The Labyrinth of Passion (romantic experiences)

by Charles Westmont

  “Justine you are approaching the site of your reunification with the God. You are returning to the blessed land, where 5,344 years ago, you were taken away from your lover. After a brief period of preparation to adjust to the old ways, you will be holding Etienne, the descendant of Pharaoh and Osiris.” The noble white horse, the monkey, the cat and the red bird were bowing their respects.

  “Justine!” Lilian took her from her dream. “What in the world are you doing all alone, sitting on your suitcase in this empty airport room? I have been waiting outside for more than one hour, looking everywhere for you. You caused me quite a fright.”

  Garden City

  Justine settled in an old, but quite large apartment above a shop in Garden City. Garden City, formerly an affluent suburb of Cairo was located between the Nile and downtown, south of the Tahrir Square. Justine was taken by surprise at first. The old and decrepit apartment had not been redecorated in the course of the twentieth century. The place was dusty, just like everything around, it seemed. The dead cockroaches that she found in the iron bathtub appeared to date from the age of the dinosaurs when compared with the little insects found in her Bordeaux apartment. But these first impressions were rapidly dispatched after her visit with Amina, the shop keeper and downstairs neighbor. Amina spoke very little French, but her pleasant face exuded pure kindness. She appeared at the door with a small bag of loukoum and pulled Justine by the arm to follow her downstairs.

  After many cups of sweet mint tea, Justine understood that on this trip, she had traveled a step closer to heaven. She felt so comfortable with everyone in the family and yet she could not understand a word of what was said. She listened to their chatting patiently until someone came in the room with a large tray filled with food. Justine stood to excuse herself, but she was immediately pulled down by a little boy. “My name is Mahmoud,” he said in broken English. Mahmoud made her understand in no uncertain terms, that she was staying to share their dinner. As the evening progressed, Mahmoud sat closer and closer to her. At last, she extended her arms and lifted the little boy on her lap. Mahmoud looked at her with his large black, but very soft eyes, and she saw love. Over the years Mahmoud grew up, became heavier, but he always insisted on sitting on her lap, even if it was for a brief instant for la bise.

  Every evening after school, Justine was expected to join Amina and Mahmoud family for their humble, but copious dinner. In a few months, her Arabic became quite proficient. They made fun of her at first, when she would address them in the classical Egyptian form. They spoke a different dialect, but understood her nonetheless. They became familiar with classical Egyptian, from the readings of the Koran at the great mosque every Saturday. These daily conversations were an important motivation in support of her studies. Within a year, she had learned the basic principles of Arabic grammar. With the daily conversation at dinner, she also mastered the Cairo dialect.

  Every week day, she had taken increasing pleasure from her walks to and from the classes at La Cooperation Francaise. The French institution was a notable site in Garden City. It was housed in a Haussmanian mansion. These mansions were the pride of Cairo during the 19th century, but with the exception of a few foreign owned properties, the once great residences had become crowded housing for the fast growing homeless population. The streets were lined with men standing and sitting on the sidewalks near the shop entrances. She would walk in the narrow streets, keeping a safe distance from the long rows of men dressed in multicolored djabellas. Her graceful movements would carry her through the busy streets. Her long blonde mane would sway over her shoulders, accentuating her agile body and bringing life to her white shirt and blue jeans. She was becoming accustomed to the gallery of eyes following her every move. She began to take notice of some activities taking place under certain djabellas belonging to men, who curiously would not expose their hands.

  One evening, she had to accelerate her pace when a young man pulled out his penis and began masturbating openly in front of her. In reality, despite these few inoffensive annoyances, she felt quite secure in her new environment, reinforced by the comforting presence of Amina’s family. She knew Mahmoud was attentive to her smallest needs, and always vigilant but discreet about following her whereabouts in the city.

