Lucky Jim 2 Student Farmer Volunteer Pickup Truck DiplomatChapter 38
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Lucky Jim 2-Student, Farmer, Volunteer, Pickup Truck DiplomatChapter 33 free porn video
Friday
Despite missing snuggling with my wives, I slept well and woke up just after 4:00 Riyadh time this morning. The Marine who was on duty let me into the gym so I could work out. “It’s not fair,” he complained. “The Saudis are crediting one of their Palace Guards who died with warning them about the attack.”
“My ... idea,” I grunted between reps of the bench press. “I like to keep my name and face out of the news about actions I’m involved in,” I explained after finishing the reps. “The fewer people who know about me, the better I like it. My superiors know what happened, so who cares what everyone else thinks?” I asked. “Just like you guys, I do my duty. I’m not doing it looking for notoriety.”
“As long as it was your idea,” he agreed.
I ate breakfast with the Marines and was at the airport just before 7:00. One of the embassy drivers drove me while three others followed. I was surprised to find an officer from the Palace Guards waiting there, too. When I reached to shake his hand, he hugged me instead. He explained that he was there to intervene with the customs agents. Technically, women wouldn’t be allowed into the country unless a male relative was with them. He was there to make sure customs knew I was sponsoring them, and we were personal guests of the King. We talked while we waited and he thanked me for both the warning and for disarming the guard who tried to attack the King.
While I didn’t recognize the plane as it made its final approach, I definitely noticed the Lucky J logo standing tall and proud on the tail of the aircraft as it was landing. It finally taxied next to my Citation X and stopped. One of the pilots opened the hatch and lowered the stairs. I boarded and was greeted first by Tara and Karen, both wearing abayas, as were the rest of the women. After that, Jan hugged and kissed me.
“Holly and Lenny were in a bad car accident last week,” Jan said nervously. “Lenny died, and Holly was hurt seriously. Holly is pregnant but the baby wasn’t hurt. When she found out that Lenny died, she was almost hysterical. Not even Glenda could calm her down.
“Captain Oliver was worried about her and called Dwight, looking for you. Dwight called Janie, knowing that you might be on an assignment. We rushed to the hospital in Raleigh to be with her. She kept crying that her baby wouldn’t have a father. I finally told her that you would always be there for her, and would be her baby’s father if she wanted.
“She spent yesterday at the farm, and decided that everything stinky was far enough away from the house, and the house was big enough that she could deal with living on a farm. Now she’s nervous that you might not want her back. Glenda’s even more nervous about it,” Jan explained.
Holly was hiding behind Janie so I hugged both of them, reaching over to pull Glenda into the hug. “I’m sorry about Lenny; he was a good man and I liked him. Both of you are welcome to live with us in the house, or to join our family. Personally, I’d prefer that you join the family,” I said emotionally. I hoped they would join us if Holly was truly okay with living at the farm, but I didn’t want to pressure either of them.
“We want to join the family,” Holly said emotionally as she hugged me tightly. “We just wanted to make sure you would take us back.”
“Consider yourselves back,” I replied emotionally while doing a mental count. “Shit, not counting Faizah, I’m up to fifteen now, or will Charlotte be making it sixteen? I remembered thinking that I was joking when I thought about a shower that would hold twenty people. Where will we get a bed that big? Our current one is already overcrowded,” I mused.
Leave it to Will to screw up an emotional reunion. “Is that where you were shot?” he asked, pointing to the bandage on my arm.
“What? Shot?” the women exclaimed questioningly as they all pressed in closer to see for themselves.
“It’s just a graze,” I replied. “I didn’t even notice it till afterwards,” I assured them.
They weren’t reassured until each of them had checked it for themselves.
Only when they were sure that I would live was I able to get the rings and necklaces from Jan. God only knows why, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know but she’d had more rings made to fill the box back up again. It currently held twenty rings. In addition, she had a second dozen of the Lucky J necklaces made, probably making the jeweler’s year. I had Holly and Glenda each find a ring that fit, and Jan gave each of them a necklace.
