One Night in Dubai

"What you are looking for?"

I tried to recall all the stories I'd ignored, searching my memory for some reason why well-dressed outsiders might come to this part of the city.

"Food," Jaleh provided, innocently. We hadn't eaten in hours. "Is there someplace we can eat nearby?"

It was a terrible answer, but it sparked a recollection about migrants supplementing their income by cooking street food in the open air markets of the camps. One camp in particular sprang to mind.

"Sonapur street food, actually," I interjected. "We've heard Sonapur is the best place for street food in Dubai." Well, someplace had to be.

The young man grimaced and shook his head. "No, better food is in the city... Sonapur is... you no want Sonapur."

"We're adventurous eaters," I countered, despite Jaleh's frown. "Can you tell us how to get to there?"

It was over a two kilometer walk from the metro station, but we crossed over the E311 and then followed a sandy footpath that had been worn through the desert scrub along the side of the highway. A tall hedge of evergreens saved motorists from having to look at the squat tenements they were passing.

The sound of music and crowds finally drew us off the path and into the camp. We found the market nestled in an empty lot between a pair of two-story concrete apartments. The unpainted concrete was made colorful by the laundry hanging to dry from windows and railing and clothes line.

Vendors had set out whatever wares they could procure on battered folding tables or overturned boxes, or even just on tarps spread out on the broken asphalt and gravel. There was a barber with a folding chair cutting hair in front of a mirror hung from a broken floor lamp. A group of men played a homemade billiards-like game on a plywood table set across two sawhorses.

Even at this late hour, the market was bustling. When the sun was up, this was a scorched patch of bare earth and all of these people were working. Only at night was it possible for them to have any sort of social life and this market was where they lived it.

Indians and Pakistanis seemed the great majority, but there were Arabs and Asians and Africans in the crowd too. There were very few women to be seen though, and Jaleh stood out uncomfortably.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, staying very close to my side.

"We need different clothes if we're going to blend in. I also want to try to buy a cell phone if we can."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Maybe. The start of one anyway," I offered. "It occurred to me, everywhere I've been in the world—Europe, Asia, South America—nobody ever pays attention to the people who dress in high-viz yellow and reflective stripes."

Jaleh's initial frown of confusion turned into dawning realization. "Ok," she agreed looking around at the market crowd, many of whom still wore their work clothes. "Do you have female laborers in Dubai?"

"I've never seen one... It's not a perfect plan."

"I'm hungry," she reminded me. So was I.

We bought kebabs grilled over a burner hooked up to a pirated gas line, and I haggled over an old iPhone with a man in a dingy chef's smock. We both found battered work boots that weren't excessively big, and I traded my suit jacket for two sets of blue coveralls that were still new in the package. Yellow vests over blue coveralls seemed to be the prevailing attire in the camp.

Jaleh drew plenty of appreciative looks from everyone we passed, some fleeting, some longing, some downright salacious. She clung close to me, making it obvious that we were together, but we were more conspicuous than either of us would have liked.

We could only hope that watching the local news in a foreign language wasn't a high priority for migrant laborers once they got off work.

At every vendor we stopped at, I asked about hotels, or someplace we could rent a room for the night. The question made everyone oddly nervous and no one claimed to know of any such place.

"Oh, yes," laughed an old man who sold us two second-hand hard hats. His Arabic was still better than my Hindi. "Why you need whore house? You have a girl," he leered appreciatively at Jaleh.

So that was the taboo. No hotels, just brothels.

Like most of the middle east, the UAE has strict laws against fornication. It makes sneaking around with co-workers especially exciting. Most hotels that cater to westerners turn a blind eye and don't ask about their guest's marital status. Locals are expected to know better though, and the police don't like having the law openly flaunted. There are limits to their tolerance, even for wealthy tourists.

It made arranging Mlle. Sophie's group entertainment extremely delicate.

Here on the lowest rung of society, where the men outnumber women ten to one, maybe more, brothels are sure to be a business in demand. And the locals aren't likely to put them at risk by sharing them with outsiders.

"Yeah, but we don't have a room. Can you tell us how to get to the, um... hotel?"

"Oh, I don't know. My memory so bad."

"Would a hundred dirham help your memory?"

"Maybe. Five hundred helps more."

