Tales of the Sultanate of Rashid:
Volume I: Anneke
by Dave Potter
Exclusively for the ‘Tales of the Veils’ website
Coming to Rashid City
Anneke van der Toorne sat on the steps of the school building feeling terrible. She’d gone in that day to collect her exam results. Although never that good academically-speaking, she’d always believed that, if you worked hard enough at something, you can achieve. And so she’d put everything into these exams since she knew what they meant. Good exams would mean a place in a university at best or, at worst, the chance to be independent with a reasonable job so that she could finally move out of her parent’s home. God how she hated that place and them; her dad always drunk and knocking her mum about, her mum fine one day and then shooting up the next. Think ‘New Kids Turbo’ and you get the idea. She thought of the long unhappy years in such a screwed up environment and put everything into trying to get out. But then she’d opened up that envelope and all the pillars of her dreams came crashing down. She’d failed. Failed everything. No university, no job, no chance of independence. Just more years of hell with those animals! Tears trickled from her eyes and then she heard a voice behind her. It was Gaab van Hessel, her nemesis. “So Annnie no friends has failed it seems. Well, once in the gutter, always in the gutter. See you at the party tonight… not!” And then, with a slap around the head, her bully was off. Anneke sank to the floor, wishing it would open and swallow her up. Oh how she hated this world; why could she not find someone to protect her from all its horrors and injustices?
She trudged back to her home. There was the sound of the TV on in the living room and the strong smell of whisky. She ran upstairs. Loud music was coming from her brother Pim’s room. She ran into her own, fell on the bed and wept.
After a while she sat up. She knew that she could not carry on like that forever. Better to throw herself off a bridge even. No, that was a stupid thought! She needed to talk things through… with a friend. But what friends had she got? None at all, all the girls at school were bitches and the boys only wanted her for her body, nothing else. Then she heard something. A ping. It was a message on her computer which she’d left on in the rush to come out. She went to it and looked. It was from Soraya, her chat friend in Rashid, some emirate or something in the Middle East. They chatted most days about life, school, that sort of thing. Like her, Soraya had finished school now. How did you do? the message read. Soraya was probably her best friend in the world. And she needed to talk, to offload. So she told her everything. And an hour later, the reply which she got was not one that she expected: Well, if you’ve nothing else to do or look forward to, why not come here for a month or two? It’ll be a break and who knows, something might come up?
How can I? I’ve told you, I’ve no money.
No problem, I can pay, or dad.
No, I couldn’t expect that.
Nonsense, if you don’t come I’ll just be sat here bored and lonely, and I’d love to see you face-to-face and introduce you properly to Rashidi culture. Come on!
Over the years Soraya had said a lot about her homeland, Rashid. It sounded an awfully rich and exotic kind of place, with sweeping deserts, lots of money from oil and a strong Islamic culture. For starters, all the women veiled. Anneke would love to explore a place like that, and be with her only friend. But it was a big change…
There was a bang and a crash from downstairs, like a plate being thrown. Just before Pim turned his music up she could hear her father screaming, “Call that cooking you crackhead bitch!” No, she couldn’t stay here, not for a moment longer.
Yes she typed.
A week later it was all arranged. Flights had been booked from Schipol to Rashid City, all that she had to do was turn up. What should I take? she’d asked.
Nothing, we’ll sort everything out.
But what should I wear?
Normal clothes, nothing too showy like shorts or tight tops. We’ll change you into Rashidi attire when you get here.
And so there she stood, rocking with the rhythm of the wheels on the train that took her from Rotterdam Centraal to Schipol Airport and a chance to get away from the hell of her life in Holland.
On the plane to Rashid City, Anneke noticed that virtually all of the women – most of the passengers mind you, were men – were veiled. Of course, Soraya had told her that all women wore the veil in Rashid but what surprised her was how thick and serious these veils seemed. The word ‘veil’ to her maid her think of the garments she saw in some of the immigrant areas of Rotterdam; headscarves with some piece of cloth tied around them with a slit for the eyes. But none of these women had a slit for their eyes and looking at them as closely as she dared, the material seemed pretty thick for she could make out nothing beneath the veils. Was that what she would be wearing soon? It scared her a little – how would she see…? – but at the same time excited her somewhat to be able to try on such different clothes to the jeans and top which she was used to. One curious thing that she also noticed was that all the women wore gloves over their hands which looked really elegant. ‘I’ll have to get myself a pair,’ thought Anneke to herself.
Once at the airport, she was directed away from the main queue which, apparently, was only for men, and into the female-only queue. There her passport was check by a figure swathed entirely in black who took it in her black-gloved hands, examined it and then typed on a computer. A message flashed up on a screen in front of her.
Do you speak English Miss van der Toorne?
“Yes, I do.”
How long do you intend to spend in the Sultanate of Rashid?
“I don’t know, I’m staying with friends, Soraya al-Nuri and her family. They invited me for as long as I want but it shall probably be a month. My return ticket is flexible.”
The veiled figure nodded and then typed again: Your visa will only last for three months. After that you must leave the country or apply for Rashidi citizenship. The penalty for overstaying is gaol. Do you understand this?
“Yes, I do.”
Have a nice time in the Sultanate of Rashid!
After collecting her baggage she ventured out into the Arrivals Hall eager to see her friend for the first time. There was a mass of people but no young ladies of her age. However, near to the end of the line she noticed a veiled figure holding a large placard with her name on it. “Are you Soraya?” she asked. The figure nodded and hugged her warmly. Then she took out a small hand-held computer and typed, This is my mum, Samira and my dad is waiting outside in the car. I’m afraid I can’t talk now, stupid Rashidi regulations, but we’ll get going soon. However, first we’ll need to put these on you as you’re not properly dressed for Rashid City.
The other veiled figure hugged Anneke and then took her hand and directed her to the ladies toilet. Once in, Soraya handed her a bundle of black cloth. Women have to be veiled at all times in Rashid, it’s the law. This isn’t really sufficient but it will do for now. I know wearing this may be a bit scary and disorientating for you but please, this is our way, we’ll explain more later.
The bundle of cloth turned out to be a large black sack which covered her whole person. Once in it, Anneke was shocked to discover that she was totally blind. She felt a hand at her back and started to walk. It was an unnerving and disorientating experience but she knew that she had to respect the local ways. After what seemed like an age, they stopped and she heard a man’s voice. “Welcome to Rashid, Anneke van der Toorne! I’m Hassan, Soraya’s dad. Please, get into the car and I’ll drive you to our home. It is a pleasure to welcome you here!” She felt a hand on her back and bent over and climbed into the car. She felt other figures climb in either side of her and then they were off, driving for what seemed like an age but was probably only a quarter of an hour or so until they stopped and Hassan announced, “We’re home girls!” Again she felt a hand on her back and she was guided out of the car and into the house. They walked for a while, stopped and then the black sack was lifted off her. She blinked her eyes in the light and then embraced her friend and her mum. They were still veiled and, mysteriously, not speaking.
Welcome to Rashid! It’s so cool to have you here Anni! We’re gonna have so much fun! I can’t wait! I’ve been looking forward to this for ages! Now, here’s a bit of food for you cos we guessed you’d be hungry and then once you’ve eaten that we’ll get you ready and explain a bit about how life here in Rashid goes cos I know it’s really different to what you’re used to.
The food was some falafels with humus and salad which Anneke devoured with gusto, washed down by some fresh mango juice. As she ate, she asked why Soraya was typing her conversation, not speaking.
I can’t speak dressed in these clothes! Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all later and you’ll soon understand when you’re in some proper Rashidi clothes yourself.
“What, I’ll be wearing what you are?”
Well, yes and no. It may look the same from the outside, but this is my travelling outfit which is a lot more complex underneath. However, yes, you will wear similar clothes whilst here in the house.
“You veil indoors!”
The things is, here in Rashid it is against the law… and custom… for us females to go outside uncovered and so we have to veil. That’s why you have to wear that kind of sack coming back from the airport. To be honest, if the police had caught us we would have been in trouble since you weren’t covered enough for travelling outside of the home, but father said to risk it since the travelling preparations would not have given you a positive first impression of our country. However, now that you’re here you’re going to have to wear the local clothes.
“You mentioned veiling in your emails and letters but I didn’t realise that you meant inside the home as well!”
Oh yes, at all times except when we’re in our rooms. Basically, you should be covered now in front of me as we’re not related, but dad said that you could count as my sister whilst you’re here and so we can be uncovered to an extent together. Now, that goes for me as well but I’m still in my travelling clothes which take a while to remove so whilst I go to my room to get changed and freshened up, why don’t you let the maid give you a shower and new clothes?
Of course, we are a wealthy Rashidi family and we all have our own personal maids. To be honest, with the dress code here it’s kind of necessary. You’ll see soon. Bye!
They hugged and Soraya went off. After she had left, a maid came in. She was completely covered in black like Soraya and her mother had been but unlike her friend, at the eyes, whilst there was a piece of cloth over them, it was semi-opaque and gave some semblance of the human being beneath. She went into the en suite bathroom and turned on the shower and then helped Anneke undress from her Western outfit. Once she was naked, the maid ran her gloved fingers over the Dutch girl’s body in a way which rather excited her and then when she came to her breasts, she wagged her finger and took out a little computer just like Soraya had used to communicate and typed, Are all the breasts of Dutch girls like this? Anneke looked down at her, admittedly small, 75A 1 breasts and wondered; what does she mean? They look fairly normal to me? “Yes,” she replied, confused. The maid nodded and then continued further down. At her crotch, she typed, You do not shave? Anneke nodded. She wagged her finger and typed, Not good, unhygienic!
