The Labyrinth of Passion (romantic experiences)

by Charles Westmont

  The two soldiers were rubbing their eyes when the blonde beauty gave them a military salute on her way out of the camp. “I wonder why they are blushing?” she thought. A few steps away she saw with relief, a policeman resting in his car. She enquired if he had heard from an American journalist asking of her whereabouts. Fortunately, after arriving late at the bus stop, Alan had informed the local police of Justine’s disappearance. The policeman walked her to the station and in no time Alan appeared to collect her.

  Darius

  Occasionally after school, Justine would stop at the little sidewalk café across from l’Alliance Francaise. The shop owner, a burly North African had approached her one afternoon, “Please honor me as a guest for a thé menthe.” She found Akim quite sympathetic, and they soon became good friends. Afterward, she could stop at her leisure and Akim never accepted her money.

  The café, although quite ancient, was recently redecorated in the old Turkish style. Heavy draperies reached to the ground to separate the round copper tables, surrounded with plush cushions. The place was quite popular and attracted mostly students from nearby Cairo University. Arabic music filtered between the guests. It took many visits for Justine to take notice that with the exception of an elderly woman tending to the tables, she was the only female in the café. The thought was quite pleasing, to see herself the object of conspicuous observations, filling the daydreams of the pipe à l’eau smokers. She would let her mind float with the clouds of tobacco, accented by exotic fruit-flavors tickling all her senses to attention.

  “I hope that I am not disturbing you,” voiced the young man standing at her side. She turned toward the young Egyptian, surprised at his small stature. She smiled. The man stood in silence, frozen with embarrassment. He mumbled something in Swedish and turned to walk away. She rose quickly and took his hand. She led him back to the cushion facing her. He was a medical student, who like herself, had adopted the café as an afterschool hang-out. He could be found during the odd afternoon at the corner table in the back of the café, surrounded by colleagues from the faculty. She had noticed an occasional stare and she felt attracted by his exotic Egyptian features. Feeling his presence so close to her, while neither had uttered a word at first, she could not resist being drawn into the depths of his dark eyes.

  Darius was the grandson of King Farouk and of his mistress, the British writer Barbara Skelton. He later told Justine about his grandfather’s ascent to power. The King was reported to have said: “The whole world is in revolt. Soon there will be only five Kings left, the King of England, the King of Spades, the King of Clubs, the King of Hearts, and the King of Diamonds.” Farouk met Skelton in Italy. She gave him an illegitimate son that they named Samir Ghattas. Samir, Darius’s father, was taken away from Egypt. He was educated in France and graduated from Science Po at the age of 24. The families, following tradition, offered him to marry the young Fatima, also of royal blood from Turkish descendance. The couple had one child, Darius.

  After polite consideration, Darius turned down his father’s offer to join the political arena. Darius chose medical school, hoping to offer relief to the growing population that seemed to be drowning deeper in poverty. His encounter with Justine came when he was completing his last year at the Cairo University medical school. He had accepted an internship at the newly built out-patient clinic, adjoining the site of the future military hospital.

  Tonight, he had succeeded in eliminating his shyness. Justine had accepted his invitation to join him for a thé menthe. He was pulling out Justine’s chair at the restaurant when a roly-poly young man came forward, “Sorry to disturb,” he said. Darius began fighting a renewed bout with embarrassment. “This is my dear friend Fatfat, Miss…?” he could not recall her name. “Justine,” she whispered in his ear. “Pleased to meet you Fatfat, she said, have a pleasant dinner.” Darius hesitated a moment. Looking at Justine, he was fascinated by her self-assured demeanor and boasting, infectious smile. He presented the menu.

