occupaitional hazards of new friends. part 2 of 2

So if you haven’t read the previous post, let me bring you up to speed: It’s late, I’m drunk, my friend from out of town left with two hookers. I’m in a taxi in the company of Irena a Russian hooker and I want to go home.


Me: Listen, you’re a very nice girl, but I’m not really into this sort of thing, so I’m going to drop you off wherever you want to go, and I’m going home.

Her: what do you mean you’re going home? I come with you.

Me: that’s not how we’re doing it, I’m hungry and tired and I want to go home.

Her: I am new here, I don’t know where to go, my friends they take me everywhere including where I sleep. Why you take me if you don’t want me?

Me: No no no it’s not that I don’t want you, it’s because I just don’t sleep with prostitutes. I’ll call my friend and drop you off at his hotel.

Her: fuck you, you think you are better than me? That I am just a simple prostitute? You fucking chauvinist pig.

Me: (totally surprised about her vocabulary and upset that OJ’s not picking up his phone) no no, I don’t think anything. Shit, he’s not picking up and I don’t know where he’s staying. Listen, I’m hungry, I want to eat something, is there anything open other than fast food? I’ll buy you some dinner and then we’ll try calling and I’ll drop you off with your friends. Excuse me, is there anything open right now to eat and nearby?

Taxi: only thing open now is shawarma on Diyafah.

Me: brilliant, take us there.

And that’s how I ended up at a late night restaurant on Diyafah street with a Russian hooker by the name of Irena. We started talking, because there’s nothing much to do when you’re eating hummus, and I find out that Irena’s from Siberia, and she’s come to Dubai via Moscow. Her grandparents (who raised her) used to read a lot and had an extensive library of Russian literature that she spent a lot of time perusing. After her grandfather died, she took care of her babushka and when she passed away too, she left for Moscow, spent some time there, and then ran into some people and came here. Having been in dubai less than a month I’m assuming she didn’t really get the full gist of her job.

Before I knew it, I had spent the last hour over shawarmas, falafel and fresh juice, discussing the recurring theme of hypocrisy in Chekov’s writing, the too many names of Dostoevsky’s characters, the authentic description of life in Tolstoy’s work. She was well versed in Pushkin (which I didn’t even know about), and discussed the demonic artwork that led Vrubel down a path public castigation. Irena was an expert on Russian literature and her command of English was pretty startling. A hooker with a thirst for knowledge, she had me.

After dinner, we forgot about calling OJ and about dropping Irena off, instead, we took a cab back to my place where we sat, opened up a bottle of wine and listened to some blues. I was fascinated by this person that was not only beautiful, but knowledgeable as well. When time came to retire, she wanted to earn her keep, which I respectfully declined and offered a friendship instead. Enchanting or not, I just couldn’t seal the deal with a prostitute, I don’t know if that makes me an asshole or just a carefully conscious person.

Irena understood, and after forcing her to take a shower and remove all the unnecessary makeup, I gave her some shorts to sleep in, and shared my bed with her. I slept with a hooker, but we never touched.

In the morning, I called OJ and found him out of breath and still working the girls. I told him I was sending Irena over to his hotel to meet with her friends so they can go home. OJ told me he loved me and that he’s leaving in the afternoon, but will be back, I forced a silent cringe.

Putting Irena in a cab, we promised to talk again, but she said it might be difficult because of our conflicting working hours. I still wanted to finish my discussion on Post Soviet underground literature, but morning was up, and I had work.

From the moment I arrived in Dubai, my most interesting night spent with a girl in this town, and she had to be a prostitute.

the habits of old friends. part 1 of 2

I have an old friend from my previous job; in the name of anonymity I’ll call him old john (OJ). Although married with 2 lovely children, OJ, is a restless person. He’s one of those guys who’s personal nature still has him up at 5AM looking for his next drink, and then off to work and meetings all day from 7:30AM. I first met OJ as an outside consultant on a development project in the Philippines, and after a harsh day of work he suggested a drink, 8 hours later I found myself trying to pay off a three thousand dollar bar tab at a local brothel with the mamasan yelling in my ear about the 4 girls OJ ran off with, the winners of his kissing competition. I trust I’ve painted a somewhat revealing picture of my friend old john.

After settling in this relatively new and continuously morphing city, it didn’t take long for OJ to give me a call. Citing proximity (of Hong Kong and Dubai), he was planning on visiting me on his way flying somewhere else. I thought it would be best to get through as much work as possible before he arrived and totally screwed up my schedule with late nights and no lunches, until I got that dreaded phone call from OJ from his hotel room.

