by Young
He was well known for courting a bevy of beauty queens and resplendent actresses, while his concealed passion was for teenage boys.
Señor Triqueros and my Valet had forewarned me to tread with caution, for I wasn’t fully aware of the man’s libertinism. Time and again, my mentors had counselled me not to fall in love, but to play the field.
After several intensive experiences from my previous households, I thought I had learned that lesson. Yet, this was easier said than done when the object of my affection was a sophisticated and charismatic man of the world. Little did I know I would need my beloved Andy and my judicious professor to guide me away from this ardent minefield I was about to step onto.
“Nice of you and Andy to accept my invitation.” Tad stepped forward to give me and my Valet the traditional nose-to-nose greeting.
He had sent his vintage 1938 Mercedes Benz to collect my chaperone and me and transport us to an elegant Moroccan restaurant some distance from the city.
This stylish eatery, decorated in resplendent monochromatic tones of silver and white, served crème de la crème Marrakesh cuisine while sea blue napkins reflected the shimmering view of the ocean below. I was charmed by the playboy’s handsome savoir-faire before the delicious cuisine even appeared on our table.
“Will you accompany me to Marrakesh after the Olympic race?” Tad asked in a sultry voice I found irresistible.
“I… err… have to ask the sheik’s permission,” I stammered.
Andy declared, “Young is correct. We have to procure His Excellency’s blessing before giving you a definitive answer. We are under the auspices of our host.”
“Of course. It’ll be an excellent getaway after our competition. We’ll sail up the scenic Ourika River – the view of the Atlas Mountains is a sight to behold,” the athlete fortified before adding, “I hope Fahrib and P will join us.”
“We can visit Driss in Marrakesh,” I chirped excitedly. I looked at my chaperone with avidity.
Andy added instantaneously before the Arab could question, “Driss is a model friend of ours. We met in Paris at the Grande Mosquée de Paris with Prince P.”
“It is excellent to know someone who is familiar with the area. He may be able to show us the place,” the athlete expressed. “I’ll have a chat with Fahrib. I hope he and P can come along. It’ll be fun.”
I was already in love with the suave and sassy Arab by the time we were chauffeured back to Assalamu Alaikum – and even though I dared not mention my surreptitious feelings to my beloved Valet, I had a presage I would be in for a heartbreak.
Chapter Forty-Seven
To Wear Or Not To Wear
“I was always intrigued by the idea of bringing things together that are considered taboo or risqué and merging them with something of high elegance and sophistication.“
Dita Von Teese
1968
Al’ahya’ Almar’a (Women’s Quarters)
الأحياء المرأة
Jabril was already waiting for me and Andy outside Señor Triqueros’ study after my morning tutorials.
“Are you ready to meet the women?” the Levantine asked.
“What’s there to be ready for? I’ve met harem women before, and I get on well with them,” I replied unthinkingly.
He smiled and led us towards the adjoining building to the women’s quarters.
Ladies of many ages had assembled, waiting our arrival. The younger women, such as Shahria and Roya, wore an assortment of hijabs, while the mature ladies donned a mélange of head and face coverings. Unbeknownst to me, I was the one that would be educated in the multiple forms of Islamic female concealments.
Since I did not speak a word of Arabic, I didn’t know that Fahrib’s private secretary had introduced me as a fashion maestro; all I noticed was a sea of nodding heads.
Just as I had with the Kosk and Sekham women, I confabulated with this group of harem ladies. Yet, these females appeared amused by Jabril’s translations whenever I spoke.
I was also acutely aware that two of the ladies, Kifah and her cousin Iba, were eyeing the Levantine with fascination. Although these two women wore Niqābs (a face-covering that covered both mouth and nose, leaving the eyes clear), their eye bandying led me to suspect that they were better acquainted with the art historian than met the eye.
After my fashion delivery, the mature Ain questioned, “Do western women wear head coverings as a respect to God?”