  It was only a few weeks later that Dari was making daily visits to Justine’s apartment. She had taken little time to complete the conquest of his mind and body. Darius had kept their relationship secret. Only Fatfat and a few close friends knew of his escapades at her apartment. The relationship was beginning a second year of his assiduities. He was quite taken of having befriended another attractive European companion. He was already courting a Swedish colleague at the faculty at the time that he met Justine. He secretly kept the two mistresses for a while, and finally opted for Justine. “Not so secret, thought Justine.” It had taken her little time to understand the source of the strange blend of perfume and chatte secretion, emanating from his large penis upon his arrival at the apartment. After a while she began to miss this flavorful combination of smell and taste. It was then that she realized that he had left his not so secret second mistress.

  It was another story for the lovers to adjust their sexual preferences. Justine had found the initial exchanges quite painful at penetration. The size of Darius’s sexual apparatus, while drawing in her the highest notes of anticipation, was at penetration bringing more pain than pleasure. He was so well endowed that his instrument competed, without any shame, with the diameter of his wrists.

  She took immense pleasure fondling, licking and sucking this accomplice of delectation that remained permanently erect in her presence. However, the pain that invaded her body from penetration, was intolerable and could hardly be dissimulated. It took little time to arrive at a compromise, whereby, she would milk him as frequently as he desired, with no daily quotas. In turn, she would take full satisfaction of his fingers and of the rubbing over his rock hard penis with her chatte in full flight. His appetite was close to insatiable, and after a few hours of recuperation, he was already insisting on second, third, and fourth helpings. The situation did not displease her for the least.

  “Justine! I am quite taken by you. I intend to make our relationship more permanent. Our cultural differences are bound to bring a reaction from my parents. I think that it is most important that we break the ice and give the dear souls an opportunity to adjust. I am very fond of both mother and father. He is, for his part, a seasoned international personality, endowed with an open mind. Mother, however, is more conservative in her values. She may never recover from my brother’s escapade in America.”

  “I feel uneasy meeting your parents this afternoon.” Justine had for weeks resisted his invitation to join him at Doctor Ghattas’ residence. Justine was focusing on the thé menthe, but she could not entirely escape the boring glance of his mother’s beady eyes that seemed fixed on her forehead. Doctor Ghattas, on the other hand, was quite taken by her presence and clearly overcome by her glowing beauty. He enquired about anything and everything, repressing his excitement with great difficulty. Arabic tradition was probably the only restraining agent that prevented Darius’ mother from flaring up in anger. “I think your father took a liking to me,” Justine said as she was bent over him on the driver’s seat, mumbling these words at brief intervals when pulling her mouth from chewing the idol of her fascination. “You know, Justine, Mothers will be Mothers.” He attempted to preempt her next reaction, but the words converted into a loud moan and his insides exploded in her mouth.

  Jealousy

  It was early evening and the chic Abou Tarek restaurant was already very animated. The audience was eagerly awaiting the last performance of Zarda, the international belly-dancing star. As it turned out, Zarda was the younger sister of a brilliant young Alexandrian architect that Justine would be meeting in later years. Roger, the young architect, would become a key business associate of her eternal lover.

  Darius had decided to celebrate the fourth month of their engagement. They had an argument leaving the apartment. “Your dress is too short and shows too much breast,” he had complained. After their engagement, Darius had become increasingly jealous. She could see in his eyes that he was annoyed by the constant glances coming from all directions. Little did he
know that tonight, she had decided to discard her string to enhance the excitement of the outing.

  Darius left for the bathroom. She became aware of the attention of the gentleman sitting at the next table. He was quite handsome in his white tunic and wooden headband. He was glowing of importance and wealth, and Justine’s stomach felt a tickling from the glare of the dark eyes focused on her legs. She abruptly turned toward the stranger, pretending to tend to an imaginary maintenance need and pulled her short skirt upward. Without raising her eyes and in the most natural of gestures, she revealed him her moist pulsating nakedness and rubbed it gently with her finger before bringing it to her mouth. Justine could feel the gentleman’s surprise at the unexpected gift. She lifted her eyes and stared, daring his complicity. She returned to a more demure posture, catching her breath to hide her excitement when Darius appeared from the restroom. “He must have noticed the stranger’s attentions, she figured, but not the cause.” Darius moved his chair to screen the stranger’s view. That night, when they made love, Darius did not comment on the dinner, but Justine, while fantasizing of the stranger attention, could still feel his jealousy.

