Date: Mon, 25 Nov 2013 00:23:14 +0100
From: Ben Hur <ben-hur-of-judah@outlook.com>
Subject: The Unique Experience Part I

THE UNIQUE EXPERIENCE: PART I

   "Looking for a unique experience? Saudi Arabia for the first time offers
the possibility to participate in unconventional summer trips on the Red
Sea. Sheik Ali Zaq searches trained and muscular young men to row his boats
in a challenging competitive setting. Ages 18 to 30. Skilled
English-speaking crew to direct the oarsmen. Food, drink, special uniform
and sleeping accommodations included. Meet like-minded people from all over
the world. A chance of a lifetime you will never be able to forget!"

   My eyes only by accident catched the short advertisement in the American
magazine for gay athletes that Spring, but afterwards I read it over and
over again. The text intrigued me, and also after I had set aside the
magazine it stuck with me. As a twenty-two year old guy, I was already
bored with the Dutch sport camps I had almost automatically joined during
previous summers.

   I knew their programs by heart now, there was nothing unexpected any
more. I knew the sites and their possibilities. I knew the other
participants (as they mostly returned each year too), their strengths and
weaknesses, their tricks during the games, their behavior in general, their
jokes and stories. I could see it all in my head and because I could see it
all I in my head, it didn't excite me any longer.

   In fact I was looking for something new, for something more adventurous
and unusual next Summer. Indeed looking for a unique experience, if for my
part you want to describe it like that.

   Rowing a boat on the lakes in the northern Netherlands: I had done that
already so often, whether alone, in a rowboat for two, for four, for eight,
with or without a helmsman, just for my pleasure and also in several
contests. I could call myself both a trained athlete and a trained rower. I
had earned my stripes and at least now was in for a different environment
from the one I knew all too well.

   So rowing the Red Sea - well, it never would have occurred to me if this
ad hadn't started me thinking about that possibility. The North Sea, yes,
the big lakes of Switzerland, the French or Italian coast of the
Mediterranean: the idea about that would have risen spontaneously as a
possible alternative. But not a place so strange to me and so far away.

   The Red Sea, Saudi Arabia: I had never been there, never been in any
other part of the Arab world either, but the exoticism of it appealed to
me. Rowing across the Red Sea: none of my vacation buddies over the last
few years had done that ever before, so far as I knew. After such a trip at
least I would have something new to tell the others. And the weather would
always be fine, sure: full sun every day, no rain at all, as we had day
after day the previous cold Summer on that windy Dutch lake.

   Therefore, the small advertisement in the sports magazine stuck in my
head. As I said, I would never have organized a vacation rowing trip on the
Red Sea by myself: too far away and too foreign. I didn't speak Arabic
(although now I definitely understand at least the few words I better have
to!), so how the hell would I be able to organize it, even if I had wanted
to?

   But now that such a special trip was organized and offered, for the
first time in history even as it was announced, that made a big
difference. And they did speak English on board, that was indeed an
advantage too. And I wouldn't have to take care of my food, drink and
sleeping arrangements - a kind of all-inclusive resort was offered here, so
to speak, this time only not on the beach but on the sea.

   I just wondered a little bit about the uniform, what was meant by that -
but in a competition it wasn't strange that the boat owner wanted all his
rowers to be dressed the same, to have them easily recognizable. Well: my
body was properly trained and I did dare to call myself muscular, thanks to
all that training. I understood very well that trained and muscular men
were needed: crossing the Red Sea requires more from a rowing crew than
just crossing the Dutch IJssellake.

   So after some hesitation I decided to send an email to the address given
at the bottom of the ad to get more information. Response came quickly, and
thus a short correspondence began. Of course I had a lot of questions, and
perhaps not all were answered as clearly as I wished, but I liked the idea
of a nice, serious, but at the same time very special, sporting
enterprise. The boats were much, much bigger than at European rowing
contests, for example, and so was our assigned crew.