I was caught off guard by her question. My mind whirled for an appropriate response. “Out of respect to God, western women do wear hats or headscarves when they enter a place of worship, such as a church or a synagogue,” I answered. “Catholic nuns cover their hair in a white coif or cornette. This headpiece also includes a white cotton cap, secured by a bandeau, and a white ’wimple‘ or ‘guimpe‘ of starched linen to cover the cheeks and neck.”
Jabril questioned divertingly, “How do you know what catholic nuns wear?”
I answered seriously. “From The Flying Nun.”
The Levantine chortled. “You get your fashion knowledge from a TV show?”
I countered, unamused, “Well, not always, but it’s true! Women of other faiths do wear head coverings in respect toward God.”
“Although hats or scarves are not worn twenty-four seven and are considered fashion accessories to match a woman’s outfit, the headwear is similar to the hijabs and khimars (a long, cape-like scarf that wraps around the head, covering the neck and shoulders but leaving the face clear) that co-ordinate with the women’s abayas.”
Ain expressed, “I wear hijabs because of God’s modesty commandment.”
“The hijab is a visible expression of our Muslim identity and a witness to our faith,” Shahria declared.
Before long, every woman gave her respective reasons for donning the various forms of Islamic headgear.
I was particularly intrigued by Fajr’s comment: “By wearing the hijab, I hope to communicate my country’s political and social alliance and to challenge the prejudice of the Western discourses towards our Arabic-speaking world.”
“Why do you think that?” the Levantine questioned.
“Because Western feminists have this perception that hijab-wearing women are oppressed or silenced by their society and culture. The hijab is an expression of my cultural identity,” the female opined.
Andy spoke for the first time. “Does the Quran mention that Muslim women have to wear hijabs?”
Ain quoted the Quran (24:30-31) assuredly, “The believing men are enjoined to lower their gaze and conceal their genitals, draw their headdress to cover their cleavage, and not to display their beauty. Except that which has to be revealed to their husbands, their fathers, their husbands’ fathers, their sons, their husbands’ sons, their brothers or their brothers’ sons, or their sisters’ sons, or their women, or their slaves, or eunuchs or children under age; and they should not strike their feet to draw attention to their hidden beauty. O believers, turn to God, that you may know bliss.”
Shahria seconded. “And 33:58–59: ‘Those who harass believing men and believing women undeservedly, bear on themselves a calumny and a grievous sin. O Prophet! Enjoin your wives, your daughters, and the wives of true believers that they should cast their outer garments over their persons that they may be distinguished and not be harassed.”
I was surprised when the gnostic Jabril contradicted, “But the suwar, the hadiths and the Quran were written by men. Of course they want their womenfolk to obey and submit to their manmade rules.”
My Valet chimed, “Does this also apply to the Torah and the Holy Bible?”
“Yes it does,” attested the art historian.
The women were in disagreement with the Gnostic’s pronouncement, except for Kifah and Iba, who had not uttered a word since our discussion began.
Andy gave me an eye signal to step in to cool the wrangle with the topic I knew best – Fashion, for what had begun as social discourse was rapidly transforming into a p
olitical and religious parley.
Seeing my indisposition, Andy spoke authoritatively on my behalf, “Young has something to say about the hijab being a fashion statement.”
The group hushed to listen.
“I had mentioned during my presentation that designers around the world are adapting Middle Eastern clothing into their fashion repertoires.
“Nowadays, variations of the abaya, kaftan, and dishdasha are not only worn by Middle Eastern women, but by non-Arab Muslims in western societies. Likewise, the salwaar kamiz, a traditional South Asian garment, is now worn by Muslims in a diversity of styles.
“Although the traditional objective of the Islamic hijab is to create an attitude of modesty and to distract attention from the wearer, this item has also morphed into a form of self-expression.
