THE HAPPY WANDERER – V
PYRAMIDS, TEMPLES, and TOMBS
© 2008
BY: GERRY YOUNG
[To Drew in Yorkshire, England, my LOVE and THANKS for all the hours he has spent working and re-working the grammar, punctuation, and points-of-view, particularly making me aware that once or twice or thrice again, I’ve gotten into some character’s head, other than Gerry’s, when I oughtn’t to have done so; perhaps … SOMEDAY … I’ll learn. Perhaps!]
CHAPTER FIVE
As Y’An headed one way, Gerry and Ted headed another.
“Boy!” Ted exclaimed. “We sure lucked out meetin’ Y’An, offering to let us ride over to Egyptair with him on the employees' shuttle so we wouldn’t have to wait for a bus out in the cold.”
“Argh,” Gerry grumbled without looking at him.
They went through the self-serve line. Ted got a slice of apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. They both got cups of steaming hot coffee. Gerry paid for the ridiculously expensive items.
Sitting next to each other at a small table near a plate glass window overlooking the runways, Gerry lit a Chesterfield, and Ted, a Lucky Strike. Several wordless moments passed, and then Ted turned to look at his lover and asked, “Something bothering you, Ger? You haven’t said a word since we got off the plane.”
“What’s to say?” he replied before taking a drag and then he blew several smoke rings while still looking over the airfield.
“What is it?” Ted inquired again. “Come on … talk to me, Ger. Why the sudden change in attitude? What’s wrong?”
Gerry took a sip of his coffee, then turned to look straight into Ted’s eyes. “There’s something strange about Y’An, and I don’t like what I’m feeling.”
“Like … what're you feeling?” he asked, but before Gerry could say anything, Ted went on to add, “ I’M not feeling anything bad. I like him. And we talked about how he turns us both on.” He tugged at his growing crotch and let his left hand remain there. “He’s been very nice to both of us – offering to let us join him on the ride over to the other terminal and all. He even arranged for us to be alone for a while. And he kisses like a dream…”
“That’s just it,” Gerry cut him off. “I liked the hugs and kisses, too, and, truth be known, I’d like more, but I …” he paused to consider how to say what he really meant.
“Then, what’s wrong, Babe?” Ted asked again. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves. We’ll probably never see him again once we get to Cairo.”
“I know, Ted, I know …” For the first time since leaving the plane, Gerry reached over and put his hand on Ted’s thigh; “… but … there’s something weird about him. Like he’s … oh, I don’t know," he nervously hemmed and hawed. "All of a sudden I started feeling…" he tapped the fingers of his right head against his forehead; "… that … uhhh … that he wants you all for himself …”
“He wants me? You startin' to 'see' things like he does, too? No way, Babe!” He moved his hand from his crotch and stretched his arm around Gerry’s shoulders. “No way in hell that’s gonna happen!”
“And twice now, he’s referred to you as ‘brother’ and to me as ‘friend’; and with him sayin' that, I get the feelin' that he feels closer to you, and if we're gonna 'play' with him or anybody else, I … uhhh … I think that emotions shouldn't get involved – it should just be pure sex … uhhh … if that's what's gonna happen. I don't want him, or anybody else, stealin' you away from me. Ya know what I mean?" Ted timidly nodded his head in understanding, and then Gerry went on; "Somethin' fishy’s going on, and that ‘seeing’ stuff that happened to him back in the lounge … THAT's really scary. He's a weirdo, Ted.”
“Awww, baby, don't feel that way; nobody's gonna take me away from you. It's all gonna work out fine; I know it will. He's just finished his last shift with the airlines, and now he's going home, I guess, for the first time in a long time. I know we don't know him very well, and he DOES come from a different culture, ya know? I don't think he's a weirdo … he's just different. That's all."
"I don't know; maybe that's it…" Gerry was saying, but Ted interrupted him.
"I'm sure it is. Just give him a chance, and I know you'll start to like him … but not TOO much, mind you," Ted cautioned him. "You're mine!" he said with conviction, pointing at his lover.
"And you're MINE," Gerry echoed.