   The sheik who owned those boats was a very pious Muslim and a real
idealist, as I understood from the emails. He wished to "bring young men
from all over the world together in a unique setting, bonding them as
comrades for life." His great desire was to "revive old Arabic cultural
traditions that went back to the Middle Ages." To increase the
attractiveness for foreigners, he wanted to recreate "an original Eastern
setting and atmosphere on board."

   What exactly was meant by that, I couldn't weasel out of my contact. He
introduced himself to me as Mohamed Morsadi, 26 years old. The whole event
should be a surprise (he explained as I asked for more details), so he
couldn't blab much about it, only telling me that our uniform was very
special and based on old Arab traditions. It indeed sounded very
attractive, so eventually I said yes.

   Of course I had to organize a lot after that, to travel really to Saudi
Arabia, as it is not very easy for Europeans to get into. And I had to give
Mohamed some personal information to make this possible, about my health
(good), my height (6'5"), and my weight (185 pounds), so that he could
consider the best arrangement of all the incoming athletes, to get the most
out of our combined physical strength.

   Working out the best arrangement was quite a puzzle for him that took
some time. But a few emails later he already could tell me my assigned seat
number, 46 Indeed, it must be a really big boat we would have to row. The
competition, he stressed, would be a a vigorous one, requiring a lot from
all participants, and therefore he needed to be sure that the rowers he
enrolled were quite muscular and strong men.

   Of course he also asked for a picture of me, to get an impression of my
body and posture, and I sent him a very nice flattering one of myself
throwing a discus, which did show off my arm muscles quite well. He
considered their size, apparently (and understandably), important for a
rower. He enjoyed my pic very much. Even as I convinced myself more and
more that I did want to sign on, Mohamed showed that he wanted to take me
on board, being convinced of my qualifications for his requirements.

   He sent back a picture of himself also, so that we might recognize each
other more easily at the airport, where he would meet me at my plane to
drive me to the port where the rowers would assemble. The pic showed a
well-built, attractive young Arab man - I guessed maybe thirty years old -
with short black hair and a short black beard. He had a lot of sex appeal,
I must confess, and perhaps this also advanced my decision in a positive
direction a little further.

   As time passed I was therefore looking forward more and more to the trip
and the good fun I would have in showing the whole world my rowing
capabilities.



   Thus in that Summer three years ago, at the end of June, I flew to Saudi
Arabia on the day agreed on with Mohamed, so that I would get there a few
days before the special regatta would start. I must confess, I was a little
bit excited about the trip I was going to make, and the nearer the plane
came to Djeddah, the more excited I got.

   After we landed at three o'clock in the afternoon, and I walked out of
the plane and into the airport lobby, I immediately felt the desert heat,
which at first is overwhelming for anyone not used to those extreme
temperatures. But as it is a very dry kind of heat, not the damp tropical
one I remembered from Java, after a while you get more adjusted to it. It
must have been 40 degrees celsius in the shade outside. Of course, those
are no circumstances for exerting yourself in sports, but on the Red Sea
there would be some cooling wind and on the boat some protection - as it
otherwise would be inhumane to organize the planned rowing trip.

   Inside the airport terminal, it was much cooler of course. Passing
through customs didn't take long, since I didn't bring much luggage, only a
few personal belongings. In fact, Mohamed told me that I didn't need to
bring anything with me, as the organization would provide me everything
that I needed. So I came into the big hall of the terminal, with his
printed photo in my hand, looking for Mohamed in the waiting crowd - a lot
of men with beards, some women with burkas. I didn't detect him but at once
a young man, in his mid-twenties, broke away from the crowd and walked up
to me, also with a picture in his hand. He clearly wasn't Mohamed.

   "Tom of Holland?" the guy, who like me wore only a t-shirt and jeans,
asked gently, showing me the picture - it indeed showed me.

   So I nodded, a little surprised (as I hadn't expected somebody else),
whereupon he said: "Hello, I am Mustafa. Mohamed asked me to pick you up,
as he had to pick up five guys from the States who landed forty-five
minutes ago. So please follow me to my car, and I'll bring you to all the
other athletes".