1 UK 34A, US 34AA
Rather shocked by the intrusive nature of this first conversation with an underling whom she could not even see, she escaped to the shower, a luxury power shower which was bliss after hours on the plane and then an indeterminate amount of time being enclosed within a sweaty black material sack. Once thoroughly clean and refreshed she climbed out and the covered maid handed her a towel. Enveloping herself in it she walked back into the bedroom itself to find that she was not alone. A covered lady was in there along with a pretty girl of her own age, naked apart from a black catsuit, with long dark hair and rather large breasts and hips.
“Hi! I can talk to you properly now!” said the girl with a smile. “It’s me, Soraya and this is mum!” They hugged warmly and Anneke, a little ashamed by her nakedness, then nodded to her mum.
“Since we’re sisters, we can see each other undressed and mum thought it would be best to let us dress together so that I could explain everything since it can be a little daunting. There’s a lot more to Rashidi clothing than you may realise. Anyway, for starters, put your bra and panties on and then the lycra catsuit so that you’re like me.
The maid handed her the items and Anneke put them on. As she did she noticed the maid having a computer conversation with Soraya’s mother whilst pointing at Anneke’s breast and crotch. The mother nodded and left it at that.
After that came the first surprise of the dressing. The maid produced a corset which she fitted around Soraya’s middle and then started to lace. Anneke was amazed that within seconds a very extreme reduction had been achieved and although Soraya, who was leant on the bed so that the maid could get better purchase, was panting a little, she didn’t seem to be overly troubled by it. The maid pulled and pulled, adjusting the laces for an even reduction and in the end when she tied it off Anneke was sure that her friend’s waist measured no more than 50cm, a remarkable achievement indeed when one considered that she was built quite curvaceously and indeed, with her large breasts and hips, the hourglass produced was startling.
Anneke then had a similar corset fastened around her middle but, I am afraid to say, she did not fair so well as her friend. After a few tugs she was already panting and when it was eventually tied off the measurement was nearer to 60cm than 50. As it was being fitted, Soraya explained that in Rashid it was standard for all ladies to corset underneath their veils as a tiny waist is prized by Rashidi men and so a corseted girl is a more desirable wife. “But don’t worry,” she said with a laugh, “we’ll have you down to 50cm in no time!”
After the corset came black gloves which reached up to her elbows and thick black leather socks. “Here in Rashid, we women don’t wear shoes,” explained Soraya, “so we have these leather socks instead.” Anneke wondered as to how they survived without shoes when walking around town but didn’t say anything because the next items caused her some surprise and alarm. They were hoods, made of similar black leather, with small holes for her eyes, nostrils and mouth.
“I guess the hoods may seem extreme but here in Rashid all of us wear them,” said Soraya. “To be honest, I love mine, the leather is soft and smells nice and I feel protected inside it.” As hers was put on, Anneke had to admit that it was not so bad as she’d thought, but the eyeholes, only a centimetre across limited her sight a little. She caressed her new leather face with her gloved hand and rather liked it.
Then came another rather surprising item, a kind of collar, or corset for her neck, some 10cm or so deep which was laced onto her and caused her to hold her head up straight. “In Rashid, deportment is very important for young ladies of importance,” said Soraya, “and both the corsets and collars help us with this.” It was true, now looking down or turning her head was almost impossible and so she had to survey things regally like a lady of great importance. Also, looking at her friend, completely covered in black with a swan-like neck and severe hourglass waist, she had to admit that it was all rather erotic.
But none of what came before shocked her so much as the next item: a gag! Anneke had hers fitted first so that Soraya could explain. “Now you know why mum and I, and the maids, don’t talk to each other. Outside of our bedrooms we’re always gagged as purdah says that we should be silent and modest. I guess this’ll be a pain for you at first, but don’t worry, we’re all in the same boat and you’ll soon get used to it. Here, I’ve got a little typepad for you so that we can communicate. In the olden days females in Rashid used notepads but with these it’s much quicker and easier and besides, they save the conversations so that we can return to things we said earlier. Don’t worry, they’re dead simple to use.”
The typepad was, like a small handheld computer but with large buttons so that her gloved hands – which were clumsier than without the gloves – could operate it more easily. But why? she asked as the gag was fastened firmly.
Like I said, to keep us modest and silent as purdah requires. Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all later replied Soraya using her own typepad now as her own gag was being fitted.
The gag was fastened at the back and then inflated by the maid, not too much so that it hurt but enough to stop all speech. There was a tube through the middle so that she could still breath easily.
That fitted, then came the outer clothing: a black headscarf for each girl and a large black body garment called a butterfly abayah since its arms had material sewn to them to make them a bit like butterfly wings and to make it all like one giant sheet. Then, over the headscarf was fastened a veil in three layers. With all three down Anneke was virtually blind and couldn’t read her typepad but with two down it was possible albeit difficult and with the third, normal sight as that didn’t cover the eyes but had a slit. We have one layer down amongst family females, two with family males or non-family females and three with non-family males explained Soraya using her typepad. Finally came one more layer, a kind of cape that reached to her knees and had a hole for her face through which her veils were pulled. It’s called a khimar explained Soraya and we wear them because it’s considered rude and immodest for ladies to show their hands unnecessarily.
Now that they were both fully dressed, the girls left the bedroom and went into the main part of the house. Samira showed Anneke to one room and typed This is the Ladies’ Sitting Room. This is where we females relax with only one veil down. Wait here for a minute whilst I check whether Soraya’s father is ready.
The room was huge with rugs on the floor and comfy chairs to sit on. There was a TV and an aquarium with beautiful tropical fish in it and a bar with lots of different bottles on display, all of them non-alcoholic in line with Islamic teaching. One side of the room was dominated by French windows which opened out onto a beautiful garden surrounded by a high wall. That’s the Ladies Garden typed Soraya. It’s where we go when we want some fresh air. The two girls went outside holding hands and then sat on a bench by a small tinkling fountain. With flowering shrubs and shady palm trees it really was a beautiful place. As if reading her thoughts, Soraya typed, In the Quran Paradise is described as a garden. I imagine it to be like this when I read the surahs about it. Anneke nodded firmly in agreement, annoyed that she couldn’t express her thoughts verbally but grateful that her friend was opening up her personal world to her.
Just then Samira came back. Hassan is ready to receive us she typed. Soraya flipped down her second veil and then motioned for Anneke to do the same and then, with slightly blurred vision, she returned back in the Ladies’ Siting Room and down a corridor to a door. Samira opened it and they walked into an even larger room where Soraya’s dad was sat on a settee.
“Sit down, sit down and welcome to my house, Anneke!” he said, gesturing for her to sit on the sofa across from him. Anneke did as she was bid and then he clicked his fingers and ordered drinks from the maid. When they arrived, Anneke wondered what to do but Samira discreetly showed her how to attach the straw in the cups to the tube from her gag and so drink whilst not ungagging and keeping her veil down.
As they drank, Hassan talked. He told her all about his family and daughter whom it was obvious he loved very much. He told her how he was a member of the al-Nuri tribe, one of the seven tribes in Rashid and how his ancestors had been desert raiders and farmers. He congratulated Anneke on her appearance in Rashidi dress and hoped that she didn’t find the restrictions of Rashidi life too difficult and then finally, when a wail was heard from outside, he explained that it was the Call to Maghrib or Sunset Prayer and his family observed all five daily prayers. Not being religious, Anneke sat out the prayer but when it was completed, Hassan al-Nuri finished his speech by saying that whilst she was within his house, he would regard her as a daughter of his and then bid them all good evening. At this they retired to the bedroom where the two girls could divest themselves of all their clothes barring the catsuit and corset and eat a meal which the maids had readied for them. Then they messed around, played on the computer for a while before the Call to Prayer sounded again and Soraya completed the Isha’ prayers. That done it was bedtime and after a quick shower they were both dressed in their nightclothes, another catsuit with – to Anneke’s surprise – a corset which was not so tightly laced as the day one and then the maid took their hands and fixed them into gloves that were light black leather balls. “Why the gloves?” Anneke whispered to Soraya after the lights had been put out and they were lying side by side in the enormous bed. “To stop us playing with ourselves… and each other,” giggled the Rashidi girl before putting her arms around her friend, giving her a huge hug and snuggling up tight together for the night.
Anneke awoke with the Call to Prayer and whilst Soraya completed the Fajr prayer she lay in bed watching her friend. How lucky she was to have been invited here and to have been accepted so warmly by such a marvellous family. It was just that some of the local customs were so strange, particularly being veiled and gagged all the time but strangely, whilst she’d been bothered by the gagging and her jaw had ached after the gag was removed in to the evening, the veiling she’d quite liked in a way. Underneath all those layers she’d felt warm and protected, like someone cared enough to look after. Certainly cared more than her family back in Rotterdam. Thoughts of them clouded her mind and to draw her attention away from them she focussed on the figure knelt praying on the floor beside her. ‘Soraya really is lovely and kind and caring and besides that, she is also beautiful,’ thought Anneke, running her eyes over her friend’s wide hips and large breasts between which was her tiny, corseted waist. This reminded her of the maid’s comments about her own, far more humble breasts and so when Soraya had finished and was back cuddled up in bed with her, she asked her.