“Despite the contradictions regarding the spirit of the hijab, the individualistic trend of ‘looks’ and attracting attention to personal style is rapidly transforming the hijab into a fashion statement instead of an artifact of modesty blasé.”
I looked around the room before continuing, “A growing number of Muslim women are blending these two elements, gathering inspiration from high fashion magazines before adapting their ‘looks’ to abide by Islamic rulings.”
A few agreeable nods came from a couple of women, especially Kifah and Iba. I discerned that these two women were more progressive and willing to embrace western ideologies than their Arabian sisters, even if they wore Niqābs.
I was surprised when Kifah expressed vehemently, “The word hijab literally means “curtain”. To my understanding, the term hijab was not used as a reference to women’s clothing, but rather the screen behind which Muslims were told to address the Prophet’s wives.”
Detecting an ally in Kifah, the Levantine vociferated, “This term is also used to describe the ‘screen’ separating God from Moses, when he received divine revelation.”
She resumed, “During the Prophet’s era, Muslim women did not cover their faces. It was only when the Prophet’s wives went out in public that the ‘screen’ was substituted as a veil over their faces. It was a special injunction for the Prophet’s wives.”
Iba championed her cousin’s comments by reciting several verses.
“And (as for the Prophet’s wives) when you ask for anything you want (or need), ask them from behind a hijab (screen); that makes for greater purity of your hearts. (33:53)
“O wives of the Prophet! You are not like any of the (other) women: If you do fear (God), be not too complaisant of speech, lest one in whose heart is a disease should be moved with desire: but speak with a speech (that is) just.” (33:32)
Kifah endorsed her cousin’s declarations by adding, “The Quran also talks about our clothing as cover for our nakedness that also serves as an adornment, reflecting the beauty of God’s creation. What is important is a woman’s comportment and attitude, regardless of the way she dresses. We must have faith and taqwa (God-consciousness or righteousness) as stated in (7:26):
“O, you Children of Adam! We have bestowed libasan (clothing or raiment) on you to cover your nakedness and as a thing of beauty. But the raiment of righteousness (taqwa) is the best. Such are the signs of God, that they may receive admonition. O Children of Adam! Wear your beautiful apparel (zeenah) at every time and place of prayer: eat and drink: but waste not by excess, for God loves not the wasters.” (7:31)
This debate made several women in the group more curious about the religious habits of other faiths. So, I was provided the opportunity to assemble another fashion discussion a few days later.
First Week of January 2013
Continuation of my Message to Andy (part 6)
Jules, accompanied by an androgynous boy with effeminate mannerisms, seemed embarrassed to see me. He entreated the boy to leave us alone, at least for a while, so we could speak in private. He began as soon as the boy’s back was turned, “I’m departing to Lisbon in a few days.”
“I thought you had planned to be in Singapore for a while. Why are you leaving so soon?” I queried.
The ex-OBSS instructor sighed. “I’m departing not by choice; the Singapore government gave me a week to leave after my OBSS dismissal.”
“You’re being deported?” I exclaimed.
He shushed me. “Yes, you can say that.”
He glanced around to make sure no one was listening to our conversation before shaking his head. “This place is so backward and repressed.”
I asked, “Why didn’t you leave immediately?”
“They have to prepare my deportation paperwork before I’m allowed to leave. They are such assholes!” he lashed out in anger. “I’m not allowed to return… unless there is a change in government policy.”
“Why bother returning when they don’t welcome people like us here?” I retorted.
“Because…” he was reluctant to divulge what was on his mind.
I pressed, “Because?”
He leaned over and whispered, “Because, Lee, my boyfriend, is a Singaporean. He can’t come with me when I go.”
Not giving any thought to travel restrictions for a Singaporean, especially one who was eligible for ‘National Service’ (NS), I blurted nonchalantly, “Why can’t he leave with you?”
Jules iterated sadly, “We were hoping to enter the SAF (Singapore Armed Forces) together. Now, our dreams are shattered. I won’t be able to see him again.”
