly, before Zac twittered, “You, angel, do not have to look far. Standing in our midst is the sexiest cupid I could ever witness. His arrow is already standing at attention.” He reached to cup my groin, which was already protruding against my pants. Zac wasted no time in planting a fervent kiss on my lips. Richard, witnessing the unfolding passion, joined in. I melted into their commanding embraces, allowing them to lead me into the doctor’s bed chamber.
Falling In love Again
Zac, like Monsieur Dubois, possessed a je ne sais quoi I found irresistible. His refined mannerisms combined with his cultured upbringing captivated every fiber of my being. The BB’s hypnotizing gaze and beguiling caresses had me longing for more.
The romantic ménage à trois that supervened was a dream come true, not only for me but for all involved. Years of fitness exercises combined with regular tantric practices had made Richard’s hairy physique a masculine powerhouse. He resembled a virile stallion ready for a night of sensual delight.
On the opposite spectrum, Zac’s sinewy musculature mirrored that of a slender figure skater. Not lacking in stamina, he too was an electrifying fireball of maleness, primed for an unbridled evening of debaucherous sexuality.
My boyish libido combined with my spirited enthusiasm spurred my suitors to erotic arousal, impelling our fervent passions to energizing intensity. Not only did we not pause for orgasmic interludes, we propagated our tantric copulations to prolong our hedonistic foreplays, before amplifying our carnal pleasures toward gradations of amatory nirvana.
Needless to say we did not sleep much that night, yet our robust intercourse had left us vitalized. We started the next day with elated buoyancy. I have since ascertained that regular doses of superlative sex are the equivalent to any methodical exercise regimen. It is also a healthy and robust anti-aging remedy for those seeking the fountain of youth.
2012
Continuation of Andy’s Email
I must admit, our renewed friendship is a healing process for me. Reading A Harem Boy’s Saga blog brought back enchanted memories I had since banished to the recesses of my mind. Here, I am re-living the halcyon days through the pages of your provocative writing, revisiting the many exotic places and re-experiencing the numerous erotic adventures (through your tantalizingly enhanced photographic images) we once shared. They brought back many cherished moments I wished would never end.
Although I do not think our E.R.O.S. and Middle Eastern experiences unique, many will consider them unconventional. But I found myself privileged to be chosen for such a momentous mission, to care for your wellbeing and to love you as myself. I would do it all again if unlikely circumstances were to present themselves. I will definitely choose wisely and will not live to regret my decision again.
Until we correspond again, I bid you au revoir, and take excellent care of your handsome self. ☺
Yours truly,
Andy
Chapter Twenty-One
On The Street Where You Live
“Anyone who relishes art will love the extraordinary diversity and psychic magic of Amsterdam.”
Jabril Maciej Levinsky
1968
The Summons
It came as no surprise when, on the day before I received Sheik Fahrib’s summons, Wilhem suffered a severe foot injury while playing soccer. A member of his opposing team had bashed into the robust athlete, sending him rolling in pain from an acute sprained ligament. He had to be carried on a stretcher and helicoptered in to a Dubai hospital for immediate treatment, after which he was instructed by the surgeon to rest and not to move around. Therefore, his accompanying me to my next household assignment was out of the question. An immediate replacement came in the form of none other than the Romanian Norwegian, Zac.
My assigned Bahriji advisor, Dr. Andrew Henderson, broke the news to me. As soon as I sat opposite him, Professor Andrew announced, ”Young, I’ve news for you.” Before I could respond, he added, “You guys will be helicoptered to Dubai airport tomorrow afternoon. Sheik Fahrib’s representative will be there to meet you.”
I questioned, “Wh
o’ll be my Valet, now that Wilhem is grounded?”
“My teaching assistant will stand in for Wilhem. Zac is a capable big brother and will look after you well.” My teacher paused, ”Andy and Albert will be at the same household. The four of you will be travelling together.”
“Zac!” I exclaimed. ”Who will stand in for him while he’s with me?”
“There will be another teaching assistant. I can manage. He’ll be away for only a few months,” my tutor expressed.
He pulled open a drawer and drew out a brown envelope. Handing it to me, he asked, ”Can you give this to your new Valet? You’ll need these documents when you meet the Sheik’s representative.”
