Chapter 3

Abdul Ben B., a Moroccan of Marrakesh, is of the opinion that cats exist everywhere. "It is the nature of life," he said in an interview in his home city. "The subordinate position of the female is well-established biologically," he continued, "and it is only in the minds of the suffrage people such as you have in the United States that a woman is worth more than consideration as a sexual plaything."

The Moroccan gentleman speaks from much experience. He would be considered in some circles in the U.S. as an impresario. That is, he engages entertainers and sponsors their exhibitions. But to those who know him more closely and know the kind of entertainers and entertainment he sponsors, it is hardly-likely that he would be labeled an impresario. His business to a certain degree is the recruitment of belly dancers, and they are then sent throughout the Arab empire, across the sands of North Africa and even into Byzantine Turkey. Few of them remain exotic dancers. Many of them join harems. Most of them become sexual servants of the men who purchase them from Abdul Ben B.

Yet Abdul Ben B., when confronted with the term "procurer", refuted it as applying to him. "I am not a procurer," he flatly stated. "Nor am I even a buyer and seller of women's wares. Rather, I see myself as a provider of services. It so happens that the services I sell are women's services, yes. But that they are only or even therefore essentially sexual services, no. A woman in our culture is taught to perform many functions. Sex is only one of them."

In his effort to make clear that this was so, Abdul Ben B. took his interviewer to a luxurious restaurant where the principal entertainment was a belly dancer who surprisingly went by the name of Astra. "In honor of your astronauts," quipped Abdul Ben B. "She can take you to Mars." And he chuckled quietly as he introduced a very exciting dark-haired girl who reminded the interviewer of Fernando A.'s description of Carmelita. Though her dimensions were perhaps not as excessive as were those of Carmelita, Astra had in every element of her figure a very definite allure. And the costume she wore, which was but a filmy pale blue nylon train dangling between her legs in two pieces front and back, a thin transparent bra of the same material and color, and high gold heels, accented that allure very much. A rhinestone in her navel added a fillip.

Abdul Ben B. presented the girl, and the interview took place in a narrow and long and rather primitively furnished dressing room "between shows," the purpose of the interview being to corroborate the impresario's statement. Translation of the girl's answers to the interviewer's questions was made by Abdul Ben B. into the English that he spoke quite fluently. The interview, in part, follows as it was captured on tape, a feature of all such statements in this volume:

INTERVIEWER: Are you at liberty to talk freely?

ASTRA (looking to Abdul Ben B., and seeing him nod): I think so. What do you want to know? INTERVIEWER: Do you like your job? ASTRA: Very much.

INTERVIEWER: If you didn't have this job, what do you think you would be doing?

ASTRA (laughing): Probably standing on a corner, selling it.

INTERVIEWER: Is there nothing else the Moroccan woman can look forward to?

ASTRA: Is there something else? If you are pretty, there may be something else. But I think it is always the same for a woman.

INTERVIEWER: How is it always the same?

ASTRA: It is always a matter of pleasing men. What do you think?

INTERVIEWER: Do you think you are pleasing men now? I refer to your work as a dancer.

ASTRA: What else am I doing? I'm a servant. I serve the men in this restaurant. That's what I'm hired to do.

INTERVIEWER: Do you think of yourself as a slave?

ASTRA (curiously): What do you mean? I do not understand you.

INTERVIEWER: Are you working because you have to work? Would you rather do something else?

ASTRA (laughing): I would rather sleep all day in bed. But no, I would rather not do anything else. I am happy in my work. I like doing what I am doing.

INTERVIEWER: Does doing what you are doing involve anything else?

ASTRA: How do you mean?

INTERVIEWER: Does it involve going to bed with any of the men you perform for?

ASTRA (looking to Abdul Ben B. and seeing him nod): Yes, I suppose so. I sleep with some men, if that's what you mean.

INTERVIEWER: Any particular ones?

ASTRA (again looking to Abdul Ben B. and seeing him nod and smile; she then smiles too): Well, him. I sleep with him. And others.

INTERVIEWER: For example?

ASTRA: The others? Well, there are three brothers who own this restaurant and...(She lets it die there.)

INTERVIEWER: Others?

ASTRA: Sometimes when one of the brothers brings a friend. (She shrugs.) Different times like that.

INTERVIEWER: But you do not consider yourself a slave?

ASTRA: Why should I consider myself a slave? I do not understand you.

INTERVIEWER: You do not resent having to sleep with so many men?