  One morning, she found an old man standing outside her door. She had seen the old beggar quite often on the street corner, and occasionally she had given him a piastre. Despite her surprise at finding him there, she did not feel any fear. He was a bit shorter than she was and looked quite frail. He placed his foot to block her from closing the door and in no time his body began pressing on hers. At first, she did not offer any resistance when his nose and mouth began moving on her neck. Despite his scruffy looks, she did not find his musky odor unpleasant. More stunned than anything, she left him for a moment, unhindered at his exploration. She was lost between feelings of uncertainty and the desire of making him happy. But when he became more adventurous, with little effort, she pushed him out of the apartment.

  Mahmoud’s surveillance was to become quite welcome. One evening, as she entered the alleys to gain her apartment, she was surrounded by a group of men. They began to press their bodies again hers, blocking her progress. She attempted to escape when she felt hands moving on her thighs, sliding the zipper of her cutoff jeans and opening her blouse. She stood almost naked, vulnerable to their aggression. A man was pressing the bare skin of his erection on her hand. She heard a loud scream and the group moved away from her. Mahmoud came to her side as she fixed her clothing. Far from bringing fear in her heart, the aggression hardly made her feel uncomfortable. She figured that the incidents came with the territory and she learned to accept these behaviors, knowing that ultimately, she was protected and that no harm would come to her.

  Marines

  Marriott, the Polish hotelier, acquired a unique property in Cairo: the palace of Farouk, the last Egyptian king. The inner court became the “in place” for the Cairo youth, enjoying all night disco.

  “Do you see what I see?” the young American marine whispered to his partner. They shifted their heavy armchair to have a closer look and a glass of beer landed on the marble floor. Justine was swaying languorously in front of the mirror, worried about a birth mark on her cheek that in her eyes appeared to be growing monstrously. In fact, the minuscule little grain gave a touch of glamour and uniqueness to an otherwise flawless golden complexion. She turned toward the explosion, to see the shattered glass flowing in her direction on the dance floor. She could not help but notice the two red faced Marines who were scrambling nervously to pick the pieces. They were mumbling apologies in a heavy southern American drawl. She bent forward to pick up a large piece of glass. She straightened and her eyes made contact with the young marine, who was only a few inches away.

  She felt herself blush from the agreeable surprise of his handsome features, enhanced by his uniform. He stood and with great care, removed the piece of glass from her hand. One must assume that he could not remain indifferent to her smile. He dropped the pieces of glass into the bag extended by the waiter and then he was dancing beside her in front of the mirror. They were quickly joined by another marine.

  On their meager marine salary, they had saved for a month in order to afford a weekend in Cairo. They had booked the smallest room with a double bed. The bed left barely enough room to walk around to the bathroom. “This is the cheapest room that we have available,” the reception clerk had already pocketed their money.

  Justine was appreciative that the two young marines competed in good looks. Her body began warning her that she was quite hungry, and not necessary for food. In fact, since her arrival in Cairo, she could have qualified for the oath of chastity. She made her two catches compete for her attention. The vodka oranges contributed to raising her level of excitement considerably.

  She was not surprised in the least when Marine Number One pulled her inside the bedroom after she had been sucking face with Marine Number Two all the way through the elevat
or ride. The door opened and she fell squarely on the bed. It took little computation to resolve the equation of one bed for three people. She found herself under the close attention of one soldier on each side. For some time, they remained on the bed immobile, fully dressed. Then her mouth was captured alternately from left to right. The Marines were maintaining the strictest discipline, waiting their turn for a kiss without making any other moves.

  The two bodies forcibly pressing against her were enough to enhance the pleasurable turmoil inside her. In the middle of the deepest kiss, she could not resist the impulse and her hand slid over Marine Number One’s crotch. A model of politeness and restraint, he did not resist and she felt the feverish bulge extend in gratitude. She sucked her way out of his mouth and lips and turned to kiss Marine Number Two. Again, she felt her not entirely obedient hand validate that there was competition to deal with. She became even more aroused. They were strangely remaining calm and polite, awaiting her advances.

