An Egyptian soldier in 2015 War against House of Saud & their Salafis
clerics.With a Hejazi virgin of a secular kinsfolk who loved Egypt and its secular values and hated household of Saud and their Salafis clerics.


To the computer memory of Princess Misha'al bint Fahd al Saud



He was departed again.

Masha-il put her book of Nizar Qabbani poems on the floor and looked to the bed, where he lay. darkness covered the window in the tiny room, and beyond it, crisp hot air, fields of sand and warmth, flaxen dunes rising like ramparts into a moonless sky. The only illumination came from the bedside lamp, which cast an amber glow onto his face. She could sit here for hours. All night, if she dared, just gazing at him.

Her officer.

Sometimes he cried out in his sleep. Words she could n't translate. Some of them sounded like gens. At night they stabbed through her dream and brought her to the doorway, where she watched him flip and mumble like he wanted to throw off the cover and get back to his mission, whatever it was.

Slipping off the can, she crept closer to his mattress. He lay on his back, mouth slightly spread. The yellow visible radiation washed away the pallor of his skin, the shadow under his optic, made him look vernal and level-headed. And he did look healthier now that the hole of his cheeks had filled out thanks to female parent 's hearty mutton shorbo.

She straightened his pillow and pulled the red wool blanket closer to his mentum. He might be cold, she reasoned, even though the fever was almost gone and he had stopped shaking like he had malaria. His Shirley Temple Black hair tangled around his aspect, touched his shoulder. She should brush it for him. He smelled of soap and tea leaves, anise mixed with sweat. A manly smell.

Around her finger's breadth she twisted a retentive opprobrious coil, one of the two that trailed from underneath her crimson headscarf. A riding habit when she was near him. Delicately, she stroked a whorl of hair from his forehead, as she often did while he slept, feeling her breathing spell tighten at the scar carved through his right eyebrow, ending at the top his cheekbone.

There was so a great deal she wanted to know. So very much to learn in a shrinking sum of time.

The memorable break of the day had happened in early February, almost a month ago. Would she ever draw a blank it ? Nahar, her eight-year-old chum, had bounded into the vale, AK Kalashnikov rifle bouncing around his cervix, shouting that a Saudi spy had tried to dash one of the sheep. ( Because we do not weigh ourselves Saudis but Hijazis, the master copy and proper name of our country and our nationality ).

When he was convinced that Nahar was n't playing a joke, Father had taken the family gun and gone off to investigate.

He came back half an hr later with a black-haired man slung over his shoulder joint, unconscious. Found face-down in the nose candy outside a cave, gripping the barrel of an AK, more idle than alive. Not a Saudi, in fact, but an Egyptian U. S. Army officer—declared by the copper Salah-ad-Din Yusuf ibn-Ayyub eagle insignia on his armed forces beret. On their side in the war against the ( theatre of Saud ), Saudi & Salafis clerics spreading through the region.

Although it did n't matter, Father stressed. When you were throw up or wounded you did n't accept a `` incline. '' You belonged to everyone.

And so he belonged to them, this mystifying unknown. No telling how he had come to be in the Hijaz Mountains, or what he was doing there. During those early daytime they were n't even sure if he would live. His breathing was shallow and laboured—tuberculosis, they assumed—and whenever his eye fluttered open, he was too feverish to utter or make any sense.

Frightened for him, she hovered while Mother sponged his frontal bone and urge on poultices to his bureau to rid his lungs of the transmission. nervous to be of some use, she would whistle to him, lullabies she remembered from her childhood, ones she had sung to Nahar when he was a baby. She would have liked to hold his hands, to console him as he sweated and shivered, but that would not receive been proper.

Two weeks had passed before he woke up. A wonderfully happy day for Father, mother, and herself. lupus erythematosus so for Nahar, since he had to apologize for almost shooting him.

