A trip in Oman. From nothing to musclegods (Pt.s 7/8 added 19/01/24)

[boson]

Hi everybody, this story is translate with an AI, because of my laziness  Critics and suggestions to improve text quality are welcome!

A TRIP IN OMAN (pt. 1 & 2)

It's not that I could say I didn't like my life - because on the other hand I had a bit of everything - but if I'm being completely honest, there was something deep inside that I didn't like. I felt I had to give up some things: not because I lacked the ambition to achieve what I wanted, but because I knew I could not have what I wanted in the first place.

    I had always thought of myself as an extremely average person: average family, average class, average school, average sports results. An average love and sex life: I wasn't particularly good-looking, tall or muscular. I had studied computer engineering and got a job in Italy in a multinational company that makes software for banks. I was 35 years old and had a quiet career. Davide and I had been together for a while: we met by chance on Grindr. At first, we kept in touch just for fun and a few group outings with some mutual friends we had made. Then we finally got together.

    In reality, things were not going well. David, underneath it all, I always thought he was a bit jealous of what I was doing. And then lately he'd got into fitness and said that I was too sedentary, that I wasn't healthy. In short, he'd told me one day, during the umpteenth argument about never seeing each other: he wasn't happy being with me and, he'd said, my body no longer excited him.

    I'd taken the blow, but I couldn't say I'd got the hang of it. It was the last straw and so, after the umpteenth outburst, I left his house without speaking to him again. At work I had had a pretty serious breakdown, both in my ability to concentrate and in the quality of my work. I had also tried to reason with a friend who had sent me to a psychologist, a very good one, she said: in fact, apart from the fee, I don't remember much of what he told me, apart from the fact that he thought I was depressed.

    I actually had quite a lot of vacation time left over, and I should have used it sooner or later. It was the right time for me to decide to pack up and move on. But where to? One day I got a call from my colleague in Human Resources: basically, our bank was going to take part in an international merger for an investment fund whose shares it wanted to acquire; it was a done deal, but there were some problems with the feasibility of the operation. The merger partners wanted to know more about us. Basically, it was a matter of making various information available and making our accounting standards readable in their databases. A technical solution had to be found. One of the parties to the deal was a wealthy sovereign wealth fund from Oman. The owners graciously offered to host a conference to decide what to do. They would pay for all the technicians to be sent. They asked me if I was interested.

I was totally against it at first. I mean, I had been to Lebanon and Egypt, but Oman was a petro-monarchy, a very conservative, absolutist state... I didn't like all that. My colleague, with whom I was quite close, explained to me very patiently that the congress would take place in five days, that it was an international event and that I should not worry. If I could get a flight from Oman to another country, I could pay for part of my holiday that way. His comment was just silly.

    So I decided to take the job: not least because there was a lot of pressure from above to do so. Basically, it had been planned that way. After a bit of back and forth, I had planned to leave Milan on the first Saturday in June. We would have made a stopover in Dubai and then taken a local flight to Mascate. A thirteen-hour flight with a stopover was not a few hours. But then I would arrive at a luxury hotel provided by the company. The meeting would last from Sunday, with a presentation dinner, until the following Thursday. Friday, however, was free: I planned to stay in another hotel in the area, a little cheaper, from Saturday to the following Wednesday, and then return to Italy. If nothing else, this would have guaranteed a certain punctuality in the meetings and we would have had the chance to visit these places a little. I was still curious about this place, so far from our imagination, so exotic... In short, I had decided to go.

***

Despite what I had been told, the country was not that conservative. It was not true that you had to wear traditional clothes. The hotel was very nice, if a bit kitschy. The first day had gone quite well, after a very tiring flight. Mostly colleagues more or less my age, some older: several Asians, a few locals, mostly Germans, a few French. I had appreciated the precision of the timetable: all in all, even the meetings were more bearable, the topics well sketched out and the agendas organised.

    My only regret was that, despite my good intentions, I had seen virtually nothing of Oman. It was Tuesday evening when, at the end of the afternoon working session, I decided to join a table of local colleagues for dinner. There were four men, two in their 50s, one bald and quite tall, one a little fatter and shorter, and two more or less my age. I asked if I could join them, and they were happy to oblige: I had already broken the ice with one of the two contemporaries, a young man with glasses, a bit of stubble, who looked athletic, as I noticed under his shirt and jacket two nice broad shoulders and a rather slim waist. Yussef, that was his name, suggested that I follow him and his colleagues after dinner to try a very nice traditional place to smoke hookah. Eventually I agreed, and in his boss's luxury car, I forget whether it was a Porsche or a Jaguar, we drove into the old city.

