The Babes of Beirut

Rikki tosses and turns against the bed pillows. Abu Bukhari's image refuses to go away. She grits her teeth, trapped between that delicate edge of caution and wanting to know more about, and perhaps experience, this strange and ruggedly attractive Abu Bukhari.

Alchena looks at Bukhari. For now, she owns him, rather than visa versa. With his cock deep in her throat, he's hypnotized, completely absorbed in the wild fire that burns inside himself. With one last gulping suck, she slides him out of her mouth. He watches as she tilts her head back and swallows his pre-cum as if savoring a delightful taste. "Take me Abu," she whispers hoarsely. "Fuck me like a woman deserves."

With one swift motion, Bukhari rolls her on her belly. She rises to her knees, presenting her ass and pussy to him. With single powerful push, he shoves his cock into Alchena's hungry hole. A gush of fire rises up from his groin as he feels Alchena molten pussy walls clamp and ripple around his powerful intrusion.

"Sooooon," Bukhari groans as his stomach slaps her ass. Soon that American blonde will learn to FEAR as this Palestinian fears.

"Ah-oh-ah-oh," Alchena groans as he slowly begins to thrust.

* * *

The next afternoon, Rikki steers her newly rented silver BMW along the quiet oak lined street. The upscale neighborhood seems quiet, lying peacefully under the bright blue haze of the late afternoon sun. "Northern Beirut is a far-cry from the trigger-happy powder-keg that Alchena calls home," she says into the recorder. "It appears that Arab women must be content being but an object, a conquest, a second-class human. Strike that. Call it property. No. Shit."

She snaps the recorder off. Rikki looks edgy and frustrated. She lifts the recorder back to her lips. "Who wouldn't be afraid? For some women in Beirut, fear is like the plague. It grips you --."

She sighs and clicks off the recorder. Reason and common sense say that until Jack-boy does his research thing, approaching Abu Bukhari would be suicide. She laughs aloud. What all-American girl doesn't fantasize about a Hezbollah gunman like Abu Bukhari salivating over her ass? She shudders. There's that dumb tingle again. Two wiggles against the car seat cures the itch. She starts the recorder again. "Although I've changed hotels and rental cars twice, I keep a constant lookout in the rear-view-mirror for anyone following. I've never felt so vulnerable, so alone." She spots the house, but drives right past. Doing a U-turn, she returns to the house and parks across the street. She puts the recorder back to her lips. "Beached in her front yard is a sleek Sea Ray speedboat. A yellow Porsche sits silently in the driveway. It's new."

She looks down at the dossier Jack-boy had given her. "The last entry on her dossier is puzzling. It says: Suspected ---"

Rikki toys with the jewel that dangles from her navel. "Suspected? "Suspected what?"

She stares at the house across the street and speaks into the recorder. "Well, I've always wanted to meet a burglar. The kink in this scenario is that Lebanon is largely Islamic. Get caught being a naughty girl around here and the Beirut cops cut off your hands. Note to self. Research Lebanon laws."

After a quick makeup check in the mirror and a zipper check on the bomber jacket she wears, she clicks a new memory stick into the recorder and hides it in her purse.

The doorbell rings with a muffled "ding-dong." There's a menacing growl. Claws scratch at wood. "What now?" she mumbles, "a rabid dog?"

"Kul khara!" a feminine voice commands in Arabic.

The door swings open. At first glance, Tahina EsSahab looks more like a suburban housewife than a burglar. She's petite, no more than five feet tall and probably weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet. Short-cropped strawberry-blond hair frames her softly featured face. The large pit-bull at her side eyes Rikki and growls, tugging on the leash looped around Tahina's delicate hand.

Tahina's breath catches in her throat. The innate beauty of the woman standing in the doorway weakens her knees. Her gaze drifts from Rikki's salon-styled platinum-blonde hair to her large golden-brown eyes, to her pinkish cloud-soft lips, to the short and wrinkled bomber jacket. It takes little imagination to picture the twin treasures that lay just beneath. The sharp curve of her waist is naked. Tightly muscled abs say she works out. The slope of her tummy disappears under ragged Brazilian-cut jeans that look to be two sizes too small. Tahina's gaze holds for a moment on a threadbare rip, so dangerously near -- oh-so tantalizingly near --. Shapely legs, a dancer's legs, curve down to pointy-toed boots. Every molecule radiates feminine perfection seen only in Tahina's dreams.

Quite ill at ease with the silence and meticulous scrutiny, Rikki clears her throat. "Masa'a al-kair, Tahina EsSahab?"

Tahina smiles sweetly. "Aiwa."

Rikki offers her hand. "Ana ismee Rikki Lovette."

"Sorirart biro'aitak."

