by Cat Shinier
Wow, he looks wonderful. He picks up my bag and his two bags with one hand and stares at my sunglasses, wrinkling his forehead.
“Do you have another pair of sunglasses? The one you have on is too small. You’ll need better sun protection for your eyes.”
“No, I don’t have another one. This one has been fine so far.” I look at him questioningly. “Why isn’t this one enough?”
Shamar looks down at me while he extricates my sunglasses from my hair and places them on the table.
“The sun here is much stronger than it is in Germany. That is why you need a pair that covers your eyes more and protects the sides, too. Like the kind you wear for skiing.”
I feel pretty silly that hasn’t occurred to me.
“And so now what?” I ask. “Aren’t we going?”
My question seems to amuse him because he grins at me. “No problem, darling. We’ll just make a little detour and buy some glasses downstairs in the hotel shop. They have a good selection.” He caresses my behind. “Let’s go.”
I press the elevator button, and we wait for the doors to open. While we stand there waiting, he steps up to me from behind. I lean back a bit feeling our bodies touch. He wraps his free arm around me and kisses the back of my neck. I feel like I am in heaven.
* * *
Twenty minutes later I am the proud owner of a sinfully expensive pair of Prada sunglasses that are so flattering they make me look like a Hollywood celebrity. I’m now incognito behind the dark lenses. Not needing them yet, I stick them up on my head, where they are waiting to be used.
Next we head up in the elevator to the roof, and when we arrive there the doors open out to a glassed room. We are near the Burj Al Arab’s viewing platform and at this elevation, it feels as though the building is swaying. I grab Shamar’s hand.
“Everything alright?” he asks me.
I nod. “Yes, it is just so high.”
He smiles and puts on his sunglasses.
“Soon we will be even higher. Come, sweetie.”
He pulls me closer, and we run up a few steps and finally reach a huge round platform where a helicopter is parked. Well, that is going to be another first for me. I have never been in a helicopter before. There is a man standing next to the door to the helicopter to help us get in and the pilot is sitting in front. He is wearing headphones and a dark black pair of sunglasses. There is a microphone extending from the headphones that ends right in front of his mouth.
I am suddenly so nervous, that my hands are sweating. Shamar hands the two travel bags to the man holding the doors open for us and he stows away our bags behind the seats. Shamar helps me get in.
The helicopter has room for six people. We sit down on the seats in the back area, where Shamar helps me close my safety belt, once I get it on. The straps reach over my shoulders, one from the side and one even from below. They meet in the middle where they are fastened. I put on my glasses quickly, before Shamar hands me the same kind of headset that the pilot is wearing. Then he sits down next to me and fastens his own seat belt, while he pulls a headset over his head.
“Can you hear me?” he asks.
I can hear his voice loud and clear over the headset. I nod and look at him.
Then I hear him again.
“Okay, we are ready now.”
That was not directed at me, but to the pilot. So we are all talking via the same radio frequency. The man outside is checking whether the doors have all been closed correctly, and then he signals to the pilot. The pilot answers with the same signal. The voice of the pilot appears in my headphones as he is being given the all clear signal, and immediately he starts the rotors of the helicopter. The blades of the helicopter come alive and start rotating faster and faster, while a whistling noise can be heard. I’m afraid, and I grab Shamar’s hand. He looks at me encouragingly.
“Don’t be afraid. The view is spectacular. Just enjoy it.”
With a jolt, the helicopter lifts off and slowly climbs higher and higher. Oh my, I can look down almost vertically. It is totally different than sitting in a plane. I move as close to Shamar as my safety belt allows, and he puts his arm around me to calm me down.
“Just enjoy the flight, darling,” I hear him say close to my ear. I nod my head because I can’t speak. I am too overwhelmed. The view is out of this world and it feels as if I had grown wings and was flying over the rooftops of hotels and buildings. No one is about to wake me from this dream, and no one seems to be bothered by the racket the helicopter is making. We fly around the center of Dubai and then head away from the ocean and towards the center of Dubai.
