Arriving Here

One of the benefits of flying first class is that everyone from the airline is very very nice to you. Having spent most of my long haul flight here consuming the finest single malt scotch Emirates has on board, Maggie, a lovely Australian flight attendant decided to brief me in on the happenings of Dubai.

Having last visited this dusty city almost two years ago, she assured me that everything would be unrecognizable. The unbelievable pace in which everything was growing, the incredible rate of foot traffic in the shopping malls, and the wasted time spent in traffic. Nothing I didn’t already know from the bountiful articles about this desert paradise, but at least she was pretty to look at.

Maggie was a lovely woman, her auburn hair kept me interested reminding me of a girlfriend I had in college many years ago. The airline uniform was as plain as vanilla, although I did consider what was under that shirt and got sneak peaks through the crease between her buttons. I’m assuming it was my suave small talk rather than my implied wallet is what convinced Maggie to give me her number. She mentioned being off for the next couple of days and I promised I would get in touch as soon as I got into my hotel.

Getting out of the airport, the driver took me to my temporary digs until an apartment got sorted out. Checking into al Qasr, and not knowing any better, I was happy with the arrangement of tourists flocking from every orifice of the property; the room was large enough and although it was temporary was definitely going to suit my taste.

A shower later and my crackelberry traveling email companion, notifies me of 2 dinner invites and a gathering at the majlis of an old friend from Dubai. I thought my options weren’t too encouraging, considering I wasn’t in the mood to shmooze, would a phone call to Maggie be too premature? Boy was I mistaken.

Maggie was a lot easier than I had anticipated; she was not surprised to hear my voice but was still interested in coming over. Taking my room number down, she hopped a cab over and offered to show me around town, but upon arriving to my room, she was more interested in checking out the facilities of the hotel and the amenities of my bathroom than checking out the town. I personally wasn’t too interested in running around, and the Souk in Madinat Jumeirah had enough restaurants and stalls to keep me happy.

Dinner was pleasurable enough considering the dumbed down conversation I was forced into, I did however learn that the requirements of joining the Emirates crew were taken “very” seriously and that Dubai is filled to the brim with beautiful women (basic info I could have learned without the dinner tab). She learned a little about me, and my couple of days off before I had to start working and looking for a place. A couple of drinks at one of the bars in the souk after dinner resulted in some dirty words being exchanged on a drunken canal ride back to the suite, drunken words which could only mean one thing.

Maggie stripped off her clothes revealing the fantastic body of a pilates instructor (her previous job) and invited herself onto my bed. She started kissing and stripping off my clothing until we both laid there on the bed totally naked. Her limber body led to a quite a display of gymnastics and sexual positions that I thought were impossible. Exhausted from the jet lag and drunk from the wine I reached a level of continual inebriation that put me in the zone, and yes, the sex was good. After we finished and laid there on the bed, she demanded taking a shower and mentioned the exclusive musky Arabian smelling amenities. Satisfied with my dinner, drinks and debauchery I played along with her oohs and aahs about the lotion, I just wanted to sleep, but she did fuck my brains out and that was worth putting up with her stupid questions about the room rates and the perks.

Next morning, I thought we’d be done, but after some breakfast Maggie had her eyes on the beach. I tried to ignore her comments about the weather and maybe heading out early to get a good spot. Hiding behind the business section reading about the increasing price of consumables in Dubai, she brought up how apparently this was one of the nicest hotel beaches around. After explaining I was more interested in some calls and making plans for the afternoon, she turned to a very convincing display of oral sex, after which I was dutifully pulling on my villes for some sun. At the time I wasn’t sure if it was coincidental or premeditated that she pulled out a bikini out of her bag, but at least I didn’t have to buy her one from the hotel shop. Either way, there was no harm in a little sun, and if the beach was nice, then might as well get a little bit of color.

Beautiful weather, a nice lunch, and an excellent bit of rose under the sun, left us in an awkward situation: I was thinking about a nap alone, and she was considering a little more time in “our” luxury suite. Although she had little conversation to offer apart from talking dirty, the novelty of fucking a pilates instructor turned flight attendant was wearing off and I needed a little more. My curse, as you’ll so soon to find out is the finicky and impossible to reach standards I’ve set for every woman I meet.

When I finally put my foot down and told her that I had work to get to (lie) and that I needed to meet with people (another lie), I felt a sense of sadness overcome her. Her pleas to hang around just a bit started to get a little “5 more minutes” childlike annoying, and after finally getting her to pack up, I promised I’d call her the next day for dinner. Watching her defeated exit from my room, I don’t think it was my company or sexual gratification she was going to miss; it was the hotel room that really closed the deal with this girl for me. In further evidence, I think she stated her intentions clear and simple when she raided my bathroom for the last bottles of lotion.

Lesson: People will sleep with you for a little five star living.