At final stage he had a epithet. Abdel-Nasser. Lieutenant colonel Abdel-Nasser Mohammad Ali from a special building block of the Egyptian Army. He wanted to go forth immediately, but Church Father insisted that he detain with them. It was decided that as soon as Abdel-Nasser was well enough to travel, Father would sell some of his yaks and buy a satellite earpiece so that Abdel-Nasser could get hold of the army and go home. rear to Egypt. He had been away for a hanker time, he said. That was all she knew about his luck, all he would say, though she suspected that Father knew a piddling bit more.

The communication barrier disheartened her. She did n't speak Egyptian dialect like Father or play chess like Nahar. But she could spoon-feed him shorba ( soup ), hold a cup of tea to his lips, and read to him from Father 's small library—poetry, romantic and historical epics, even a few children 's books. He would listen, a smile on his human face, and she would take concern to recreate her phonation so that he would be transported to the worlds she wanted to share with him, even if he had no idea what she was saying. It was the least she could do. The outflank she could do.

Today, however, she had made a bigger effort.

'' differentiate me more of you, '' she said in painstaking Masri ( Egyptian dialect ). `` Do you take brother or sister ? ``

'' I have one comrade, '' he answered, speaking very slowly. `` Ismail. We 're Twin. He looks just like me. '' With a bank note of pridefulness, he added, `` I 'm ten minutes older. ``

'' You miss ? ``

He broke their gaze. `` Yeah. ``

Masha-il had felt an ache around her heart. Did this brother know where he was ? Did he know, she found herself wondering, that Abdel-Nasser was even awake ?

War was a terrible thing and no one could argue that. Then again, what did she recognise, a twenty-year-old Hijazi young woman who had left commercial secondary shoal two old age ago, who spent her twenty-four hour period tending sheep and would probably end up marrying a dull boy from a neighbouring Greenwich Village ? What on solid ground could she possibly know about how the world worked ? Yet as despicable as war was, she felt a lost gratitude for whatever string of result had crossed her path with Abdel-Nasser's.

She touched his forehead again. Was someone else waiting for him in Egypt—a char sleepless with headache who had no way of knowing that he slumbered on the level of a white-washed Lucy Stone bungalow at the bottom of a valley of Tihamah, while she knelt beside him and listened to his quiet, regular intimation ?

She missed his middle when they were closed. He had the most beautiful eyes, sometimes smuggled, sometimes as brownish as hers, with gold flecks close to his irises, like moment of sunshine. Exquisitely shape lips, too. The bantam mole above his left lip gave her mouth a tingle.

She could snog it. If she had the nerve.

Just then Abdel-Nasser stirred and the cover slipped from his articulatio humeri, exposing his neck and a triangle of skin where the grey gabardine nightshirt hung open. Her palms itched. She twisted the ringlet tighter around her finger. The shirt, her father 's, was far too big for him. So baggy she could unbutton it without touching him. Easily.

She wiped her deal on her attire. They left smudge on the flowing lavender material. Her prettiest garb. She had made it herself.

She was right. The white fell away from his peel after she peeled back the mantle and went to make for on the buttons. She had never seen a man 's body before ( her father and her brother did n't numerate, of path ).

Nor had she ever seen anything like the scars.

She had first glimpsed them when mother changed his shirt. They spiderwebbed across his body and back, harrowing slashes of red that made her seethe. Tears came to her center. Who had done this to him ? What had he done to deserve it ? What could any man have done to deserve being beaten so badly ?

Watching the scratch stretch and sump over the bony rooftree of his ribcage, she wanted to kiss them. Run her tongue over the welts and helix and take a leak them disappear so that his eubstance would be complete again, as it must have been once.

The cluster of hair's-breadth around his navel pulled her eyes downward. His belly was almost concave, like the flesh below his ribs had been sucked out by a anthropophagus with a drinking shuck. She would eat to a lesser extent from now on, she resolved, so that there would be more for him. Even if it meant he would go home sooner.

She followed the haircloth to the sash of his gabardine trouser, to the slack knot that held them together. They were just as baggy, but not baggy enough to conceal the knoll between his legs.

Her heart pounded in her throat.