ASTRA (laughing): "Many" men? I do not sleep with many men. I sleep with five or six or seven or eight different ones in a month. Is that "many"? I do not think so. I have a sister who sleeps with that many in a single night. She works in Cairo. She walks the streets there. She went away with the craziness of your Western ideas. And now what is she doing? She is walking the streets in a faraway city.

INTERVIEWER: But you? What will happen when your days are done as a dancer?

ASTRA: I have thought of that. But a woman's days are never done so long as she can please a man. An Arab girl learns to please her man. Unless she goes crazy with Western ideas. But even then she must please men. So I will not worry. And I do not think I am a slave.

The above transcription provides the essence of one girl's views on her life in one area of the world. Abdul Ben B. was pleased with her answers, and praised her highly. "She is representative," he said, "of the others. The Arab woman knows her place. And nothing that I do is procuring."

In Alexandria later, on the other side of the African continent, a European of Austrian birth, Ger-hart P., who spent a lifetime in the import-export business, offered a somewhat different viewpoint. It was his contention that all women, regardless of the land of their birth or upbringing, exist in a form of slavery. He, as with Abdul Ben B., placed the matter within a biological framework. But his view was harsher than Abdul Ben B.'s.

"The woman is a breeder," he said. "What else does she exist for? Think of it, and you will see. She has a few good years and then they are done. And what is the rest of her life? Nothing. Nothing at all." He drew parallels between a man and a woman with regard to their ages to illustrate his point. "The girl at fifteen can be very lovely. And the boy at the same age? A gangly youth with so much to be filled out. At twenty? The girl is ripe in every sense of the word. The boy? At the height of his sexual powers, true. But career-wise? Nothing. While the girl may at that age be at her maximum beauty and be a photographer's dream and a millionaire's desire, the boy is nothing except so much promise for the future."

He continued. "And at twenty-five? He is still only starting his career at best. She already has children. At thirty, he has a foothold on the ladder of life, and she is losing her beauty. At thirty-five, he is starting to attract women fifteen years younger than himself, and for ten years he has been attracting girls of fifteen. But his agemate of the opposite sex? She is dwindling on the vine. The lovely bloom is off the rose. It is only five years to forty."

He said that at forty there was a full reversal of positions. The woman then was faced with oblivion, according to his words; she was nearing the menopause, and her functional life was coming to an end. But simultaneously, the man was just moving into control of his powers, extending and enlarging his mind, his experiences, and his possibilities for the future.-likewise, with regard to sex, the entire gamut of sexually attractive females was available to him. "He is mature," Gerhart P. said, "and has a position and can offer them something in the way of sustenance. The woman, knowing this, turns to him as an available protector against the storms of her own life, the storms which result from her inferior birth as a woman."

He went on to say this at length:

Now it is important to realize too that the male in those years gradually becomes aware of his sexual attractiveness and he gradually learns to understand why this is so. When he is young, women are complex creatures which he cannot fathom. He is caught emotionally on the stridence of his youth. He sees everything most sexually, and his gonads rule him. He wants to fuck, and that's all he wants to do; fuck night and day.

But as he grows older, his sex powers dwindle at least a bit, and he begins to behave more rationally. He learns to give his time to his career. He learns to concentrate on an objective in life. He learns to have a goal in life and to work towards it. And it is this purposefulness which gives him insight to the matter of sex. Soon he realizes that there are priorities in sex; soon he learns that certain things are possible in sex even as they are possible in his career. He learns that with time he can have almost any woman he wants.

This is a surprising discovery, and when it first strikes him it is thrilling to contemplate. He becomes aware that any pretty little thing he sees anywhere is available for the right man and that if he handles himself well enough, he will be that right man and she will be available for him. In other words, what he has learned is a bit of wisdom from the ages, that all women can be had. He has always suspected this, and there was a time in his youth when he even callously said it was so, but now he knows the truth of that youthful assertion; it has come to him both intellectually and emotionally in a form of catharsis. He is the ark in which the wisdom is covenanted.

Now I don't want to take you away from the problem of sex and servants, even though I believe that every woman is every man's potential servant. Let me simply illustrate a different aspect of the problem which in part will state my theme also.

I am in the import-export business as you know, and of course much of my business is with the English-speaking world, a fact that accounts for my ready use of the English language. Now it so happened not so long ago that I was interested to employ a resident-manager in the United Kingdom; that is, someone who would be my representative there and would intercede for me with various companies there with which I dealt.