"Nice to meet you too. Sorry. I know my Arabic is so atrocious. Can we speak English?"

"If you like."

Suddenly the dog lurches forward, growling and jerking the leash.

"Bad-dog," Tahina says, shaking her finger at the savage looking creature. "Forgive Scarlet, Miss Lovette. She doesn't know you. Won't you come in?"

The dog growls. Rikki hesitates. "She won't attack, will she?"

Tahina giggles. "Not unless I tell her to. Come in, please. You needn't be afraid."

Rikki eyes Scarlet's salivating muzzle. "She's lookin' at my leg as if it's a hunk of beefsteak."

"Don't worry, but you might want to leave your boots on, just in case."

Tahina's eyes follow Rikki as she steps into the foyer. Her gaze drops from Rikki's bare tailbone and alights on the wide swath of muscled skin peaking out above the low-rise jeans' waistband. Below and just left of the center-seam is another thread-covered hole? Rikki turns to face her.

"May I take your jacket?" Tahina asks.

"Sure." Rikki flushes, as if caught off-guard. "Ah, no. I'll just keep it on."

"Okay. Come, we can talk in the living room. This way."

Rikki follows Tahina to the living room. Tahina's microscopic inspection has her decidedly intrigued. Probably means nothing, she thinks. After all, women do admire other women. Tahina's section of the article's opening sentences click off in Rikki's mind, like a computer collecting data.

The Burglar of Beirut has a walk that's delicate, deliberate and slightly catlike. Tahina Katyusha EsSahab exudes mysteriousness that electrifies curiosity. On the surface, she's very feminine. The clothes she wears are remarkable for this part of the world. Her white sleeveless blouse is made of Indian silk. It does little to conceal that there's nothing under it. A diamond studded waist chain rides tightly across her hips. Below that, a peach-color mini-skirt dips fashionably low across her cute, well-rounded rear. The living room décor is plush, suggesting that that the burglar business must be quite profitable.

"What a lovely room," Rikki says.

Tahina beams. "I designed it myself."

Tahina's focus falls to the fluid movement of Rikki's backside and each splendid muscle move as it wrinkles and captures the soft stonewashed denim. Those white threads that crisscross that other tantalizing rip do nothing to camouflage the tasty and very intimate skin beneath.

All of a sudden, Scarlet snarls.

Tahina tightens her hold on the jerking leash. "Scarlet, put those teeth away. You're such a nuisance." Squatting down, she unclasps the dog's leather chain.

"What are you doing?" Rikki asks, suddenly nervous.

"Letting her loose."

Rikki takes quick refuge behind the coffee table. "When she attacks, do I throw her a Twinkie?"

Tahina laughs. "She only eats fresh meat."

She claps her hands three times. The dog obediently darts across the living room and out a doggie-door. Rikki lets out a soft sigh of relief.

Tahina turns. Her gaze drops then rises. "Cute outfit. Leather and low-cut jeans are so modern and sexy."

"The jacket's World War II original." Rikki turns three-sixty. "These are called Brazilian Bunz-Huggers. Like 'em?"

"Gosh, they're so, well, short. How do you sit?"

Rikki laughs. "Very carefully."

Tahina's giggle is girlish. "I bet those holes raise a few eyes around this town."

Rikki winks at her. "Probably a few other things too."

"Tea?"

"Love some."

Rikki watches as Tahina turns, reaches up and takes a demitasse from a shelf. Okay, lilac panties again, as if I really care. Tea flows into the tiny pink cup.

"Fakhri al-Amari said you're nice. Sugar?"

"Yes please."

"She said I can trust you."

Rikki takes a sip of tea. Lit by the yellow-gold light spilling from the window, Tahina looks sweet and delicate as a new rose. "Tahina, as I said on the phone, I'm with World News Daily."

"What in the world does a famous magazine want with me?" Tahina asks.

"Well, I'm researching an investigative report about Middle Eastern women who've turned to crime to support their families. Fakhri thought you might be of some help."

Something flashes across her demure features. "I know nothing of such things."

"We both know that's not true. Many whisper that you are what's called, a player."

Tahina's face is like a blank sheet.

"Tahina, I know I'm an outsider and asking a lot, but let me assure you that an American journalist never, ever reveal sources. Anything we discuss will be held in the strictest confidence. We won't use your name, unless you want us to."

She says nothing.

"Won't you please help me? It's a man's world out there and I'm just a working girl trying to climb the journalistic ladder. My whole career rests on this article."

"Sorry, but I have nothing to tell you."

On the street outside, the battered beige Toyota stops behind Rikki's BMW. The driver doesn't get out. He scans the houses and nervously fidgets.

