by Young
The lad, like me, was taken aback by our teacher’s disclosure.
I exclaimed, “Wow! I had no idea. I thought Tad was simply claiming his birthday present in the presence of Puni and Andy. Never did I suspect that the Eurasian was being sexually appraised.”
Victor imparted impishly, “This is a typical casting-couch scenario.”
“What is a casting-couch scenario?” Leon asked puzzlingly.
Victor held his protégé’s hand before he promulgated, “Casting-couch syndrome, or a casting-couch mentality, is the trading of sexual favors by an aspirant, apprentice employee, or subordinate to a superior in return for entry into an occupation, or career advancement within an organization.”
I asked inquisitively, “Why is it called casting couch?”
The professor smiled at my innocence. “Young, the term casting couch originated from the motion picture industry. Specifically, it refers to couches in offices that were used for sexual activities between casting directors or film producers and aspiring actors.”
Leon blurted curiously, “Casting couch aside, who got the role of Prince Guja or Jaleel?”
“I cannot tell you, boy,” Triqueros insisted stubbornly.
“Please sir, tell us,” we urged.
“Why don’t you tell me who you think got the role of Guja?” our guardian countered.
I shrieked excitedly, “Puni?”
Who stood before us no sooner than I had uttered the actor’s name? The man himself! He had returned for half time from the tournament.
“Yes… Did you ask for me?” The British Indian queried.
Feeling guilty for talking behind his back, I turned red from embarrassment.
Victor leaped to my rescue. “Young was telling us how the two of you met.”
Puni teased, “Last evening, he was weeping beneath the neem trees where I found him.”
All eyes turned to me, expecting a pronouncement about my weepiness. I kept silent.
As I thanked God for his wit, the professor changed the subject and asked about the match. Cricket saved me from further embarrassment.
Action Speaks Louder Than Words
Since the introduction of Cricket to India, locals had taken to this Englishman’s sport with Anglomaniacal fervor. It was without question that team Madras won that day’s match against the expatriate contingent.
That evening, before Andy’s and my departure from the Indian city, Fahrib and P summoned me to their chamber for a farewell chat. It was a gesture of gratitude toward Andy and me for our contribution to the Assalamu Alaikum household.
My chaperone, being the amiable valet, encouraged me to meet the patriarchs alone, since I was the one in service and he was only my chaperone. He opted to wait outside the chamber unless summoned.
I found both Masters enjoying a private moment together before the following day’s dissimulation commenced. This was a rare instance during which I felt like a trespasser into their discreet covertness.
The sheik, a man of few words, left most of the talking to the prince.
“You and Andy have become a part of our inner circle. It’s dispiriting to release the two of you,” he sighed.
After a brief moment of silence, P resumed, “You brought Fah and me together.” (This was his nickname for Fahrib).
“Before Andy and I came along, you were already longtime friends,” I chirped. “We’ll be seeing each other soon in Acapulco.”
“Come, sit between us,” P beckoned.
I did as told.
Without uttering a word, His Highness leaned across and kissed my lips while the sheik’s hand slipped into my thobe to caress my inner thighs. My innocence jumped to attention.
Hairy and bearded men never fail to arouse me, and this was certainly no exception. As I nuzzled my face against P’s hairy chest, the scent of fresh sandalwood and musk made me yearn for their masculinity.
Fahrib’s manly hand probed the edges of my thigh and made its way into my undergarment before easing it to my ankles, exposing my bobbing hardness against my tunic. The sheik’s brushing fingers served only to amplify my body’s squirming response. I reached to caress my Masters’ potencies, hungering to devour their sacred devotions, readying my openings for their imminent entry. They yearned for my adolescent virility as much as I enjoyed their manly redolence.
Like the vipers I had witnessed a couple evenings ago, P’s slithering tongue darted back and forth around my nipples, arousing them to attention while the doctor explored my cavity of sexual delight.
This time around, I was acutely aware that their stimulation was about giving rather than receiving. Our synchronistic arousals were of unreserved pleasuring, not guarded restraint. For a passing moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if they had mastered Dubois’ zentologism during my absence.
I was returned to the present with mouthfuls of palpitating splendor, which I savored with delight, preparing them for the double-entendre I craved so fervently.
Their lubricious kisses were the first between my Masters during my service at both households. In the past, our orgiastic coitus had never entailed the men’s locking lips, let alone caressing one another with abandoned duplicity. This time around, their intimacies had grown potent, stirring me to intensified states of irresistibility. They were electrified, filling me with their nectar of love just as I was unreservedly poised to fulfill their every desire. Our naturalist vibrancy and rhythmic oscillations had again propelled me into Tantra.
In free-falling serenity, I drifted in tantric lucidity, spiraling heavenwards to euphoric efflorescence. Once again, I was lost in time and space where my illusory self transcended all dis-ease before reaching Moksha. It mattered not the length of our copulation. I drifted in unbounded ecstasy, only to return when filled to overflowing capacity by my Masters’ endearing ambrosias of supernal gratifications.
