The Salafi who shagged me

I was exhausted and hesitant. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to go, and if it was the right time to do it. I did it anyway. I was on the metro anyway. At some point, I realized I had a stalker. I wasn’t sure how to handle it. Should I tell him to come with me? Should I ignore him? I got off the metro and I saw him trying to figure out which direction I was going to. I kept walking and then looked back. I couldn’t see him. He lost me and I felt bad about it. He followed me all the way there, only to be lost in the diverging crowd. 

I kept going on towards my mission. I arrived there quite easily. Once I walked in, I realized I was arriving later than should be. I shrugged it off and got inside. It wasn’t very promising or diverse inside. I thought the prospects of making something out of this night were meager. I think an hour passed doing basically nothing until he showed up. He looked twinky and terribly cute, which can be an intimidating thing. The exchange of stares was promising though. I caught him alone a few minutes later and started a conversation. A few sentences into the conversation, we were making out. We walked into a private room. We started having sex; good passionate sex. It was over a while later and then came the awkward moment. We didn’t know each other and it was time to have a conversation!

We walked out of the place together as he asked me to spend the rest of the evening with him. I didn’t mind, maybe there lays the adventure, I thought. His personality started to unravel slowly. He mentioned working at an Islamic library. I asked if he was a Salafi. “We’re all Salafis”, he answered. That answer was enough confirmation. He told me he was in Tahrir often as we started to have a political discussion. He talked eloquently (but not convincingly) about his views on democracy and how a state should be. I let my prejudices aside and just listened. He used religious references to stress how God should be the ruler of Egypt and God’s words should be the constitution. Then, he mentioned state security and detention. I was even more curious.

He told me of his ordeal of being arrested by state security before the revolution, for his affiliation with Salafi groups. He was interrogated by the police and was asked if he thought Mubarak was an infidel! He wasn’t afraid of revealing his real views and expressed him vehemently. He was immediately sent to detention and was tortured mainly by electrocution all over his body. He was released a few days later but he was given a certificate that he was unfit to serve in the army. This means that he would continue to face a lot of problems accessing employment and losing all chances of accessing government employment.  After hearing this story, I knew well that I won’t be doing any confrontation to his views. Not that I didn’t have the energy, but I wanted to let him keep talking and talking. 

I couldn’t help but wonder about what made him soften his views or lead this lifestyle; especially because he told me that being tortured by the police didn’t make him any less determined.  He then told me of why he “regressed”. It wasn’t police torture that made him question the ideology, but it came from within the Salafis themselves. It was being lied to be a well-known Salafi sheikh that was a shock to him.  He couldn’t believe that the sheikh who was followed by thousands, even millions was such a deceitful person. It wasn’t until then that he started to further explore his sexuality and meet other guys. 

I won’t hide it. I was really taken back by this guy. He was salafi in his core but no longer dressing like one. He was only 21 and came from a provincial background in Mansoura. It’s obvious that he has been struggling with education as he holds a middle degree and struggling to get a decent income. It’s not hard to relate to this guy. He’s like any of us; wanting to believe in something, wanting to change his surroundings, and frustrated with the limited opportunities life has given him. Despite all the stereotypes about Salafis, he was a sweet, sincere kid. He kept trying to hold my hand while walking down the street and I was the one reluctant to do it.  

We may meet again. I don’t know how it would go then. I don’t know if I’d reveal more of myself. I know that I hope that he reveals more of himself.

Hello, stranger!

Hello stranger! You could have been my friend one day. You could have been my enemy another day. You could have meant the world to me. You could have been inside me. I might have picked you up from the street one time. I could have slapped you. I might have stalked you. You might have broken my heart. We could have secretly held hands on the street. We could have stolen a kiss on a mountain top away from the eyes of nosy tourists. You could have hurt me. You could have deserted me. We could have cuddled, couldn’t we? We could have read to each other. I could have taken you to my hometown. I could have shown you my old diaries. You could have listened to my whining, my pain. You could have laughed at me. I could have deceived you or took you for granted. You could have surprised me. You could have taken me to old places I didn’t know about. You could have cooked for me.

We could have been together, stranger!

Random

As he looked at my asshole before he pushes his dick in, I slightly shivered and felt warmer. I felt ready and open. I picked him up from the street, yes I did it. I had the guts. We stripped in front of each other to our underwear. We stared at each other for a moment, and then we embraced each other. When he was about to come, I told him to do it outside. He told me it was the best thing ever to have it inside. I couldn’t say no.

It was years ago when we first met. His slippers had just gone off. We spent the day together, and we ended up in my bed. We fucked and the next day, he and my friend fucked. He confessed his love to my friend a few days later. It was the flame of jealousy eating me up. Sexual jealousy. After all these years, he meets my friend again. They fuck. I know we can’t fuck anymore. I have changed. They fuck. I burn.