My heart reached out to the dispirited man. I queried, “Why aren’t you spending these last few days with Lee, instead of roaming Bugis Street?”
Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. “As if I’ve been infected with a contagious disease, his parents forbid us to meet!” he cried.
My heart reached out to him. I consoled, “Things will work out. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Give yourself time.”
I added, after a moment’s silence, “There are new adventures and experiences to be had. You never know what life has in store until you release your anxieties and allow the universe to care for you, rather than blaming yourself for what happened at camp.”
He grinned facetiously before responding. “Easier said than done. Check back in a few months and see how I do?”
“At least I made you smile,” I quipped. “What happened to Kim? Is he also being deported?”
Jules sallied, “He was given stern admonishments to change his ‘deviant’ ways. He is Singaporean, and they need him in NS. No doubt he’ll be allotted to menial clerical duties, which will suit him fine. He is not one for belligerent combat.”
“Are his parents okay with him being gay, now that OBSS has made known to them that their son is a homosexual?” I questioned.
“They are despondent that he has been kicked out from OBSS. But there is nothing they can do. They’ll either have to accept him for what he is or disown him. I met his parents when he joined the camp, and they seem to be a reasonable pair.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “It’s good to know he hasn’t turned into a guttersnipe.”
Our conversation turned to small talk when the androgynous boy returned. I was ready to depart to Kuala Lumpur before hopping onto my flight bound for London town.
That, my dear Andy, was the last time I saw Jules and is the conclusion to my Singapore OBSS experience.
Now, I’m ready for your tales of glory and infamy. LOL!
Love,
Young
XOXOXO
Chapter Forty-Eight
Command Performances
“An ounce of performance can determine the outcome of a royal ascendance.”
Tad Abdul Hafiz
January 2013
Andy’s Message
Hi Young,
I’m home after two weeks in Tasmania. My rowing team was the runner-up at the Lindisfarne annual rowing competition.
Since you were so forthright with your OBSS experiences, I’ll reciprocate with a tale of my own from the Philippines. ☺
The Canadian GLBT rowing club had orga
nised a fun excursion to Palawan Island back in 1977. This remote island was filled with an abundance of wildlife, forested mountains and beautiful pristine beaches.
It is rated by the National Geographic Traveller magazine as the best island destination in East and South-East Asia and ranked the thirteenth-best island in the world. In those days, this locale was vastly uninhabited, except by a handful of residents who were fishermen or local business owners.
We stayed in a series of huts, built above the ocean on stilts. These did not have shower or toilet facilities; lodgers had to wade through knee-deep waters or swim to shore to do their business. This place was a marvellous retreat for self-discovery and rejuvenation. I was glad I didn’t have to room with my travelling buddies and had a hut to myself.
I had a great time frolicking on the clear aquiline waters where virgin corals and unperturbed sea-life thrived without tourist intrusions.
When we travelled into Lungsodng Puerto Princesa (City of Puerto Princesa) for food and a shower, the locals gawked at us - six Caucasian men and two women - as if we had descended from another planet. For a few pesos, a family-run eatery agreed to let us use their outdoor shower facility.
A waist-high wooden wall, loosely constructed, separated the bather from a forest at the rear of the house. In the midst of my shower, I noticed a local adolescent peeping from behind a tree in the woods. I pretended not to notice as he watched me lathe and played with himself. I was turned on by this lascivious display of sexual gratification. The further I soaped, the more aroused I became. Through the gaps of the wooden planks, the boy caught glimpses of my erection – like a peep show in a sex shop, I titillated the teenager. His eyes were glued to my every move, so much so that he wasn’t aware that his friend had creeped up from behind.
When he felt an extra hand on his throbbing hardness, he let out a yelp of astonishment. Before long, the boys were masturbating each other. They stroked one another without mortification, as if they had done this before, while watching my exhibitionistic performance carefully.