“Why did the maid comment about my breasts yesterday when I was dressing?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, she was just surprised, that’s all. We Rashidi girls pride ourselves on our large breasts, tiny waists and wide hips, it’s what Rashidi men expect. We even have our nipples pierced to enhance heir size and appeal. You can’t feel with your hands of course but lick them with your tongue if you like? But returning to the maid she was just surprised when she saw you straight up and down like a column, that’s all. But don’t worry, I have some cream if you like which, if you rub it on both daily will soon produce results whilst the regular corseting will help no ends because not only does the narrow waist give the illusion of wider hips, but also it pushes the fat up and down.”
They lay in the bed cuddling until the sunrise and the maid entered the room with their breakfasts. Anneke ate the bread and cheese hungrily and then after a shower, she was dressed up again in her Rashidi garb complete with hood, gag and veils. Fully covered she then made her way to the Ladies’ Sitting Room where Soraya and Samira were waiting.
Morning Anneke, typed Samira. Today we’ve got visitors in an hour or two – the locals are inquisitive about our guest – but first I believe it is only right that I induct you into the Rashidi way of life which may seem rather strange to you at the moment. Most of it concerns purdah which is a term which I’m not sure you understand.
No I don’t
Ok then, I’ll start from the beginning. Some say that it comes from our religion Islam, others from our culture, but whatever is the truth, probably both, in Rashid it is decreed under law that females must follow purdah. Purdah is all about modesty. We believe that women are sacred and pure and must be protected from the evils of the world and the way that we do that is purdah. In Rashid women veil so that strange men can’t leer at them and they stay gagged so that the sound of their beautiful voices do not tempt men into evil thoughts. Although it may seem like a pain for you, it is actually for your benefit.
No, I understand. In the Netherlands we are very free but with that freedom comes exposure to a world which is cruel and unjust. To be honest, I love being protected in my cocoon where no one can see me except of course my friend at night.
That’s good but you must think of me as your sister, not your friend, typed Soraya.
Yes, added Samira, that is very important for if she was just a friend you could never be unveiled before her. Here in Rashid a woman may only unveil before her sister, daughters or mother, or small children or, in the case of upper class women like us, the maids. We may see, but not be seen or at least, not clearly, our male relatives and female non-relatives, but as for strange males, that is why you have the blinding veil. They may tempt you into evil thoughts and vice versa and so it is best if neither sees the other. However, the only strange males here are the ones that Hassan invites into the house so the danger is not so great but whenever we travel outside of the home – which can only be done with the permission of and in the company of our guardian male – then extra precautions are taken and preparations made to keep us even safer. However, that is for later should you ever wish to leave this house. For now, well, you already know about communicating through the typepad which is very easy to do but unfortunately most ladies here don’t write English and I take it that you don’t speak Arabic?
No, but I should love to learn.
I can teach her! butted in Soraya
We shall both teach you clarified Samira, every afternoon between Dhuhr and Asr prayers. It will be good for you to learn and will break up the day nicely.
Can you explain about the prayers please?
Yes certainly, for they rule our day. We have five mandatory prayers a day. Fajr is just after 4am every morning, Dhuhr is about a quarter past 12, Asr falls at about a quarter to four in the afternoon, Maghrib is at sunset, just before 7pm whilst Isha’ is at dusk, currently around 8:30. Now, I guess that your not a Muslim but you can join in if you like, if not, we won’t take offence. The gestures are easy to pick up watching Soraya and I.
Now, the last issue I wish to discuss is far more personal and so please, do not be offended by it. Here in Rashid we are rather obsessive about hygiene and yesterday the maid spoke to me with some concern. It seems that in the Netherlands you do not follow some of our hygienic practices. The first is that all Rashidi women are smoothed down below in our female areas,it is called fitra, but you are not prepared in such a manner. In such a hot climate and wearing so many layers, this is a much more hygienic system so would you mind if you underwent fitra?
No, although I must say I’ve never thought about such things before.
Don’t worry, the maid will do a good job, she is highly trained in the art of fitra.
Now, along similar lines, and this is more personal, but it seems that in the Netherlands you also do not have yourselves washed out…
Yes, inside. Every morning before showers, Soraya and I and all Rashidi women are given what the French call a douche so that we are as clean internally as we are externally.
Do you mean an enema?
Yes, that is the English term for it. Now, I appreciate it may seem strange having a pipe inserted into your bottom but it can really have great results.
I feel so fresh and clean after mine, added Soraya.
Well, I must admit that the thought shocks me a little but then I am here to experience a different culture and so I shouldn’t balk at the first thing that shocks me. I shall try although I am wary.
Thank you for your honesty, Anneke, and your openness to our way. I am sure that you won’t regret your decision. Now, it is getting time for our visitors and I think that was the door bell. Let us see…
The visitors that Samira was expecting were three local ladies announced as umm-Hassan, umm-Mohammed and umm-Khalid respectively. They were all identically dressed black cones like Soraya, Samira and herself but when they began to type, Anneke discovered a couple of shocks.
Firstly, only one of them did type, umm-Khalid. The others just sat there, silent and unmoving. Umm-Khalid didn’t have much to say, merely greeting Anneke ‘on behalf of me and my sisters’, but what was noticeable was that she kept her typepad very close to her body, only moving it a few inches from her and once, when she turned it around to show her message, the Dutch girl noticed why: umm-Khalid’s wrists were fastened to each other by a thick black cord and also to her belt by similar cords. She was restrained! But why? And where umm-Hassan and umm-Mohammed similarly restrained? With their hands tucked firmly underneath their khimars, she had no way of knowing.
At first she didn’t asking thinking that it might be rude but then, after pleasantries had been exchanged, umm-Khalid wrote: My sisters and I have been so excited about your coming and so we wondered if there is anything that you’d like to ask us, anything at all as we realise what a culture change coming to Rashid City must be for you.
Invited so, Anneke decided to take the plunge. If you don’t mind me asking umm-Khalid, I was wondering, why are your hands tied like that?
Umm-Khalid rocked as if laughing and then, after showing the message to her sisters, they did likewise. Then she replied: I am a married woman and my husband says that I must have my hands restrained at all times to become more modest. I know that umm-Soraya here does not but she comes from a far more liberal family than us. Many familes in Rashid, most maybe insist that women have their arms restrained in some way for our own good.
At this her two sisters nodded but her message had caused another question to formulate in Anneke’s mind. You called Samira umm-Soraya. Why is that?
‘Umm’ means ‘Mother of’. Here in Rashid, particularly amongst more traditional women, females do not have names. Umm-Mohammed here was never even given one at birth, she was just bint-Faisal or ‘daughter of Faisal’ until she had her son, Mohammed. I once had a name but I shall never use it now as it disrespects my husband by implying that I have a character and personality beyond being a wife and mother which are, of course, the natural roles for the female. I know umm-Soraya and bint-Hassan here use their names but we don’t agree with it and we’ve had a few debates on the issue in the past, haven’t we?
Both Samira and Soraya – or umm-Soraya and bint-Hassan if you like – nodded.
Ok, I have another question then since this is fascinating to me if a little strange. You said that you were given a name but your sister here, umm-Mohammed, was not. But why would your parents name one of their daughters and not the other?
At this umm-Khalid began laughing again and when she showed it to her sisters they laughed too. No, no, you do not understand. When I call them my ‘sisters’ I do not mean that we have the same mother and father, but that we are sister wives; we are all married.
I guessed that you were all married since you have all had children but what has that to do with things?
This response caused another chorus of laughs from the ladies and then umm-Khalid explained: No, you still don’t understand; we are all married, yes, but to the same man! Umm-Hassan is his First Wife, umm-Mohammed his Second and I am his Third. That is why only I am communicating, since we take it in turns. I may have cords around my wrists to restrict them a little but the arms of my sisters are totally immobilised behind their back. Feel if you like!
Anneke got up and felt. Sure enough, the other ‘sisters’ had there arms behind their backs, elbow to hand in a kind sleeve. They were completely helpless and unable to communicate at all!
We take it in turns to communicate carried on umm-Khalid. Today is my day but tomorrow I shall be restrained and umm-Hassan will speak and then the day after it will be umm-Mohammed before returning to me. Again, this is not unusual here in Rashid and we all firmly believe that umm-Soraya would be wise to follow suit.
But how could I when I am only one wife? butted in Samira.
We’ve told you that countless times before, get Hassan to take another wife. Umm-Hassan’s younger daughter has just finished school like bint-Hassan here and she is a pretty and modest girl who would delight any man. She corsets to an impressive 48cm whilst her hips are 110cm and her breast impressive, 36D. Consider it, umm-Soraya…
Thank you all the same, but I’ve told you before, my husband shall not be taking another wife even one as undoubtedly virtuous as bint-Abdullah.
And so the conversation continued, with Anneke taking particular interest when the drinks were brought. How would the restrained wives cope? However, the maid was obviously used to these ladies for she brought the drinks for the three co-wives in plastic bottles with straws like marathon runners have which were placed around their necks on strings and then the straws fed up by the maid to the tubes in their gags.
After guests had left it was lunchtime. Naturally, gagged as they were, a normal lunch was out of the question and so instead a blended soup was produced which they all sucked up through their drinking tubes washed down by some fruit juice. As they ‘dined’ Soraya asked, So what did you make of our guests?
Well, to be honest, they shocked me a bit. For starters the fact that all three were married to the same guy. I mean, I’m sure that back home that is illegal.
It may well be but here in Rashid it’s quite common, explained Samira. Think about it; segregation is so strict here and our purdah so severe that it makes sense to provide female companions who you can talk with. Those three could unveil to each other like you and Soraya do although since they’re quite strict I doubt that they would.
