Chapter 9

Posted: August 24, 2006 - 12:09:53 pm?

The hashish traders were undoubtedly as nasty as Basheera and the other women described. They were a mean looking lot, heavily armed and openly contemptuous. There were six of them, and they arrived in two vehicles. Four men exited a Land Rover, while two sat in a three-quarter ton truck. Two of the four from the Land Rover were heavily armed guards, who took up a position behind the Land Rover, facing the house.

Fatima and Tahani bolted down to the basement and crawled through the tunnel to the equipment shed. Tahani had one of the AK-47s and three magazines; Fatima grabbed the Tokarev pistol. Through a gun port we'd made in the shed door, Tahani had a perfect view of the guards' back and the men in the truck. Basheera greeted the traders, formally introducing me as Hassan's nephew, as we had rehearsed dozens of times. After handshakes, we sat down for tea, another formality that made the trading seem almost a ritual. I sent Jamilah and Kalila out to the greenhouses to get the hash and marijuana stacked at the door. I didn't have to tell them to grab the AKs stashed out there or to hide in the places we'd picked. Zahrah sat out of sight at the top of the basement stairs with the AKM.

After about twenty minutes of small talk that I was thankfully able to keep up with, the leader of the group asked how much product we had to sell. I said we had twenty-eight kilos of resin and twenty-five kilos of very high-grade marijuana. I then asked him what currency we were dealing in tonight. The type of currency was a major consideration for us because of exchange rates. We wanted at least two hundred fifty dollars US for a kilo of resin and fifty dollars for a kilo of marijuana. Two hundred fifty dollars equaled about four hundred thousand Iraqi dinars but only one hundred seventy-five Jordanian dinars. In the unlikely event the traders offered us gold or dollars, we'd negotiate down to two hundred twenty-five dollars a kilo.

We had rehearsed the negotiations as much as we had my cover story. When the leader of the traders said he had Jordanian dinar I asked for two hundred twenty dinars a kilo for the hash and sixty-five for a kilo of the grass. The trader explained that he had to pay a large bribe to Sheik Omar in the form of product and he couldn't pay those prices; that's when negotiations began in earnest. After a spirited debate, we settled on one hundred eighty dinars a kilo for the resin and fifty dinars a kilo for the pot. We did have to give the traders five kilos of each as tribute for Sheik Omar. The six kilos of resin we found in the room under the shed just about paid Omar's tribute, so we netted a little over seven thousand dollars. Seven thousand dollars would keep the farm running for over a year, even if we didn't sell a single tomato.

The exchange of money and drugs went smoothly. We did hit a rough patch when the leader of the traders commented on our not having any marijuana plants growing. We glossed that over with an explanation that Hassan was leery of the new Iraqi government's vow to crack down on drug trafficking. I said we would be planting as soon as it was deemed safe to do so. The leader nodded his understanding and commented that it was getting harder to cross the border into Jordan or Syria for the same reason. He said the Americans were patrolling the border with helicopters and troops very aggressively.

When the traders departed with their dope, I heaved a sigh of relief. We were going to stay alert for the rest of the evening, but Basheera doubted the traders would return to take back their money. The resin and marijuana to dilute it with had a street value of close to a million dollars, so they would be intent on getting it out of the country immediately. After an hour, I went to the shed and greenhouses to gather up the women there. Basheera was very pleased with the results of our trading. She said that the Jordanian dinar was prized in the market and was worth much more than its official exchange rate.

The women decided I was the hero of the day, and I received bunches of kisses, even though I hadn't done anything they hadn't trained me to do. Tahani was my shower partner and bunkmate that night and the excitement of the evening made her even hotter than usual. Tahani had morphed into something spectacular after she had her first taste of real lovemaking. She became the most daring of the women; she asked questions about sex and was always willing to try something new. She was also the most demonstrative of the wives in showing me affection. Tahani made no bones about the fact that she loved me, in bed and out of it.

The night of the hashish trading, I paid plenty of attention to her ass. Tahani was super receptive to everything I did. Tahani and I were working up to anal sex; we both knew it was only a matter of time before we tried it. We both enjoyed doing it like doggies because I could play with her ass while we were joined. Tahani went crazy when I sawed my finger in her ass while stroking her hot little box with my dick.

By the end of the sixth week after my plane had been shot down, we finally finished making the changes we wanted with the farm. The only area that wasn't as we envisioned was the date palm grove. We were only able to find enough small trees to plant another two acres instead of six. Most of the fifty chicks, twelve hens and two roosters Basheera had purchased were still alive and our expanded chicken house now had four hens sitting on clutches of eggs. Fatima and Tahani spent a lot of time caring for the chicks to insure they survived. Our egg production from the eighteen adult hens we had was damned good considering the heat. A lot of that success was from the lean-tos we built in each of the grazing plots. We had installed roosts in the lean-tos for the chickens that allowed the goats to still use them for shade also.