But at the same time I wanted someone who was trained in the ways of my own company, someone therefore who was readily available in Alexandria and who, after a brief interim period in my offices here, could travel to Britain and work for me there. At the same time, too, I wanted someone who was cheap; that is, who would work for a minimum wage. And I knew of course that women always will work for less pay than will men if only to get the opportunity to do something they consider fascinating.

But there was more than that behind my decision to interview locally. You see, I had come upon that time in my life when I realized how readily available a woman could be. It is a crude and cruel moment in a man's life when this power awakens in him, and the young man is always abashed at the older man's blatancy. I still remember an old business associate I once had who flatly propositioned a young woman I once dated. She told me he had offered to pay her rent if she would let him lay her. It shocked me at the time, in part because he and I worked together, and he knew the girl was my fiancee; but it shocked me more that a man could be so crude.

Yet now I was fascinated by my own temptations to similar crudities. Suddenly I realized how much could be said to a woman and how much she would accept. I recalled that my fiancee had said she simply told my old associate, "No, thanks," but. that was all. Yet he had fully demeaned her by propositioning her to be a whore.

My first interview was with a stunning English-born girl who had been to the Sorbonne, spoke four languages, and had lived in Alexandria for several years. She was in her early twenties, and she was long and willowy and brownish-blonde in the tradition of so many from her land. I remember how she sat across from me in my small office and crossed her legs and let me see them nicely and how superior she seemed to be. And I thought to myself, "Twenty years ago, I would have been her thrall. She could have bought me off with a good-night kiss. I would have been ecstatic. I would have planned her conquest through long months and perhaps never have succeeded. But now?" I laughed to myself, and added in my thoughts, "I'm her prospective employer."

It was enough said. I have always been fascinated by the dimensions of power, by the obeisance which authority is given. As an old fellow Austrian I have never stopped realizing the infinite power the madman Hitler possessed even to his last hours in a surrounded bunker. Power is so much because to it so many people give so much.

Therefore I immediately said, after discussing the routine nature of the assignment, "Of course you must want the job; that's important."

"Oh but I do," she gushed. "I do want the job very much." She turned on a bright smile for me.

"You're a sweet girl, Julia," I said, calling her by her first name and dropping the formalities, "but I wonder if you realize what will be expected of you." I leaned forward on my desk and looked at her most sincerely. "Do you have any idea?"

She blinked. "Well, I..." She was at a loss for words, of course. Of course she knew the sexual drift of the conversation. Yet she was restricted by her role as a good girl from becoming obvious in her knowledge. A woman is such a plaything of the gods; she always has a role to perform.

So I was the one who made it quite obvious, as obvious as obvious could be. For I said flatly, "You'll be expected to fuck."

She choked. She started to cough. Her face went red. She lost all her poise and frantically tried to regain it.

I immediately moved up the second line of attack. "Would you be willing to fuck?" I said, very matter-of-factly, not at all lecherously or in any way lustful. I was wholly business-like.

It took her a minute to regain her composure, and she continued to cough and look away longer than I knew she was consigned to do and I realized that she was buying time, carrying out what originally was just a reaction but now had become a cover. So I pursued her further, saying, "We must have an understanding about that at this time, Julia. If you're willing to lay men, I think the job very well could be yours." I patted a hand to her application as if to seal a contract, and I looked to her most sincerely and awaited her reply.

She nodded. She nodded as she finished her cough, and her eyes were on me briefly before she again looked away while her hand was balled in a fist to her lips. "I think so," she said between coughs as she continued to look away. And she nodded again.

"Good," I said, slapping her application firmly again. "That's all I want to hear." But I immediately added, ever sincere, ever interested in her as a person, "Have you fucked much? Have you had any affairs, Julia? When did you lose your cherry? Speak frankly. This is a business in which candor is expected. When was the first time you did it?"

Now I suppose you may think that most women would turn away and say such an interview is ridiculous and that they wouldn't be a part of it. But you're very wrong if you do. You see, a woman will accept almost anything when it is done privately and when her reputation to the rest of the world is not directly at stake. She is a creature of the moment, and if the moment is sufficiently private, it is amazing to note the things she will accept.

So Julie, she told me I could call her Julie and not Julia, told me some things of her sex life. Oh she didn't catalog it for me; women seldom do; but she answered every specific question I asked her. She even told me she had measured the size of various of her lover's dicks. "In inches and also in millimeters," she confessed. But then I assured her that most women, sooner or later, measure at least one of their lover's dicks.

So we talked about many things, all related to sex, and she admitted that she had done head work, that she liked to be eaten, that 69 was all right, and that she had also taken it like a dog.