Only then did we exit the plane. I found the Palace Guard waiting for me, along with the customs agent. When he was satisfied that we weren’t smuggling anything, he stamped their passports and entrance visas and we caravanned back to the embassy where the drivers would wait until we needed a ride to the Royal Palace later. Right before leaving, the Palace Guard handed me an invitation. My wives and I were invited to meet the Royal Family at 1:00 today, and then to have dinner with them.
I thanked him and told him we’d be there.
When we got to the embassy, the ambassador explained a bit more about the invitation. It is customary not to accept the first spontaneous verbal invitation to have dinner with a Saudi family. A written invitation was more formal and required no ritual of refusal the first time. In fact, a written invitation from the King could almost be considered mandatory.
I had a feeling that I was going to end up with another wife and wanted something worthy to give the King as a gift. I made a call to the auction house in New York and explained the situation. One of the eggs they had intended to auction off for me would work. It had no depictions of animals or people, as those might offend Muslims. I offered to pay them the commission they would have received, but they declined. They had received a windfall from the Hanley sale, and expected to make a good profit from the sale of the nine remaining eggs. They promised that the egg would arrive at the Riyadh embassy no later than 8:00 tomorrow morning.
At 12:30, we loaded everyone back into the cars and made a small parade to the Royal Palace. Even though some of the damage was still visible, it was difficult to tell what had happened here yesterday or how bad it had been. The driver took me to the same Palace entrance as yesterday. I met with the King again, along with the male members of the Royal household. My wives were driven to a different entrance where they would meet the women of the Royal Family, especially Faizah.
The men were extremely polite and hospitable. Aside from the fact that I was among the Royal Family, I felt comfortable immediately. Here, in private, they seemed more like family and less royal. While I had been warned ahead of time that it was a common practice among Saudi men, one signifying friendship, it was odd having the King holding my hand for the entire time that he spent introducing me to everyone.
Names took some getting used to. “Hafiz bin Raza Al-Saud,” meant “Hafiz, son of Raza of the Saud family,” although I was expected to address him as Prince Hafiz. If he’d been the only person there besides the King, I would have been fine. Unfortunately, the number of men in the home waxed and waned during the afternoon, somewhere between ten and twenty throughout the day.
They served tiny cups of coffee, followed by tea, followed by more coffee. The small coffee cups reminded me of Chinese teacups. They actually roasted the beans right there, and ground them in a stone mortar before brewing the coffee. There were dates and other fruits to snack on all day until they served dinner.
Here, in the home of the Royal Family, in the middle of the Royal Palace compound, we sat on the floor and ate. Before we started, everyone washed their hands and then said, “Bismillah” (In the name of God). The ambassador had warned me about that before I left the embassy.
The food and dishes were on a beautifully embroidered cloth on the floor, but there were no utensils. Everything was finger food. My mother would die if she saw me at the dinner, eating with my fingers. She’d had a difficult time when I was little convincing me to use utensils when eating. I always considered fingers to be the ultimate utensils.
The talking that had continued during the afternoon all but ceased once the eating began. I ate slowly, not sure how long dinner would take, and not wanting to overeat. Only when several other men finished and left did I indicate that I was finished by saying “Alhamdulillah” (Thanks be to God) and washing my hands and face.
I struggled through the next sentence, but got my meaning across when I said, “An’am Allah alaikum kather Allah kherkum,” which translates roughly as indicating that I had enjoyed the meal, and asked Allah to be generous to my host. The ambassador told me before I left the embassy that people leave after finishing dinner, unlike the western tradition of staying and talking afterwards. He also warned me that my wives might leave before or after I did, depending on how their dinner went.
It was nearly two hours later before my wives got back to the embassy. They were excited about adding Faizah to the harem and said that she was equally excited. Her family loved my wives, even if they weren’t Muslim. The girls had told stories about me and about themselves as they got to know the female half of the Royal Family better.