We had doubled the size of the outside gardens and had dozens of tomato, pepper and strawberry plants growing in the greenhouses. I had given Basheera the idea for growing strawberries, along with the notion we should try canning some jelly and tomato sauce. Some of the women were making at least three trips a week to town now for supplies and equipment. Every trip to town saw the women increase our stockpile of canning jars, seals and lids.

And on every trip to town, the women brought me more information about the activities of the wily Sheik Omar. Fatima had found an old 1:250000 scale geo survey map of the area and I began plotting the locations of Omar's assets, based on the gossip the women were bringing me from town. The very best information we received was also gossip, but it was from the soldiers who dropped by every week to collect vegetables from the women. The soldiers were not hesitant in the least about boasting about the might of their forces. They bragged about how Omar had them conducting raid and bombings far to the east. They also told of the many foreign militants and fanatics that joined them daily. The soldiers were leery of the fanatics but the money they brought the cause was most welcome.

I hid in the basement, in the cubbyhole behind the shelves, during the soldier's visits. It was a pain in the ass to have to give the soldiers food we'd worked hard to produce, but thankfully they took what was offered and didn't demand more. Basheera was a master at making it look as if she was giving them much more than she really was. Kalila hid out with me on the days the soldiers visited. Basheera covered her absence by telling the jahadists that Kalila was tending to her sick grandmother in al Rabat.

It was during my seventh week, in the evening after the soldiers visited, that marriage came up. Tahani was the one who started the conversation by saying, even without a marriage contract, she considered me her husband. The other widows quickly avowed the same thing. As I sat there looking at them, I kind of felt that way also. In what way was I not their husband except for a contract?

"I feel as all of you do, but what can we do about it?" I asked.

Basheera and Jamilah pounced on the opening I gave them.

"We think we know a way for us to be able to stay with you Habib (beloved), a way that is even legal. You could marry Fatima, Tahani, Kalila and Zahrah," Basheera said.

At my stunned look, Jamilah jumped in, "Basheera would be your widowed mother-in-law, while I am your servant along with my unmarriable daughter."

I was speechless for a second, then looked around at all the women. They were looking back at me expectantly.

"Do all of you feel the same way?" I asked.

They all answered positively to the affirmative. I let out my breath and sat back on my cushion.

"I don't think I can do that," I said. "Not because I don't love any of you, in fact, the opposite is true. I love all of you and couldn't bear being without Basheera, Jamilah or Adara. Why can't I just marry all of you and be done with it?"

Jamilah hugged and kissed me wearing a huge smile.

"Because, Neeko, the Qur'an specifies the laws regarding Ziwaj (marriage). Allah said that a man could have two, three or four zawjas (wives) if he treated them all equal. So you can only marry four of us. The rules of Ziwaj also forbid marrying mother and daughter. In addition, a family member must give the wife into the marriage contract; Basheera can do that for all four. That is why Basheera says the marriages would be legal."

I thought for a minute before I said anything else. The very idea of thinking about marriage was astounding; when I added the fact that I was talking about marrying seven women it was almost incomprehensible. But for all its apparent strangeness, it felt so right, I knew beyond a doubt that it was what I should do.

"What you have worked out is a good plan and I will follow it with only a few exceptions. I may only enter into a valid contract with four of you but I am marrying all of you. I will always consider you all as equal to one another and will treat you that way. You will each be my wife in everyway. Can all of you accept that?"

I received seven teary eyed but enthusiastic nods.

"The second point I have is in how our home will be. I am an affectionate man and I will continue to be affectionate with you. If I am affectionate with one in front of others, I don't want it to cause ill feelings. Remember I love you all equally. And I will spread my love equally among you. Is that acceptable?"

More shiny-eyed nods greeted me.

"Neeko, this is very good, you are actually listing conditions that would appear in the Mur (marriage contract). The Mur is usually negotiated between families before the wedding, and once signed and witnessed, becomes binding for not only the bride and groom, but their families as well. Basheera will negotiate for us as head of our family," said Jamilah.

I didn't like the idea of negotiating anything with Basheera; she was a sharp cookie, and the way she bargained, I would probably end up chained up back in my cell again. But I was also getting into the spirit of things, happy that we would hash out everything before we did the deed. I nodded my acceptance and directed my points toward Basheera.

"Next, I know that as part of treating you equal, each of you should have her own space that is the same as the others. Obviously, we can't exactly do that, so I propose we draw up a document that gives each of you an equal share in the farm, seven wives - seven shares.

That idea drew the first dissension; Basheera voiced it for the group.

"Eight shares," she corrected, "seven wives and one husband."

I smiled at that.