"But have you ever taken it up your ass?" I said at that point. "Have you ever taken it up your ass?"

"You mean where my..." She groped for a word.

"Where your shit comes out," I said. "Have you ever taken it up your rectum? Your anus?" When she shook her head somewhat hesitantly, I quickly said, "But that's the way to go. That's first class travel. I love to go up a woman's ass." It tickled me to see her eyes widen as she looked at me. I knew what she was thinking, and she knew what I was thinking. And I didn't give her long to think, for I quickly said, "How would you like me to fuck you up your ass? Would you like that, Julie? Would you?" And I was as enthusiastic an ass-fucker as you'll ever want to see.

She blanched. And she actually trembled too. "Well, I ... " We were back to that.

And I already was around the desk, zipping down my fly, putting out a big hard that was ready and waiting. She blanched again, looked with big bug eyes at my tall dick, and actually gulped. "It's yours, Julie," I said, enthusiastically. "It's all yours." And I flicked it back and forth twice for her. "Hurry, drop your pants and we'll go at it right away."

Now you may believe that surely I couldn't pull that off. You may say, "Oh yes, I can go along with the idea that he would talk to her that way about her sex life; but not the cornholing business. And even if he did, and even if he yanked out his yang, I can't believe that the girl would drop her drawers for him."

Ah, but that is exactly where you're mistaken if you say such to yourself. For you fail to realize how far the situation had been carried. You fail to realize that when a woman starts to involve herself verbally, it is not too long before she involves herself sexually. A woman is a plaything of the gods, and it is the gods who gave mankind words, and the first words the gods spoke were to women. All her life, a woman is the victim of words. She is always wooed and won with words, no matter how the words are uttered. In this case, the case that I relate, I bombarded her with sexual images. It was just a matter of time before she collapsed under the attack.

So, though she protested rather feebly against the idea of letting me send it up her ass, she nevertheless yielded, dropped her own drawers with a minimal persuasion physically from me, and bent over the very chair she had been sitting on, rested her forearms and head to it, spread her legs, and let me go up her ass with my tall dick.

Oh it was a beautiful session, believe me. I spat on my hand and massaged my cock with spittle plus lube juices, then sucked my fingers and worked their moist way up her ass-hole to get her ready for my gallant charge. I readied her in every possible way, giving her also a little clit action as well as a tit-pulling when I lifted her blouse and unsnapped her bra and let it fall forward from her breasts so I could slip inside it and yank her nipples a few times. And then I gradually eased my cock up her tail.

It's a very beautiful feeling. Have you ever done it? If you haven't, you should try; and if you have, you know what I'm talking about. There is nothing to match a good ass-fucking. If you think a cherry cunt is tight, you haven't lived until you've tried an ass-hole. Even the loosest ass-hole in the world is tighter than a cherry cunt most of the time. There's something ecstatic about going into a bunghole.

She whimpered as I entered her. The whimper was in part the natural self-pity of a woman in the

English-speaking world regarding what she believes she is submitting herself to; and the other part of the whimper was her profound realization that a cock is a rather striking and delicious thing, despite its great pain, up one's butt hole. I laughed as she whimpered.

I enjoy a good fuck up the ass, and I like it to last awhile. In Alexandria and Cairo, pederasty is a big thing; you know, cornholing little boys. The men go after a little fellow, and ram it up their ass and go off like jackrabbits and zip their flies right away, done their pleasure. But I've never liked to fuck an ass that way. Furthermore, I don't really enjoy fucking a little boy's ass, although I've done it. True, their asses are so delightful and round and young and untouched. Just to feel their delicate softness, can send a thrill through you sometimes. But it's just not the same for me. I've fucked little girl's asses, and I don't really care for them. I've fucked men's behinds, and I must admit they're rather pleasurable. But there's something about fucking a woman's behind that simply carries me away.

I've tried to think what it is, and at times I fall into the lap of my fellow Viennese, Herr Doktor Freud, and sense that perhaps I am finding a way to demean them. Rather than give them my dick up their cunt, I am taking their ass-hole; that sort of thing. It's difficult for me to say; I only know that I enjoy an adult female's ass-hole more than any other kind of butt that I have fucked.

I've had many ass-holes. I like to look at asses. In fact. I consider myself a connoisseur of ladies' rumps. I've licked their rumps and kissed their rumps and gone up and down their ass cracks with my lips and tongue, and it's always been a great pleasure. And to screw an ass-hole is sheer bliss.