Exhausted but still looking forward to seeing an old friend we agreed to meet up for dinner and a couple of drinks at sho chos. Little did I know that 80s night would bring about a horrible set of flashbacks in OJ and he would spend the night drinking vodka and singing the Romantics, talking in your sleep over and over and over and over.

It must have been the argument with the bartender or the trashy talk with the group of girlfriends, but at some point in the evening the drunken decision was made to visit a lovely little brothel called love. An exchange with the cab driver and a declaration of our intentions: pretty women, good prices and more drinks had us zooming along the beach road.

Stepping in front of Dubai’s number one freestanding nightclub, Cyclone, OJ pays off the cabbie and swings me by the neck telling me of the great times that await us inside. Drunk and incoherently agreeing, I move with the swagger of an expat on holiday.

I couldn’t tell you much of what was happening inside except that it was madness. Darkness took over and I found myself trying to scan the place just to make sure I don’t bump into anyone. However, the place was all about bumping into people, girls walking around looking for tonight’s john, guys walking around looking for a grope and a companion for the night or the load. I wasn’t surprised to see so many girls, but more surprised to see so many beautiful girls, all sorts of hair colors and all sorts of hues of skin. Whatever your fancy was, you’d find it there.
Like a child in a candy store, OJ ran around checking out the girls, feeling up asses, holding hands and negotiating. Bringing three girls back to the bar where I was standing, he’s giving me winks and nods about taking these three back with us. My exhaustion could not argue back with him as more drinks started to flow for our new companions. Contrary to what you may think, although I sometimes find myself in the company of hookers, I’m not too into the hooking. As more drinks were taken, I found our company growing with some more girls and OJ enjoyed being the center of their attention, which I didn’t particularly mind. It was also because of exhaustion and hunger (I forgot to mention the food being total shit at sho chos) that I didn’t really mind when we decided to leave.

Making our way outside cyclone, we’ve got the three girls following us talking to each other in their mother tongue and snickering. I had no idea what they were saying, but it was late, I was hungry and I just assumed that OJ was in for a busy night of foursomes. OJ talks to one of the girls, gives her some money, winks and takes two of them by hand. He turns to me and tells me that he’s already covered the girls, and that I have been allotted one to care for me for the rest of the night.

My reluctance to accept OJ’s “gracious” gift was met with staunch refusal from him along with a set of horrible glares from the girls as though they weren’t good enough for me. Not that I’m sure they cared but still I’m sure it doesn’t do much for your turning tricks confidence when someone doesn’t think you’re good enough to do the job. I just don’t like sleeping with hookers, never have and never will, but John has a different viewpoint on the whole situation, he doesn’t pay them for sex, he pays them to leave.

In my weakened drunken state and in no mood to argue, they threw me into a cab with Irena, a lovely brunette from somewhere in Russia. My plan was to drive off a bit, drop her off wherever she wants to go and then go home.

To Be Continued…

And that's how I found my apartment

One month into my new life in Dubai and work was steamrolling ahead. Having successfully completed the negotiations on a massive project, I was awarded with a financially satisfying and indefinite long-term contract. Along with this wonderfully lucrative agreement came the equally healthy expat package entailing a sizeable housing expense. A phone call from the secretary and a meeting was scheduled with a real estate broker.

The first time I saw Renee, I was caught back by her sexy office attire. To be honest, it’s been a long time since I saw a woman pull off a business suit and make it sexy. My previous job was filled with the type of female co-workers that wore their sneakers with their business suits and then changed into office shoes when they got to work. Her short and neatly kept blond hair turned me on in that seductive woman in a man’s world look, an elegant and yet determined walk dictated my trailing eyes, a skirt revealing what looked to be a sexy pair of legs. I was going to like house hunting.

Our meeting was offset by the wandering my eyes did, but that did not deter her from keeping to the program and keeping it completely professional, giving no inclination that I was her type. She oozed this mature sex appeal that escalated inside me. After a very fruitful meeting, Renee promised to come back later in the week to show me around.