Quite strict, very strict more like. I can’t imagine how you could be stricter than having one wife communicate whilst the other two are bound up and even that wife has her arms chained to her belt!
Don’t you believe that is very strict. In very traditional families, particularly out in the desert, it is not uncommon for wives to be veiled 24/7, even their husbands have never seen their faces and they are kept incommunicado for much of the time as well. It is seen as pious and spiritually healthy although I doubt that I could live like that. I couldn’t even bear the thought of Hassan having a second wife although I must admit that when Soraya marries herself life will be more lonely for me if he does not.
Well, I must admit that I’m glad that you’re not so pious and spiritually healthy as those three, mum, typed Soraya.
Yes, whilst they were friendly those three old women were a bit dour, added Anneke.
Why do you say ‘old’? asked Samira.
Well, didn’t umm-Khalid say that umm-Hassan’s younger daughter had just finished school like Soraya and as she was the younger daughter, then she must have at least one who is older so she is probably much older than you, Samira.
And I know for a fact that umm-Hassan is, about five years older, replied Samira, for she was friends with an older sister of mine. However, that doesn’t mean that they all are old.
What do you mean?
Umm-Hassan is the First Wife and she married Abdullah ben-Hassan when she was eighteen and he was twenty-two, but he did not take a second wife until he was thirty-two.
And we know them, continued Soraya, because umm-Khalid whose name was Maryam by the way, was my best friend at school. However, she dropped out two years early to marry Abdullah when she was sixteen and she had her son, Khalid, only a few months ago. Such a change really because she came from a really liberal family like me. We even used to unveil when I went round to study at her house! I don’t know how she copes, I really don’t although she sounds happy enough.
What?! So how old is Abdullah then?
Let me think, said Samira, counting on her gloved fingers. He is 48 if I’m not mistaken.
Underneath her veils and mask, Anneke’s face screwed up. To think, a girl her age exactly marrying a man old enough to be her dad. That was gross! This country truly did get stranger and stranger!
They spent the afternoon, as promised, with Anneke learning Arabic off her two hostesses and by the time that the Call for Prayer for the Asr prayers came the Dutch girl could clearly write all the letters of the alphabet and match their sounds with the English ones. She wondered if one day she would be able to speak this language as well as she spoke English and German, her other second languages and vowed to continue with the lessons when she returned to Rotterdam.
That evening they joined Hassan and played a card game until it was time to turn in. The women all hugged and then the hungry Soraya and Anneke returned to their room where they undressed and ate their evening meal whilst the maids ran baths for them. Soraya took her bath first and then it was Anneke’s turn but after being towelled dry, instead of being clothed, creams were rubbed into her breasts and bottom to help enlarge them and then she was led to the bed on which she had to lie naked whilst the maid carried out her fitra as Samira had discussed earlier.
The fitra was a long and rather painful process. Firstly her pubic hair was cut short and then beeswax applied to the entire area as well as down her buttocks, legs and arms. Then small strips of cloth were applied to all the waxed areas and left in place for the wax to harden. Once it was hard the maid started to tear them off one by one. The pain was immense and after screaming out in agony a couple of times, the maid offered her the gag so as to lessen the noise. The process seemed to take forever and once it was done all the skin was an angry red, but the maid rubbed in a sweet-smelling ointment which she said would help slow down re-growth and cool the skin. Nonetheless, she was still very sore as she was dressed in her nightclothes and corset ands Soraya re-entered for a bedtime cuddle, telling her how much better she now looked.
The following morning the second of the ordeals which Samira had spoken of the previous day was undertaken. After her bath she was taken to a small and private antechamber with a rubber mat on the floor under a strange-looking bottle with a pipe running from it. The maid gestured for her to kneel down on it on all fours. Mystified and nervously Anneke did so. In front of her, low down on the edge of the mat, was a strange-looking wooden contraption that rather reminded her of an old fashioned stocks. It was hinged and there were small holes and it was securely fastened to the floor. Before she realised what was happening, the maid had put her two wrists into the bottom half of the holes and then, closed the stocks. Her hands were now held helpless, down close to the floor. Don’t worry, she typed on her typepad, it’s to help you so you don’t struggle.
Then, without warning, she quickly fastened Anneke’s ankles to the side of the mat with little straps. Then a padded bar was slipped under her belly to keep her nicely raised. She was now firmly secured kneeling on all fours with her knees parted and her bottom in the air.
The maid picked up a small stool and, placing it behind Anneke between her outstretched knees, sat down on it. She stroked the Dutch girl’s trembling bottom reassuringly. Anneke still did not quite understand what was going to happen.
The maid then picked up the bottle with the pipe and showed it to Anneke. At the end of the pipe was a nozzle which she gestured to the Dutch girl she would soon become very familiar with. The end of the nozzle was gently pointed and covered in grease, but it then quickly became quite large, like a lozenge. However, a few inches back from the tip of the nozzle, there was a strange circular indentation where the nozzle became much smaller. This was intended to provide a close fit for the sphincter muscle to grip and thus ensure that there were no unnecessary spillage caused by the recipient trying to expel the nozzle.
Suddenly, Anneke felt the maid’s hands part her bum cheeks. She blushed as she felt the end of the greased nozzle press against her bottom hole. It slipped in and she felt her slowly pushing it up her. Then she stopped. The maid could see that the sphincter muscles round her bottom hole had closed around the indentation in the nozzle, holding it tightly in place. She would not be able to eject it.
“No! No!” Anneke screamed out as she felt a little jet of the liquid from the bottle shoot up into her, cleaning her as it did so. Frantically she tried to reach back to pull out the nozzle, but her hands were firmly held by the stocks. Then she tried in vain to shake it out, opening and closing her muscles desperately. But her sphincter held it equally firmly in place. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine the maid typed on her typepad to reassure her, stroking the Dutch girl’s bottom as she did whilst the water level in the bottle slowly dropped down.
When it was about half empty, the maid turned off the tap. Anneke let a cry of relief as she felt the liquid stop. But the relief was short-lived, for then the maid told her to wriggle her bottom as this helps the soapy liquid reach all areas. Anneke was almost too humiliated to obey. Now keep still ordered the maid knowing that she had now reached the tricky moment. She got a bowl and put it down on the floor between the Dutch girl’s legs just in case. Then she got a well-greased rubber plug. It had a circular indentation, like the one on at the rear of the nozzle, for the girl’s sphincter to grip.
Slowly she began to withdraw the nozzle, easing it past the sphincter. Anneke gave a sight of relief. Oh how she longed to release everything. Quickly though, the maid pulled out the nozzle and pushed the plug in. She timed it to perfection with no dripping and the sphincter was now holding the plug. Pleased with her work, the maid got up from the stool. Now the soap could do its work.
Five minutes later, when she was sure that all the parts of Anneke’s insides were as clean as could be, the maid removed the plug and held up the bowl. All of Anneke’s wastes spurted out into the bowl which was quickly taken away and disposed of.
Then it was time to repeat the process, this time with clean, scented water. But this time there was nothing left to be washed out and the emphasis was more on rinsing away any soapy residues and the liquids’ pleasing scents. As she stayed their, held in place and crouched on all fours, left for a second five minutes, Anneke felt exhausted and utterly degraded by it all. However, when the plug was removed for the second time, the relief was immense and so too was the sense of cleanliness. Never before had so felt so very clean, both inside and out. And once released from the enema stocks, and she looked down at her freshly denuded private parts, the skin having lost the red anger of the previous evening, never before had so felt so sexy and feminine.
And so life continued for Anneke. Everyday was the same: waking up in the arms of the curvaceous Soraya, shower, enema, breakfast. Then dressing in her hefty Rashidi attire with hood and gag followed by prayers and a day spent relaxing in the house, learning Arabic, entertaining visitors from the neighbourhood, sitting in the Ladies’ Garden, playing games or just chatting using typepads. Anneke released that she, like Soraya, Samira and all the other Rashidi women, was living in a kind of cage, but it was a gilded cage in which all of life’s cares were taken away from you. It was a world away from her hellish existence in the Netherlands for here everyday was filled with love and affection and it was as if she were a child again, innocent of the world outside. She realised that many people would resent or rebel against so many of the stranger and more restrictive aspects of Rashidi life: the veil, the enemas, fitra, forced silence, but she actually enjoyed most of them. Here she always felt clean, always felt feminine, always felt protected, always felt modest and always felt loved. A cage maybe, but she did not mind being a beautiful songbird in a cage of gold filigree! And so it was that she passed an entire month in the home of Hassan al-Nuri with hardly a thought of the Netherlands on her mind.
A trip out into the desert
But protected and relaxing as Rashidi life was for Anneke, after a month had passed she began to realise that she’d spent a long time in the country and yet seen nothing of it beyond the airport terminal and the inside of the al-Nuri house. She decided therefore to ask about going out and visiting somewhere else.
You’d like to go out somewhere? Well, it’s possible but under Rashidi law females cannot just go out as we are at home.
What do you mean?
Well, the thing is, with purdah, we live separate from the temptations of the world. Here at home we are in a safe place, no evil influences can come to us. We are kept away from all men apart from our fathers, brothers and husbands, but out there it is altogether different and so we cannot just go out dressed as we are now.
But don’t our veils protect us enough?
Not at all. Yes, they do hide us but we could easily just rip them off and then where would we be? To go out of our father or husband’s home we must be prepared, sealed off from evil influences I suppose you might say, so that our purity, chastity and honour may be guaranteed. Of course, going out is rather exciting, I love it, but the preparations are quite extensive. Are you sure that you’d like to do this?