So I fucked Julie's behind. I eased my dick between her ass cheeks and poked at her butt hole and slowly inserted my long pole to that tiny brown passageway, and I forced myself farther and farther up that terribly narrow trail, feeling the pressure on my dick flesh as I went up her behind. It was painfully tight, and I said to her, "Have you ever been fucked up the ass before?"

She shook her head.

"I'm your first one?"

She nodded.

"I thought so. You're a cherry ass-hole." I laughed. And I thought to myself, "If I hadn't suggested this, would I have gotten it at all?" My mind took me back to the times of my youth, before I ever knew the joys of fucking an ass-hole, to the times when a kiss good-night was all right and I even would go home and play with myself while I anticipated "making it" with some little thing I was dating. The man's mind broadens in such an interesting way. Life is full, he soon realizes, of so many possibilities.

So I gripped her hips and pressed my belly against her can, and sent my spear as deeply into her bowels as I could go. I drove my spear high into her intestines, and it was very pleasurable indeed. "Julie," I said, shoving her skirt away from her ass and bundling it around her hips so that it didn't interfere with my action, "you've got the sweetest ass I think a man ever could know. You have a very exciting ass, Julie." And I looked down at it and got hotter just from seeing it before me. I actually salivated as I looked at those lovely white full cheeks, those alabaster globes between which I was penetrated.

All the while I intermittently played with her clit and tits. Her tits were ripe little oranges whose navels I plucked between my roving fingers, and her clit was an extended hard little nub that I waggled to and fro. And I kneaded her soft and fleshy hips and excited her too by playing along her belly with questing fingertips. It wasn't long before her ass rolls started coming, and she shuddered from the emerging good feeling she was starting to know.

Each time I withdrew down her tight track and got the flesh of my dick back, I was teased to drive strongly into her again. I was teased and tempted and went into her solidly again. And each penetration demanded a new retreat. Back and forth I went, up and down her gripping trail, and my cock was starting to send shivers through me. My balls were responding to my cock's salient messages. The home front was manufacturing the seed that would go into battle. My gut. was swelling from the ache of billions of sperm being made ready for the trip to the front.

It was a heady feeling, and I was being carried along on a mounting urgency. I was being thrust and driven by an inner propulsion that dominated me and controlled my every movements, all my feeling, all my emotions. I wanted to come. It was raging in me. The tension was increasing viciously, and I wanted to come.

But even as I moved towards my own come, she moved towards hers as well. Even as my gut swelled with pain, she began crying softly from her own pleasure and ache. And her ass rolls became convulsive as she drove herself harshly against me. And she cried out once, "Oh, I'm going to come," and it was like a ripping of words from her very bowels upward through her body as she carried my penis with it. She was wracked on the hook of her precious misery.

I gripped her hips now. I couldn't do anything else but grip her hips and ream her ass-hole. My breath was so short I barely could get air. My eyes were two narrow slits. Perspiration stood out all over me. I was blazingly hot. And my lips were in a harsh grimace as I held tightly her hips and drove myself deeply into her butt. I pulled and shoved, thrust and ran, drove and surged, again and again into her, forcing her, driving her with my prick, my brutal big lusting prick.

She whined and let out a scream and then terrorously cast her ass into a gigantic roll. I knew she had come. I could tell by everything in her that she had come. And when she started pumping in that way women have of fucking away their comes, the slipping away of a fuck, I was inspired to break loose my own mad come. And in a sudden harsh leap at that high point where there is no turning back, I ground my dick high into her hole and felt the tension collapse in my guts and knew the sperm rushed hotly from my balls and up my cock's long tight channel into her bowels, into her intestines in a run of fierce spurts. And I kept pumping and pumping, letting it all out of me. I spilled out my guts.

She whined and whimpered, moaned and sobbed, as we lost our fucks, as we slipped away from the tense emotions that had bound us. She cried softly in the pleasurable agony of blessed relief from all that had hurt her and held her. And soon we breathed again. Soon we gained back our sanity, and after awhile I withdrew my weak force from her ass, and we faced each other and embraced and kissed deeply and felt sweetly fulfilled.

I should note however that I was not necessarily a man of my word, though of course I also really had not given my word to her. Be that as it may, I did not hire Julie to be my representative in England. Oh I was sweet to her and kind to her, and I hope I took care of her reasonably satisfactorily. But you see, she really only fucked me to get that job, I feel fairly certain; and there are always so many who will fuck you or blow you or take it up their ass for a variety of like reasons. I suppose, as you might say, the matter of sex and servants really is a problem.

But it's such a delightful problem when one knows how to handle it.