I was sweaty and sick. He knew I had sore throat. He was still willing to eat me. I felt ugly and redundant. I felt I was shrinking. Why can’t I respond to his beauty, I thought! He did all the right things. He even complimented my hairy feet. He took me to dinner and we talked everything including movies. We didn’t kiss goodbye but I know he wanted to. I still feel ugly.

Do I really want to fall? To surrender control? To be thrown on the pavement while passers-by crush me with their heavy shoes? I don’t feel I am there. Maybe I need to crush someone. Maybe I need a bit of acknowledgement. Maybe I need a touch of grace. Maybe I shouldn’t do anything at all. Maybe I should need nothing.

You’re a god of beauty. You look into my eyes and give me a hesitant smile. We unexpectedly meet at the party. We stare at each other across the big room. We talk and you tell me my feminism will make our women become whores. I fall to the trap and feel teased. You were bluffing, of course. You ask for my number. We hug and kiss goodbye. You are not there anymore. Where have you gone? Oh, it was me and you, standing at the doorsteps of happiness.

Love Handles

So I have to admit to myself that I am having a sort of a crisis, and attempt to vent it out, document it all here. I am to confide others with this at some point, but right now it’s me time.

I knew this guy online. He was sweet, simple and Alexandrian. He said sweet things praising my beauty, and you know how dangerous it is when you feel that warm sensation coming along. You’re being desired, you’re being flirted with, you’re being assured that you’re a catch! I tried to meet the boy while I was in Alexandria in that last visit. His phone was off, and then he made excuses and apologized which I deemed reasonable enough. One doesn’t get a chance to talk to hotties everyday, especially when they treat you as one yourself.

Later on, he insisted to see my body. I was reluctant and made excuses about being tired and what not. Ironically enough, it was the very day that I felt fat than any other day. It certainly did not feel like a good time to strip in front of a web camera. He insisted and insinuated I’m being shy or afraid. I decided to play along thinking that he will come to realize how my body is really like sooner or later and sooner is better. To clarify, I’m not fat, I wouldn’t even be called chubby, I’m just not fit, not muscular, kinda flappy. I have a little beer belly and sort of love handles. The boy said he would tell me if he found me unattractive, and he did.

Not only did he say that I’m not his type (except for my face), but he went on to give me advice and tips on how to keep my body fit and attractive and told me off for being unattentive and unhealthy. I smiled it off, kept my best to show that I’m not offended or hurt.

This really made me feel broken and confused. Now I know I still get praised for my facial beauty. It is the body that hardly sits well with my audience. Why do we place such pressure on the body? Why do we expect it to be perfect? Why don’t we have mercy on it?

While I do genuinely want to run and find a great way to exercise and keep healthy, I find myself faced with many dilemmas. At one hand, my injured knee prevents me from doing any strenuous activities. In the same time, I’m motivated to exercise because of that very bad knee, and to lower the amount of pain I get because of it. I am also faced with the question of whether I’d be doing this to appeal to others or not. I cannot deny that this will be a goal while I’m exercising to get the attention and praise of my admirers. I wonder, however, if I’d be able to continue such exercise knowing that stopping it would be much worse than ever starting it.

Can this dumping conversation be a wakeup call? Can I actually put the time and energy into doing this? Is it worth it? Will this make people love me? Will I be happier because I’d finally be doing something I wanted to do but was reluctant to? It all will become clear soon, I hope.

Reconsidering Single!

I despised relationships. I don’t believe in them. I rationalized and extolled various theories behind my resentments. I believed we were wired and brainwashed by society that relationships are the norm. Otherwise, you’re miserable, unhappy and incomplete! I put forth various reasons why people want to be in a relationship. Among the reasons and motivations were: the desire for validation; social acceptance; peer pressure; physical and emotional dependence; the irrational fear of being alone. Meanwhile, I advocated one night stands. I praised singlehood. I broke down the ins and outs of a relationship and showed the various fallacies around it.

Here I am a few days later rethinking all those positions and stances. If I am to get on with my life always seeking and enacting one night stands, would I get anything more than that? Why do I assume that if I hang around always seeking instant gratification it would magically turn into a glorious love story? Doesn’t require some effort from my side too? Doesn’t fucking at first sight somehow destroy the prospects of human interaction later on? Wouldn’t I be somehow narrowing my potential when I limited my encounters to fuck-and-leave kind of thing?

But here I have to stop and think: why do I want to move away from the one night stand style? I do still believe that relationships are overrated and monogamy is even more overestimated. However, I still think that this state of interdependence can be gratifying. Yes, friends are good, friends are amazing. I love friends. Friends listen to you, pamper you, support you and cheer you up. Somehow we’re always too greedy to be satisfied with that. We seek to be gratified physically, emotionally, and mentally at the same time. I would love to have someone who listens to me, shares my life, and still fucks me at the end of the day. I still want to experience that, at least give myself a real shot at it. I know it won’t last and it’s not supposed to. But I want to do it at least for the sake of doing-anything-once.