Rikki crosses Tahina's living room and looks out a large window. In the backyard, Scarlet is deeply involved in tearing a powder blue sweater to shreds. Watching this, she contemplates her next move. Make the best of a bad bargain and split? Abu Bukhari seems far more intriguing than a burglar who looks like Shirley Temple. Find someone that's less, well, vanilla? That's possible. However, her success story might be very attention grabbing. Wait a sec. Why did she look at me like a loving puppy instead of saying, fuck-off and get out? Hold the phone. Intuition says that that flash of lilac panties when she squatted down and when she reached for that demitasse weren't innocent accidents. Shifting her gaze to the window glass, Rikki focuses on Tahina EsSahab's reflection. Her eyes look naughty. Is she plotting? Or is it both?

If I could only touch her, Tahina is thinking. Look at her. She's so exquisite, so shameless, and so assertive. Can she know? Is that why she teases me by wearing those sexy peek-a-boo pants that so generously flaunt what she craves to be kissed and caressed?

This can't be just harmless curiosity or girlish jealousy, is Rikki's counter-thought. Uh-uh. She's -- scrutinizing -- considering -- almost as if trying to determine if what's beneath my clothes is warm and juicy. Suddenly, it hits. Suspected -- blank. Rikki's spine stiffens. Journalistic interest shoots well past redline.

Tahina watches Rikki's rear muscles tighten. Bare skin strains at the threads that crisscross that thought provoking hole. The movements send Tahina's mind spinning.

Rikki shifts her weight from one leg to the other. Data in: Cat burglar Tahina EsSahab is one of -- those. Women in most Muslim countries must treat their sex lives like atomic secrets. Tahina must live in constant gut-wrenching FEAR of discovery. For under Shari'a Law, the punishment for homosexuality, particularly any kind of lesbian relationship, is severe, chillingly severe.

Behind Tahina's eyes, the goal freezes. Somehow, some way, I will experience Rikki Lovette and she will experience me -- tonight.

Behind Rikki's left breast, a glimmer of guilt twitters as she plots a new strategy. Her stomach tightens. Data in: Risk -- high, physical pleasure -- marginal. Data out: If I'm gonna win the Pulitzer Prize before I'm thirty, part of the game is chewing some shit.

Rikki turns around. Tahina's stare is unnerving. It's as if she's suddenly got x-ray vision and discovered Rikki's two very private quirks. "Tahina, I won't insult you by offering you money for your story. But isn't there something I can do to make becoming part of my report worth your while?"

Tahina wets her lips. "There might be."

"I'll do anything."

Tahina elevates an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Yes, anything."

Rikki's feet whisper on the carpet, slowly closing the gap between them. How bad can it be? she rationalizes to herself. Tahina is pretty and smells sweet. Besides, I've done it before, well, once before. It was somewhat pleasurable and it didn't turn me into a duckbilled platypus.

With Rikki just a foot away, Tahina tries to look at ease. Thoughts swirl. Just looking at her makes my nipples tight. And those eyes -- those incredible golden-brown eyes. They glitter as if they're overflowing with what MUST be love and lust.

Rikki lifts her hand and trails her fingertips down Tahina's bare arm. It brings on a wash of light-headedness. A soft uninhibited sound catches in Tahina's throat. She stiffens.

"I want you to see something," Rikki whispers. Holding her gaze thoughtful and steady, Rikki draws the jacket's zipper slowly downward, stopping slightly more than half way.

Tahina gasps.

Blood rushes to Rikki's breasts. Her stomach feels queasy.

Tahina arches an eyebrow then whistles softly. "You didn't wear a blouse?"

"Is that too quirky for you?"

She shakes her head. "No, but I'd like to know why though."

Rikki glances at the carpet. "It's kind 'a, well embarrassing."

"I'd really like to know."

"Promise not to laugh?"

"I promise."

"You see, my nipples are hypersensitive. Mash them in a bra and it drives me batty. So, I never wear one."

Tahina gulps.

"This jacket's my favorite. I just adore it when my boobs rub against the soft fuzzy lining. It's, kind-a, well, like an all-day turn-on." Rikki giggles softly. "Am I blushing?"

Tahina's lips tremble.

"It's like a little private affliction, I guess."

"Mayhap, are you the same as I?" Her voice was scarcely audible.

"I'd be interested in exploring that possibility. Would you?"

"Oh yes, more than anything."

"Tahina, if we do this, you must promise to be completely open with me, self-incrimination excepted of course."

Tahina starts to shake her head, although her eyes are giving full permission to proceed. The soft fragrance of Chanel Number 19 strays into Rikki's nose as their faces draw near. Her fingernail touches Rikki's dangling navel jewels.

Rikki pulls her hand away. "Mustn't touch until you promise."

"Yes, I promise." Tahina anxiously takes Rikki's hand and pulls. "Come. I have a very special place."