  Nearing the end of the relationship

  With the passing days, Justine found herself becoming less and less committed to her relationship. Darius’ jealousy had translated into excessive attention assessing her every move. He made a scene each time that she met friends in his absence. Upon her return, he would insist on a full account. She was becoming restless by the day. She began anticipating his visits with growing uneasiness. Quite often on his arrival at her apartment, she would quickly tend to his needs and send him on his way, pretending a malaise. Every occasion and excuse was good for an escape. Despite her fondness of Darius, her heart was beginning to call for the excitement of new experiences. She was beginning to feel different inside, and her environment began to feel strange to her.

  She began to lie about her whereabouts. She did not surprise herself when on the occasion of a dinner with Darius’s friends at his apartment, she could not resist giving explicit encouragements to Fatfat when he hugged her. She tightened her grip around his waist and held firm, while her lips brushed the fat in the vicinity of his ear. She sat beside Fatfat at the dinner table. She kept her eyes on Darius across the table and with the cover of the thick tablecloth, her hand reached for Fatfat’s thigh. Her hand stood still for a moment on the bare, mellow skin, half way from the coarse fabric of his military shorts. She brought her hand back to the table observing Fatfat’s expression. After a brief pause and a nervous cough, he resumed the animated political discussion with Darius and the guests. This tacit acknowledgement was quickly followed by a hand grabbing firmly at Fatfat’s crotch and pulling down his zipper. Justine began fingering the little penis standing in full erection under the canvas of the shorts. She was surprised at first, disbelieving that the organ would be so minute when appended to such a fat body. Fatfat choked briefly, interrupting his discourse. She began fondling the helpless discovery between her fingers. It took only a few more minutes that Fatfat stood up and holding his napkin in front of his belly, he walked briskly to the bathroom.

  Justine grabbed a bit of salad with her fingers. She swallowed the lettuce, but proceeded to lick each finger with individual assiduity. She complimented Darius on the quality of the dressing, although she knew that he had only a small responsibility on the quality of the seasoning. Fatfat came out of the bathroom and bid everyone a good evening. He avoided her glance and barely brushing her hand, he proceeded to the door. In the course of the few months that preceded the ending of her engagement to Darius, while she did not make any special effort to avoid Fatfat, they never again came close together.

  The next morning she was taking the sun on the balcony, rubbing her body with cream. She was thinking of Maman, who, when she was visiting home, still insisted on massaging her body with cream. Maman was never one to hold her in her arms with great affection. Maman and Mamie were always discreet in public when approaching the children, satisfied to give a polite bise. Maman, in revenge, enjoyed manipulating the children in the privacy of her bedroom. She never had enough of massaging their bodies, washing their hair, cleaning their fingers and toenails. It had become a regular affair at home, even after they became adults. Today Justine was craving for this expression of Maman’s affection.

  Justine remembered that Maman would lie in bed for hours without falling asleep, until the early hours of the morning. The deep wound in her heart, left by the sudden departure of her dear Marcel, never healed. The pain was acerbated by the empty relationship with her husband. These moments in the solitude of the night brought her close to Marcel. Deep in her heart, his soothing presence in her dreams was a buoy in the turbulence of her life. Yet, she would gladly welcome Justine to interfere with her meditation. Justine’s strong will and her strength of character were a great support for Maman to overcome her sadness. While she massaged Justine to sleep at her side, she shared her true feelings and her lasting memory of her eternal love for Marcel. Justine, joining her in meditation, was the only soul mate that she would confide in.