    It was a very warm evening, but there was a pleasant breeze that made the night pleasant on the large terrace of this typically oriental building. We were sitting on some cushions, enjoying a water pipe, when Yussef introduced me to a man in his forties, I think, dressed in the traditional way: a long cassock and a top hat on his head. He also spoke English, but not fluently, so Yussef helped him translate a little. This very distinguished gentleman, who immediately caught the attention of those present, Yussef told me, was considered a real authority: his name was Muhammad, like the prophet, he explained, and he was some kind of soothsayer or something like that.

    They held him in high esteem because they said all his predictions were always right to the millimetre. Muhammad gave a few card readings to those present while I enjoyed a smoke, then explained the horoscope a little while I looked at him between scepticism and amusement. "But you - he stared at me at one point - you don't believe it? "Honestly - I tried to be a bit distracted - not much, that's not how we do it." I was a big asshole to bring up cultural differences, but it was the easiest thing to do.

Muhammad, however, did not believe me - and he was right - that we do not use horoscopes and so on: he explained to me, however, that there are other 'arts'. In what sense? I had just tried to ask, and he gave me a very long lecture about, I don't remember, what kind of 'magic' or something like that existed in the Islamic mystery culture, or something like that, based on looking... Then at a certain point, while I was lost in the conversation, Yussef came in to speak for me and the discussion seemed to be getting lively, but as long as they were speaking Arabic I didn't understand a thing. At one point Muhammad squared a piece of paper and wrote some things on it: I was minding my own business and making small talk with the English-speaking colleagues around me, I didn't want to hear their arguments. In the end, Muhammad and Yussef reconciled and seemed to make peace. He left much calmer. That evening, on the way back to the hotel, Yussef explained to me that he had made a bet with our 'fortune teller': 'There is this practice we call Ilm as-Simiya, a form of magic based on the powers attributed to texts or scriptures that invoke God. I don't really believe in it, but some people get these pieces of paper made by Mohammad and pay good money to get promotions at work, get married and things like that. "Well, cool," I replied falsely. "Not too much, some people spent a lot of money on it and got ruined. Anyway, Mohammad and I made a bet. 40 rials: if it's true that the magic will work tonight. I'm already waiting to collect it." "Ahahah, I think so too... By the way, what kind of magic is it?" "If I can make some of my wishes come true!" he replied enigmatically.

 

I didn't understand much of what he was saying, but never mind, I said goodbye and went to bed, for I was very tired. I retired to my room and as I undressed for bed I thought to myself that Yussef was not so bad, a cool guy too. Yes, I didn't mind his Arabic features, I found them masculine and I don't know, they had something mysterious, something oriental about them. Maybe I didn't mind the guys here, who knows. "Come on, old man, think about it," I said to myself in the mirror, "who do you think you want with this gut?" and I squeezed my navel a little. No way, I wasn't that fat, but my laziness had certainly put me out of shape. So I had laughed about it, not thinking about David's words, which had hurt me and left a bad mark. With this last, sudden, angry perception of myself and my body, I fell asleep, somewhat irritated.

The night was very strange. I slept like a rock but had confused and nonsensical dreams, I just remember dreaming of drifting along the sea or something. The next morning I was a bit groggy. Maybe all that smoking hadn't done me any good, who knows. I washed up with lots of ice water before getting ready to go downstairs for breakfast. Almost mechanically, I buttoned my shirt and then tightened the belt on my trousers. Only then did I notice that it was a bit loose around my waist and that the buckle loops must have been tightened a turn... What had happened? I looked in the mirror. Suddenly I realised something, but it took me a while to realise it. My whole body, including my navel, was perfectly flat and slim. Not an ounce of fat: under the skin I could see a slight hint of abdominal muscles. What the hell was going on?

[LukeXL]

I really like this. The tone of the writing is great, it reads like classic travel/adventure literature. I can imagine it being narrated by a 1960s era stage and screen star.

[boson]

On 12/1/2023 at 5:52 PM, LukeXL said:

I really like this. The tone of the writing is great, it reads like classic travel/adventure literature. I can imagine it being narrated by a 1960s era stage and screen star.

Thx! Too kind!

 

[portamivia]

Is the original in Italian? If yes, me lo mandi?

[mrnonsense76]

14 minutes ago, portamivia said:

Is the original in Italian? If yes, me lo mandi?

Anche a me! Thanks

[boson]

Original in Italian in my blog here, if u want: 

 

[boson]

Part 3.