  She had not satisfied her appetite, since her arrival in Cairo and she began to fear that her body was driving her out of control. She lay still between them for a moment, then grabbing their hands, she placed them demurely on each of her hips. The move did not have the expected calming effect. She sat up in the bed and began opening their zippers, each of her hands progressing in tandem. In the same gentle fashion, she began exploring inside, until she relished the victory of letting the two penises out of their prisons.

  In the dim glare of the bathroom light, they appeared identical and equally appealing. She grabbed one in each hand and began stroking. Without much resistance, her mouth engulfed Number One and she began sucking, while her other hand kept rubbing Number Two.

  She kept going from one to the other with passionate dedication. They must have enjoyed this unexpected tour of duty. They let Justine play with them until they exploded over their uniforms. She kept sucking their penises alternately, until they resumed an ‘at ease stand’. Not quite surprisingly, they both fell asleep. Justine did not have time to erase the grin of satisfaction of having joined them. She fell asleep for the first time under the protection of the US Marine Corps.

  To the Red Sea

  A few times a month after school, Justine would stop for a drink at one of her favorite cafés, Chez Andrea. The café offered a typical Egyptian atmosphere that attracted expatriates. It felt good to have a change from her regular routine and to meet with foreigners. She’d met Alan, an American freelance journalist, a few weeks before. Alan was a true San Francisco native, naturally sitting down to pee but Justine found him so kind and generous, that she could not get enough of the comfort of his company. A homosexual friend was a new experience for her. She found him very pleasant and she enjoyed his joyous sense of humor. He made her laugh.

  Alan had invited Justine to meet him at Chez Andrea. “I am visiting the Red Sea for a live report on CNN. I am flying over to Suez tonight. I will be interviewing all day tomorrow. You can catch the Friday afternoon bus and we will make a weekend out of it. You have to experience the unique paradise of this sea water inlet of the Indian Ocean and it is only a few hours bus ride across the Sahara.”

  Justine was so happy with the invitation that she could not stay still in class. At the first ring of the bell, she was already running to the bus station. She climbed the bus and pulled out her money for the ticket. The driver, an ugly little man, was going out of his way taking his time to dig for the change in a small wallet. His eyes were boring through her white blouse and the strange glare of his eyes made her shiver. She smiled back at him nervously, collected her change and moved to the back of the bus to escape the discomfort of his proximity.

  The bus was rolling on the desert road with nothing to see but sand. The bus windows were wide open. The warm draft did little to counter the fetid odors inside. On the seat in front of her, a peasant girl was attempting to calm her twins who were competing for her attention, screaming without respite. Moving her head outside the window did little to neutralize the effect of the dirty diapers. A little further, an old gentleman was pressing a small goat against his chest. The goat was laying still, but it let out emanations, signaling the need for a good wash. ‘This is Egypt, she thought, the good and the bad.”

  She was last to step out of the bus. The little man licked his lips when he saw her approaching. She was glad to finally leave the bus. The spectacle of the blue sea waves, coming at her through the green oasis, stunned her to total fascination. She was coming out of a daze to feel two uninvited hands, exploring her rear end. She turned and hit the little man with a slap across the face. The blow did not erase the silly grin and he recovered his balance. She turned and began running away, but the old sport was fast and moved to block her escape. She turned to run behind the bus, praying for Alan’s arrival. The little man was tenacious and he kept gaining on her.

  For quite a while, he kept in pursuit around the bus. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the entrance to a military camp a few hundred meters away. Two soldiers were sitting on the ground at the camp’s entreance, smoking a cigarette without appearing to have witnessed the saga. She shifted quickly and ran for the open gate. The driver was surprised at her move and stopped. She easily slipped past the two soldiers and dashed into the camp. She stopped running and turned to see her pursuer jump in the bus and leave.

