Date: Wed, 23 Jul 2003 10:07:55 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Changed Life - Chapter 3 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the 3rd chapter of part one of a trilogy of
novels of gay sex.

Keywords:
authority, control, slavery, punishment, re-training,
submission, loyalty

This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights
to it and its characters are copyright and private to
and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone
for any reason whatsoever is permitted.

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if
this material will be unlawful for you to read where
your live, please leave this webpage now.

Contact points:
eMail: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
Web:  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Changed Life by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 3 - Dahra

   Dahra is one of the hottest places in the world
according to those who keep records. There is some
place in the middle of the Sahara which is worse. But
in Dahra, one single minute in the noonday sun will
leave a European very uncomfortable. Five minutes and
you will have a bad sunburn. Its coastline is its only
saving feature as far as geography goes with two deep
sea ports and beautiful unpopulated beaches. Even in
December, except on cloudy days, it is uncomfortable to
sit on the beach. So all who can, just sit at home in
the shade of palm trees by swimming pools.

   It has three things going for it. It is a Sheikdom
with some form of alliance with both the Emirates on
the Gulf and with Saudi Arabia itself on whose
peninsula it sits. The Sheik is an absolute monarch and
any form of government which a democracy might bring is
regarded by both the monarch and the people as simply
undignified and unbecoming of the nation.

   Its second item worth mentioning is its oil. I am a
banker, so I do not really understand about things in
the ground and such, but a geologist friend there
explained it to me saying, "Think of a big ice cream
cone upside down. The entire country Dahra is sitting
on the very tip of the upside down cone and almost
everything else down underneath in the cone is oil."

   Well, my friend was almost right, because the third thing
was that instead of there being just one upside down cone,
there were in fact two, one of oil and one of gas,
which those exploring for water in the foothills of the
mountains had discovered by accident.

   Oil and gas - that is the modern Dahra in a sentence -
and of course, everything Arab that goes with both. It
has a modern capital city, off whose pavements you
could eat your breakfast they are so clean, if you
could only stay in the sun for the time it would take
you to eat it. A health and education system paid for
by the Sheik is on a par with Switzerland or better. No
crime to speak of. Who would want to rob a car in 120
degrees as one cynic opined? No real tourists as it is
far too hot. An outwardly calm life style of business
for some four hours a day and the rest of the time to
do your own thing.

   The historical Dahra was a darker story. Its two deep
sea ports were once the main slave lines into the
peninsula. But that was centuries ago.

   I had arrived literally a week after the famous board
meeting. The Dahra office was headed up by a Swede,
Gustav Ahlson, whose English was better than mine. He
was unusual in that he was there for over twenty years,
and as the most senior Deckams banking executive in the
country under me, could have asked for any posting in
the Bank and got it with the snap of his fingers.

   I had heard it said that he had turned down two offers
to be posted as a partner elsewhere, simply wanting to
stay in Dahra. While he actually ran the office, the
volume, value and prestige of the business required a
partner to be there to deal with the many relations of
the Sheik who were in every key post and facet of
Dahran life, and who would not deal with a mere
employee however important he was. It was a matter of
power to deal on a basis of equals when dealing with
equals in business.

   Our merchant Bank had the business of investing some
the country's billions, spreading them around the world
to finance other ventures. It was a continuing battle
to find good investment opportunities and not have the
money just sitting in various national Government bonds
and stocks.

   Consequently, I found myself the day after my arrival
in meeting with the deputy of the deputy finance
Minister to get his authority to invest two billion
euro in a Finnish geo-thermal venture, which would in
some fifteen years make a twenty-fold or so return on
the investment made, and being backed by the Finnish
Government it was as safe as houses, as we say in
banking circles.

   The meeting was not in a bureaucratic finance office
but in one of the Four Diamond hotels as they were not
being called - ever since the dropping of the star
rating system now regarded as appropriate for second
class venues.