   After some short hesitation - was this all okay? - I grabbed my luggage
and followed him to the parking lot. Coming out of the air-conditioned
lobby, I was again overwhelmed by the heat you couldn't escape. Well, it
would be a unique experience to row with those temperatures indeed. But at
sea there would be more wind luckily.

   Mustafa walked to a big open convertible. After I tossed my luggage in
the back seat, I jumped next to him and we left. We drove through the
outskirts of Djeddah, then in the direction of the port. For me it was an
amazing trip, all this being totally new to me, so I looked both left and
right to catch as many glimpses of this strange country as I
could. Meanwhile, we chatted about a lot of different things: Mustafa was
curious after what kind of work I had done, what Holland looked like, et
cetera.

   After half an hour we apparently reached our destiny. We had driven to
the far end of the harbor, leaving the more industrialized areas far
behind, when Mustafa stopped in front of a huge isolated building made of
dark-red brick, at least a hundred sixty feet wide and sixty feet high. It
looked rather gloomy, having practically no windows at all, only on the top
floor. A high concrete wall, continuing that of the building itself on both
sides, separated the enclosure behind from the street. In front of it was a
big parking lot, for the most part unoccupied; I only saw a few cars and a
big truck there. It was totally silent outside, nobody here besides us. A
row of palm trees bordered the property. To the right, where we came from,
there were some rusty cranes but no other structures at all. To the left in
the distance I already could make out the sea.

   Mustafa gestured me to go out, and to bring my luggage with me: "We're
there. Please follow me." Then we crossed the street and walked to what was
apparently the only entrance. Mustafa rang a bell, then spoke some words in
Arabic (that I of course couldn't understand) into some kind of
microphone. After some seconds the door opened slowly. It was a thick and
heavy door, as I saw when it opened to let us inside.

  In front of us was a narrow and not very well lit corridor. Mustafa
entered and I followed. The door closed automatically behind us. It was
rather cool inside - or perhaps just the normal temperature I was used to
in Holland, which in the meantime to me had become the same. After several
paces there was a second door; Mustafa rang again. This time the door
didn't open automatically; I heard somebody approaching from the other
side, and then the turning of some keys and the pushing aside of two heavy
bolts. I wondered a little bit about all this - two doors seemed to me a
little bit superfluous as a safety measure.

   In the meanwhile the second door opened, and a rather tall man - he
would have been at least six foot six - about forty years old and dressed
in a strange kind of uniform turned up. He looked a little bit like a Roman
centurion, wearing a tunic underneath a black armor plate with a leather
apron, short boots on his bare muscled legs, huge black leather wristbands
on his bare muscled arms and a shining helmet with a big red plume on his
head. I gazed at him with some amazement, and wondered about his dress, but
then remembered the historical setting in which the whole regatta would
take place. Apart from rowing, in a way it would be kind of a reenactment
theatre, too. And I must confess, the guy looked really hot in his special
outfit.

   Mustafa greeted him in Arabic, and then in English said to him, "Ahmed,
here is our next man."

   And to me: "Go with him to the reception room, he will do the whole
processing. I have to go back to the airport to pick up another one of your
future colleagues. See you later."

   And off he went, opening the main door and disappearing through it.

   Ahmed only said: "Please follow me."

   We passed through several corridors, climbed several steps and changed
direction several times, until we arrived at a third door - I guessed that
we were now, after this whole odyssey through the middle of the building,
close to the top floor. Ahmed knocked on the door and, after a voice inside
said something I couldn't understand, we entered. Inside the room was a
desk, with another man sitting behind it, dressed in the same great Roman
centurion manner as Ahmed. They really arranged the whole thing in style!

   The rest of the room, which was relatively big, was nearly empty. Ahmed
pushed me forward to the man behind the desk, who seemed to me to be a
little bit older than Ahmed, about mid-forties. He was introduced to me by
Ahmed as Mohamed. It of course wasn't the Mohamed I had contact with, as he
looked totally different, and indeed was much older.