  She noted from the banner that she had entered a United Nations base. There were a half a dozen tents sprawled on the white sand of the beach, but no one in sight with the exception of the two soldiers. They were coming in her direction. She stood, awaiting their arrival. She felt her face overtaken by a pink wave of embarrassment. The blond young man said something incoherent and began to blush. She said hello and began an explanation in English. The other young man said hello, but that was the limit of his English language skills. Justine realized this would be the end of the conversation. One of the young men walked to a tent and, bringing a finger to his mouth, invited her to come in. She concluded that they understood her predicament and that she was in need of hospitality. Inside the small tent, laid two canvas cots and two duffle bags, one beside each cot. She was dying to go to the beach to swim and wash after the long trip through the desert, but she understood that she was expected to stay out of sight.

  She heard the commotions when the troops returned. A soldier motioned her to sit on the cot. She had been curled in the tent for what seemed like hours. She had fallen asleep. Soon after, she had felt a hand shaking her gently and she smelled the pleasant odor of warm food in the tray held by the other soldier. She had not eaten since leaving Cairo and she was quite hungry. She took the tray from the soldiers and they left promptly to join their colleagues.

  She proceeded to the surgical removal of every little bit of food, leaving aside and intact, a full breast of chicken. She had noticed a small covered plate on the tray. She removed the cover. “Interesting dessert!” she murmured, taking the long fat joint to her nose, “and good quality.” She opened the canvas door slightly, to watch a dozen soldiers entering a large tent. Coming back to sit on her cot, she was toying with the joint. “I wonder if I should? Striking the match, she took a first puff. “It will do me good after this eventful day.”

  Justine was putting out the spent joint in the sand, when she noticed that the tent was spinning slowly around her. She let herself fall on her back on the cot. Her eyes were fixed on a pendulum hanging from a pole on top of her head. The pendulum was a small angel flying in circle above her. A feeling of euphoria was invading her mind and was sending ripples of ecstasy all over her body. She was exchanging joyous smiles with the angel. Smiling at her, the angel’s wing was brushing on her hair and over her face softly. The angel slipped beside her on the cot and hugged her from the back. She could feel the pleasant caresses of the skin climbing along her back, her arms, her shoulders and her neck. A stiff manhood began pressing between her thighs and slid gently inside her. Her mouth, facing the wall of the tent, was pressed toward a small hole.


  The soldiers were standing nude outside the tent and were caressing their penises to erection in expectation of the treat. A first penis appeared through the hole and began brushing Justine’s lips in search of an opening. Her lips parted while the shaft entered and began a back and forth rubbing inside her mouth. She took hold of the throbbing organ between her lips and her tongue began licking and sucking as if it were a baby’s dummy. It took little time until she was swallowing the warm, musky cream, and the penis withdrew. She felt exalted in a joyful delirium, when a second penis began parting her lips. She sucked with increased fervor, awaiting the reward that she swallowed when the penis pulled out. She had reached such a state of euphoria that she could not wait for the next invasion.

  A slight beam of sunlight, protruding through a hole in the wall of the tent, awoke her. Opening her eyes, she wondered where she could be. She sat up on the cot. On a duffle bag, she found a plate of dried fruits and a bottle of water. She peaked outside to find the camp empty with the exception of the two guards at the entreance, who were looking in the other direction. She realized that her cutoffs were damp between her thighs. “Strange! I must have had a wet dream.”

  She stood and inspected the small hole in the canvas beside her pillow. Fuzzy memories were competing in her mind. She had blurry visions of penises in full erection, taking turns to come at her mouth through the hole. A mild mannered angel was turning her body to her side and was holding her mouth softly to gobble the offerings. “Was it a dream?” she wondered, when she noticed telltale cakes of drippings that were drying on the canvas and on her pillow. “Maybe I should keep a safe distance from men in uniform for a while,” she mused, smiling.

  She pocketed the fruits and slipped unobserved to the beach. Seeing no one in sight, she removed her clothes. She washed them thoroughly and laid them to dry on the sand. She let herself into the warm salt water of the Red Sea. She had spent a least an hour swimming when she made her way back to dress.