Of course, I can’t just stay here all the time and besides, I want to explore every aspect of your life Soraya as it’s so different from my own back in the Netherlands.
Ok Anneke, I’ll ask dad and maybe we can go somewhere at the weekend.
That evening Soraya spoke with Hassan and he agreed that, if Anneke thought she could cope with it, they would go somewhere. “To be honest,” he said, “I’ve been meaning to go to the family home for some time now and they are all curious about the European girl that we have in our house. If you think that you could stand it, how do you fancy a couple of nights in the desert in the home of Mohammed, the head of the al-Nuri tribe?”
Anneke nodded her head, it sounded good.
You’ll love it there typed Soraya. They live in a huge ancient Kasbah and they are more traditional, like proper Rashidis, not us city-dweller types who’ve grown soft on oil money. It’ll be a great experience for you, the read Rashid!
I can’t wait, she replied.
They woke up early on Saturday and had baths, splashing about together in the water before then being taken separately to the room in order to have their enemas in private. Once washed out fully behind, then they rejoined each other in the dressing room and the “preparations” that Soraya had mentioned begun.
First of all the maids rubbed their bum and breast enhancement creams in and then worked a sweet-smelling oil into the rest of their bodies. Feeling clean and extremely slippery the clothing items came.
The first piece was a pair of underpants which looked much like any other underpants except that they were maid of thick black rubber. These were worked on over the slippery skin and when in place they squeezed Anneke pleasurably. However, she noticed that these were pants with a difference for, unusually, they had two tubes in them which her maid worked into her two holes. Then came a rubber bra, also in black. Anneke watched as it was fitted over Soraya’s body and firmed her already impressive breasts with their pierced nipples up. ‘Oh, I wish I had breasts like that!’ she thought to herself, wishing that she had been using the cream ever since she’d hit puberty just like Soraya had. Still, she was using it now and if worst came to worst, then there was always surgery was there not?
Once their bra and pants were fitted, then came a full latex catsuit which took some time to put on but when fitted encased them completely from neck to toe save for two holes at the crotch area. Anneke loved how the latex crinkled whenever she moved and how it compressed her all over, making her feel tight and secure.
“Right girls,” said Soraya’s mum, coming into the room. “What flavour would you like? I have vanilla, strawberry, chocolate or peach.”
Soraya picked strawberry and Anneke opted for vanilla and two large bottles were brought. Both girls, somewhat heated by the latex and the exertions of getting into it, drank eagerly but after litre or so, Anneke was beginning to feel a little bloated.
“No, drink it all,” said Soraya.
“The whole two litres?”
“And more if you can! This is for our good. When we are fully prepared we won’t be able to drink anymore and so the more that we have now the better. This needs to last us until we come back here which will be Sunday night at the earliest. I hope you like the taste of vanilla because you’re sure going to get used to it!”
“What do you mean?”
“It’ll repeat on you,” said Soraya with a laugh.
“I don’t understand.”
“It gets recycled.”
“Yes, you’ll see soon. Don’t worry, it’s not unpleasant; I’ve been doing it ever since my twelfth birthday.”
After they’d drunk the entire bottle, other items came out. They were asked to sit on the bed and a catheter was brought out which the maids carefully inserted inside each girl. Then, to Anneke’s dismay, there was a well-lubricated plug which was obviously for her bottom hole. Like with her enema, she went down on all fours so that it could be inserted as painlessly as possible. Soraya did likewise beside her and together they grinned at each other whilst the plug was inserted, a grin which became a grimace as the maid took an inflation bulb and the plug expanded inside her to make sure that it stayed in.
Then came their corsets, which were laced over their latex catsuits and squeezed the now bloated Anneke mercilessly. “I need the toilet!” she protested, but Soraya told her to wait.
Once the corsets were tied off, attention was turned to their heads. Their long hair was bundled up by the maids and fitted into latex swimming caps.
Then came a full-head latex hood which was as intrusive as the pants. It had tubes which went inside her nostrils for a couple of centimetres and tiny filters across each hole to filter the air that she breathed. There were small circular holes, a centimetre across each for the eyes, but in the mouth an integrated mouthpart which was moulded so that it enveloped her teeth and tongue, but it had an opening in the rear of her mouth so she could still swallow and breathe through her mouth. Then, where the hood overlapped the catsuit, the inevitable neck corset was produced and laced tightly so that, as usual, Anneke had to gasp a little to breathe.
Then came another inevitable item, a gag, as per usual this was inflatable with a tube through the centre. However, unlike normal, this gag had a small tube which hung down. Then the maid took this, wrapped it around her middle and then knelt down behind her, attaching it somewhere whilst also taking her catheter tube and attaching that.
Anneke had assumed that this was all for the “preparations” but no. Another rubber catsuit was produced, this thicker and covering her head as well. It took a few minutes to fit it, but when it was fully on Anneke felt so compressed all over that she moved like a doll. She noticed some other changes as well. With two layers of rubber over her ears, she was now virtually deaf and over her eyes this catsuit had two circular lenses, 2cm or so across and mirror tinted. But the only holes in the new suit were at the back through which she’d entered it and at the nostrils. The maid went to the back and fastened it and then she felt some heat. Looking at Soraya she saw that the maids were actually melting the zip. She was now completely sealed in, hermetically removed from the world outside.
Anneke looked at her friend. Wow! What an incredible silhouette she had, all in black rubber save for two mirrored lenses, the second suit smoothing out the lines of the corsets, bra and pants. Soraya came over to her and hugged her and the hug caused her aching bladder to let go. She peed and peed and the water down the catheter and into her arse where its tube had been routed. It was like a second enema with warm pee swishing around inside her.
Soraya got her typepad and typed out a message. Just let yourself go. The pee goes into your bum and when you’re thirsty you suck and you drink it.
Anneke took her typepad. Drink my pee out of my bum! That’s disgusting!
No it’s not. Your bum’s clean inside after the enema and the liquid you drank, it helps to neutralise the pee taste and gives it the flavour you chose.
Anneke took a long suck and warm pee flowed into her mouth from her bum. The liquid may have neutralised the taste a little, but it still was rather acrid and with only a faint vanilla taste. Still, she could get used to it. Anneke stopped herself. Get used to drinking pee! The thought of it, if she stopped and considered it for a moment, was beyond disgusting; she would never have dreamt of such things back in the Netherlands, but here in Rashid, well… she’d wanted a different life, this was very different!
After putting on their outer clothes so that they appeared to any observers as being no different to usual, the two girls flipped down their first two veils and made their way to the entrance hall. Then Hassan flipped down their last layer and they were guided out to the car. Once inside though, because of the mirrored windows which prevented prying eyes from seeing inside, they were allowed to removed the top layers so that the ladies could see a little of the world outside as they passed through it.
Not that there was a lot to see mind. Rashid, outside of the city, is simply one huge, flat, featureless desert, sometimes a little stony, more often than not sandy, but that is all. They sped along the highway, out of the city and then through the smaller towns of Manasir and Bani Kitab until night fell. With little to see, Anneke sat back and thought about her predicament and when she thought on it, she could hardly believe it herself. There she was, sat in the back of a car speeding across the desert, veiled like a Muslim woman but underneath being completely sealed from the world in rubber and latex, subsisting by recycling her own waste! It was preposterous and horrible in a way, but strangely, sealed in her cocoon, she felt safe and secure. She felt comforted whenever she either sucked or peed and she felt warm all the time. Despite the fact that the car had a good air con system, when the sun had been shining she was boiling in there and sweating all over but now that the light was beginning to dim and, she did not doubt, it was chilly in the desert outside, she was still snug and warm, her body heats sealed in with her. She moved and the rubber and latex squeaked and crinkled and she wanted to laugh.
They didn’t go straight to Bait Imani since Hassan had decreed that, as it was rare that the girls actually left the house because of the trials of wearing a travelling suit, they would instead make a full day of it and so instead they headed several kilometres out of Rashid City where they turned off the highway and into the Rashid Historical, Cultural and Natural Park. Anneke was excited about this since she’d seen very little of her host country so far but when they arrived it was not what she’d expected. Instead of a large outdoor park with old buildings and plants, this was a huge dome which they had to enter blind since women are not allowed free sight in public in Rashid. Once inside they were led by Hassan for a while and then told to sit. Once they sat, they were strapped in and then their blinding veils removed. Anneke found herself locked into a small glass capsule with Soraya. Confused she turned to her friend who wrote, Don’t worry, the glass is mirrored and so we can see everything without revealing ourselves. Mum and dad are in the next capsule.
Then, as she wrote, the capsule started to move. It went forward into a cinema where the two were treated to a thirty minute film on the history and geography of Rashid. Whilst this was on, Anneke felt the need to pee so she let herself go and wiggled in excitement as it all flowed into her bottom making her warm and sloshy inside. Then she absent-mindedly sucked a bit out. The taste wasn’t too bad after all. ‘I can get used to this,’ she thought to herself as the film droned on about centuries of Bedouin lifestyle.
Then, when the film finished, the capsule started to rise up in the air, leaving the cinema by the roof and ascending higher and higher until they found themselves at the top of an enormous space, the interior of the dome. It was an enormous map of the Emirate of Rashid. The guide droned on through the speakers about all the places they could see and at times they would zoom down to reconstructed Bedouin encampments or city bazaars. It really was quite interesting and Anneke left feeling that she’d learnt something about her temporary home.