That Wednesday was an extremely quiet day, things were basically very positive and it was likely that the next day would be all about pulling the strings. In the morning I was a little on my own, the revelation of the sudden and inexplicable weight loss making me a little perplexed and perhaps worried.
    I had a bit of a chat with the German group at the lunch table, and then joined them at their thematic table in the afternoon. At the end of the second round of discussions, I was approached by Yussef from the Omani group to ask if I would like to join them for dinner that evening. They were going to a typical place and if I wanted I could join them.
    In the end, I agreed and they picked me up in the forecourt of our hotel, as I had expected. Instead, it was only Yussef who arrived in a shabby company BMW and waved me on. "Hey!" I said as I closed the door, "and where are the others?" "Who do you mean, sorry?" he asked, shifting into gear and driving off towards the city centre. "Ah... is it just the two of us?" "Yes, yes, after all the boss is away with his wife tonight and the other two are staying with you at the hotel for lunch." "Ah, OK... Where are we going?" "To a hamam."
    ...I began to suspect something strange. Why was this guy taking the two of us, alone, to a spa, to a hamam? Perhaps I was exaggerating my concerns. On the other hand, travelling friends had told me that in certain Middle Eastern countries it was quite common for men to shake hands, and it was also quite common to wash frequently, ablutions and the like, wasn't it? Perhaps I had misunderstood everything, and all the sexual subtext I had imagined was simply not there.
    We arrived in front of a colonial building, built of square stones, as is the custom here, but with a very European flavour: it had a whitewashed main façade that must have been recently renovated. We entered and indeed the interior was very classical and western, if you can call it that. After collecting our bags of towels, change and the like, we moved on to another room, which quickly proved to be much more traditional. The wall was plastered in a rather dark orange colour, and a series of small corridors opened up past a series of carved wood furniture and decorations, leading to the room that had been reserved for us.
    It was a room with a large basin and some geometric decorations on the walls. Some incense burners spread a pleasant, delicate scent of sandalwood all around. We sat down in the small room, slowly got into the tub and began to wash ourselves with the thermal water. Yussef revealed a well defined physique, like a good runner, a few chest hairs, a beautiful amber complexion and all in all a lean and shapely body. I compared it to my own, my arms just skinny and the rest of my body a bit dry and unimpressive: it was a ruthless comparison.
Yussef was the first to speak, and he began to speak a little spontaneously, I think because he understood my possible discomfort. We talked a bit about work, what we did in our free time, holidays... Ah, so you're staying here in Mascate for a few more days? Very nice..." "Yes, I wanted to take advantage of the city... it's my first time here and I've seen very little!" "Sure, sure, if you want... I can be your guide." "I would be very happy...".
    "Anyway, the restaurant I've chosen for tonight is a little less traditional, but I think you'll like it." "Sure, well... I adapt to everything, then you seem to have good taste, I trust!" She giggled, "Yes, yes, I think I have good taste, I do. You'll see!" I smiled and didn't understand much of what he was saying: perhaps he had a slightly strange irony. After a while we got out of the bath and sat down to get dressed. I have to admit that I couldn't help looking at what she had under her towel, but her movements were fast enough to hide her equipment from my view, which, although not extraordinary, seemed satisfactory and, above all, quite large.
    It was at that moment, absurdly enough, that Yussef asked me, "But you... do you have a girlfriend?" "Huh?" "Girlfriend... do you have a girlfriend?" He scanned the word in slow, hyphenated English for emphasis. "Mhm, well... Come on, I'm in contact with one, see you." Could there have been a worse question at a worse time? And in a worse place, I suppose... "You, Yussef?" "I'm getting married soon, you know." "Ah, that's nice! What's her name?" "Fatima, we met through our parents." I didn't really understand what he meant: was it an arranged marriage? Was he alluding to that?
    I did not have time to confirm this, as I was in a hurry to get to the restaurant he had chosen. Although the building and ambience were quite modern, the cuisine was very traditional and the service first class. The only thing was that Yussef, who had ordered for both of us, might have overdone it... I swallowed a lot of food. "Eat, you need it... - he encouraged me - you need to grow up." "What are you talking about, I've already grown up!" "But that's not true," he laughed, "you still have to grow up! He had his own brand of irony, nothing to say.
    I really enjoyed his company, although we always ended up talking about light things, perhaps because we deliberately avoided topics that were too difficult or too personal and demanding: perhaps it was true that there was a certain cultural barrier between us, and therefore it was better to be cautious even when talking. However, and I don't think I was wrong at the time, he was very affectionate, even if in a somewhat distant and oblique way, and he took care to ask me how I was doing, what I might like to do during my days in Mascate. He was always there for me.

