Page 38 of Under the Arabian Sky

“You’re in my clinic. In Muscat. In Oman. On planet earth.” He smiled. “Coffee?”

“Thank you.” I sat up and took the coffee cup he handed me. The strong, sweet aroma helped bring me back to my present location. I took a sip. “A man could really get used to this coffee, you know.”

“Yes. Idoknow. How did you sleep?”

“Well, thank you.” I hadn’t really. For the most part I tried not to toss and turn for fear of waking Tariq up. Instead, I laid as still as I could, just watching him sleep, until eventually I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I suppose that’s when the dream came.

“You were sound asleep when I woke up. You kept mumbling a name to yourself, over and over. Andrew?”

“I talked in my sleep?” I hadn’t been told that in such a long time… not since…

“Andrew. You were chatting away as though you were in a conversation with him. Is he a friend of yours?”

“Something like that.”

Tariq seemed a little unsettled by my answer. I owed him more of an explanation than that, but as I took a breath to speak Tariq decided to promptly change the subject.

“Come, we have a big day ahead of us. Sharqiya Sands is at least a three-hour drive. I need to finish tending to the birds and you need to shower and dress. There’s a fresh kandura waiting for you in the bathroom. Don’t forget your camera this time.”

* * *

I didn’t forget my camera, or my theodolite and collapsible tripod, not to mention several folders and charts that Cavendish had labelled ‘Sharqiya S.’ I packed first, then showered.

As I let the water race over my body, thoughts of Tariq crept into my head.

I thought about his shape as he had laid in bed beside me the night before: the broad shoulders, the slim waist, the way he’d thrown the sheet off himself in his sleep midway through the night, turning onto his back and subconsciously stroking his chest lightly as he slumbered. In the darkened room I could make out the shape of his crotch under his bunched-up ezar. It was large and every few moments I could have sworn it twitched and moved, growing with desire.

Had he been dreaming of me?

Under the cool water of the shower, lathered soap bubbles trailed down my own chest, my belly, and trickled over my cock. I could feel it swell with pleasure and I did nothing to quell my rising manhood or ease my racing heartbeat.

I closed my eyes and let the water run over my face as I touched my erect dick.

I touched my nipple with my other hand.

I let out a soft, barely audible moan before—

Knock, knock, knock.

Tariq’s voice shouted through the door of the bathroom. “Are you almost done in there?”

Fuck, I’d barely started. “Yes. I’m coming now.” I wished I was, but instead I quickly stopped touching myself, turned off the water and grabbed my towel.

Minutes later, with my unrequited desire still playing the drums in my chest, I let my daypack slide off my shoulder and onto the backseat of Tariq’s Jeep before I climbed into the front passenger seat beside him. “No camels today?” I asked.

“Sharqiya is much too far for them. It’s almost three hundred kilometres away.”

“What about the tyres? Won’t we get bogged?”

“Not if I can read the sand.”

“You can ‘read’ sand?”

“Isn’t that what you do every day in your job? Read sand?”

“I analyse it, yes. But I can’t read it.”

“When you grow up in the desert, you learn. You don’t always get it right, of course. But if we do get stuck… trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

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