After the experience they were blinded again and led to a small compartment where the women sat, their faces in their laps and were locked in so that they were safe whilst Hassan dined in the park’s restaurant. They however, dined on very different fayre! After half an hour or so had passed, the compartments were unlocked and they were led back out to the car and once inn the blinding veils removed and they recommenced their journey. By now Anneke was tired and so she leant her head against the shoulder of her friend Soraya who in turn rested her covered head against Anneke’s and together they slept until the car pulled up in the desert oasis of Bait Imani.
The al-Nuri tribe, one of the seven Arab tribes of Rashid, originated from Bait Imani where they had been hunters and raiders operating out of the oasis. It was here that Mohammed, the octogenarian head of the tribe and grandfather of Hassan lived with his huge extended family, most of the al-Nuris still living in the oasis with only a few moving to the oil-rich capital. Soraya said that they hadn’t seen her great-grandfather for almost a year since his last marriage, to a girl their age which, Anneke had to admit, made her squirm a little. A different culture or not, she wouldn’t like to be married off to an eighty year-old!
As they approached the ladies flipped down their veils rendering them totally blind and then they were guided into the Kasbah by Hassan and into the ladies quarters. Once sealed off from the men, they lifted their veils and Anneke began to learn about traditional Rashidi life.
They were in a large, windowless room made out of mud brick. There was no furniture in the room but it’s floor was spread with gorgeous oriental carpets whilst light came from beautiful oil lamps dotted around the walls and a giant one hanging from the roof. Inside the room were around fifteen women, all the females of the al-Nuri tribe, fully veiled just as Soraya and Anneke were at home. They embraced warmly and Anneke went to get her typepad to communicate with them when Samira wagged her finger and instead guided her charge to the centre of the room where a large sheet of parchment was unfurled. Each woman then picked up a charcoal stick and started writing messages, with several conversations going on at once, the girls writing their replies to the various messages underneath, Soraya translating the Arabic into English and then Anneke’s replies back into Arabic until after an hour or so everyone had caught up with the news from both city and country and the parchment was filled. Then it was rolled up, tied around the middle by a lady named umm-Omar who was apparently Mohammed al-Nuri’s First Wife, and taken from the room. Later on, when they were back in Rashid City, Soraya explained that Mohammed forbade the use of any technology and required that all the female ‘conversations’ be kept for him to peruse the next day so that he could make sure that nothing sinful had been said.
After that, they heard the wail of the muezzin of the local mosque and so the prayer mats were got out and the Isha’ prayers were said. Then all the ladies of the family had a drink of tea which they sucked through their drinking tubes like Anneke did back in Rashid City but of course now, dressed in their travelling clothes, her, Soraya and Samira could not partake in such activities and had to imbibe a different liquid.
Drinks done, it was time for bed and this was another area in which customs were different here to in the city. Firstly, all the unmarried women – which included Soraya and Anneke – were made to hold their gloved hands out and thick leather balls were fastened over them and then they were linked together by a short chain. Then they were led into an adjoining room where, instead of beds, there were a number of hammocks hanging from the walls. Samira led her two charges and the other elder women led theirs and they were each required to climb into one of the thick leather hammocks. Then, nuzzling her daughter and friend goodnight, Samira sealed them in their hammocks using thick leather laces which were threaded through holes all the way along the top leaving only a small space for some fresh air to get in. And so it was that Anneke spent her first night outside of the home of Hassan in total darkness, alone, noiselessly swaying in her leather cocoon.
The next day they were woken early for the Fajr prayers, then afterwards they conversed in the same women’s room until breakfast which, of course, the visitors could only watch. Then something strange happened. Strange leather sleeves were brought out and fitted on every girl. They were most uncomfortable as they forced Anneke to hold her arms behind her back, palm to palm, elbow to elbow whilst the sleeve was fitted and then laced up tightly like a corset. After a short time her arms started to ache before mercifully going dead. They also immobilised her completely and later, when back in Hassan’s house, she asked about them, Soraya told her that they were called monogloves and that Mohammed insisted that his womenfolk wear them for several hours every day to improve their posture, prevent gossip and idle chatter and to encourage contemplation. She also added that, if any girl required punishing, then she may be expected to wear one for longer, perhaps the entire day or week, only being let out to perform her prayers.
Whatever the case, once they were all totally immobilised apart from umm-Omar, the door to the women’s quarters was opened and they trooped outside to enjoy the gardens. These were in a large courtyard in the centre of the Kasbah, surrounded by high mud brick walls. After being inside for so long, Anneke really enjoyed being out in the fresh air, even if she was sealed off from that air by several layers of rubber and cloth! Indeed, with the bright sun overhead, she soon forgot about her immobilised arms and instead sat on a rug and lost herself in contemplation just as Mohammed had intended. She drifted away to a dream world of her own where she was always veiled, with rubber and latex against her skin day and night, helpless like a baby, unable to do anything and…
“Are you Soraya?”
She was startled out of her reverie by a male voice. In front of her stood a young Arab man, her own age dressed in a white thobe. She shook her head and then motioned to the left where Soraya was sat.
“You must be Anneke then?”
“How are you finding Rashid then?”
Anneke considered for a second how she might answer that one when the boy laughed and said, “Sorry sister, I forgot; you can only answer yes or no. Ok then, do you like Rashid, sister?”
She nodded as much as her neck corset would allow.
“That’s good. I thought that the restrictions might prove too much. I take it you’re wearing full travelling costume?”
She nodded again.
“Wow! And you don’t mind, sister?”
She shook her head.
“That’s amazing, a European who lives like a Rashidi! Allah has truly blessed us with your presence, sister! But I am ahead of myself; my name is Farouk, I’m Soraya’s cousin.”
Soraya, who by this time had noticed what was happening and come up next to them, nodded.
“Soraya my dear, may I hug you, sister?”
She nodded and he hugged her in what looked an intimate way, feeling carefully around her waist, hips and, if Anneke was not mistaken through her lenses and veils, breasts. “Well, sister, you certainly are a lady nowadays, not the little girl that I used to run around with, playing in the desert!”
Soraya nodded, obviously happy.
“May I hug your friend too?” he asked.
Anneke, now quite indoctrinated by the Rashidi way of thinking, was horrified that a man wanted to touch her, even if she was covered by both veils and rubber and he was quite a handsome young fellow, but to her horror, Soraya nodded furiously. Farouk put his arms around her and although he was far more reserved than he had been with his cousin, he still managed to feel her waist firmly and brush his hands over her hips.
“It was an absolute pleasure meeting you, Sister Anneke,” he said before striding off.
Their session in the garden was finished by Dhuhr prayers and afterwards the women were allowed to converse using parchment and charcoal again in the women’s quarters. Anneke had a particularly interesting conversation with Soraya about her cousin.
So, that boy’s your cousin?
Yes, but he’s a man, not a boy, or didn’t you notice?
I did and I must say he’s rather dishy and forward too. His hug was almost a grope and what he did to you…
Now you know why us Rashidi girls need protecting. If I wasn’t sealed off from men like that I’d have had my honour stolen years ago!
You didn’t mind?
I wanted it! And I wanted to see you have a bit of fun too. Here in Rashid we can’t date like you do in Holland so we have to have fun in other ways.
Anneke thought about what her friend had said. No, dating, even chatting was out of the question so that was the only interaction with the opposite sex that was possible. And yet, kept so strictly segregated from men, such a mild and inconsequential act which would have meant nothing in Rotterdam, took on a whole new meaning and excitement out here in the desert. She could almost imagine the handsome Farouk bursting in the room, picking her up and carrying her off on his camel, ready for a night of intense Bedu passion in a tent in the sands. ‘Oh don’t be so silly, you stupid girl!’ she chided herself with a grin.
After Maghrib prayers all the women were put back into their monogloves and escorted out of the women’s quarters and back to the courtyard which was now in darkness, illuminated only by a large fire in the centre. Around the fire the whole family sat. Some of the men told stories and sang, (both of which Anneke struggled to hear through the thick rubber of her travelling costume), and then later came dances for the men whilst the women sat at the side and watched. In one dance Farouk got up and whirled before them and again Anneke marvelled at how handsome he was. And so the party continued until Isha’ prayers when they were led inside again, monogloves removed, leather balls put on and laced up inside their hammocks for a good night’s sleep.
They left Bait Imani the next morning and rode back across the desert to Rashid City. Once home, baths were run and the girls were cut out of their travelling costumes. After three days encased in rubber, she was sweaty and dirty, but, whilst soaking in the bath, Anneke had to admit that she missed being so cocooned and sealed off from the world. Living in veils meant that everything was experienced second-hand in a way, but in the travelling costume it was more so, third-hand perhaps, and she loved that feeling of separation from reality, even if the drink that came with it was not the best in the world.
“So,” asked Soraya, as they were lying together on the bed in their catsuits and corsets, “how did you find the trip to Bait Imani?”
“I absolutely loved it, every second!”
“Even the travelling costume?”
“And what about Farouk?”
Being without her veils, meant that she could not hide either her expression or blushes which caused Soraya to laugh. However, the tables were turned only a second later when Anneke countered, “And you dear Soraya, are you also thinking about Farouk…?”
Becoming a member of the al-Nuri tribe
One day, about two months after Anneke had arrived in Rashid, Samira went out to the garden to find her friend sat on one of the chairs sobbing. Even though she was completely covered and gagged, Samira knew all too well that her guest was crying; a Rashidi woman notices movements, not sounds.
Why are you crying? I thought that you were happy with us Annie.