Having completely forgotten about our meeting I was caught off guard with Renee showing up at my office in another sexy power suit. A cold in control look gave me the shivers when I got into her car. In fact I don’t think she even cracked that much of a smile until an hour into the trip. We started talking briefly which I saw as a good sign. She asked me what I wanted and what kind of space I was looking for. I told her about the rocketing prices which she brushed off mentioning the adequate housing expense I’d been allocated. She assured me that she’d find me something…

Over the course of three trips with Renee, two lunches and a cup of coffee, we saw:

A two bedroom apartment on Sheikh Zayed Road which had a pretty view but the bathrooms smelled a little funny. I told her it just wasn’t going to happen. Then off we were to another building in the upcoming Burj Dubai neighborhood but also too noisy and I wasn’t really interested in living in a ghost building just yet. The Springs was too cramped for the price and too family oriented. And I definitely didn’t like the crappy finishes of Barsha. Then there was the building in Dubai Marina in which I was completely turned off by the state of the elevators, I can’t live in a building with people etching their names on the elevator doors.

I felt her frustration with every property shown and every rejection from me, citing issues with the finish, the amenities, the this and the that. Frankly if I’m going to live somewhere, it’d better be perfect. We had developed a decent rapport and I admit to being a little picky just to see a little more of her again, a fact I think she could pick up on.

Our scheduled Tuesday meeting rolled by, and once again I got into her car. Her grey suit and pink shirt hugged her body perfectly revealing a well taken care of body. Some lunch at Bussola first and a couple of glasses of white wine kept the conversation light and cheery. My eyes kept on sneaking peaks at her professional exposed cleavage, which surly she caught me doing but didn’t really mind. Renee told me about some of her more difficult clients and that she enjoyed my company. I gathered our business lunch date as a good sign.

She mentioned a new property that had just came on the market. A brand new building and even if I liked it, the apartment wouldn’t be ready for another two weeks. But there was a fully furnished apartment to show to prospective tenants, so I could still get an idea of the property.

Walking around the two bedroom apartment with sweeping views of the sea, she kept on talking about how perfect the location was and how the building had everything I needed. I admit to liking the understated modern touch to the building. The apartment did honestly look quite livable but I just couldn’t take my eyes off Renee. As she pulled off her blazer I got a full view of her perfect waist with her shirt tucked into her pants. I was still acting my indecisive self and nitpicking with the tiles in the kitchen and the size of the balcony. Impressed with the space, I still felt there was something better to offer. Citing the current apartment as the perfect option for me she got a little closer. Mentioning the pretty view of the sea, and all the entertaining I could do, I could’ve sworn her voice took a more sensual tone. She then mentioned how any girl would be awestruck at the apartment and that she herself found it to be very sexy.

Looking over to me, thinking that she had enough of my ogling, she asked me if I considered her sexy. I unexpectedly shook my head and said, yes. She mentioned that my staring had gone beyond the point of embarrassment and that she was tired of showing me around different properties. That I should just settle with this perfect sexy choice...

Now this is where I’m not sure if it was the wine at lunch, or her just completely fed up me, or that she found me appealing (I have been known to make a couple of heads turn), but I am definitely not thinking about it too much. Renee slid up next to me and kissed me. I kissed her back and without saying anything casually threw my arms around her. Her lips tasted sweet with her warm tongue rubbing up against mine. Our lips locked, I grabbed her short hair and ran my fingers through it, something I had wanted to do since first meeting her, and I guess that’s what got it all started. Shortly after my hair tussling, she took the intensity of our lip locking to another level.

Quickly thrust into the throngs of passion, our kissing escalated to groping which then led to me unbuttoning her blouse and her undoing my pants. She had an even better body than I had expected and I was truly impressed with her desire for some afternoon love. I briefly contemplated the idea of how wrong fucking a business associate was, let alone my realtor, but it was a little too late for contemplation as we both ended up naked in front of each other. Then the most amazing thing happened to me, in the middle of bending her over, I took a look out the windows and you know what? It really was a spectacular view. In fact it was probably in that moment that I was doing Renee bent over the couch looking out over the water that I felt I could live here.

Impressed with the space and my new revelation, we moved around quite a bit, fooling around on the kitchen counter, the bedroom, the bathroom and then the floor in the middle of the living room on a fluffy modern looking shag carpet. Hah, shagging on the shag.

After we finished our romp, and tidied up a little, Renee turned to me, gave me a kiss and asked if I wanted the same apartment 5 floors up. What could I say except, “draw up the contract”. With a decent budget to work with, it took her almost two weeks to find me the perfect apartment. But all it really took for me to realize that I wanted to live there was my realtor’s face down, ass up and a sweeping view of Dubai Marina.