By the time I snuck out of the darkened chamber, my benefactors had already handed me two gratuitous envelopes containing more than my chaperone and I could exhaust on our travels to William Wordsworth poetic lakes.
Epilogue
“Don’t be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are soulmates.”
Bernard Tristan Foong
Not only did the two packages contain sufficient funds to send Andy and me off on a delightful month-long holiday in The Lake District, a region of incredible scenic beauty, but they also contained two miniature boxes of priceless sparkles from Asprey and Garrard, adding to my higher education assets.
As the District’s charming villages and ancient woodlands beckoned our love, it also provided my beloved and me time to rejuvenate before embarking on our next Enlightened Royal Oracle Society assignment.
P
Since the blossoming of the prince and doctor’s romantic relationship, His Highness had matured by leaps and bounds. Although this vivacious playboy remained jovially buoyant, his sporadic irresolution had transformed to imperative confidence.
When we reunited in Acapulco for the 1968 summer Olympics, he, like his clandestine lover, Fahrib, was unassailably aristocratic in comparison to the first time we had met at the Sekham.
Although I have no idea how long their romance lasted, one thing I was sure: their friendship lasted many long years until the prince’s demise in the late nineties. Though I’m sure his wives, children and grandchildren mourned for the loss of this benevolent man, his beloved Fahrib wept no less.
Fahrib
This shrewd doctor of few words created a rich cultural legacy for the citizens of Sharjah, especially in the fields of international art, philosophy and medicine.
The Sharjah Art Museum, inaugurated during the third Sharjah International Arts Biennial in 1997, housed numerous collections from the United Arab Emirates and by many male and female Middle Eastern artists. Within its spacious halls and galleries, visitors can also view exhibitions by international artists.
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Another of the sheik’s legacies is The Sharjah Museum for Arabic Contemporary Art, a subsidiary of the main museum that offers visitors a targeted look at the region’s contemporary art movement.
The doctor’s love of art overreached his home turf. In recent years, he spearheaded the region’s self-reinvention as a cultural destination. This included plans for the cultural district of Saadiyat Island, which will hold two major outposts of the Guggenheim and the Louvre.
The Roman poet Virgil once wrote, “Love conquers all things; let us too surrender to Love.” Perhaps this saying did apply to the prince and the sheik. I, for one, believe so.
Jabril and Kifah
This Levantine art historian remained a key player in his employer’s many artistic endeavours through to the end of his life as cultural and press secretary to the Emir. Though his marriage to Kifah was affable, it was not made in heaven.
While I was stationed at وكر الذئب Aldhdhib Dann (Wolf Den), Andy and I had the privilege of attending his lavish wedding both in Sharjah and Amsterdam. Signs of disintegration between the bride and groom were already visible before their opulent nuptials.
Like a Disneyesque fairy-tale romance in which beauty and her prince charming lived happily ever after, Kifah expected a loyal, doting husband who would cater to her every wish. But the weight of her naiveté soon came crashing down on her petite haute-couture-wearing frame.
Her husband, not known for his fidelity, was caught laying with both sexes throughout the cause of their marriage. Under the advice of her Islamic parents and the Assalamu Alaikum ladies, Kifah endured, eventually turning a blind eye to her husband’s extramarital liaisons on condition that she and her children were well provided for.
As compensation for her marital unhappiness, Kifah turned to compulsive shopping, even if her accumulation of luxury indulgence was but a temporary fix. At the very least she fostered a perfidious sense of self-worth when displaying her latest designer ensemble to her peers.
On the opposite spectrum, Jabril plunged himself into work, a passion he loved more than his flings. It was only a matter of time before his boss came to the throne and entrusted him the official title of Cultural and Press Secretary, where he remained active until his death.
The Señor and His Protégé
The abstemious Victor Angel Triqueros continued to be my cultivated mentor in the athlete’s household, guiding and advising me at every turn in my fourth household service.
Victor became increasingly involved with Leon. Their age difference was nine years, but their bond was that of old souls: the relationship was like bees and honey. By the time I left E.R.O.S. after my four years of service, Victor and Leon were termed as a match made in heaven. Their mentor-protégé relationship had morphed into a lasting interpersonal partnership in which each could complete the other’s predilections without hesitation.
My professor’s knowledge of life’s transcendence continues to baffle me to this day. Like his friend, Monsieur Alain Dubois, my enlightened teacher went on to become an accomplished social communicator and psychologist. He educated other E.R.O.S. recruits long after I left my harem life.
On the other hand, Leon resumed the role as his mentor’s apprentice until he graduated from the University of Liverpool with Honours in the field of Humanities and Social Sciences.
Albert
Andy and I visited Albert at his Cotswolds family manor home in south central England. In the tranquil countryside where his parents kept vigilance over their middle child’s health, he recuperated from his drug addiction rapidly.
The sober Albert lamented his heedless actions to both Daltonbury Hall and the Enlightened Royal Oracle Society boards. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. Even though Andy and Zac tried to persuade the E.R.O.S. committee to change their minds, the lad’s association with the society was terminated permanently. On the bright side, he was accepted back at Daltonbury Hall to complete his studies.