After the last houses, the desert begins below us. Endless waves of sand seem to stretch to the horizon. We fly over sand dunes and after a while a huge hotel complex appears. I see the landing strip with a great H on it. The helicopter starts descending to the ground gradually and a few minutes it lands as soft as a feather.
We’ve arrived. The second the helicopter touches the ground, Shamar frees first himself and then me of the safety belt and headset. The door is opened from the outside. A little car that looks like a golf cart is waiting for us, so we throw our bags in.
Shamar and the pilot exchange a few words before we get into the car and are chauffeured to the hotel. The complex is large and extends in all directions with small buildings grouped in various places. The cart stops in front of one of these buildings, and the driver opens the door to an apartment.When I peek inside I realize it is even bigger than Shamar’s suite in the Burj Al Arab.
“Where are we?” I ask Shamar.
“This is my brother Nadim’s hotel. Do you like it?” The view bowls me over. It has a panorama view of the desert, and the room is designed to make you feel like you’re one with the desert. There is a large terrace with sun sails and a large private pool. Shamar does not seem to want to do without a pool.
“I’m so impressed. Really. Truly. This is amazing!” I turn around and face him. He is busy with the key, and the driver leaves.
“I’m glad you like it. We will be coming back here.” He has that mischievous grin on his face then says that we have not reached our final destination yet.
“Do you like horseback riding?”
Of course, I like horseback riding. In fact, I love it. Like millions of other girls, I spent a lot of time learning how to ride horses when I was young. That was ten years ago. “Yes,” I answer. “I am pretty good at it. It’s been quite a while, and I might be rusty, but it should be fun.”
“It’s like riding a bike. You never forget how to do it. Do you want to freshen up or can we hit the road?” I tell him I’d just like to freshen up a bit before we leave and when I’m done, Shamar is waiting for me. He has a long shawl wrapped around his forehead and the back of his head. I pin up my hair, and Shamar wraps my sun protection around my head and hands me a long sleeved shirt.
“Here, otherwise you might get a sunburn.” I look at him, sort of confused because I think I’ll be looking like a Martian from another planet.
“How about our bags?”
“We’ll just leave them here. We won’t be needing them.”
My curiosity is piqued. There wouldn’t be enough room on a horse anyway. So I follow him outside where the small golf-cart like electronic car is still waiting for us. We take a seat on the back bench, and the adventure begins. A few minutes later we end up in front of a stable while two horses are being led out. One of them is a white horse while the other one is dark, almost black.
Compared to horses in Germany they are both small and dainty. They are beautiful. Their coats glisten in the sun and their mouths are soft and smooth. I cannot resist and reach out to pet them while Shamar watches me, smiling.
And then it’s time to see what it’s like to be on such a beautiful horse. Shamar helps me up into the saddle on the dark horse, and when I am up there, I am relieved that the horses are not all that big. Somehow I remembered that part differently. I pick up the reins and wait for Shamar to g
et into his saddle. He looks so graceful when he does, yet I would not have expected anything different. And then the adventure continues. My horse is easy to manage and reacts to all the things I tell it to do, including my commands. So commands seem to be international where horses are concerned.
Shamar has a rucksack over his back that contains things to drink and a satellite telephone. The horses are moving at a leisurely pace, and soon we leave the hotel behind us as we head out into the sand.
I hope Shamar knows what he is doing, I think to myself. Wouldn’t be much fun getting lost in the desert. It’s good to have your bearings and better yet to have a compass and an exact idea of where you are heading. Shamar starts telling me things about the desert, pointing in various directions, explaining about the areas there, some of which are sheikhdoms.
The sun beats down on us mercilessly even though it is late September. I’m happy I’m wrapped up in all of this light material, otherwise I’d turn as red as a lobster in no time.
We stop several times to rest and drink and at some point a black dot appears on the horizon. And since we are not moving away from it, but towards it, that seems to be our destination.