  Justine was observing the birdcage on the balcony directly across the narrow alley. The door was wide open and the cage was empty. She continued massaging her belly when she had the distinct sensation that she was being observed. She turned her head and saw the beautiful, flamboyant-red bird standing on the arm of the chair on her right, inches away from her face and seemingly interested in her endeavor. The bird whistled to her and flew across to the open cage.

  She sat for a moment thinking of home. She had left the cage, but she would soon return. She could not withhold a tear rolling down her cheek. She loved Darius. She came to his life freely and gave him the greatest of gifts, herself. But he was holding her captive, trading her happiness for a cage, with the door closed on her freedom.

  Calligraphy

  Justine began spending more time away in the evenings with her friends. She met a young artist who invited her to view his calligraphy. Justine, in her studies of the classical Egyptian language, had always been attracted by the quality of the calligraphy adorning the Koran. She sat on the floor of the small apartment, admiring his work covering the walls. They were sharing a joint of hashish. Justine was trying her drawing skills at designing Arabic inscriptions on papyrus. The hashish vapors were caressing her nostrils and she felt transported in a world of peace, laced with a slight sense of euphoria. She was floating in this world of bliss, unconscious of the changes occurring around her.

  She was lying on large cushions. She did not feel that her djabella was sliding from her body. Her eyes were open, but all she could make out were headless men in a misty cloud. She could not quite ascertain their origin, but she felt the pleasure of the hands that were caressing her breasts, rolling her nipples, travelling her belly, her arms and up inside her thighs. Hands were touching her everywhere. She felt the rubbing of her love petal and the warm wave of the love juices running out of her belly. She felt the wetness of tongues licking her nipples, toes and fingers. Other tongues were penetrating with impunity deep inside her wet vulva and licking inside her thighs. She was enjoying a mixture of pain and bliss as fingers and other objects found ways of slipping inside her anus. She felt her body being turned repeatedly from side to side and lifted on a pile of cushions, exposing her defenselessly. She felt simultaneous penetration in her mouth, in her chatte and in her anus, but everything around her seemed so easy and pleasurable. She could hardly distinguish the muffled laughter’s of the headless men taking turns with their manhood to release their warm balm all over her face and nakedness.

  When she woke up, sunrays were beaming warmth over her body from the open window. She began to make sense of the walls covered with calligraphy, but the room was empty except for a few cushions. She rose to her feet. She felt dizzy and noticed that she was naked. Over the smell of hashish, she could perceive the distinct smell of sperm. Her tongue traveled around her lips and tasted the salt
y musk on her face. Looking more closely, she could see that her body was covered with drying sperm.

  She found water in a small jar and refreshed her face. She slipped on her djabella that she found crumpled near the door. The djabella was in quite a state, having served as the community towel. She left, trying to remember what happened. “It must have been quite a party. Did I miss anything?” she wondered.

  An impending encounter with destiny

  “I am telling you Darius, I will only be gone for a few weeks. It is my sister Mimi’s first trip to Egypt. I am so sorry that you cannot join us because of your final exams,” Justine lied. This was the small lie. The big one was that Mimi was not coming to Egypt. Justine, overwhelmed within the confines of Darius’s jealousy, had to escape. Darius hugged her when she boarded the river boat. It was with great relief that she heard the boat whistling the departure. She waved and then smiled to herself.

  The trip was uneventful and she used her free time to recuperate from the perils of calligraphy. She went to sleep immediately after the boat’s departure. She dreamt that she was on the bridge looking at the water drifting from the riverboat. She was watching the little sail of the river dwellers that were moving over the water like flies. The cloud opened in front of her and a prince dressed in a mantel of silver light spoke, “You will be mine soon my love, my mistress. You are very close to me. I am watching you from the Manah House and the Pyramid of Giza. I can breathe your soul and I can feel your heartbeat. The fire of my love is emblazing your heart.” Justine woke up in a sweat and ran to the bridge. She heard on the ship radio: “A major fire is raging at the Holiday Inn across from the Manah House in Geza. On this late February evening of 1986, the flames are lighting the skies of the famous Cairo suburb.”