Metanoia
A Harem Boy’s Saga
Book V – Metanoia
A Memoir by Young
This memoir is dedicated to those who witnessed and encountered preternatural entities during their life on earth. You are not alone.
“We always have angels and faeries by our sides.”
Bernard Tristan Foong
(a.k.a. Young)
Solstice Publishing – www.solsticepublishing.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without the written permission of the author.
Author’s Website: www.aharemboysaga.com
Author’s email: young@aharemboysaga.com
The contents of this book constitute a work of NONFICTION. It documents the author’s experiences and is not intended as an exposé. Names of actual places and people have been changed to protect their privacy.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author or publisher, unless for brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book contains substantial sexually explicit material and language which may be considered offensive by some readers.
Prologue
“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with a good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. The last scene of all
That ends this strange eventful history,
Are second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”
William Shakespeare
The world is a stage certainly rang true when I was under my fifth Arabian household patriarch, Tad Abdul Hafiz’s auspice. Not only did my experiences in his ménage transform my worldview, but it also left me hyperventilating for the halcyon days when life was tender and oh so mellow.
This effervescent sportsman could turn south impetuously, rousing injudiciousness to those near and dear into relegated tailspins. Like a dog chasing its tail, this enthralling champion could charm any male and female to do his bidding. There were many a time when Andy and I almost lost our cool with one another or with the athlete. Thanks to our Enlightened Royal Oracle Society’s mentorship, we kept our prudent sagacity. Maneuvering through Tad Abdul Hafiz’s household, وكر الذئب Aldhdhib Dann (Wolf Den) with ease and grace before plummeting headlong into my sixth Arab household with unscathed audacity.
My seventh and final harem assignment proved to be more challenging than anticipated when I became a Big-Brother (BB) to a Freshman. Although I fulfilled my BB’s duty with aplomb, it was not without trials and tribulations. My unwavering guide, mentor, lover and friend, Andy whose valiant stance proved invaluable. Advising and steering me towards the right direction in every step I took.
“And then the lover, sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad made to his mistress’ eyebrow,” the Shakespearean monologue did hold true, in my instance, it would read as: “And then the lover, sighing like furnace, with a ‘consequential’ ballad made to his ‘master’s’ eyebrow,” while Andy and I burrowed our way through the Wolf Den.
Although ex-Valet and my “sixth age” has yet to manifest, we had matured and hopefully grown wiser from our youthful woes.
Within the pages of Metanoia, reflective introspection plays a significant role. Although my topsy-turvy experiences at Wolf Den proved to be exhausting, yet from turmoil rose equanimity. Our time with Tad challenged mine and Andy’s relationship to remain sang-froid rather than explosive. During those months, we were eager to conquer the world and blessed to emerge unscathed as our intimacy flourished by leaps and bounds. As Ms. Mary Hopkin sang so eloquently in her 1968 song: Those were the days, we thought they’d never end… But it did end in woebegone remorse and tearful goodbyes when in 1970 my Valet and I went our separate ways, never to reconnect again until forty-three years later.
Although we re-established communication in 2012, we have yet to meet. Ever since we laughed away the hours and dreamed of all the great things we had done, oh long ago. We now have dubieties and ambiguities to overcome. We are in stable relationships with another, is it worth our while to relive those halcyon years? I continue to ponder.
It seems decent for us to sing and dance forever and a day via long-distance communication. But when push comes to shove, my continual reservations bug me caution if we are to meet. After all, we’d lived the life we chose and fought the fight and never lost. For we were young and sure to have our way. Why then should I even contemplate to elicit the past in the present? What good will rekindling our lost love if not render another set of heartaches that will imperil our relationships with our current partners?
Had I lost my starry notions when the busy years went rushing by? Only happy to hear Andy’s tales through our extensive correspondence?
Will I experience strange reflections if Andy did walk through the door? That familiar laughter I’d often seen on his face when he called my name? Oh, my beloved friend, we’re older but are we wiser? For in my heart the dreams are still the same. Does it ring for you too, Andy?
These are questions I dare not comprehend if we do meet again.
Young.
Table of Contents
Prologue
PART ONE
Chapter One - The Perfect Storm
Chapter Two - Preternatural Vs Natural
Chapter Three - Beckoning You!