Out of the change from the Metro, I had less than four hundred Dirham left. I doubted the old man could make change for a thousand.

"All I have is three fifty."

"I remember some. Not all," he scowled.

"Please," Jaleh asked him. "We need some place to stay tonight."

"...If pretty lady needs help, ok," he agreed reluctantly. "Three fifty and the lady's smile."

I don't know how she managed a smile after all she'd been through tonight. I'm not sure I could have. But Jaleh's face lit up and she thanked the old man for his kindness as I handed over the last of my small notes.

The directions the old guy gave were simple but took us through a warren of back streets and alleys. At one point a small gang of men started following us, hooting and whistling. I couldn't understand what they were saying—which is rare for me and disconcerting—but I'm sure it was all directed at Jaleh.

She pulled Esan's pistol out of her bag and turned on them. They scattered.

The brothel looked to be a dilapidated three story dormitory. There were several men, mostly Arabs, loitering around the lobby on mismatched furniture under harsh fluorescent lights. One stood up and blocked our path.

"You lost?" he asked in English.

"No," I replied in Arabic. "We need a room for the night. Not a girl, just a room."

The bouncer looked over at a one legged man sitting in the most comfortable looking chair of the bunch. A pair of crutches were propped next to him. He shook his head 'no'.

"We have cash," I spoke around the bouncer to the boss. "We're not looking for trouble, we just need a place to sleep."

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't have trouble already," the owner replied. "I don't need it following you here."

"We'll be gone by morning," I assured him. "A thousand dirham for just a few hours," I offered, holding up a note for him to see. I was counting on Jaleh's willingness to use a handgun to thwart any robbery attempt.

The one legged man looked at the bill I held up. If cash didn't motivate him, I didn't know what would. I didn't have a plan B.

He waved us over and the bouncer stepped aside. I handed him the money, but he didn't take it right away, he just looked down at it in my hand.

"That's a nice watch," he complimented me. "Breitling?"

"Yes, sir."

Forcing myself not to groan, I opened the clasp, slid the bracelet off my wrist, and offered it to him for his inspection.

"Is it real?"

"As far as I know. It was a gift from my father."

"It's a nice watch," he repeated, hefting the weight of it in his hand. There was a cheap Casio digital on his own left wrist.

"Would you like to trade?"

"You'll be gone in the morning?" he confirmed.

"Yes, but if anyone asks, we were never here."

"I don't even see you now. Does anyone see anyone here?" he asked the room. Heads shook and he received a chorus of No's.

"Room twenty-three, top floor," he told me, taking a key out of a cash box and handing it to me along with his own watch.

I doubted that we could trust these men, but I was certain they wanted the police here even less than we did. And having little other choice, I took the key and climbed the stairs. Soft cries and squeaking springs could be heard through the thin walls.

Finally behind a locked door, Jaleh and I both breathed a sigh of relief. That was a common occurrence today. It's too bad the relief never lasted very long.

The room was lit by a single bare bulb on the ceiling. The furniture consisted of a stained twin-sized mattress on a steel bed frame, a chest of drawers, and a wobbly chair from an old dinette set. There was a small sink mounted on the wall beneath a cracked mirror.

I dropped my shopping on the chest of drawers and checked their contents while Jaleh sat down on the chair.

"I need a drink," she sighed.

"I didn't think muslims were supposed to drink," I smiled as I pulled a relatively clean sheet with the lowest thread count I'd ever felt out of the top drawer. Jaleh took it from me and spread it over the bed.

"Yeah, well they're not supposed to shag boys at uni either, but here we are."

"Was that a joke? I don't think I've ever heard you joke." The middle drawer was empty, but when I opened the bottom drawer, a bottle rolled forward from the back. French Pastis. How the hell did that get here? There was still a swallow or two left in the bottom.

"You need to keep making wishes," I told Jaleh, handing her the bottle and crossing to the sink hoping to find a glass.

"Oh, brilliant!"

Before I could stop her, she'd opened the bottle and taken a swig. A moment later she was coughing and sputtering.

"Ugh! That's horrid!" she exclaimed when she could breathe again, and sitting on the mattress. "What is it?"

"You're supposed to dilute it with water," I explained. "It turns a milky... You know what, doesn't matter. I'm not sure we can trust the water anyway... How are you doing?" I asked, sitting down on the mattress next to her.