   I went alone. No briefcase, no papers, no mobile
phone, the facts and figures in my head. As I drew up
to the hotel in the Deckams Bank limousine, I noticed a
rather large fountain in what appeared to be a very
green park and a lot of activity there including a TV
crew. I asked the driver over the intercom what was
going on, and he informed me that the new fountain had
just been switched on.

   It was quite an extraordinary sight. Maybe it was the
dry heat of the day and it was still only nine o'clock
in the morning, but the air around the fountain
positively shimmered with a mirage of refracted lights
in every cascading droplet of water over what appeared
to be the purest of white marbles.

   Although I had been briefed on the man I had to meet,
the deputy to the deputy finance Minister, I was
pleasantly surprised. His full name in Arabic was quite
long, but I was told in the Bank's briefing that I
should address him as "Your Excellency" and that the
shortened version of his first and surnames were Tariq
al-Akhri. He had various degrees, one being from the
London School of Economics.

   Ahmed was definitely Arab, but spoke grammatically
word perfect English, with a slight American accent in
saying some words. One "Your Excellency" was enough
for him, and he said, "Please call me Tariq." And
looking round, said "Where are the others?"

   "Others, Tariq? What others? I am here alone. I am
going to deal with you alone and I hope that you will
want to deal with me."

   He burst out laughing, and showed a fine set of
exquisitely crowned teeth. With a wave of his hand, he
indicated at least six members of the Ministry who were
hovering in the background and whom he had to bring
forward for me to meet. Many, by their surnames alone,
were obviously related to the Sheik's family. As I was
there to deal with one man, I did not bother to be
other than polite, and did not clutter my mind with
their names or functions.

   Tariq's politeness was refined to the nth degree.
Sweetmeats, with dark coffee, tea offered in a variety
of ways, figs from the coast, dates from the lower
mountains. He was the essence of Arab courtesy to a
stranger and visitor to his country. His politeness was
only matched by his acute questioning of some of the
finer points of the proposal before him, and whoever
were to think him a fool dressing in the traditional
Arab long flowing white thoub and gold braided ogal
headband would have been an even greater fool.

   The Bank had done it work well. There was nothing
substantial to change in the investment proposal. It
would be a blue chip investment, government guaranteed
at the other end, with huge profits to be made by the
Sheikdom. We agreed that the documents would be brought
to the Finance Ministry for signing by both side on the
following Thursday.

   Once the business was concluded, Tariq offered to walk
me down to the limousine. I protested saying that I did
not want to inconvenience him, that having found my way
to Dahra, I could find my way to the door. He laughed
at the pun on words, and dismissing his staff, walked
me down anyway.

   As we approached the door, a group of sportsmen and
their bags and equipment started to come in, some
perspiring after the short trip across the hotel
forecourt in the sun and whose latter stragglers were
still descending from the coach.

   "Ah," Tariq commented, "the Estonians have arrived.
We are playing them on Saturday."

   "Not in this type of sun, I hope, Tariq, they look a
little damp already just walking from the coach."

   "No, Jonathan," - this was the first time he
mentioned my name, up to then always Mr. Martin - "it
will be about eight in the evening when the temperature
is much lower. Even the extremely fit could not match
our heat."

   "Well they all look very fit to me, I must say,
though a bit on the thin side for my liking" I replied.

   "And what is your liking, as you put it, Jonathan?"

   I realised I had skidded on to dangerous ground, as I
had not really checked out what the social politics of
the country might be. I knew Kuwait was ok and intended
to visit it at weekends time permitting. Egypt, I
remember, might have been one thing, but Dahra was very
close to Saudi, where nothing was permitted.

   "Sorry, that came out the wrong way. They all just
look so thin like whippets and a bit, I don't know."

   "So you do not think that they are the peak of
manhood then. What is your ideal type of man then?
Surely not weightlifters?"

   We laughed as we walked down towards the limousine.

   "No, Tariq, I suppose it would be anyone a bit fitter
than myself" and I patted my own stomach, which was, if
I say so myself, quite firm. "I suppose someone who was
superbly fit but well built, you know like those Aussie
types who play football."