He shook my hand and guided me out the door. Before I disappeared, he said, ”I heard you have a good rapport with your new patriarch. Keep him happy! He’s new to the society.”
I didn’t give the doctor’s casual remark much thought until I was at my new household. Only then did I understand the significance of my professor’s statement.
The Representative
A highly polished white limousine was waiting at the Dubai airport to ferry us to a private airfield. There, we were greeted by Jabril, the Sheik’s representative. Hidden behind a loosely fitted thobe, this strapping Arab, or so I thought, looked similar to his employer. He was the doctor’s personal secretary and confidant. At times, he acted as his bodyguard. Another job description for Jabril might be ‘private secretary.’ On that particular day, Jabril was our guard and chaperone. His job was to deliver us safely to his employer’s domain.
لصقر في دن (The Ship)
The sophisticated flying machine that sat waiting for us had a golden body bordered in black with a streamlined underbelly of matte silver. It was like an aerodynamic bald-headed condor. The slick symmetrical interior mirrored that of its owner - perfectly balanced with an air of taciturn velocity, yet the refined magnum opuses that hung solidly on the plane’s windowed walls reflected the inner disquietude of a despondent romantic.
J.M.W. Turner, Moritz von Schwind and Paul Delaroche were just a few of those represented within the confines of this luxury jet.
As soon as we were airborne, Andy, Zac and I seized the opportunity to scrutinize these amazing artworks. The only person who remained disinterested was Albert, who had plonked himself on a comfortable leather sofa, immersed in a comic book.
Jabril, seeing our interest, offered us a guided tour. He proclaimed spiritedly, ”His Excellency is an avid art collector. These are just a few pieces he has acquired. When we arrive in Amsterdam, you’ll be able to appraise more of his acquisitions.”
Andy looked surprised. ”I thought we are heading to Sharjah?”
“His Excellency is expecting you at لصقر في دن (The Falcon’s Den). My job is to make sure you’re well cared for.” The representative then changed the subject and proceeded to explain in detail the origins of each painting.
By the time the pilot announced our imminent arrival at Luchthaven Schiphol (Amsterdam Airport Schiphol), we’d had an art history lesson. Besides being Sheik Abdul Mutmud bin Fahrib’s private secretary, Jabril was also an accomplished scholar of art. He would accompany, or at times represent, his employer at international art fairs and auctions. His knowledgeable expertise extended beyond art acquisition to that of art speculation. He was His Excellency’s private advisor when it came to investments in paintings and sculptures. Little did I know then that this man would soon become my mentor in the field of art.
At the Falcon’s Den
Through the narrow streets of Amsterdam, the gold Jaguar S and our metallic bluish silver vintage Silver Arrow meandered toward Herengracht, a wealthy and expensive enclave of Gouden Bocht (Golden Bend). Double-width mansions and townhouses with inner gardens and coach houses (converted into spacious garages) were built between 1890 and 1915 in the Art Nouveau style. These architectural marvels lined the street along the Patricians’ Canal. The heavily embellished wrought-iron balconies, patterned stone walls, moulded plaster and leaded glass window-panes lined with rows of leafy green trees transported me back to the Belle Epoch era. I couldn’t help but feel as if I was on the film set of “My Fair Lady,” where the handsome Freddy Eynsford-Hill would suddenly appear, singing, “On The Street Where You Live” in hot pursuit of Eliza Doolittle.
Our vehicles stopped in front of a five-story townhouse. No sooner had we alighted onto the front pavement of this charming residence than a butler appeared at the grand oak door to greet us. We were ushered into the high-ceilinged parlour. The vehicles we had arrived in had disappeared to the back of the property, where our luggage was unloaded by resident footmen and servants.
Jabril and the butler, Ricard, showed us to our respective rooms. My newly appointed Valet and I shared a spacious room with an antique four-poster King Bed located on the 3rd floor, while Andy and Albert were on the second. The upper levels were off limits. These were the Sheik’s private chambers. There, he had a spacious penthouse bedroom with a stunning view of the city, a private indoor and outdoor dining area, a rooftop Jacuzzi and a heated dip pool. The floor below was the doctor’s office, his den, and a spacious lounge.