"I don't know," she sighed. "I'm just... I'm numb. I should be angry or terrified or gutted or something, but... I just don't feel anything.

"My father... How am I supposed to feel about him? I loved my father, but he killed Kiana. He threw her life away like spoiled meat, and he would have done the same to me... How could I have ever loved a man like that? How am I supposed to feel?

"And Esan... I may have killed him. I may have killed a man tonight... Should I feel guilty about that?... I may have avenged my sister's death. Should I be happy? Relieved? I just... I just don't know how to feel and I can't seem to feel anything.

"Not even shame. I haven't been out in public without a hijab since I was ten years old. Even while I was at Cambridge. But I just... I don't seem to care...

"And you, Rowan... I'm so sorry. You saved my life, and I ruined yours. I should feel so guilty about that. You should hate me."

"By my count you've saved my life twice tonight. Maybe three times if you count those thugs in the alley. You're kind of a bad ass, you know that?"

"No, I just reacted. I panicked... Without you I never would have made it out of the hotel. And I never would have known what to do next. Can you imagine me alone in Kathmandu? Once my father canceled my credit cards, how would I have gotten away? How would I survive?... I can't imagine myself doing this without you, Rowan."

"Well, Nick was a pretty big piece of it too." I took a swallow from the bottle of Pastis. It really was strong.

"He's in a spot of bother now too, isn't he? And I can't even seem to cry about it. What kind of monster am I? How many lives have I ruined tonight just to save my own?" She leaned against me and rested her head on my shoulder.

"Hey, don't talk like that," I consoled her, putting my arm around her. "This is not your fault. You're a survivor. That's something to be proud of... Look, it's been a long day. Maybe you should try to get a few hours of sleep."

"I don't think I can sleep." She took the bottle back from me and finished the liquor, grimacing. "I'm just... I'm wired... I'm exhausted, but I'm really on edge at the same time." She looked up at me, and her eyes looked weary and deep and alert. "You... you go ahead and sleep though."

"No, I... I don't think I can sleep either," I declined, looking back.

"All the stress... and adrenaline," she murmured, putting a hand on my chest.

"Yeah, just... over and over..." I tilted my head towards her.

"All night," she whispered closing her eyes.

And then one of us kissed the other and it doesn't matter who because she was suddenly on her knees straddling my lap tugging Nick's T-shirt out of my waistband, and I was fumbling with the buttons of my own shirt stretched tight across her chest.

Jaleh broke our kiss long enough to pull the T-shirt over my head and I gave up on the buttons and sent them skittering across the floor as I ripped open the shirt. And then her lips were back on mine and my tongue was in her mouth and my fingers twined in her hair and her nails raked down my back.

She tasted like anis and cigarettes but she smelled like jasmine and honey and I'd never wanted a woman in my life the way I wanted her.

My lips moved to her shoulder and I nibbled up the nape of her neck as she cradled my head and moaned my name.

"I need this, Rowan... I need this so badly.."

I fumbled with her bra clasp, and she reached behind and opened it shrugging out of the straps, then took my face in her hands and kissed me again. I pushed a hand down the back of her palazzos, grabbing her ass and pulling her tighter against me, pressing her bare tits to my chest.

We fell back in each other's arms against the mattress and her fingers traced down my chest and caressed my bulging erection through the fabric of my pants. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so hard.

I pulled her on top of me and Jaleh straddled my hips, devouring my lips with her own, grinding her sex against my cock straining for freedom. She held her weight on her elbows and her breasts hung lightly against my chest, stiff nipples tripping against my own.

Plunging my hands under lace and I pushed her underwear and pants together down the curve of her ass. She kicked off her shoes and raised her hips and I pushed her clothes as far down her thighs as I could.

She kissed and licked and nibbled her way down my chest and stomach until she was opening my belt buckle. I raised my ass off the mattress and she yanked my pants down far enough to free my yearning cock. I sat up despite the objection from my abdomen, and she stepped back, letting her loose fitting pants pool on the floor around her ankles.

By the light of one bare bulb I drank in the shape her, the texture and color of her skin, the desire in her golden eyes. With a twist and kick, Jaleh was naked, and she crawled back onto the bed, prowling behind me as I hastened to untie my shoes.

