What happens in Dubai, stays in Dubai
Out of context: Reply #3
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- ninjasavant0
Lastly, the attempted murder in a brothel story. Editor’s note: I do not support the sex trade, I find it reprehensible and now that I’ve gotten out of my never say no to an experience phase I look back on this with a bit of embarrassment but it happened so here it is.
Bored one night on our way to Dubai my friend suggests we check out a brothel. Some Indian guy finds us wandering around the brothel section of the city, offers to take us somewhere and we follow after paying him 15 Dhr.
We follow the guy down successively darker alleys to a black door in the middle of a dark alleyway. Our guide knocks on the door and an eye level slit opens up. Some words are exchanged and the door opens to a pitch black room. Now I’m scared and am wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. Somewhere down this dark corridor is a light and as we get closer to it I realize the room we’ve been in is full, FULL, of those half desks you sat at in high school. They’re stacked as high as your head just to add a sense of surrealism.
We get to the light source and there’s an old man sitting in front of an elevator and 2 staircases that spiral up around the elevator. We take the elevator to the 3rd floor. On the ride up I start to pass out from a combination of nerves and more nerves but decide I don’t want to be unconscious in brothel in Dubai and force myself to remain conscious. Its also at this point that I hear my friend say “America” to the guide in an otherwise Arabic conversation. It was then I realized this probably wouldn’t go well.
So the door opens to the busy third floor. The staircase continues up and down and men of all ages are running its track. There are 6 rooms in this hallway and there’s a girl standing in front of each open door. Apparently we’ve come to the Russian floor, or at the very least, the Easter European floor. My friend looks at me and I vigorously shake my head. Nothing against Eastern Europe but these women aren’t exactly anything to get excited over. Also at this point I want to abort the mission but everything happens so quickly I was never really able to communicate anything but yes or no answers to questions. So we go up to the next floor.
The Indian floor, or at the very least, the central Asia floor. Same setup, different continent. According to my friend the girls saw that he was lebanese and turned us down. As far as I can tell we’ve dodged a bullet and we can go to Hard Rock Dubai or something. No such luck.
We go back down to Eastern Europe and my friend makes a selection and then he and the guide look at me. I just stare back at them and then my friend pushes me into a room, pays the guy 100 Dhs, and heads in to do his sinful business.
Now I’m in a room that has a dresser, a bed, and a 250 lb (roughly 125 kg) woman wearing a dirty, red velvet dress with matted salt and pepper hair, and tarnished gold-capped teeth that look like brass. She’s dancing with/on/at me and telling me how pretty I am and taking change out of my pocket. All I can do is giggle nervously.
After a few minutes of this she steps back and says “you me? you me?” I say “what?” And then she reaches down and removes her dress to reveal all her collagen glory. Since I’m now in a state of horror induced fear and shock she pushes me down onto the bed (fully clothed mind you) and sits on my thighs and tells me about how she’s pregnant and then starts slapping her thighs announcing repeatedly “we fuck now” to which I reply “No!” She becomes more insistent and repeats her intentions to which I again reply “No!” and this time push her off of me, stand up, collect myself, leave the change she took, and leave the room to go back to the hallway. Not sure what I was going to do once there but at least I was out of the room. All in all around 5 minutes. Meanwhile my friend is still off in what I can only assume is paradise.
I go and sit on the stairs and start chain smoking with the intention of developing and dying from emphysema right then and there since I didn’t know where I was, no one spoke English, and the only person I knew who spoke Arabic was god knows where. All I know is I’m gonna sit, smoke, and rock back and forth until something happens. Our guide was still in the hallway and still very friendly looking. He sits next to me and says “Good time?” I say “ good time.” He goes and talks to the girl for a few minutes. I smoke. He comes back, sits next to me, and repeats his question, and I repeat my answer. Now his face changes completely and he very seriously says “more money.” My reply is “no more money.” He steps up the urgency and repeats his request to which I reply “no more money, I have no more money.” Now he’s pissed.
He gets up and starts pacing back and forth in the hallway, keeping his eyes on me, and occasionally confirming that I had no more money. At this point I also realize that the commotion in the halls from just 5-10 minutes ago has all but died down completely and a group has gathered in one end of the hallway and our guide occasionally walks over to the group, says something in Arabic and finishes with the word “America” as everyone looks in my direction.
At this point I decide I’m going to die. That was it, I was going to be murdered in a brothel in Dubai, buried in the Desert, and my friend, if he escapes, will never speak of it to anyone since he would have to admit he was at a brothel. I’m fucked and I don’t want to be sitting on stairs for what I assume is about to happen. I stand up.
There was no life flashing before my eyes. I didn’t cry. I didn’t plead. I didn’t plan a futile escape attempt. My mind was white. Blank. I had probably achieved that level of meditation for the only time in my life no matter how hard I try to actually do it. I was just ready and the group approached me while I stood and continued smoking. The guide approaches me at the front of the group, gets a half smirk on his face, looks me in the eye, and half says half laughs “more money?”
I don’t know what made me think of this but my immediate response to the question that time was to point at the door my friend went into and say “he has more money!” So the group rushes the door, which is locked, and starts banging on it demanding he come out. I knew that “yell la!” meant “come on!” and thats what they kept yelling. About a minute goes by and my friend comes out, has a rushed conversation with the group and gives them another 15 Dhs. We are permitted to leave.
As we run to our car and drive to a gas station bathroom to clean the stink of what we just did off of us I make my friend vow he’ll never tell anyone about what just happened. About 2 months later I decide that this is the best story I have from the whole trip so I got over it. My friend tells the story completely differently (for example, he swears we were never in any danger) and time may have embellished some of the details but everything happened basically the way I described them. My advice is to avoid brothels in general.
And that’s the Dubai brothel story.
- so ninja... did you get a hard on while shitting for your life? i hate dubai!!!e-pill
- I only got a hard on in case I needed a weapon :Pninjasavant
- i have read everything.. that was an amazing story.. clap clap clapMeeklo
- fucking classic. i woulda pooped. i can imagine my borther doing something liek thisblackspade
- great writing style...CGN