"Okay, eight equal shares. The next item might be discomforting to some of you and if it is you don't have to participate. What I want is to spend my nights with all of you as close to me as I can have you be. If lovemaking is involved, it can be in another room, sleeping, however, should be all of us together."

The other women looked at Basheera.

"We must talk about this for a few minutes, Habib, can you excuse us?"

I went outside and sat on the kitchen steps while they talked. I decided that one thing I was definitely going to do was build a porch out here at the back of the house. The house was oriented so the kitchen door faced north, so a porch here would be at least partially shaded all day. I was figuring out how the porch should be built, when Tahani came out for me. I followed her in, and reassumed my seat.

"Neeko, the idea of us all sleeping together is a new concept for us but we are willing to try it. However, there will be times that one or more of us will need our privacy. I will rearrange the rooms so that we can accomplish what you want and what we need. Is this satisfactory to you?"

"That is fine with me, Basheera, you know I trust your judgment completely. The final point I have involves the younger women. I do not want them to become pregnant until they are at least twenty-one. The reason for this is that I want them to be able to go to school or whatever else they wanted to do to achieve any personal goals they might have."

My position on the issue of them getting pregnant while they were young was something I was firmly committed to, but after a spirited debate I agreed to allow them to decide at the age of nineteen and a half whether they wanted to become pregnant. None of the four younger women were yearning for a child right now anyway; they just wanted the option available to them if they changed their minds later. We had been at it for over an hour by the time we wrapped things up. We agreed that we would all think about the idea for three days, after three days I would be proposing to them individually. I had some definite ideas about how and when I would marry each. Of course they had some ideas of their own about that, too.

That night, I went for my walk by myself. I headed toward the palm grove and sat on the concrete bench Tahani and I had dragged out there. It was a moonless night, so the vault of the sky was scattered with the diamond twinkling of a million stars. I had much to think about that night, and some serious soul searching to do as well.

The first issue I faced was the 'Twilight Zone' unreality of my situation. Less than two months ago, I was a conservative, confirmed bachelor, who had avoided commitment as if it were the plague. Tonight, I was three days away from proposing to seven women. Almost as bizarre as the marriage, was the idea that I was about to chuck a comfortable life and a well paying career for the opportunity to try to scratch a living out of one of the most backwards and inhospitable spots on the planet. For the first time, I thought about why I wanted this so badly. I knew that some people might think it was Stockholm syndrome, the psychological phenomenon where a captive embraces the cause of his captors. I knew it wasn't that though, because the women had no cause for me to identify with.

My best guess was that with the Hassan women, I felt as if I belonged. The only other place I'd felt that was with Jim and Grace Gleason. The Hassan women accepted me as I was, just as the Gleasons had done. Gracie had died two years ago after a protracted fight against cancer. Jim died two months later. I will forever believe that he died of a broken heart. I still grieved from losing them both. Another big thing that held me here was the fact that the women actually needed and wanted me. They made no bones about that. My ego was in good hands with them because they stroked the hell out of it. They believed that I was the man who could turn their lives around and bring them the happiness they deserved. That faith in me made me willing to turn heaven and earth to prove them right.

I'd been sitting there almost an hour, when Basheera came out and sat beside me. I put my arm around her and held her close.

"Sheba, you know I have to go back to the military. I have an obligation to them to fulfill. I will have to go back to the States to resign my commission. As soon as I am able, I will return to you. When I go back, I will give the authorities the information we have collected about Sheik Omar. His removal will go a long way toward not only our safety, but the freedom of the others who live here."

"We know that, Neeko, and we expect no less than for you to do what is right and honorable. But you must promise to hurry back to us. Our hearts will be empty until you fill them again. Allah brought you to us, he is not so cruel as to snatch you away again, he will protect you and bring you safely back to us."

See? What she said was exactly what I was talking about, when I said their expectations made me a better man. They hated the idea of me having to leave, yet they knew it was the right thing, so they agreed to it unquestioningly. We walked back to the house holding hands.

Three days later, I asked Fatima and Tahani to marry me. I received two enthusiastic yeses from them. We sat down with Basheera and Jamilah and wrote out the marriage contracts. Each contract contained the general terms of an Arab marriage and specific terms for the persons getting married. The specific terms were the ones that we had agreed on a few nights ago, plus my gifts to my new wives. This gift to the wife thing was new to me when I learned of it, but I understood it immediately. It was to make sure that my wife had something to fall back on if I reneged on my vows or something happened to me. I knew that Hassan had pulled a fast one on the women in this area from my discussions about Islamic marriage with Jamilah.