"Make me feel something, Rowan," she begged, kissing my shoulders, pressing her tits into my back, caressing my chest. "Hurt me, love me, humiliate me... I don't care... I just... I need to feel something..."

Her hand drifted down to my groin and gently stroked my pulsing shaft.

"You will," I promised, kicking off my pants at last and turning to face her.

On our knees on the bed, our lips found each other again. Our hands desperately, hastily explored and groped each other's arms, shoulders, chests, thighs, necks, butts. Mine eventually found the neatly groomed mound between her legs, and she spread her knees, welcoming the attention.

Jaleh moaned into my kiss as I spread open her moist folds, exposing her eager clit to my thumb. She worked her hips back and forth, grinding my rigid cock against her stomach as I eased my two middle fingers up and into her body.

"AHh!" she gasped as I found that pucker of flesh just inside. "Yes... There! Right there..."

Letting her hands fall away from me, Jaleh leaned backwards, her sable hair cascading off her shoulders, her breasts pulling tight on her chest. She closed her eyes, holding her arching body up on her hands, and rocking her hips against my fingers.

I kneaded a firm tit with one palm and burnished her clit and g-spot with the other hand.

She whimpered softly in an effort to contain the sensation.

A bead of pre-cum dripped from my impatient cock and rolled down her thigh.

As her nectar flowed over my fingers and down her thighs, she opened her eyes, glassy with welling tears, and her lip was trembling.

"Oh-oh-oh... Don't stop!.. Mmm-mmm... Please, Rowan... Please..." Jaleh panted, and bit down on her lip as tears rolled down her cheek.

She began to buck harder against my hand forcing my fingers deeper. I squeezed down harder on her breast with my palm, pinching a swollen nipple between two knuckles.

With a stifled scream she suddenly lunged forward, wrapped her arms around my neck, and buried her face in my shoulder. Her body trembled against me, and hot tears rolled down my chest as Jaleh came, crying in my arms.

As her orgasm subsided, she looked up at me, her makeup streaked, and she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

"Take me, Rowan," she whispered. "Fill me... Hurt me..."

I laid her gently down on the bed, her head propped against the steel footbar because there was no pillow. Jaleh spread her legs apart and I pressed the throbbing head of my cock into the open folds of her slick body.

She lay beneath me, the beautiful shape of her body so willing, her face full of desire.

"Yesss... " she hissed, savoring the sensation of my manhood pressing into her as I leaned forward to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around me, and grabbed my ass, pressing me deeper. I groaned into her kiss, half from pleasure and half from the pain in my abdomen, as I withdrew and pressed forward again, deeper.

Jaleh took me all and wrapped her legs behind mine, pulling me in with every long, slow thrust, rocking her hips against my groin.

I held her face in my hands as I kissed her, supporting my weight on my elbows and knees, the swell of her breasts pillowing my chest.

"Ooooo, harder," she purred. "Hurt meee."

"Are you sure?" I whispered, looking down at her. She nodded with a shy smile and pulled my face back to hers.

I rammed myself into her with all the force I could muster, and she replied with a satisfied moan of pleasure, so I did it again and again and again.

"Unf, harder, Rowan!" she begged. "Mmmf fuck me harder... Hurt me... Hurt me..."

Bracing my hands against the steel crossbar behind her head, I slammed my weight down on her over and over, driving my cock like a pile into her yielding, silky core. Jaleh wrapped her fingers around the crossbar and pushed back, gasping in ecstacy with every impact, bouncing back for another thrust.

My battered abdomen ached from the effort, and I shifted my position forward, using my back and shoulders, pressing my shaft against her exposed clit.

"A-reh! A-reh! A-reh! Rowan, a-reh!" she panted. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Rowan, yes!" and something more in Farsi that I couldn't quite catch.

Jaleh arched her back up and pushed her hips forward, pressing her ravenous clit even tighter against the stimulation of my straining erection.

Tears were streaming down her temples from her clenched eyes.

"Oh... Ah... Ah... A-reh! Make me feel it... Make me cum again..."

With every blow, her breasts shuddered and the bed springs stained. Bounce by bounce the bed frame inched across the floor with the rhythmic scraping of steel on concrete.

"Mmph! Mmph! Ah... Hmmph... Row-ow-ow-annnn...Nngh-aaa..." she sobbed openly, all the emotion of the long night released in a surge of orgasmic dopamine.