"And you are both mine …" an unexpected but familiar voice proclaimed, as Y'An put an arm around each one's shoulders, "… mine to do with as I please …" he arched his left eyebrow and quickly glanced at the two, grinning. A shiver went up and down Gerry's spine as the exotic being, god, whatever, continued, "… since I am unemployed as of a few moments ago, but we are going to have to play it … shall we say … 'STRAIGHT', forgive the expression … until we arrive at our hotels in Cairo." They both nodded in agreement. By the way, my friends … where will you be staying, if I may ask?"
"The Ramses Cairo Hilton," they answered together, before Ted explained further, "right on the banks of the Nile."
"I know its location well," Y'An responded with a broad, growing smile on his face and a tighter tug to their shoulders. "It is my favorite hotel in all of Al Qahira … forgive me … Cairo. Oh, certainly, there are bigger and grander hotels, but I prefer the ambience and friendliness of the Ramses, and it IS right in the heart of the city, and as you said, my … friend …" he squeezed their shoulders simultaneously, "… on the banks of Mother Nile." I know that you are going to love it. I shall see to that, myself, I assure you both."
A quizzical frown suddenly appeared on the faces of the two lovers as they turned their heads and gazed into the hypnotic, pale, pale blue pools of Y'An's eyes. Slowly, whatever it was that he was emanating or projecting … began to take effect, and their frowns relaxed into easy smiles.
Gerry turned on the swivel barstool, his right knee brushing against the mound in Y'An's trousers. Rather than withdrawing from the contact, he pressed into the growing hardness and asked, "So, you're familiar with the Ramses?"
Y'An nodded with a very slow blink of those tantalizing, magnetic eyes.
"Will you also be staying…" Gerry began, just before Y'An uncharacteristically cut him off.
"Forgive me. We have three hours before flight-time. Shall we take the shuttle over to Egyptair, have an exotic middle-eastern dinner – 'on me, of course', as you Americans say – and continue to get to know each other a little better? I think there will even be entertainment by Zahir, the il-LUST-rious, world-renowned … MALE … Belly Dancer, who just happens to be from Alexandria!"
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Thirteen hours later, Egyptair's Flight 984 arrived at Cairo International Airport, thirteen miles northeast of the city, in the modern suburb of Heliopolis, which is not to be confused with the ancient city of the same name, the seat of Pharaonic Sun-Worship, some eight miles and many centuries away. It was four-thirty in the afternoon, local Cairene time.
By six o'clock, more than fifty people had gone through customs and, with their luggage, had gathered outside the terminal to await the shuttle bus that would take them to the Ramses Hotel. Dozens of vanilla-scented, spectacular yellow-blossomed Acacia trees and magnificent, red-blossomed Flamboyant Flame trees seemed to grow from the tiny islands of the ancient Egyptian sand and silt scattered throughout the asphalt-paved parking areas.
A black Mercedes approached and stopped in front of where Ted and Gerry and Y'An were standing. The driver exited and rushed around to open the rear passenger door. He was wearing a sheer, white robe-like garment and leather sandals – typical attire of many of the local and other Arabic men, though most of the others' garments were of a heavier fabric.
Standing beside the opened door, he stood perfectly still, his legs apart. Not looking at anyone, his head was bowed as if he were studying something on the ground. His uncovered dangling maleness was silhouetted on the front of his garment by the brightness of the afternoon sun shining through the sheer fabric and between his legs, from the rear.
"This is where I leave you, my friends," Y'An announced to many in the crowd who had been on his final tour of duty.
"So long," "Farewell," "Auf Wiedersehen!" "Au revoir et merçi," "Tack så mycket," "Ma'a el salaama," came a chorus of well-wishers, but to the American ears, it sounded a bit like a song from the movie, 'Sound Of Music'.
He opened his arms to Gerry, then to Ted, as he cheek-kissed each in turn, a common practice among middle-eastern men.
"Will we be seeing you again, Y'An?" Gerry asked, warming to the man who had stirred his concerns during the better part of the past twenty hours.
"Most assuredly, my … brothers," he replied, smiling, "but first, I have some business I must attend. I am sure that our paths will cross again before you leave for Luxor."
Before he could salaam in parting, Ted asked, "What's that garment called, Y'An, that the driver's wearing? I REALLY do like it!" he added with an excited shit-eating grin as he gazed at the silhouette once more.
"It's called a 'dishdasha', but most tourists call them galabeyah's. Either one is correct, and I believe that at some point on your river cruise, you will have, what the tour companies call, a 'Galabeyah Party'. They are quite a lot of fun," he smiled. "Forgive me, but I must go."