When they gave their approval, they learned about the schedule for the next two days. Since it was just after noon in Mississippi, I called home and spoke to Dad briefly, letting him know when the wedding was. Then I called the jeweler where I had bought the wedding ring for the wedding with Jan. I managed to buy a new titanium ring, and have it shipped out immediately on a flight to Washington D.C. Finally, I called Will again since he flew home earlier today.
We finally went to sleep after an hour of quiet sex. The embassy had arranged three large mattresses in one room to accommodate us. Fortunately, Jan’s two girls were sound sleepers.
Saturday
As the Auction House had promised, the Fabergé egg was delivered shortly before 8:00 this morning. I left it with the girls while I headed for shops in the surrounding Western Zone, eventually finding what I needed. The Western Zone is a section of the city where western embassies are located, and expatriates live. The Saudi’s strict religious rules are slightly relaxed in the zone, but not completely ignored.
The women spent the morning waiting at the embassy since the Muslim men went to the Mosque at noon. We arrived at the Palace at 2:00 where we were again separated. First, we had the formality of signing the engagement contract. I signed it and Anwar signed it for his daughter.
Then I handed him the ring case, asking to have her make sure it was the right size. I also gave him the diamond studded Lucky J necklace for Faizah. He, in return, gave me a cashier’s check worth $500,000 Riyals, or over a quarter million dollars as her dowry. I hadn’t really expected that.
While Anwar went to give his daughter the necklace, and to make sure the ring fit, the King was flabbergasted when I presented him with the Fabergé egg. I explained that he had offered me a gift beyond value, and I wished to thank him.
Throughout the afternoon today, I was introduced to a veritable who’s who of important men in the Saudi government, not that I could remember a single name at the end of the day. Once again, I left after dinner. This time, the King hugged me as I was preparing to leave. “Thank you for observing our traditions,” he said. “The men you met today are important and their acceptance of you will go a long way to limiting the criticism about Faizah marrying a non-believer.”
My wives returned not long after I did. “Don’t laugh,” Jan warned, “but we’re talked out and we still have another day of this,” she said.
Sunday
This morning, I was at the airport shortly after 6:00 to meet my parents, brothers, and their wives. I had to shake my head when a third jet with the Lucky J logo on the tail landed and taxied over to the first two. There was no Royal Guard here today, but the women were each accompanied by their husband or father. Still, the customs agent was respectful and took my father’s word that they had no alcohol, pornography, drugs, or weapons aboard.
Once the customs agent had stamped their passports and entrance visas and left, I hugged Mom, my two sisters-in-law, and my nieces, thanking them for wearing the abayas.
My brothers insisted that we drive through the area at the embassy where the attack had taken place. Their wives rolled their eyes, although my nephews and nieces seemed as interested as their fathers were.
We finally made it to the embassy where I introduced them to the ambassador.
Before we left for the Palace, I mentally reviewed everything that had happened in the last three days. Had it only been three days since I got here? It felt like I’d been under a microscope for a month.
Today we arrived at the Palace at 1:00. The King seemed excited to finally meet my male relatives. Then we met the who’s who of the religious world in Riyadh in the early afternoon. I was surprised to see the Fabergé egg displayed in a prominent place. After he explained about the egg to the religious leaders, they seemed to be appeased about something.
The late afternoon was for meeting the wealthiest businessmen. They were surprised that I had enough money to buy Zhora’s yacht, obviously not knowing that I had simply relieved him of it. That I was a farmer, and not in the oil business, and still had so much money impressed them further. They liked the fact that my family worked with me and that we all lived on the farm. Extended nuclear families are the rule in Saudi Arabia, but quite the exception in the States.
We had dinner with the men of the Royal Family. By now, I could put first names to faces of most of them. I could actually name each person, but the second half of the name, the father’s name was screwing me up. Unless they were messing with me, half of the men looked more like someone other than their father. Had it been an extended American family, I might have wondered who their fathers really were.