   "I know exactly what you mean," Tariq replied with
an middle eastern enigmatic smile.

   I made to take my leave and said "I am going to take
a minute to see this splendid new fountain up a little
more closely. I am told it was switched on just this
morning and it looks absolutely stunning."

   Tariq insisted in crossing over towards the park with
me, saying that his cousin in charge of Public Works
had had it built to refresh this part of the city with
its cascading waters which were on some new type of
silent recycling system. He was gesturing towards some
of its features, when from the side of my eye I saw a
Mercedes swerving in off the road and heading straight
for us.

   It was surely reflexes on my part, nothing more, but I
dived taking Tariq out of the path of the oncoming car
in a tackle which would have done the England rugby
team proud.

   He was not a big man, but neither was he small, and
the power of my leap at him threw us both out of harm's
way. One of the newly inaugurated park's benches in
stainless steel or some such metal was totally
demolished. The grill of the Mercedes disintegrated,
the hood flew open and steam hissed out.

   To say that there was pandemonium would be to put it
mildly. I had landed on top of Tariq, so in reality he
did not know what had happened. The noise of the crash
was followed by the most deadly of silences broken only
by the splashing of the water. Then all hell really
broke loose.

   The sequence of events for me is a bit blurred. I was
pulled to my feet. Tariq was hoisted up off the ground.
Someone opened the driver's door of Mercedes and a body
fell out. There is no language in the world like Arabic
for making a guttural noise. And noisy it was.

   Those holding me and supporting Tariq turned out to be
his bodyguards who had been so much in the background
during our meeting and walk though the hotel and over
to the park that I had not even been aware of their
presence.

   The body on the ground beside the car was recognised
as that of a prominent leather manufacturer. Of matters
medical, I know nothing, but even I could see that he
was stone dead and from the look on his face, I would
have guessed that it was a heart attack. The university
hospital coroner subsequently confirmed a massive
coronary.

   All of a sudden the shouting seemed to subside and
Tariq rushed over to embrace me. He was so shocked that
he was talking in voluble Arabic, in which though I am
fluent, even I had difficulty in following. He owed me
his life. His wives and children were in my debt. The
Sheikdom could never repay me. These phrases were
repeated again and again in his shock.

   It was only when he embraced me for a second time that
I felt something was wrong with my right wrist and
almost fainted with the pain. More shouting as I was
supported and the Bank's limousine was brought round to
whisk me off to the hospital. It was not yet midday.

   The hospital had obviously been alerted, because a
very worried doctor was at the private entrance to meet
me with two nurses and a trolley, and seemed quite
relieved when I got out of the limousine unaided and
appeared to me under my own control, though holding on
for dear life to my right forearm.

   I hate hospitals. It's nothing personal. It's just me.
The doctor got less worried by the minute as I lay on
an examination table and I simply closed my eyes to the
lights on the ceiling as they x-rayed and palpated the
wrist, the arm, the elbow and anything remotely
attached. There was a hairline fracture just above the
right wrist where I had either landed on Tariq or
Tariq, in falling, had landed on it as I rugby-tackled
him.

   There seemed to be a long phone call going on and it
was Tariq demanding to know how I was. The doctor was
explaining away over and over again in Arabic that I
would be ok, explaining what it was and what it was
not. So I finally got up off the table, walked over to
the phone and explained to Tariq himself that I was
fine.

   By the time I got back to the Bank, it was abuzz with
conversation and a round of applause greeted my
entrance. What I had not known was that the TV crew had
got it all on film and my rugby tackle had been slow-
motioned to show me at one point horizontal to the
ground as I saved Tariq.

   The following morning the headlines were around the
financial world even an inside photo on the third page
of the FT as "Finance Minister saved by Banker"
summarised matters. The 'deputy to the deputy finance
Minister' bit had been edited out, and the brevity
required by headlines edited in!

   To be continued...