Immediately, Y'An began his departing salaam; first he touched his heart, then, bowing his head, he touched his forehead, and, then he 'waved the blessing' to Gerry, in the manner as one would 'throw a kiss' to someone else. He then repeated the salaam to Ted.
Gerry noticed that the gesture to Ted … was much slower, and that, on sending the 'blessing', Y'an's and Ted's eyes locked on each other with such tenderness, such relaxed attentiveness, that he could not fathom what passed between them.
Ted broke from the moment and then, politely, yet awkwardly, salaamed back to Y'An. Then, Gerry, too, out of courtesy, if nothing else, feigned a half-assed salaam back to the man he could not begin to understand.
"Until we meet again, my friends," Y'An bade them farewell as he quickly turned, and entered the dark-windowed car. The driver carefully closed the door, hurried to the other side, entered and speedily drove away into the busy, honking, bumper-to-bumper afternoon traffic.
Gerry sighed deeply, once he was no longer under the … the … the … whatever kind of weird influence Y'An had on them. "What just happened between you two, Ted?"
"I don't know, Ger. I honestly don't know …" he replied, slowly shaking his head as his eyes glassed over, looking after the departing car. He looked as if he had just lost his best friend in the whole wide world. "… but did you notice the he called us BOTH, 'brothers'?"
"Yeah. Right," Gerry curtly responded, belying Y'An's sincerity.
The air itself, hot even on the fourteenth of December, carried a multitude of foreign perfumes, fragrances, and odors – many pleasant, some quite acrid – unfamiliar to American noses. And the air also carried sounds – sounds of construction and of traffic – squealing brakes and tires, the occasional 'thud' of a 'fender-bender', and the persistent honking, honking, honking.
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"Mesa' al-kheir. Ismi Tariq Pasha. Good afternoon. My name is Tariq Pasha," began the dark-haired, attractive Egyptian standing in the aisle at the front of the bus, facing the new arrivals, microphone in hand. "I will be your tour guide for the next two-and-a-half weeks. Anything you need to help make your stay in Misr or Kemet – ancient names for Egypt … or today more appropriately called, The Arab Republic of Egypt …" he began his welcoming schpiel; a very slight British accent could be detected.
His relaxed stance, the smile on his face, his cheery attitude, and particularly the wink directed at Gerry and then another to Ted, more than likely gave the two Americans a lower-lip-biting hope that their 'honeymoon' fantasies just might have expanded.
'Y'An winked. And now, Tariq Pasha winked. Do all Egyptians and foreigners wink?' Gerry wondered to himself with a scowl, but changed quickly, grinning at Ted; both licked their lips, and jerked their arching eyebrows. They would also come to realize that the warm, dry air of the Egyptian verdant desert oasis, did, most assuredly, dry any moisture on the skin – just as in the Southern California desert! And that the wind, sand, and sun would definitely necessitate the purchase of lotions … for whatever various reasons.
During the ride to the hotel, the passengers marveled at the numerous walled, palatial estates nestled amid the squalor of ramshackle slums. Truly, Cairo was a city of two classes of citizens – the very rich few and the very poor multitudes. The average tourists of the world – there were many thousands in the city of ten million – brought the middle-classes into their midst.
As the shuttle bus joined the honking traffic and sped its way through the suburban areas, Tariq Pasha pointed outside the window; many eyes quickly turned. Beyond the rooftops, beyond the city skyscrapers, through the ever-present date palm groves could be seen the only remaining Wonder of the ancient world – the three Great Pyramids of Giza on the opposite shore of the River Nile – the life-blood of the desert city.
After quickly checking into the Ramses, Ted and Gerry were led to their thirteenth-floor room by a hunky bell-hop attired in a yellow-gold … 'Galabeyah', was it called? … bearing the rusty-red logo of the hotel over his right breast pocket. Other than the leather sandals, the only other visible thing he was wearing was a black or dark brown 'dog collar', about an inch-and-a-half tall, studded with creamy-colored stone pyramids.
Gerry and Ted smiled deliciously at each other, licking their own lips on the sly, when it appeared that no one else was watching.
Entering the room, they found that it was like what they might have imagined any room in an American 5-Star hotel would to be. And it overlooked the sprawling, smoky, smoggy metropolis as far as the eye could see to the east.