And indeed - the closer we come, the more the black spot turns out to be a collection of Bedouin tents.
Nobody is to be seen. Except for our horses, we are all alone. We are somewhere in the Rub‘al-Khali desert, blue skies above us and the sun that has already passed half the way to the horizon. The silence is delicious. I have never perceived a kind of silence like this before. I’ve heard so many people speak of the desert as having a divine kind of silence, but I did not quite imagine the silence to be this absolute. No wonder people come to the desert to learn to listen to their own thoughts. As we arrive, Shamar hops off his horse and helps me dismount mine.
I guess I have sort of forgotten what it is like to go horseback riding as I did not remember my knees giving out from under me when I got off horses when I was a teenager. But it only lasts for a short time and passes. Shamar takes both horses and leads them to a shelter, then takes off their bridles and provides them with water that he dumps from canisters into a drinking trough, then he takes a feed bag that is hanging there and dumps it in another trough.
Aside from the shelter there is a large round tent and a small rectangular tent next to it that contains toilets of the kind you find in camping places, and showers. Shamar explains that the various water bags I see distributed along the roof of the tent are interconnected and that the sunlight warms the water they contain. At night, there is a gas-driven thermal water heater that that can provide warm water when needed.
So we don’t have a shower as in our hotel rooms but rather a tent right in the middle of the desert, which in my mind must be the epitome of luxury.
We walk over to the large tent. From the inside, it seems even larger than from the outside. It has transparent interior walls that separate the various areas. The floor of the living-room like area is covered with very colorful rugs and pillows of all sizes, and also a low woven table. Against the length of the tent room I see various trunks and the opening to the bedroom, which looks airy and spacious with a real bed.
I think I would have imagined a bed in a tent in a desert different from this one. Not like a standard bed with metal bars at the head. How did they get all the things here? A whole army of helpers must have been busy carting things here and setting everything up.
“Would you like to change while I prepare us something to drink?” Shamar asks turning towards me.
But since I only have brought one change of clothes, I hesitate. This man seems to be able to read my mind, I think to myself, as he suddenly heads towards a trunk, opens it and squats next to it while removing a number of various billowy looking garments.
“Here are some things that you can wear, if you would like. They are appropriate for the desert. They are cotton, and light and will protect you from the sun and the sand, which has a tendency to creep into all tiny little nooks and crannies.
I walk over to inspect the clothing, while he stands next to me. I decide on a wide pair of pants that are made of very thin cotton material that taper off and end below the knee, together with a matching top that has the same color. It is also very light and airy.
I walk over to the bathroom tent and take off my things and put on the robes I have borrowed. They are new and are freshly laundered and were probably selected by the same person who selected the blue evening dress. They fit perfectly and are very comfortable, especially in the heat of the desert.
As I exit from the bathroom, Shamar is spreading blankets and pillows around outside under the awning of the tent.
He hands me a glass of water, and I realize immediately how thirsty I am. Shamar tells me to relax and stretch out, so I settle back into my blanket and lean back against the pillow while he goes to freshen up.
Chapter Ten
In the meantime, the sun has lost some of its immense power and is not burning quite as bright as before. I gaze out into the landscape. Right here from the middle of the desert I can see the dunes much clearer than from the plane and from the helicopter, and they cast long shadows into the sand.
Shamar is back, and I lean against him, nestling up to his chest with my back. Together we watch the sun go down. It is quite a spectacle, illuminating the dunes in an incandescent red, making them appear as if they are lit from within. The sun sets quickly on the horizon, seemingly getting bigger and bigger as it approaches the sand, before disappearing into the sand before my eyes. I have never seen a sunset like it.
There is one more afterglow. Then it is completely dark, seemingly from one minute to the next. And because there are no other light sources around us, the stars replace the sun as a natural spectacle. They look like little diamonds, sparkling as if they were mounted on the inside ceiling of an immense tent. I try to recognize various stars, but I don’t even find the one I always find, the big dipper, probably because I am so far away from Germany.