I recently had a conversation that might have elicited some of those second thoughts. The person was saying that he had a lot of non-attached fun before. Then for the last five years he completely changed his strategy. He tries to seek something of meaning. It made sense, despite my reservations. If you always put yourself in a certain cycle, you will only end up with so much. I haven’t lost my faith in pure chance and randomness, because that’s what I believe the whole world relies upon. I think that somehow you should have a focus. I have always been pragmatic and you can’t get something without actually working towards it. That’s my philosophy. Whether this applies to this tricky of love and relationships, it remains unclear.

Dull, nonspecific pain

Dull nonspecific pain. I don’t know where it’s coming from. Why am I feeling like this? What am I exactly seeking or looking for? An intense encounter? I don’t think the problem is about getting laid anymore. I am getting as much sex as I’d like to, except for reason of the availability of physical space. But I get many guys hitting on me. The capacity of those encounters is so limited though. It’s merely physical with a little degree of comfort that enables further acquaintance. I always say I have the best friends that stimulate me intellectually and I can share my deepest secrets with. Do I miss the thrill of new encounters then? Of getting to know someone? The exploration orgasm? How fucking dependent is that? To have your happiness reliant on somebody else’s presence. Isn’t that mere reliance and masochism? But then again if it gives some sort of please, why not adopt a little bit of reliance and masochism?

Why do I feel this pain? Is it because I don’t feel popular? Is it because of my perpetual awkwardness around people I don’t know well? Do I have low self esteem issues? Body image issues? I am aware of my skills and beauty, but why am I never confident enough to pursue other men in full throttle exploration adventures? Do I intimidate people or am I always terrified from others? Or maybe the relationship between both of them is very close?

At a party last night, I couldn’t help myself but lament the fact that I was never approached by anyone, nor did I do it for that matter. I only spent the effort trying to hook other couples up, and I was wondering why I am doing this? To still prove to myself that I can be an ethical person? To prove that I can sublime over my anxieties and concerns? Still it didn’t make me feel happy. I am seriously considering never doing it again. What’s the use anyway? I don’t believe in karma. Life is too random to have karma as a part of it.

Another anxiety and concerns of the never-ending list is the fact that I’m realizing that my current friendships may be transient as well. So I’d better be equipped for an alternative especially that I am already losing partnership if I don’t have someone wall

Risky

I’m a doomed fucking whore! I kept repeating as I walked out of the bathhouse. What am I doing to myself? Am I trying to catch HIV? Am I a bug chaser? Do I really want to live with HIV? Can I handle being the HIV+ activist? Or will I keep it a secret and keep repeating the same mistake again?

I had encounters where I failed to use a condom or to tell my partner to do so. Now, it’s different. I let them do it. I fuck them without it. Those moments are very exciting, very dangerous. You see it coming, you know you’re going to bareback, but you just let it happen.

I recently discovered how turned on this sense of danger makes me feel. Maybe it started as a part of my experimentation phase. I wanted to try everything, from SM to sex work. Bareback is a big taboo to me. Is this why I enjoy breaking it so much?

I am aware of the consequences. Too aware maybe. But how conscious is conscious? Why do I seek those risky behaviors? Do I really seek or I just let it happen? Does it make a difference?

I have always heard that engaging in self harm means a sense of lack of self worth. Do I feel that I deserve to be punished? To be unhappy? Did I get this nihilistic?

I know I feel many times that life is purposeless. However, I have always felt that we have to go through it to the end, courageously, trying to make the best out of it. What do my struggles mean then? Why do I carry all those causes on my back? Should I turn to complete apathy then?

Am I actually miserable? Am I a wreck? Is my conviction that love is unreal and unattainable makes indulge in those behaviors? Did I completely lose hope in a better life? But I know better.

Human interaction is one of my most important values, but I’m acutely disillusioned about it. I know it never lasts. I know I am not the kind that takes these things for granted. Love is for simple minded fools, not for the doomed like me.

Despite everything, I still love life. I want to see more. I still want to be great. I want to meet more people. I am not appeased yet. Why do I ruin my life then? Why do I damage my health so much? I know it’s the thing you can count on the most as you grow older.

The most dangerous thing about risky behavior (in case you don’t embrace, which I don’t) is that effect it has on your self image. It’s a vicious cycle. I hate myself so I risk my body, and I ended hating myself more. Do I need help? Do I believe in it? And if I do, will I be able to find proper services?

I still love myself, I know. I wouldn’t have been this concerned if I wasn’t. This is my only hope.