"Ohhh, I wish we had a view of the Nile," Ted remarked, as he hurriedly stepped out onto the tiny patio-balcony jutting beyond the single sliding glass door.
The young man walked past Gerry, bent forward slightly, and placed the two pieces of luggage on the bench at the foot of the bed. The curves and twin mounds of a handsome, beguiling butt clearly showed through the thin Egyptian-cotton.
The view was not missed by Gerry as he rubbed the slight protrusion in his trousers.
"Those rooms are more expensive, Sir," informed the bell-hop as he then urged Gerry outside to join Ted.
'His English is quite good,' mused Gerry.
"But if you will look to your left," the bell-hop continued as he pointed to the north, his left arm resting lightly across Ted's shoulders, and his right hand on Gerry's right shoulder, pulling the three of them closer together, "you will see Mother Nile … there! … just beyond the TV Building."
Sure enough, a large sign, written in both scripts, Arabic and English, could be seen near the top of the indicated building, read … T.V. BUILDING.
"And there …" Muti continued, as he pointed north and to the left of the threesome, "… through and a little beyond the riverfront buildings, you can see a sliver of the River Nile.
"I see," Ted and Gerry said, once again in unison – it was getting to be a habit with them, a habit which SHOULD have indicated the continued growing strength of the bond between them – and then they both gave forth mighty yawns.
"But…" Gerry said, applying and leaving his left palm on the right covered cheek of the Egyptian derrière, "it's been over thirty hours since I've had any sleep."
Muti smiled, but didn't turn his head toward Gerry.
"Yeah…" Ted agreed, as his right palm came to rest on the left cheek of the same foreign tush.
The bell-hop's smile grew, as he looked across the skyline of his adopted city.
Their fingertips barely touched. They both quickly jerked their hands away, looking behind the Egyptian and at each other. Ted tried to smile but it became another yawn. Gerry reacted the same way. They turned and walked back into the room. Both collapsed on the bed, their legs hanging off the side.
The young man likewise returned, standing just inside the glass door. "Sirs…" he said, bowing his head to them, then standing erect as he closed and secured the slider, "may I attend you before your rest?" He then closed the heavy ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall drapery, further shielding the room from the late afternoon light and the noise of city below. It was still another hour or so before darkness would cover the desert city.
"Attend?" they asked, their voices showing both bewilderment and shock.
"Yes, Sirs," he nodded in obeisance to them once more; "I have been instructed to see to any and all of your needs as you so desire – helping you with your dressing and undressing, bathing you, massaging you, and … " he began pulling up his galabeyah, "… and seeing to it that you are satisfied and relaxed in all ways." By then, the garment had been raised above his naked groin, exposing his dark brown seven-inches of flaccid, though thick, circumcised maleness.
"Whoa!" "Wait!" exclaimed the wide-eyed duo, rapidly rising to sitting positions on the edge of the bed.
Gerry raised his palms forward in the well-recognized gesture signifying, 'Stop!' Then he asked, "Is that the usual custom and service offered by hotels here in Egypt? I didn't realize…" He looked at Ted and grinned.
"Oh, no, Sir," he quickly responded, interrupting. "I am not employed by the hotel …"
Gerry and Ted were shocked at the discovery; they both opened their mouths to say something, but the young man continued as the hem of the garment fell once again to its length. His head was once again bowed, his eyes had focused on the floor at the front of his sandaled feet. "My Master has ordered me to serve you both … while you are here, Sirs."
"Your Master?" inquired Ted. "Who is your Master?" probed Gerry. "What is YOUR name?" Ted queried. "Why?" Gerry wondered aloud. "Look at us, please," they requested together.
"Yes, Sirs," he began to answer their questions, " – my wonderful, kind Master – but please, Sirs, my Master has forbidden me to speak his name … for the moment, at least. My name is now Muti – it means 'obedient' in Arabic, for, as Master has told me …" he began to blush a deep desert-rose color, "… I have never disobeyed him in anything. But, 'Why', you ask, Sirs … humbly, I must say that I do not know. It is not for me to question, but to obey."
The duo looked at each other, stunned at Muti's words; then Gerry looked at him and said, "Very well. Right now, all we wanna do is sleep – no bath, no massage, no nothing … period … exclamation point! Do you understand?"