Chapter Four - By Divine Grace
Chapter Five - Antichthon “Counter-Earth”
Chapter Six - Relevant Connexions
Chapter Seven - The Power of Love
Chapter Eight - Mythical Beings
Chapter Nine - Secret Confessions
Chapter Ten - Fairy Sightings
Chapter Eleven - Where Angels Fear to Tread
Chapter Twelve - Lethal Temptations
Chapter Thirteen - Gender Schemata
Chapter Fourteen - For the Beauty of Earth
Chapter Fifteen – Faith
Chapter Sixteen - The Right Moment
Chapter Seventeen - Gender Fluidity
PART TWO
Chapter Eighteen - Release & Allow
Chapter Nineteen - Intimate Propositions
Chapter Twenty - Ménage à Trois
Chapter Twenty-One - Angelic Visions
Chapter Twenty-Two - Where Is The Love
Chapter Twenty-Three - The Down
Chapter Twenty-Four - Inspired by Admiration and Motivated by Envy
C
hapter Twenty-Five - Beware of Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing
Chapter Twenty-Six - Sleeping to the Top
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Abri Sûr
Chapter Twenty-Eight - In My Master’s Chambers
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Stay In The Present
Chapter Thirty - By Hook Or By Crook
Chapter Thirty-One - One Night in Lucerne
Chapter Thirty-Two - Femme Fatale
Chapter Thirty-Three - Could It Be Magick
Chapter Thirty-Four - In The Kasbah
Chapter Thirty-Five - The Pursuit of Happiness
Chapter Thirty-Six - Sexual Starvation
Chapter Thirty-Seven – Mentorship
Chapter Thirty-Eight - A Dead Ringer Scuffle
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Being A Big-Brother
PART THREE
Chapter Forty - A Puppet On Strings
Chapter Forty-One - A House of Cards
Chapter Forty-Two - Tango Buenos Aires
Chapter Forty-Three - Pride and Prejudices
Chapter Forty-Four - The Tango Of Love
Chapter Forty-Five - A Peculiar Request
Chapter Forty-Six - The Game Of Kings
Chapter Forty-Seven – Feud
Chapter Forty-Eight - The Uniqueness of Being Human
Chapter Forty-Nine - Astute Resolutions
Chapter Fifty - The New Look
Chapter Fifty-One - Beauty Pageants
Chapter Fifty-Two – Infatuation
Chapter Fifty-Three - Terma Centaurs
Chapter Fifty-Five - Nip and Tuck
Chapter Fifty-Six – I Don’t Know How To Love Him
Chapter Fifty-Seven - A Cut Above the Rest
PART FOUR
Chapter Fifty-Eight - What Is Love
Chapter Fifty-Nine – Friendship
Chapter Sixty - Helius’ Despondency
Chapter Sixty-One – Catharsis
Chapter Sixty-Two - The Lightness of Being
Chapter Sixty-Three - Romance, Love & Sex
Chapter Sixty-Four - Bitten By The Love Bug
Chapter Sixty-Five - In The Gardens Of Osbourne House
Chapter Sixty-Six - Put On The Ritz
Chapter Sixty-Seven - The Power of Love
Chapter Sixty-Eight - What’s Love Got To Do With It
Chapter Sixty-Nine - Serendipitous Reminiscence
Chapter Seventy - Splintered Emotions
Chapter Seventy-One - There Are No Gay People In The Arab World
Chapter Seventy-Two - Double Standards
Chapter Seventy-Three - The Anatomy of Unconditional Love
Chapter Seventy-Four - The Wedding
The Final Chapter – Emptiness
Epilogue
Author’s Bio
Acknowledgments
PART ONE
Mexico – Acapulco
England – Grasmere, Bassenthwaite Lake, Keswick, Penrith
Tunisia – Hammamet, Sadi-Bou-Said, Tunis
The Perfect Storm (Chapter One)
“The storm is a good opportunity for the pine and the cypress to show their strength and their stability.”
Ho Chi Minh
October 1968
Acapulco, Mexico
I was tossed about in the tiny confines of Murashshahaan (Running Mate), Sheik Fahrib’s eleven meters’ sailboat. A month before the races the doctor had transported this top of the line vessel from its mooring facility in Musandam Dibba Al Hisn, the Sultanate of Oman to Acapulco; in readiness for the 1968 Summer Olympics yachting competition. Tad (his team-mate) and he had been out daily to acclimatize to the sailing conditions in this Mexican playground of the rich and famous.
A week preceding the competition, my Valet and I left from Daltonbury Hall to join them. With our Assalamu Alaikum service behind us, Andy and I needed the repose, to revivify our love and friendship. Our summer vacation was spent traveling around the tranquil English countryside, soaking up the beauty of the Lake District and getting reacquainted with one another. We needed to necessitate our physical and mental bond before departing to Aldhdhib Dann وكر الذئب (Wolf Den) and Manarat Lilddaw’ منارة الضوء (Beacon of Light); Tad Abdul Hafiz’s London and Riyadh residences. The both of us had a hunch that our services at our fifth household would not be as smooth sailing as compared to our previous assignments.