The rooms on the first floor were allocated as the family room, a recreational facility, a drawing room and a well-stocked library that could be used as a music chamber. On the ground floor was the parlour and a conservatory that led out into an inner garden and courtyard. Opposite the staircase was a large dining chamber, used mainly for stately functions and celebratory events.
The servants’ quarters and kitchen were at the back of the house and below the stairs, respectively.
Herengracht
We did not get to meet Dr. Fahrib until the following day. We were advised by his private secretary that the sheik had clinical duties and business meetings around the clock.
Jabril would be our guide if we wanted to explore the nearby vicinity. After freshening up, the five of us set out to explore the city.
The moment we stepped out onto the sidewalk, I was nearly knocked over by a bicyclist. Instead of apologizing for his blunder, the man uttered some obscenities in Dutch. He waved his fist at me before disappearing. This canal city had more pedestrians and bicycles than cars, our guide counselled. Since everything was nearby, our guide suggested we explore on foot.
He explained, ”If any of you get lost and need to find your way to the Falcon’s Den, remember the names; ‘Lord’s Canal’ or ‘Patricians’ Canal’. The locals will know where to direct you. Otherwise, you can tell them Herengracht. This is the Herengracht (he pointed at the waterway in front of us), one of the three major canals within the city centre.”
He continued, ”The canal is named after the Heren Regeerders, who governed the city in the 16th and 17th century.”
Andy asked, ”Who are the Heren Regeerders?”
The Levantine grinned before answering, ”To put it simply, the Heren Regeerders were the male regents who governed our illustrious city. Although they were not formally of the ruling class, they were de facto patricians.”
As we walked further along, Jabril pointed to the house number 598. On the exterior wall was a placard that read, ”Samuel Sarphati (1813 – 1868) lived here.”
“Who is Samuel Sarphati?” Zac enquired.
“He was a Portuguese Sephardic Jew, a physician who later became a prolific politician and a famous Amsterdam city planner,” our guide declared.
When we passed house number 527, the Levantine announced, ”This was Peter the Great’s residence when the Tsar paid our notable city a second visit.”
Until this juncture, none of us were aware that the Arab was Dutch. We had assumed he had been employed in the Middle East by Sheik Fahrib.
I blurted inquisitively, ”Why do you keep referring Amsterdam as ‘our’ illustrious or notable city? Are you a citizen of Holland?” I added, ”I thought you were of Middle Eastern descent!”
The man laughed, ”You are partially correct. My father came from Sh
am. He married my Jewish mother from Den Haag (The Hague). My siblings and I were born in Den Haag.”
Andy gave the Eurasian a puzzled look before vociferating, ”I don’t understand – are you a Muslim or a Jew?”
He smiled enigmatically. ”Do I have to be one or the other?”
“Not at all,” Zac chirped.
I twittered, ”Then, are you a Muslim Jew?”
The man broke out in laughter. ”I’m neither one nor the other. I’m a Gnostic.”
This time, it was Albert who voiced, ”What’s a Gnostic?”
Andy replied before Jabril had a chance to respond, ”A Gnostic is a believer in esoteric mysticism and intellectual knowledge.”
“That sounds better than being a believer in any religion. I think I’ll become a Gnostic, too,” I expressed cheerfully.
The men laughed at my ditzy remark. “There is a lot more to Gnosticism than just the belief in esoteric mysticism and intellectual knowledge,” the Levantine stated. ”Perhaps, when the opportunity arises, we’ll have a discussion. For now, let’s continue our tour.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Museum Het Rembrandthuis
“A bell is no bell ‘til you ring it,
A song is no song ‘til you sing it,
And love in your heart
Wasn’t put there to stay –
Love isn’t love
‘Til you give it away.”
Oscar Hammerstein, The Sound of Music
“You Are Sixteen (Reprise)”
2012
My Reply to Andy’s Email
My dear ex-Valet,
You don’t have to rebuke yourself for not paying more attention to me than you already were. I’m forever grateful for your guidance and love through our years at the Enlightened Royal Oracle Society. You taught me well and loved me unconditionally. You chartered a course that made me who I am today. This is more than I could ask for. Although our separation was not easy, it strengthened my character and fortified my spirit, so I could cope with life’s ever changing landscape.