She wanted to see him. It. All of him. Nahar and her parents were in bed and Abdel-Nasser could pass on any day. She might not get another probability. But what if—and this was a terrifying thought—what if he woke up ? He could stir up up right now. What would happen then ? Would he be raging with her ? Would there be trouble ?

She looked at his face. His eyes stayed shut. No change in his breathing.

trench breath. One ... two ... three ... Her script trembled and her heart and soul beat loud enough to deaf them both, but she did it anyway. Untied the nautical mile, slid the pants over the twin knobs of his innominate bone, making sure her fingernails did n't browse his skin. Should she close her optic, too—make it a surprise ? No, she did n't want to overleap anything.

Her back talk tingled again. It looked like a mushroom-shaped cloud with a long thick stalk, a fleshy tube nestled beneath a dapple of stringy hair that was so much darker than the hair on his head. What an odd thing to compare it—him—to. But she had no other simulacrum to plant next to it. The only other time she had seen a boy 's private parts was when she bathed Nahar when he was niggling ( which also did n't tally ).

A heat had started to spread out, warming her face, her chest, her blazon, gathering in the place where she occasionally touched herself, thinking of Abdel-Nasser as she did ( and before him, a sure bighearted boy from schooling ). Now that she had gone this far, she wanted to come to it. Just once, so she would know what it—he—felt like.

She brushed her index finger against the tip. The mushroom cap.

After a few seconds it twitched and she snatched her hand away, breathing hard. It looked bigger.

Where the courage came from, how she found herself straddling him, she would never be able to say. For once, her gangly branch came in handy so that she could rest without touching him, her dress puddled around her waist and her ringlets hanging on either side of his aspect and all she wanted to do was kiss those beautiful lips, so close to hers.

Would he listen ?

A nudge on her inner thigh startled her, made her glance down. It was pointing right at her, and when she looked up again, shocked, all the breath left her body.

Abdel-Nasser 's eye were open. Wide open.

Her heart rammed against her ribcage.

His eyes gazed straight into hers, a rocky disastrous like an ebony sun in an ivory sky, and she could n't look away, could n't move.

His work force awakened at the periphery of her vision, she hardly saw them, his odd hand burrowing under her clothes to her waist and his rightfulness hand pulling aside her scanty, pressing down, down on the bed where her belly joined the top of her hip until she felt a pushing, felt her most sensitive pulp yielding around him. She gasped, her lungs full of air suddenly again.

A quiver ran through Abdel-Nasser 's eubstance, and then hurting flared, prompt, searing.

tears stung her eyes and she felt her lower lip wobble. Her cheeks burned. For a mortifying consequence she feared she would cry and humiliate them both. Had she wanted this ? With Abdel-Nasser ? She must have ... after all, she had undressed him. Stared at and touched it—him—that part of his consistence that was now inside her.

Laying a paw on her cheek, he smiled at her with his whole side, like he did when she read to him. Reassuring. Irresistible.

Yes, she wanted this, and she returned the smile to let him know.

Their eyes stayed locked together as he slid his hand under her dress again, under her derriere, and lifted her up, pressed her forward, then lowered her. pain jabbed each metre he moved into her, even when he molded the small of her back to their movements. Yet he was being gentle, she could feel it, and gradually her hip loosened and they eased into a rhythm, the pain subsiding into a bearable ache, then a retard delighting rubbing that began to bear her breathing spell away.

So this is what he 's like ... a pocket of her thinker had closed itself off, had resisted melting, so that it could register every signature, every smell, ensuring that later she would be able to conjure up up the soap-anise scent of his skin, the passion of his breathing space on her face and the ragged edges of his cicatrice beneath her fingertips, the precise import his smile contorted into a gasp, the heftiness running through his shoulders, flexing under her palms, and the sinew in his neck straining wish cord as he draped her dress over her articulatio humeri and craned his head to snog her naked breasts, exciting her teat into hard buds with his tongue, as hard as the button of flesh between her peg where his thumb rubbed in a flyer pattern too exact to be improvised.

She was losing the ability to stay on placid. Yes, she wanted to moan. That feels so undecomposed. Please do n't stop.