Feet whisper on plush pile carpet as they walk down a narrow hallway. She seems confident, Tahina thinks nervously. But if she is like me, why is her hand sweating?

Meanwhile, in Rikki's head, nervousness and a strange erotic want are like sparks from shorted-out electrical wires. Chew shit, Pulitzer Prize, chew shit, Pulitzer Prize, she mumbles repeatedly.

At the end of the hallway, Tahina opens a double door. Her bedroom is stunning. Reddish Mosul silk, embroidered intricately in gold-toned abstract shapes adorn the walls. The bed is huge, covered with burgundy sheets and dozens of big silk pillows. She presses a wall button. Electric motors hum. Curtains draw closed, shutting out the world, wrapping the room in semi-darkness. Romantic music plays. Scents of jasmine and rose water perfumes permeate the air.

"Like it?" she asks.

"I'm speechless."

Tahina wastes no time. Unclasping the waist-chain, she slips out of her blouse, revealing quite unremarkable breasts. With a slithering sound, the mini skirt falls to her feet, leaving her naked, except for those lilac panties.

"Am I too skinny for you?" Tahina whispers.

"You're perfect and very beautiful," Rikki says in a breathy whisper.

"Rikki, you are the sexiest woman I've ever seen. You should be a model, not a reporter."

"I was a model once for Playboy."

"Really? Without your clothes?"

"Full-frontal and wearing nothing but a suntan." She shrugs. "I've got nothing to hide or be ashamed of."

"Aren't you embarrassed when disgusting men on the street gawk at you?"

"Men always gawk at me. The Playboy editor said I have raw sex appeal. My analyst said I have a look that guys always notice and girls want to copy."

"Men are so vulgar, aren't they? Love the tummy jewel. Eight carat diamond, VVS grade, right?"

Rikki nods. "It was a gift from my very ex-boyfriend."

"Did you love him?"

"That louse? Ha. The bastard burned me -- bad. I don't need that heartache ever again. Besides, I have too many career goals to bother with the foolery of love." She laughs. "Hold on. I'm supposed to be asking the questions."

"Sorry. I was just curious."

Rikki smiles. "I have a diamond nipple piercing too. Wanna see it?"

"Let me show you something first." She opens a drawer and takes out a red velvet covered jewelry box. She opens it. A sparkling diamond choker glitters in the soft moody light.

Rikki gasps. "It's so -- awesome. If you don't mind my asking, what's something like this worth?"

"About a half-million dollars U.S."

Rikki whistles softly as her fingertips brush the gleaming diamonds. "Is it stolen?"

A devious smile forms on Tahina's pink lips. "Well, let's say it's a wee-bit warm."

"Like something else maybe?"

She smiles. "I'd like you to wear it."

Rikki gasps. "Oh could I?"

"I want you to. Turn around."

Rikki is scarcely able to breathe as Tahina clips the necklace in place.

"There, now you're perfect. May I make you more comfortable?"

"Yes," Rikki whispers, still enthralled by the glittering diamonds that hang around her neck.

Tahina kneels and pushes Rikki's pant leg up. Her hands gently slip up and down the knee-high boot-leather. It pulls Rikki's attention from the diamonds to Tahina's hands and their subtle communication that's indescribable with words. There's a soft zipping sound as the back zippers give way to Tahina's gentle downward pull. She tugs the left boot off, sniffs its leathery fragrance, kisses the toe and sets it aside. The other slides off with equal ease. Tahina's eyebrows rise.

"My gosh, a foot tattoo?"

Rikki smiles down at her. "I've got one more too."

She stands. "Where?"

"When you find out, it'll be our secret."

Rikki's fingers unhook the zipper and part the leather jacket.

"Mag-ni-fique," Tahina whispers on an expelled breath. "You're so, so big and yet still so firm. Did you have them enlarged?"

Rikki shakes her head and shrugs. "Great genes from my mom's side of the family."

Tahina slides the jacket from Rikki's shoulders and lays it neatly on a chair. For a few seconds, Tahina gazes at the tiny twin diamonds that gleam from each side of Rikki's left nipple. Tahina kneels. Putting her cheek against Rikki's thigh, she fingers the loose threads around the hole that's just an inch from dead center.

Rikki tenses.

"Don't be afraid," Tahina says in a velvety purr. "I'm very gentle."

"Ummmm," Rikki moans softly as she feels Tahina's finger wiggle through the hole and slip under the denim. Gawd, that feels weird, she thinks silently. It's like I got a worm in my pants -- chew shit-chew shit.

Tahina's other hand rises up Rikki's thigh, skimming her butt's sharp rise. Dainty fingers slowly graze the denim waistband, feeling, softly pressing the naked skin of Rikki's protruding muscles.