"Yes, kind Sir," Muti answered, though his tone showed that he was disheartened. Then a thought seemed to strike him as he offered … "If it please you, Sirs, permit me, at least, to turn back the bed linens, and I shall then do nothing more than sit on the floor, against the wall over there…" he gestured to the spot he had in mind, "and I shall…"
"NO!" Gerry barked, just before a gigantic yawn distorted his face. "No! I don't want you to stay here while we sleep. You…"
"Awww," Ted interrupted. "Ger, can't you see he's just following orders? Let him stay if he wants. He seems gentle and sincere enough."
"NO! I don't want him here," Gerry said, looking at Ted. "We don't know anything about him." Then he turned his attention back to Muti as he continued talking to Ted. "He won't say who his … so-called … Master is, and God only knows what he might do after we dozed off…"
"Oh, no, kind Sirs … I am here to serve and pleasure you – not to harm you in any way, and if…"
Gerry jumped from the bed nearly yelling, "NO, I SAID! I WANT YOU OUT OF HERE! NOW!" He pointed toward the door of their room.
Muti rushed to Gerry and fell to his knees placing his forehead on the floor while at the same time grabbing Gerry's right foot with his trembling hands. "Please, Sir … Master is a kind and loving but … strict man. If I leave here and return to him, he will … he will punish me for failing to obey him." His voice was then choking with held-back fear. "Please do not send me…"
Gerry cut him off, "All right." He reached down and assisted Muti to stand. He glanced to Ted, who just shrugged his shoulders in non-reply, then looked again at Muti, who by then was standing in front of him. He reached out and raised Muti's bowed head so that he could look into his eyes, the window of his soul.
"You call him, 'Master'. Are you his 'slave'?"
"Yes, and no, Sir…"
"Huh?" Gerry and Ted replied simultaneously.
"This is all so new to us," Gerry further remarked.
"I understand, Sirs." Muti looked to Ted and then back to Gerry. "He is my Lord and Master – I live only to serve him in any way he wishes."
Gerry frowned and shook his head, his fatigue and inexperience not allowing him, fully, to comprehend the situation. He yawned once more.
As they say, 'Yawning is contagious.' Ted, also, yawned mightily.
An idea had come to Gerry, and he asked, "Muti, can you take a message to your … uhhh … Master … for us?"
"Yes, Sir – if that is as you would have it be; your wishes are my commands, Sirs." He glanced back and forth between the two.
"It is." With that being said, Gerry stretched and yawned again as he moved to the small desk in the corner of the room. He assumed hotel stationery would be in the drawer; it was. He took the chained ballpoint pen and began to scribble.
To whom it may concern ~ whoever you are!
It's not our wish that Muti attend to our personal needs. We don't know who he is. We don't know who you are. We're in a foreign country and we're not familiar with the local customs, much LESS the SLAVE/MASTER relationship or whatever it is that seems to exist between you two.
It's been more than 30 hours since either of us has gotten any rest and I'm about to fall asleep writing this.
Do not PUNISH Muti for DISOBEYING you. He seems like a nice enough guy and he tried his damdest to get us to let him stay and do all that other stuff, but we just can't take the risk without knowing more about you & him.
Butt thnx 4 offrng inny way~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
G.A. Young and S.T. Young
With unsure fingers, he fumbled at folding the paper; after several tries, it was finally inside the matching envelope with the hotel's return address. Turning in the chair, he gave the envelope to Muti and said, "Lick it and seal it; you know who to give it to." The order was obeyed, and then Gerry said, "Now leave us; we need sleep."
"Yes, Sir," Muti replied, bowing his head as he salaamed and headed to the door. "Rest in the arms of Allah, good Sirs." And then he was gone.
Sleepily, Gerry staggered to the door, locked it and chain-bolted it. "I'll rest in the arms of my lover," he mumbled. A few shaky steps later, he collapsed on the bed.
With some effort, Ted rolled over and took Gerry in his arms, spooning behind him. "Wanna get undressed and have a little fun before going to sleep?" he softly asked into Gerry's ear with a hot-breathed yawn.
"No fuckin' way," he barely whispered. A little turn of his head, and he kissed the empty air. "Love ya, babe." And then his body went limp as his head fell to the pillow, dead to the world.
"I love ya, too, sweetheart. Thanks for bringing me to Egypt." Ted lightly kissed the back of Gerry's neck before he, too, succumbed to exhaustion.
To be continued...
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author a note:
Posted: 07/04/08