Consequently, I had put a lot of thought into my gift. I was well off financially, partly because I was a saver and because I had received a small inheritance from the Gleasons. The biggest reason, though, was the three-bedroom oceanfront condo I owned in Daytona Beach. I had lucked into the condo eight years ago, when the building I owned a time-share in became a co-op. I bought my rental unit, putting twenty percent down and taking out a fifteen-year mortgage. It had hurt my frugal heart to part with half of my savings for the down payment, but I sucked it up. I owed less than thirty thousand on the condo and it was conservatively worth six hundred thousand now. I figured that my net worth if I liquidated everything, was about a million and a half. The women gasped when I promised each of them eighty thousand Jordanian dinars within six months.

I caught some flak from Basheera and Jamilah, when I told them to make out identical contracts between them and me. They protested that it wasn't legal, but I insisted on it anyway.

"We can have any type of public relationship you want us to have, but in the privacy of our home, you are going to be my wives," I told them.

Although they tried to be blasé about it, I could tell my little declaration meant a lot to the older women. It took another hour to finish all four contracts. We each reviewed them and agreed they were correct. The Arab custom was for the female's wali (guardian) to make the offer of marriage and for the groom to accept. Basheera did the honors for the other three women and Jamilah acted for Basheera. In all four cases, I recited, "I marry you" three times to the woman. The second and third times were just tradition, as soon as I said, "I marry you" once, the contract was in force, and we were wed.

How about that, from bachelor to polygamist in two hours!

After the signing and witnessing of the marriage contracts, it was business as usual for me. I was working in one of the greenhouses with the younger women. All three of them were full of questions about me marrying them. I told them that they were asking the wrong person, because Basheera and Jamilah were handling the arrangements. I was much closer to Kalila and Zahrah because of our evening talks. Both girls had inherited their mother's no-nonsense approach to things, and were patiently waiting as tradition played itself out. Adara though, was so high on the whole idea of being my wife, I thought she would explode with excitement.

I had serious reservations about the daughters of Basheera and Jamilah at first. My reservations were cultural, based on things as they were where I was from. As I became more in tune with the culture I was in now, those reservations faded. It wasn't as common now, but traditionally, Arab women married between the ages of fifteen and nineteen. Fifteen was the age a woman was legally allowed to marry. Kalila was almost eighteen, Zahrah was almost seventeen and Adara had just turned fifteen. All three were as mature as any adult woman I'd ever met.

Over the last three evenings, I had a serious talk with each of them. I was making sure that Kalila and Zahrah wanted to marry me for a reason other than just going along with the wishes of their mother. Both girls convinced me that they wanted to be my wives for their own reasons. Their mother had promoted my case as future husband but they had made their own decision. With Adara, my concerns were different. With Adara, I had felt protective and, well, for want of a better word, fatherly. As she sat on my lap in the date palm grove, I tried to explain that to her. She heard me out and proceeded to prove to me how mature and bright she was.

"You only feel that way because you see me as a girl, Neeko. I guess I will just have to prove to you that I am a woman."

With that declaration, she wrapped her arms tighter around my neck and kissed me as well as I have ever been kissed. I couldn't help but respond as she kissed me exactly as I liked to be kissed, her lips soft and yielding, her tongue sweet in my mouth. When she let me up for air, I had to move her in my lap to make room for my growing erection. She giggled and ground down on me.

"Wow, Adara, where did you learn to kiss like that?" I asked in amazement.

I wasn't expecting the answer she gave me.

"Tahani taught me. I asked her because Tahani is as crazy for you as I am. You are the only man who has ever treated either one of us as if we were someone special. When Tahani tells me about how you make love to her I burn inside."

We kissed some more before we headed back to the house. Adara smiled when she saw me having to adjust my hard on.

Tahani was my shower partner that night. I was feeling especially eager to get going, because Adara had me revved up. When we exited the shower, Tahani told me to go on down to my cell and she'd join me in a few minutes. I kissed her and told her not to be long, because I was hot for her. She giggled and pushed me out the door. I was already hard with anticipation when I reached my room. When I passed through the door, I did a double take, when I saw Adara sitting on my pallet, naked as the day she was born. I was too surprised at how truly beautiful she was to be upset she was there.

"You are as beautiful as any woman I've ever seen," I said in awe.

I damned sure meant that, because her body was damned near as perfect as her face. Her breasts were full and firm, defying gravity by being slightly upswept at the tips. Her shoulders were wide and her torso tapered down to a very small waist then flared out into full hips. Her legs were shapely, except for the hardened lump of her twisted left ankle.

She gave me the sweetest smile. "You really think so?" she asked in wonder.

"I know so. You are as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside."

"Then you might want to make love with me?" she asked.

"I would in a heartbeat, but your mother would have to approve something like that, my Desert Flower," I replied gently.

The little minx gave me a slow mischievous smile and whipped something from behind her back.

"Good, then sign here," she said, handing me a marriage contract. "And Basheera told me you have to use these," she continued, as she pressed a three pack of condoms into my hand.
Joe J & Wet Dream-Girl
Chapter 10