The Dutch girl looked up at her hostess and hugged her warmly. Then she got out her typepad and wrote: I am, I am so very happy. I love it here and I love your family. I am crying because I don’t want to go back! Ever since I arrived here I have been made welcome and felt protected but back in the Netherlands it will be my miserable old life which, after months of being modest and protected, will be even more difficult than before. I wish I could stay forever!
Samira hugged her again and then typed three words: Maybe you can?
I must speak with Hassan.
That evening Anneke, Samira and Soraya were called to the male section of the house. They were warned that there were non-family males present and so put down all three layers of their veils making them totally blind and needing guiding by the servants. After two months of Rashidi life, Anneke no longer felt strange at being guided when in the presence of strange men or outdoors; it seemed natural. She was led into the male sitting room and ordered to kneel on the floor with Soraya and Samira behind her. Then Hassan began to speak:
“Anneke, my wife today has told me that you were upset this morning in the garden because you do not wish to return to the Netherlands. Is that true?”
Anneke nodded her bowed head.
“Now, as you are aware, your visa only allows for you to stay for up to three months, two of which have already passed. We are happy to have you for as long as you wish to stay as you are a delight to have in our house and we are already used to treating you like a second daughter of the family, but obviously the law of the land states differently. I went to the Immigration Office to ask about the possibility of extending your visa but they would not allow it; they will only do that for males. However, I did not give up and so I spoke with a colleague of mine in the Ministry of the Interior and he is sat here beside me. Prince Nasri, would you please continue?”
“Certainly. Yes, Hassan here spoke to me and I told him that there is a solution, or at least a possible solution, and that is for you to become a Rashidi citizen. However, that is only possible if there is a family who are willing to adopt you into their tribal unit for, as you know, here in Rashid, all females are the responsibility of a male. Hassan here has stated that he would be prepared to adopt you as a second daughter.”
At these words Anneke, overcome with joy, started nodding ferociously.
“Ha! Ha! So, you like the idea, eh? But I warn you, it is not straightforward and before we proceed further, I must tell you the consequences. As a Rashidi citizen you give up all you rights as a Dutch citizenship, all your former life becomes invalid, even your name. Your will only exist as a daughter of Hassan with no rights of your own. Do you understand this?”
Anneke nodded. It was true that she had plenty of rights in the Netherlands, but there was no love there; the law may protect her but her environment did not. She would now feel naked and shameful walking around uncovered, speaking freely. It was a risk surrendering her rights over to another person, but she knew Hassan al-Nuri and trusted him.
“Very well, so that is the first factor. The second is this; what does the al-Nuri tribe say about this. Do you have any objections?”
A third male voice was now heard and Anneke recognised it as that of Mohammed, the Head of the Family whom they had met when they’d gone to stay in the desert.
“This girl is already like a daughter to Hassan and her deportment was flawless when she stayed at the family home. We have no objections beyond that she must naturally convert to Islam and obey our tribal customs with regards to initiation into the al-Nuri tribe, marriage, death and so on. Providing all of these are taken into account, then yes, Anneke van der Toorne may become an al-Nuri.”
“Which leads us onto the third factor. Anneke, you are not currently a Muslim, are you?”
Anneke shook her head.
“I have an Imam here from the local mosque. If you will type the words of the Shahada, ‘lā ‘ilāha ‘illā l-Lāh, Muammadur rasūlu l-Lāh’ onto your typepad then this will be taken as meaning that you are prepared to embrace Islam.
Getting out her typepad, Anneke laboriously typed the phrase, the imam spelling it for her letter by letter, before then holding it up for the room to see.
“I now declare you a Muslim!” announced the Imam to a chorus of clapping.
“And so,” continued Prince Nasri, “the last hurdle to overcome. We need permission from your guardian in your tribe in order for you to leave that tribe. What is your father’s address or telephone number?”
Contact her father! No! They couldn’t! He’d never agree! That old bastard would now destroy her dreams here like he had in the past. Sadly, she shook her head.
“We cannot contact your father?”
She took out her typepad and typed: You can but he will never agree. He hates foreigners, especially Muslims.
“Oh dear, this is a problem, a grave problem indeed. We must have the permission of her guardian and that is her father. There is no way round it!”
Then Anneke heard a rustle of veils behind her. “You have something to say Soraya?” asked Hassan.
Anneke heard Soraya typing on her typepad and then the Prince declare, “Maybe, yes, maybe?”
What was going on?
“Anneke, does your father drink alcohol?”
Yes, frequently. He is always drunk.
“Then we may seek another guardian since drunks are not allowed as they have broken divine law. Do you have a brother, Anneke?”
“Does he drink?”
No, he is only fifteen.
“Would he come here and give permission?”
Maybe, if you asked.
“We shall do more than ask. Tomorrow the Rashidi Cultural Attaché shall pay him a visit!”
That night Anneke tossed and turned, wondering what would happen, if Pim could help her. Then the next evening she was again called into the male quarters and Hassan spoke to her. “Your brother is flying to Rashid City as we speak. On Friday we shall have the ceremony where you are to be inducted into the al-Nuri tribe. Congratulations Anneke, soon you shall be my new daughter!”
Anneke got dressed up in her full travelling apparel the next day to meet her little brother at the airport. She’d warned him before in a letter that women didn’t speak in public in Rashid so he wasn’t too shocked when she communicated with him using her typepad and then Hassan declared that since the girls had had to go to such lengths to go out of the house, they’d make a day of it and they all went on a sightseeing tour of the city, stopping at the famous seven star al-Rashid Hotel, the touristy Bedu Village and the Mall of Rashid, the largest shopping centre in the world with its whopping chandeliers and gold-leaf columns. Once they got home, Hassan gave permission for Anneke to spend time alone with her brother unveiled and able to speak since they were, for a day or so at least, still of the same tribe, looking at things from a Rashidi perspective. Anneke excitedly stripped out of all the latex and rubber and donned a simple black catsuit, entertained Pim in her room, catching up and asking how friends and family were. She loved having her dear little brother with her, but hearing of life back in the Netherlands made her angry: their father was still getting drunk most nights, still hitting their mum who herself had not properly kicked her heroine habit even though she’d promised several times that she had. No, there was no future for her back there and she was surer than ever that she had made the right choice in choosing Rashidi life permanently although she did feel a twinge of sadness knowing that, after the ceremony, she’d never be able to unveil before and speak with her brother again.
As for Pim, he was just overwhelmed with it all. He’d been pretty impressed on the tour round with the family and his eyes goggled when he saw the size of the al-Nuri house and the wealth and respect that his big sister’s new family commanded, but most of all he couldn’t get over the changes in his sister. The unhappy, fretting and stressed out Anneke of Rotterdam was gone completely but in her place a strange creature who actually chose to be gagged and veiled and live like some sort of silent ghost. He couldn’t fathom out why any Western girl would choose such a life, but he had to admit that it seemed to make her happier which, in the end, was all that mattered. He was also struck by the change in her appearance. Pim, as a fifteen year-old boy was now noticing women in a serious way and whilst he didn’t fancy his sister – which would have been seriously messed up – he had to admit that he liked the changes in her body. “Your breasts have certainly changed… and your bum. Don’t take this the wrong way, sis, but I kinda wish some of the girls at school were looking like that, and wearing that corset which is incredible.” Anneke smiled with satisfaction; she was now lacing down to 50cm, still much larger than she’d have liked but good progress nonetheless. Plus the creams which her maid rubbed onto her breasts and bottom every morning were making a difference, (as well as the corset squeezing fat into the right areas no doubt!), and she gained several centimetres in both departments, although she was, naturally, still much smaller than Soraya. She explained to her brother about Rashidi tastes and the creams and his eyes goggled. “Is Soraya like you then?” he asked in amazement. “Not at all,” she replied with a laugh. “Her breasts are 80E 2 and her bum has a measurement of 110cm, both much larger than mine!” Seeing that he was so fascinated, she let him lace up her corset, knocking another cm off and causing her to gasp for air. “I’ll wear it that tight for you from now on,” she promised whilst Pim simply wished that he could find a girlfriend in Rotterdam who’d let him lace her up tight like that.
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Friday was the day of the ceremony which was like a more formalised repeat of the other evening, except that underneath her normal clothing she wore a very different catsuit to normal. Unusually, it was in white, to signify her virginity and newness to the tribe. However, it was covered with exquisite embroidery and, startlingly, at the breasts and crotch were large cut outs lined with golden embroidery. Puzzled, she asked Samira why this was to which her adopted mother replied, Later on, to be fully accepted into our tribe, you will have to undergo an initiation. All of us women have to, usually at fourteen, so don’t worry about it; it is part of being a Rashidi woman.
And so wearing the ceremonial catsuit and her normal clothes on top, topped after that by some gold jewellery which was placed around her head, she was led out and the same questions as before were asked: Did the Hassan accept her into his family? Did the Head of the al-Nuri tribe accept her into the tribe? Was she a Muslim? Did she willingly want to enter the al-Nuri tribe and become a Rashidi citizen knowing full well that it meant giving up her rights? And then finally, did her guardian from the van der Toorne tribe accept her leaving his tribe and entering the al-Nuri tribe? And Pim, loudly and clearly in a script prepared for him earlier by Hassan, declared that he had no objections.
The ceremony complete, the party for the menfolk began, but Anneke and the other women were ushered into the female quarters in order to complete her initiation rites.