“Even the religious leaders have accepted you,” the King told me as we were leaving after dinner. “They would have preferred that Faizah marry a Muslim man, but most of them are aware that she has already been in trouble with the mutawwa, and recognize that I am trying to keep her out of further trouble. They were especially impressed with your consideration of Faizah’s worth, thank you,” he said emotionally.
On the way back to the embassy, my brothers and nephews discussed the various differences between Saudi customs and ours. I was just thankful that none of us had said or done anything to upset someone.
The women were almost three hours behind us and were talking excitedly when they got back. Mom stopped and looked at me appraisingly. “She is a very beautiful woman. She’s also very smart, very well-mannered, and has a wicked sense of humor,” she said proudly. “Her mother was stunned with the gift you gave the King. It was one of only sixty-five Fabergé eggs ever made,” she said proudly.
“There are sixty-five eggs, but how many granddaughters does the King have?” I teased. She slugged me in the arm. I wondered if that counted as child abuse.
My current wives seemed excited about adding Faizah to the so-called harem at the wedding tomorrow afternoon and spent a considerable amount of that excitement on me before Little Jim refused to rise to the occasion any longer. Once again, I was lulled to sleep by the sounds of their continuing passion.
Monday
Damn, I was nervous this morning. It had nothing to do with danger, though. Despite my apparent acceptance by the men of his family, as well as by the government officials I had met, and the religious and business leaders of Riyadh, I was still nervous about marrying the granddaughter of the Saudi King--or any King for that matter.
“Relax,” Jan said when she joined me for my morning shower. She also joined with me in the shower, as did Glenda and Janie before the water started cooling down.
I worked off some of my case of nerves in the gym, and had to go through my kata twice to center myself enough to face the rest of the day.
The girls were surprised when I got out what I intended to wear. I’d gone to a shop that sold the traditional thobes that Saudi men wore and bought one the owner said was intended to be worn by a groom. It was a long, flowing white robe like those worn every day, but had what appeared to be gold-colored ribbon alternated with white around the neck opening that met near my navel. In a way, the gold and white almost looked like military stripes if they’d only been on the shoulders. Beneath the thobe, I wore a highly embroidered, long sleeved white shirt.
I probably ruined the whole effect I was trying for by wearing black dress shoes beneath it, but had forgotten to ask about shoes, and they were rarely visible anyway. To complete the outfit, I wore the traditional, long, white scarf trailing down my back, held in place by a gold-colored band across my forehead and around my head. I looked a bit like the old movie poster picture I’d once seen for Lawrence of Arabia.
The wedding was held in some sort of large conference room on the palace grounds. Once again, my wives left me and joined the rest of the women while I joined the men. I was surprised to find all the VIPs that I had met previously and many more men there.
The wedding was rather simple. The King performed the ceremony personally, offering counsel, in English, about how to live together in harmony, and reminding each of us of our responsibilities to each other.
The man’s responsibility is to provide for his family. The woman is responsible for the household and the children. We were counseled about chastity and modesty.
After that, he asked me three times if I consented to the wedding, and then had me sign a wedding contract (Nikah). When I did, he left for the room Faizah was in and asked her three times, and then had her sign the wedding contract. He also had all the witnesses in the room sign. When he returned, he said a final prayer.
With that business finished, we were considered married and the men came to me. Some embraced me while others shook my hand. Several of the religious leaders said prayers, usually in Arabic. Only after that did I get to meet Faizah, and we were quickly rushed to the after-wedding feast where we were once again separated. I ate with the men while Faizah was in a different banquet hall feasting with the women.
After the meal, I was taken into the dining hall for the women and introduced. Then, Faizah and I were whisked into a limousine and taken to a lavish hotel for our first night together. I was surprised when my other wives joined us. “I wanted them here to celebrate with us,” Faizah husked as she pulled Jan to her and kissed her soundly.
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