According to Albert, who kept in touch, the less propitious Narnia was expelled from both E.R.O.S. and her Italian boarding institution. Her parents threatened to enroll her in a convent school. Their hope was to ingrain sobriety into their wild child, though they had no idea of what she had been up to as an E.R.O.S. recruit. That was the last I heard of Narnia or saw of Albert.
Mario
Conceived way before its time, the Count’s controversial movie never made it to the big screen – until 1996, when the plot was appropriated by a female American-Indian producer and director. Though she revised the screenplay for an audacious moviegoing audience, this modified rendition, nominated for a couple of awards when premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, was banned from Indian cinemas.
I had the pleasure of witnessing Mario’s directorial treatment within the movie production world while stationed at Wolf Den. Much I learned from the Count and his team in set and costume design. This prefatory knowledge eventually enabled me to obtain a scholarship to pursue my second Master’s Degree in costume design at the Fitzgerald Theatre Department in the University of Hawaii, Manoa, in 1997.
Mario and Tad’s bromance blossomed until an inextricable entanglement over a love interest wrecked their friendship. My Valet and I were present during the downfall: their unyielding stubbornness made it impossible for us to amend their bond. It was an uneasy time for the men, especially when they had once been like Siamese twins, both in business and social transactions.
Tad
During the prime of the Count’s friendship with the athlete, Andy and I were sent into a socially active tailspin. Since the Arab and the Italian were heavily embedded within the beauty and fashion industry, my chaperone and I were whisked off to a whirlwind of international beauty pageants and fashion events.
Being a well-known sports figure, Tad had beauty product endorsements and advertising commitments to fulfill, apart from spending an unassailable amount of time training for his next athletic competition. Seldom had I seen a man with such intrepid virility. He awoke early for physical conditioning before heading to one of his competitive practices, only to return in the late afternoon for yet another round of painting the town red. The number of males and females who wove in and out of his daily life was insurmountable. Although I was agape at such championship, I soon acculturated into my patriarch’s lifestyle without fanfare.
Moi
It turned out to be a revelation in book five of A Harem Boy’s Saga – Metanoia that my life took a superlative turn to that of transformational enlightenment. I had matured and outgrown my juvenile puerility. In its place appeared a cultivated young man, ready to embrace life’s surmountable challenges and seize the connate opportunities that came his way.
I had grown into my own, making assessments and predilections I deemed fit at any given circumstance. My uncertainty had made way for confidence. And so the list went on. As is often the case, admirable qualities emerge from chaos, and vice versa.
One thing I learned at Assalamu Alaikum (Peace Be With You) is that peace can indeed be with you when you release, accept and go with the flow. Flow is the natural, effortless unfolding of our life that moves us toward wholeness and harmony.
Author’s Bio
Young alias Bernard Foong is, first and foremost, a sensitivist. He finds nuance in everything. To experience the world he inhabits is an adventure which is mystical, childlike and refreshing. He has a rare ability to create beauty in a unique fashion. His palettes have been material, paint, words and human experiences.
By Christine Maynard (screenwriter and novelist).
Bernard Foong (designer) – A brief history
Born in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. At the age of 8, he was assisting his aunt and cousin, learning the art of sewing and fabrics/colors matching. He attended an exclusive private boarding school in the United Kingdom before obtaining his Diploma in Fashion Design at the Harrow College of Art & Technology in London, England. He went on to complete his Master of Design at the Royal College of Art
& Design, London, England. During his college years he won several international fashion awards and was already retailing bridal and evening dresses to several well-known department stores in England. Liberty of London, Selfridges, Harrods and Harvey Nichols to name a few that carried his designs. His Royal College of Art graduation wedding/evening wear collection was sold to Liberty of London and displayed in their store windows for the entire month of June that year.
For four years, he worked for Liberty’s bridal department as their in-house designer until a trip to Hong Kong, while working on a freelance project for ‘Bird’s’(casual wear) company, he was recruited by the Hong Kong Polytechnic University as their Fashion professor for the next 6 years. During his stay in Hong Kong, he freelanced for numerous fashion companies. From designing casual wear, swimwear, lingerie, and fur garments, men’s wear, bridal and evening fashions to accessories (bags, shoes, and head-wear). He also participated and organized numerous fashion shows, events, functions, and presentations in the Asia Pacific region.
Working for Keys Far East Hong Kong as chief lingerie designer - travelling extensively to the United States, he was soon recruited as an Associate Fashion Design/Illustration Professor to the University of Wisconsin, Madison and also lectured at the Minneapolis College of Art & Design for a couple of years.
Foong was then appointed as the Fashion Development Manager by an established department store – Parkson Grand (22 stores in Malaysia and one in Shanghai, China). Producing under the label, Natural Life by Bernard Foong, he designed casual-wear collections for the Parkson Grand’s flagship store in Kuala Lumpur. After a couple of years later, he was invited by the Temasek Polytechnic, Singapore to join their design school to establish a Fashion Design department. For two years, he assisted several founding members of the design school - working on the fashion department’s teaching curriculum.