I had two reasons to celebrate: it was my 21st birthday and I was finally leaving hell-on-earth—Saudi Arabia. I was in the customs line at the airport and couldn't wait to get on the airplane.
The past year meant nothing to me except now I could go home and afford to put myself through college. One year of hard work and solitude; I drove a road-grader 10-12 hours-a-day and spent the evenings reading in the library at the compound where I was living.
I even taught myself a rudimentary understanding of the local language. I worked with many Saudi's and I wanted to know what they were saying when they talked to each other while pointing at me. I learned their comments were crude and usually sexually suggestive. More than once I was propositioned by local men. I explained that I wasn't 'that way'; they laughed at me but left me alone.
I was able to send home over ninety-thousand dollars tax-free. That would mean tuition, a nice apartment and a car. It felt like I was getting out of prison and starting a new life. I was feeling good for the first time in many, many months.
The airport was teeming with young, Saudi military personnel carrying rifles—that made me nervous. I knew their behavior was erratic and unpredictable. I just wanted out of that country.
Everything happened so quickly that it's a blur in my head.
I heard a dog barking—I saw its bared fangs snarling at me—soldiers surrounded me—someone opened my luggage and pulled out a square-shaped package. I tried to explain that it wasn't mine—that I had no idea how it got into my suitcase. No one listened to me.
It was chaos. Five-six soldiers all shouting at me at the same time. I was pushed to the floor—I bumped my head. My arms were almost ripped off my shoulders as they were twisted behind my back and handcuffed.
I began shouting—"THIS IS A MISTAKE—THAT ISN'T MY PACKAGE—LET ME GO—LET ME GO"...my screams fell on deaf ears.
A soldier kicked me in the stomach knocking the air out of me. I was dragged half-standing-half-kneeling to a police van outside. They threw me inside and I landed on my belly. I remained in that position the entire ride to the police station.
When my mind was finally able to understand what had happened, I began to tremble and shake—I'd never known fear like that in my entire life. I fought hard not to piss myself. The darkest foreboding engulfed me.
This was not going to go well, I thought. I had no clue as to how much worse it was going to get. I had no idea that this was just the start of my Arabian nightmare.
Some people claim that during an especially traumatic experience in their lives everything seemed to be in slow-motion. Not with me. It all appeared to be going in fast-forward.
Everyone was screaming and shouting at me. They pushed me through the police station to a shower room.
I was forcibly stripped naked—two soldiers held me while a third donned a rubber glove. I was bent over and my legs were kicked apart. The one wearing the glove coated his middle finger with an oily substance and smiled at me.
"Since you are a known drug dealer I must perform a 'cavity search'—relax—who knows, you might enjoy this."
The hair stood up on the back of my neck.
"NO-NO—I'M NOT A DRUG DEALER—THAT WASN'T MY PACKAGE—SOMEONE ELSE PUT IT IN MY LUGGAGE," I pleaded.
He ignored my protest and I felt his finger press against my anus. He had difficulty inserting his finger inside me.
"Relax, boy...loosen yourself--it won't hurt as much—you might even enjoy it," he repeated.
He forced his entire finger inside my rectum. I cried out in pain and embarrassment—I had never felt so violated. My sphincter instinctively fought back. It hurt—my face contorted with pain—I shouted out in protest—I fought hard to loosen myself to avoid the pain. I took a deep breath and my sphincter finally relaxed.
His finger was inside me longer than necessary. He pushed it against my prostate and my penis suddenly twitched then sprang into full erection.
The soldier triumphantly declared, "Look, this white boy is khaneeth (Faggot)—he loves my finger in his behind."
My humiliation was complete as the men gathered around me laughed.
I was shoved under a shower and thoroughly sprayed with water then I was given heavy denim overalls and put them on as fast as I could. I was hustled down a hallway and found myself walking by jail cells--the Arab inmates shouting curses of derision at me. They shoved me into a small empty cell and slammed the door closed.
There was a dirty blanket on the floor and an open hole in the middle that I guessed was to be used as a toilet. I was suddenly alone. I was scared out of my mind.
What the hell is going on? How could this happen? I collapsed to the floor and cried myself to sleep.
I was awakened by loud banging on the bars. One guard opened the cell door and another guard set a bowl of some sort of food on the floor with a bowl of water. They looked like dog bowls.
I waited until they were gone then picked up the food bowl and ate with my hands and mouth. I felt like an animal. I picked up the water bowl and slurped at the tepid water. When I'd had enough I curled up in the fetal position and fell asleep immediately. I was numb—I couldn't think or feel anything.
In the morning I used the hole in the floor to relieve my bladder. I sat on the floor and waited. I waited a long time.
Two guards opened the cell door and motioned for me to follow. They took me to the shower room and this time they gave me soap and I washed myself. Then we walked down a long corridor and into an office. An important looking man sat behind a desk.
The guards positioned me in front of the desk then stood several feet behind me. We waited for the man to say something. After five minutes the man stood and approached me. He stood inches from my face. He slowly looked me up and down before he spoke.
"I am in charge here—you will address me as 'Emir' (General). You will remain here until your trial...I have reviewed the evidence against you...I would be very surprised if you were found innocent of the charges...you, of course, are charged with possession of dangerous drugs with intent to sell...drug dealers are treated very harshly in my country--"
"That package wasn't mine—I don't know how it got in my suitcase—IT ISN'T MINE!!" I cried out in desperation.
"SILENCE—you will speak only when I allow it...it may be several months before your trial begins...until your trial you will be put to work here—all prisoners must work or pay a fee to earn their food and shelter...you have very little money in your possession—you will need to work...we will assign you work...the outdoor work is very hard labor—I don't think you'd survive a week outside...the indoor work is highly coveted so there are very few positions available—currently there are none, but you are in luck—I just happen to need a new office boy...you will file my paperwork and anything else I may require...my office boy has his own cell—that will save you from the other prisoners—you will eat whatever I eat—my food is much superior to what the prisoners are fed--are you interested?"
I resigned myself to my situation. It was obvious I was going to be here until my trial and the office work sounded better than the alternative.
"Ah, yes—I'd like that," I answered.
He smiled a crooked smile—his teeth were green.
"Good-good...your most important duty as my office boy is obedience...in addition to your other chores—you will be required to sexually satisfy me whenever I desire it...you will become my bala'a il a'air (Cocksucker) and you will bend over for me and rkab ayre (Ride my cock)...you will become my personal charmouta (Slut)."