   Than Ahmed said to him: "Here is Rower 46, just arrived from the
airport."

   Mohamed: "Fine. We will start the registration then."

   Thereupon I was asked some dates, to be sure that I was the right
person. Mohamed wrote it all down on a form in a file folder on the
desk. Ahmed in the meanwhile was measuring me, putting his measuring tape
on a lot of places including my neck, wrists and ankles. They needed all
those measurements - as Ahmed told me in passing when I questioned the
reason for it - to get the right fit for my rowing uniform and for some
special ornaments showing that I was a member of the sheik's rowing team.
All were entered on the form. Ahmed went to a door at the other side of the
room, opened it and called something out to a guy who apparently was in the
room next door. Then he returned, whereupon Mohamed asked me a lot of
questions concerning my health and habits.

   Then he looked at me and said: "Well, we're finished with your
registration for the moment. You will now receive your uniform and
ornaments. They will brought in here in the next few minutes. Please
undress."

   Ahmed thereupon went again to the door and called again for
something. Meanwhile, I started to undress, taking off my shoes, t-shirt
and jeans - and then stopped.

   Ahmed came back, and when he saw me still in my boxers, which were the
only thing that separated me from total nudity, he said with a small smile:
"No, all. Don't be so shy. You will get all your new things from us."

   I hesitated, as I wasn't in for a total strip, but then I did what he
told me and stood there totally naked. Well, at least I had nothing to be
ashamed of, I really was proud of my muscled body, my strong arms, and my
dick looked respectable as well. Was I wrong to discover some sign of
satisfaction in the face of Mohamed, when he cast a quick glance at me?

   Ahmed took a plastic bag from a chair in the corner, which was already
numbered 46, and all my clothes went into it, shoes included. Having done
this, he put it back on the chair. Then we had to wait for awhile.

   After a few minutes I suddenly heard steps on the other side of the
door, which then opened. A third man, dressed as a Roman warrior (as I
thought of it being) entered, bearing a big burlap sack on his back, which
apparently contained some load of considerable weight. I wondered about
that, as I only needed some thin clothes, considering the fact that it
would be over 30 degrees celsius on the Red Sea. To the contrary, the sack
looked much heavier, as though it contained a lot more clothes than you
would need even if the temperature dropped below minus 30 degrees celsius.

   But I wondered even more when the third man dropped the sack in front of
me and I heard a loud metallic clunk followed by some short clanking the
moment the sack hit the floor.

   I must have looked a little bit embarrassed when Ahmed said, now
suddenly showing some strange grin I couldn't place: "Here is your new
uniform. Just turn the sack upside down to get it out." Mohamed rose out of
his chair behind the desk and approached me from the other side with the
same kind of strange grin on his face.

   I started to feel a bit uneasy but didn't know what else to do, as all
three men in the room were standing rather close to me now. The situation
suddenly seemed rather threatening to me. What the hell was this?! What was
going on here? What by God was inside that damned sack???

   To learn what was inside I had to pick it up and turn it upside down, as
they had told me to do. So I did. What else could I do? Although I longed
for my own clothes, as whatever was inside this sack seemed rather ominous
to me, my jeans and t-shirt were out of reach in the plastic bag on the
chair behind Ahmed. I really felt naked now - and vulnerable, which was
what was intended.

   So I took hold of the burlap sack with both hands - my God, indeed it
was very heavy, even more than I already expected. There must have been
stuff weighing over 20 pounds inside! What could it be? Was it the
ornaments Ahmed had talked about that produced the sharp metallic clunk a
moment ago? I hoisted the sack and turned it upside down and then, as the
sack was not really closed but apparently only very loosely tied together
by a cord that opened wide immediately under the pressure, the contents
with a lot of rattling noise fell on the floor.

   I was totally appalled: at my feet (as I realized after a few seconds of
being flabbergasted at what I saw in front of me) apart from a big
shapeless piece of greyish yellow raw cotton lay a set of three thick
shackles connected by two heavy chains.