Despite Shamar’s constant warmth I am getting cold, so we walk back to the tent, and Shamar asks me if I would like to eat. When I say yes, he starts opening trunks and rummaging around in them, removing plates and glasses and cutlery. There are also a few cool boxes that contain a nice plain dinner consisting of pita bread and salad and a bottle of wine, all of which he sets up and assembles on the low couch table.
During our dinner we are sitting under the light that two little lamps give off, sipping wine gazing at each other, wordlessly. The situation is so romantic I feel like I am about to melt. When we are done eating we stretch out on the pillows. We’ve not talked a lot, and suddenly are lips meet as if following a silent command. I kiss him. I have become more courageous and take the initiative. Willingly he opens his lips to let my tongue enter.
I play with his tongue the way he played with mine. I bite around on his bottom lip and place little kisses on his cheek. Then I gently nibble his ear lobes. He takes a deep breath and grabs me. Before I know it, I am stretched out on my back.
He kneels down and pulls my shirt over my head. Then he takes off his shirt and embraces me immediately. Now he’s the one to separate my lips and enter my mouth with his tongue. I moan while his tongue plays with mine, caressing it while his hands are seemingly everywhere. He caresses my breasts, my stomach, my waist and my arms. His mouth follows suit and covers the same sequence. It feels so good. He supports himself on my lower arms and gazes into my eyes. I can see the intense ardor in them, unbridled passion and a trace of vulnerability.
I close my eyes and kiss him again. My hands glide over his silky smooth muscles. Shamar feels as magnificent as he looks. I am completely lost. His closeness and his fragrance make me feel wild with desire, and I want more of him. More and more.
Shamar seems to understand the thought that I have not uttered. He gets up and pulls me up with him. Then he picks me up and carries me over to the bed, where he gently lays me down. I can see the bulge of his penis. I look at h
im. My interest is rising, and my fear is dwindling.
“You are in charge, darling. Nothing will happen except if you want it to,” he whispers hoarsely.
I am lying in front of him, semi-nude, full of anticipation and very aroused. Not a trace of fear or nervousness.
“I trust you,” I whisper back, and my voice is just as hoarse as his is. I stretch my arm out towards him. But he won’t let me pull him toward me just yet. He is kneeling on the bed, kissing my stomach. Then my belly-button, and then deeper, and deeper. I feel like I am about to explode, I am so aroused and I writhe and squirm, back and forth, instinctively looking for a resolve.
His fingers enter the elastic of my pants and slowly move them downward. I help him, willingly. Then I am suddenly naked. Shamar gets up and takes his pants off, too. They fall to the ground, and immediately the mattress sinks under his weight. I see his penis. It is big and heavy and extending in front of my flat stomach. The shaft is smooth and covered with blood vessels ending in pubic hair that has been trimmed and offers wonderful access to his most sensitive parts. The thin hairline that I already discovered when I watched him in the pool ends in his pubic hair. I watch his stomach muscles as he moves towards me. I want to touch him. I want to touch him everywhere. Everywhere at once.
Shamar comes towards me. He kisses me with tender little kisses, right up to my mouth. I groan, and I cannot lie still. Then our mouths meet in another long and passionate kiss, while he strokes my breasts, gently pinching my nipples, which he then rolls around between his fingers. I am hot and my muscles contract. He moves downward. Then he looks up tenderly, seeking a sign of my approval and lowers his head down in my middle.
My thighs spread apart as if following an invisible command, giving him access, willingly. I am happy that I shaved my hair down there. I will continue to do that, because that enhances what Shamar is doing with my clitoris, which I will probably become addicted to. I feel his tongue that is circling my beautiful little pearl of lust, licking it, while his breath envelopes my highly sensitive flesh. His warm hands stroke my stomach, my behind and my breasts. At the same time, his tongue enters me. He groans right next my vagina.