Much like Count Mario, Tad was a playboy at heart. His irrational and spur of the moment decisions often send those close to him into dramatic tailspins of immense proportions. It was under this circumstance I now found myself at the mercy of howling winds, roaring waves and pounding rain. Thrown repeatedly from the hull to the rear of this racing vessel. The vicious waves and torrential downpour lapped at my person. Not only did I puke up the gastronomical contents I had consumed not so long ago, but I also had to hold on for dear life in the unfortunate event I would be swept into the ocean. Seasickness had overtaken my person, and no help was available since every strong hand was working furiously to keep Murashshahaan afloat.
Hard-pressed at the helm, the sheik steered his vessel away from colliding rocks while Tad and Andy held firm on either side of the riggings to steady the dinghy; in the unfortunate event that the mast should collapse under the onslaught of the ferocious winds. Within this treacherous weather condition, I was left to fend for myself.
Not knowing how long this perilous dilemma would last, I rocked, slid and vomited while keeping myself from slipping into the abyss of this bottomless ocean.
Suddenly, a hand reached for my collar to pull me away from the slippery taffrail. I was dragged into the boat’s cabin that was now filled with ankle-deep water. As if I had gone bonkers the sportsman glared at me transfixed.
“What in the world were you doing on deck. You were repeatedly told to stay below. This is not a time to tamper with the forces of nature. You could have been swept into the ocean and drown!” he chastised sternly.
“You, Fahrib and Andy are above deck…,” I muttered meekly.
He scowled at my defiance. “We are experienced seamen and you, boy, is not,” he admonished. “The last thing we want on our hands is your dead body floating in the water.”
“Andy isn’t an experienced sailor,” I negated truculently.
He raised his hand to land me a slap for being an insolent brat. Before his hand could touch my cheeks, the boat’s violent oscillations hurled us in opposite directions. I crushed against the bulkhead while the athlete pulverized onto a dividing panel.
Before he left me to my own expedient, his grimace had sent chills across my trembling body. When we finally came ashore, search teams were already scouring the vicinity for distressed boats adrift at sea.
The Running Mate was indeed one resilient lady whose damage was next to none. Thanks to our two experienced yachtsmen, we were relatively unharmed. Besides some minor bruises and concussions, the four of us were up and running after a good night’s sleep.
I did not relate to my Valet what transpired in the cabin. After all, I conceded I was in the wrong and shouldn’t have put myself and crew in harm’s way, causing further perturbation if I should indeed fall into the turbulent waves. That would have been an unforgivable disaster.
Hotel Casablanca, Acapulco
The seafarer and I did not speak until late morning the following day. My lover and I were already consuming a hearty brunch at Acapulco’s Hotel Casablanca, the then top of the line stomping ground for Hollywood stars and wealthy millionaires. The likes of Elizabeth Taylor, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Eddie Fisher, and Brigitte Bardot were regulars at this popular establishment. This was also one of several official hotels international yachtsmen from forty-one nations stayed during the months leading up to the 1968 Summer Olympics.
My gaydar immediately gravitated to two attractive blondes as they were guided to their table by a good-looking waiter. Like mine, my chaperone’s eyes followed their every move.
“I know what you are fantasizing,” Andy imparted.
&
nbsp; “What?” I answered nonchalantly.
“You are musing over those two like me,” came his reply.
“And which two is that?” I feigned ignorance.
We laughed. My lover gave me ludic slaps as we carried on playfully like a couple of dogs in heat.
A couple of tables away, the blondes ogled at us. Their tanned faces grinned impishly, speculating if our licentiousness were directed at them. We exchanged roguish smiles before they joined us at our table.
“I’m Ronnie, and this is my sailing companion, Iian,” the sinewy cutie introduced. Awestruck by the man’s ruggedness, I stared at him arrestingly when Andy hawked, to bring me back to reality. I extended my hand to shake theirs as we exchanged pleasantries.
Just then Tad appeared and was surprised to see us chatting animatedly with his competitors. The Arab asserted when he came over to join us. “I’m glad to see the both of you so lively after yesterday’s shake-up.” His declaration was apparently directed at the blondes.
“What shake-up?” Andy queried.
Iian exclaimed before Ronnie could respond. “That darn mast broke when we were out at sea. Our boat is being rectified as we speak.”
“Sorry to hear that,” the Arab sniggered as if he welcomed the news, despite the look of concern he gave to his yachting opponents.
“‘Supercal’ will be back to her competing self in a day or two. She’ll be ready for action in a few,” Ronnie pronounced proudly.
“Excellent! We look forward to the challenge,” the athlete declared with an air of superiority.
“We too,” came their reply as they excused themselves to leave.
Ronnie gave my chaperone and I a wink before disappearing from the restaurant.
The Boys
As soon as the blondes were out of earshot, Tad announced. “Who do they think they are? Getting special treatment…”