The change of pace surprised her. Mid-thrust he rolled them so that they lay case to face—for an heartbeat their nose touched, contact unbroken—then he scooped an arm around her waistline and pulled her onto her hands and genu, dug his fingerbreadth into the curvature of her buttocks to becalm her. Pain resurged as he entered her from behind, lessening when he reached between her legs to that place only she had touched before.

Yes. More. Please. Yes. Yes. Yes.

The sounds she made were strange to her ears, tidal bore high whimpers, coming from the back of her throat. What was happening to her ? Be quiet, she told herself.

Abdel-Nasser made sounds, too, thirsty grunting strait as his brim dipped to her neck opening, her earlobes, the base of her spine. His social movement took on an urgency, and Masha-il felt the same urgency seeping through her skin, her mineral vein, like a heatwave, felt herself opening a little wider from his poke. Squirming against him, she bucked her hips, clawed the cover, kicked off her skidder. The separate parting of her mind could see the two of them on the mattress, tangled in each other 's clothes and their consistence interlocked like animals', their tail dancing on the paries ( or were they writhing ? ) in the dim light from the bedside lamp.

more than more more yes

The last twinges of nuisance had faded, a pressure was building, a hot tingling scabies spurred by Abdel-Nasser 's fingers rubbing and rubbing her not-so-secret place in wet, slippery roofy. He was making her into soul new. Someone bold and calorie-free and pure, someone she wanted to be. Making her into a woman.

One tilt of her head and she could see him out of the street corner of her eye. He held his arm to her sass. Just in time.

Yes yes yes yes oh yes oh oh —

She bit down on his arm, tasting sweat. Her breath stopped, her heart stopped. And then she was new—blindingly, achingly new—her muscles twisted and idle all at once as her physical structure sprung like a volute unwinding. The harder she bit the more she unwound, her insides tumbling like a landslide in her deepest centre of attention, and the more she had to swallow the cries pushing up her throat so that no one else would hear.

Oh oh oh oh

Another wave started. Masha-il 's knee gave out and she collapsed onto her side. Her heart rolled up and through her lashes she saw Abdel-Nasser holding himself against her second joint, jaw clenching and eyes screwed shut like he was in torment ( slightly alarming ) as streams of white-hot spurted onto her skin and the suspiration she breathed out stimulate them both.

Abdel-Nasser groaned and flopped into a good deal, all arms and legs. His head sank to the pillow. His heart closed. From his rapidly slowing intimation, she knew he was asleep.

clip was already hurtling forward, dragging her out of the haze. How she would consume loved to nest against his chest, hold him close to her until good morning, but the part parting of her brain stepped in to convey control.

With the hem of her dress, she wiped a trickle of blood, her pedigree, from his inner thigh and mopped the wet patch above her knee ( so much for her prettiest dress ). Then she pulled up his trousers, tied them, and buttoned his shirt, covered him carefully with the red blanket, found her slider, adjusted her headscarf that was miraculously still in tact.

His features had a new blurriness to them, the skin stretched less tightly around his jaw and cheekbone, his cheeks flushed and sweat on his forehead.

Was he dreaming behind his palpebra ? Dreaming about her ?

Crouching on her heels, Masha-il let go and kissed him wax on the mouth. His lip parted, his tongue meeting hers, and her heart jumped when his center flickered, a sparkle juniper green, glazed and sweet with marvel. Had her own eyes turned blue ? she wondered. She would have to check in the mirror in her bedroom.

Lightly he ran a finger along her cheek to her chin and then his lid dropped, a curtain closure, and she felt the legal tender knot between her legs throb like a bruise.

Masha-il turned off the bedside lamp and tiptoed to the door.

'' Sleep well, my police officer, '' she whispered into the darkness. `` Sleep well. ``

Next morning, he proposed to her, and her Padre and mother agreed.They married.And war ended with the victory of Arab Republic of Egypt, Hijaz and the secular values.And the defeat and performance of House of Saud, their US Army and their Salafis Wahhabis clerics .