Once all the men were gone, her veils were flipped back to reveal a party of around twenty veiled women, obviously all the relatives who had to be there to welcome her into their tribe. Then slowly and ceremoniously, her mother and sister stripped her of her costume until she was stood in the middle of the room wearing only her white catsuit, white gloves and socks, white hood and gag. Then she was led to a high-backed chair in the middle of the room which she sat down in. Soraya and Salima guided her arms behind the chair and then fastened them tightly behind the chair back so that she could not use them. Then the same was done with her ankles to the wide chair legs so that he crotch was exposed and she felt very shamed so indoctrinated now was she in the Rashidi norms of modesty. Several candles were alight and a small spirit lamp burnt with a clear blue flame whilst laid out on a table nearby were some sharply pointed silver wires, brass discs and three golden rings. Anneke was beginning to get worried.
One of the veiled women got up, walked towards Anneke and began to splash cold water over her lewdly exposed breasts. Then she picked up one of the golden discs and pressed it firmly to the Dutch girl’s chilled left breast, forcing the erect nipple to protrude through the hole. The covered lady flicked the nipple several times making sure that it was free and proud and not pinched under the disc. Then she took one of the sharply pointed wires, positioned it close to the base of the nipple and in one deft movement, pushed it straight through.
Anneke closed her eyes and grimaced. So, this is what becoming a Rashidi woman entailed: breast piercings! The pain was shocking and when she looked down she noticed a droplet of blood emerging from the skewered flesh, but she didn’t dwell on it for long for then the pain was doubled by the same treatment being afforded to her right nipple. As she screamed with agony into her gag and Soraya stroked her leather-covered head with understanding.
The covered piercer held the blue flame of the spirit lamp to the protruding end of the wire through her left breast and then swiftly pulled it back through the nipple, thus healing the wound but causing Anneke to scream into her gag with pain again. Once it was out though, the disc fell to the floor. Noiselessly, the piercer picked up one of the large golden rings and threaded it through the hole before soldering it shut. When the process was repeated with her right breast, Anneke passed out from the pain.
When she came to, the piercer was knelt in front of her who had parted her beauty lips and was now tickling her clitoris so that it became aroused. Anneke began to moan in lewd pleasure but then the piercer got out a piece of cotton and tied it firmly around the base of her engorged clitoris so that it extended outwards between the beauty lips. The Dutch girl then gasped as the piercer wiped a cloth, soaked in a strange freezing liquid, over her beauty lips. They seemed to lose feeling. She hardly felt it when she then parted her lips again and applied the cloth to her bound and swollen beauty bud. She felt her beauty lips being clipped back leaving her swollen and bound clitoris projecting and on display.
Then the piercer turned to the small spirit lamp with the clear blue flame and began heating a wire over it. Then she felt her swollen clitoris being pulled out and a prick as if something sharp and hot had been gently pushed through the cotton thread binding her clitoris and was now touching it. She craned her head to see what horror was being done to her, but Soraya held it back whilst still stroking her lovingly. Then she screamed under her gag as, unknown to her, the red-hot wire was expertly thrust right through her clitoris. It was held there momentarily and she then she could feel it being alternatively turned left and right. Then it was withdrawn. Anneke gasped with relief.
Then she felt something else being pushed through. It seemed to be covered in some sort of creamy grease. She felt whatever it was being pulled to and fro. Next she felt a flame being brought right up to her beauty lips making her tremble with fear. She had the impression that the flame was being used to braze something together, brazed permanently. But what? And why?
The entire room clapped, the sound muffled by their gloves, but it was evident that she was now accepted as a Rashidi female of the al-Nuri tribe now. Anneke felt the cotton threads round her beauty bud being undone. She could feel some of the swelling subsiding, but now there was a strange feeling, as if her clitoris was being held permanently extended outwards – and permanently aroused. She felt something metallic between her outstretched legs. She felt hands admiringly touching something that seemed to be attached to her. What had they done to her? She moved slightly in her embarrassment and again felt the metal object. Oh my God! Oh the shame!
She looked down at her parted legs. From between her now hairless beauty lips hung another golden ring. It had been put through her precious beauty bud and seemed to be making her constantly aroused! She saw that it had been inserted so that it hung neatly parallel to, and between, her beauty lips and not awkwardly at right angles across them. And on the ring was engraved in tiny Arabic letters a name: Salma al-Nuri.
That’s your new name, typed Samira on her typepad. You are now my beloved daughter Salma, a true member of the al-Nuri tribe!
The End of Salma al-Nuri
And so Anneke became Salma and she lived with her sister Soraya, her mother Samira and her father Hassan in their luxurious house in the suburbs of Rashid City. Her former brother, Pim, who was of course no longer related to her after her initiation ceremony, flew back to the Netherlands with all their love and a promise to come back out after he’d finished school in three years time whilst Salma simply reverted to the life that Anneke had enjoyed before, veiled, silent, modest and clean both inside and out. It is true that she now went out more often than before. She was used to the travelling costume and actually enjoyed the experience of wearing it so long as the trip was no longer than two days, after which her liquid intake lost all of its flavour and became too acrid in taste. And so they visited different places in Rashid and houses of other friends and relatives, some as liberal as they were, others far more traditional. They also visited other houses in the district, often the three wives of Abdullah since to go within the neighbourhood, although travelling costumes was a necessity, sealing them in was not, the law decreeing that a padlock would do. And so things continued for almost three years when, a month before Salma and Soraya’s twenty-first birthdays, they were called into the Men’s Sitting Room for an audience with their father.
“My dear daughters,” he began, “I’ve called you here today because I have news of great importance to give you. As you know, both of you are nearing your twenty-first birthdays and in our culture that is the prime age for marriage. Now I must admit that this is a time both your mother and I have been dreading since we don’t want to lose you, but young ladies must marry and one day become mothers and much as we’d like you both to remain as our little girls forever, so it is with you. And I have made enquiries and had offers and have chosen ones which I believe to be the best for you. Since Soraya’s birthday falls on the 21st and Salma’s on the 27th, I have decreed that on the 28th, the day when you are both 21, you shall both leave this house and start new lives.”
At this news the two girls grabbed each other and shook their heads vigorously. No! The thought of being parted from one another as well as from their beloved parents, it was just too much.
“No my daughters, this is not something that we can avoid, only postpone which is pointless. But do not fear, I am your father and I love you dearly and so have thought long and hard about whom you both shall marry and I believe that I have made the right choices. Soraya, I am sure that your choice of husband will come as no surprise. You have played with your cousin Farouk as a child and I know both of you still hold affection for each other today. I have seen your hugs when we visited the home of the al-Nuri tribe. I approached his father and the boy is willing, more than willing in fact. Now, I appreciate that he is a little more traditional than I am, but he is a good man and true al-Nuri. So what say you to my choice?”
Soraya nodded and then typed, Thank you father, Farouk has always been the man I dreamt of marrying. I am glad you didn’t pick someone old who already has wives, but I am still sad to be parted from my mother, father and sister.
“I understand my darling, but that is life. And so to you Salma, a much harder task I must admit, especially considering your history as Anneke. However, I have had an offer from a man whom I believe that you can love. He is a little traditional it is true and you shall be his second wife but…”
At this Salma started shaking her head vigorously as her sister hugged her.
“Wait! Wait! Hear me out daughter! You SHALL become his second wife but that is why I chose him for you. I see you so close with your sister here that I knew you would need another wife to talk to, and his first wife is your age and indeed is only the first wife by virtue of her being a week older, for he shall marry both wives on the same day.” At this Hassan’s face broke out into a large grin and Samira clapped her hands with joy. Soraya and Salma looked at each other in confusion. “Don’t you understand yet my dear daughters, you too shall marry Farouk, two sisters for the same husband. Quite why he was prepared to take both of you on I don’t know, but he was in fact most enthusiastic. Salma and Soraya, you shall stay together forever!”
And with those words the two veiled girls hugged each other for joy as tears of happiness flowed beneath their leather masks.
And so it was that a month later Salma al-Nuri – along with Soraya al-Nuri ceased together for in a grand ceremony at Bait Imani they both wed their cousin, Farouk al-Nuri and, he being far more traditional than their father Hassan, insisted that they give up their names and become simply First and Second until they bore him children and could call themselves umm. Of course, it wasn’t all perfect; Farouk insisted in chained wrists at all times and, like the three wives of Abdullah, only one being allowed to speak on a certain day. And because he really was a stickler for the classic Rashidi female shape, one of the marriage contract conditions was that, as their birthday presents, Hassan pay for his two daughters to undergo quite spectacular breast enlargements so that they both sported identical (and heavy) 100E 3 breasts on their wedding day, but as good Rashidi wives they knew that it was worth it to please their husband. And for Second there was an extra surprise on that wedding day, for there at the party as she wore an exquisite white dress with pearl-studded white hood and silken veils was her former brother Pim who the very next day came to see her and was told that she could unveil and speak to him by her husband. But why, she typed. He is unrelated to me?
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“Not anymore,” replied Pim, for I’ve been in conversation with your father for several months now and two days ago he accepted me into the al-Nuri tribe too. I’m his adopted son and so we’re brother and sister again!”
And with that Second hugged her long-lost brother, then her co-wife sister and lastly her handsome new husband, lost in her veiled dream world, excited by the prospects of the night ahead…
And so we shall leave them there, but fear not, we can always return again another day. After all, I haven’t told you why I, Amin al-Nuri, formerly known as Pim van der Toorne, decided to become a Rashidi and how I faired in my new life in the Sultanate of Rashid. But that is, as they say, another story…
Copyright © 2013, Dave Potter