Originally from another city in the hinterland, Yussef had started his studies here, then moved to Dubai and the UK to complete his computer engineering courses: he said that he also felt homesick for Europe from time to time, but all in all he was happy to be back. Given the chance, though, he would have been more than happy to return to the Old Continent. I don't know if he was too happy about it, he seemed a little uncomfortable, but on the other hand it was his own business and he was right not to tell a stranger like me.
    I was a bit tired from dinner, so I got dropped off a couple of miles from the hotel to walk back and take a little stroll. Maybe a walk would make me feel better. My stomach felt really bloated: Yussef had ordered too much food. Actually, those two steps didn't feel good. As I walked, I felt all sorts of aches and pains in my joints: my shoulders, then my wrists, my arms in general, my legs... With effort and difficulty, sweating a lot, I managed to get to my room. I felt the kind of twinges I used to get all over my body when I was a teenager. I took a painkiller before going to bed and it was a terrible night. The feeling of heaviness from eating too much had gradually diminished: fortunately I was able to fall asleep at some point. In the morning, as I was getting ready to go out, I noticed something strange about the clothes I was wearing: the shirt seemed a little tighter, the sleeve cuffs were shorter, as were the trousers, and the shoes were starting to look a little small. 'Eat, eat, eat... you have to grow up...' Yussef told me...

[timaa]

Really great start, looking forward to seeing where this goes! There are a few translation mistakes, but it's understandable still so it's all good!

[boson]

PART 4.

Thursday was the last day of our discussions, which went quite well, conclusions were drawn. The feasibility of the project was there, so the technical tables would be convened in a few months' time, and in the meantime the various top managers would contact each other for the basic protocols. In short, we had done a good job.
    We would finish a little early, have a quick round table after lunch and then, we were told, enjoy a relaxing event. As an international - and, it must be said, all-male - environment, we enjoyed a certain freedom: so we would spend the evening at a beach club, 'alcohol licensed', although that did not mean we were free to raise our spirits to our hearts' content...
    In fact, I hardly touched a bottle, and we ended up chatting more or less, going around the various groups a bit. The place was nice and gradually became more and more lively: from western tourists we moved on to rich Omanis and their friends. By now the sun had started to set and we were served dinner. I don't remember much about the after-dinner party: some people started to get bored because they couldn't even drink, so most people left. There were not many of us left: someone had to catch a plane that night, around midnight, so we slowly said goodbye to each other and the group became much smaller. Once again there were very few of us, and of course Yussef was one of them.
    "Why don't we take a nice bath?" he suggested. "Anyone want to come?" A few of us said that bathing in the evening was too dangerous, or too lazy. Two wanted to join, but I don't know if Yussef did it on purpose, he suggested a beach that was a bit far away. It was a wise, calculated decision, in fact they declined the invitation. Of course, it was still just the two of us. Perhaps the coincidences were starting to become too many: he always seemed to be trying to get me alone with him. I got into the car with him.
    It was a bit hot that evening, and already on the way Yussef was complaining about the temperature, despite the air conditioning, and slowly began to undress, unbuttoning his shirt. I watched him surreptitiously as he slowly undressed: he was an attractive man, perhaps not an absolute beauty, but he had his moments. Full lips, thick black beard, raven hair. Perhaps his forehead was a little frowned, his eyebrows thin and his nose a little hooked, but he had good teeth and an overall pleasant face, especially when he smiled. And then, well, she had a very sexy physique, lean but athletic.

After about half an hour, or a little less, we arrived at a kind of headland sloping down to the sea: Yussef had brought a torch and told me to follow him. He led me along the limestone cliff to a small cove half hidden from view. We entered the water and stayed there for a good half hour, joking, laughing and splashing with the waves, then the wind picked up and it became wiser to go back, not least because it was getting dark and it could be dangerous to return to the narrow path later. Slowly, slowly we made our way back to the top, ready to set off again. Night had fallen on the Gulf of Mascate, to the north-west the lights of the city were twinkling, perhaps too much so: the landscape, although it would have been very beautiful, had a certain sadness about it because of the large, gaudy, pompous buildings of the luxury hotels scattered here and there along the coast.
    "Yes, it could be better... They've done a lot of cementing. They have: we have,' Yussef quickly points out. He puts a hand on my shoulder: "This place could be better than it is, if only we had taken better care of it. But the longer I stay here, the more it seems impossible to change. I would like to leave, even for myself, for my life. "But how - I look into his deep, dark eyes - are you not happy here? You'll even have your own family soon... I mean, this place is a bit of history, isn't it?" He hesitates for a second before answering, taking his hand off my shoulder: I seem to sniff a little with my nose, then a tear runs clearly down my cheek. "I... I... - he stammers, "I don't like girls." I hug him before he starts sobbing, and he hugs me back, "Yussef, don't worry, I... I don't like them either."

He quickly turns serious and laughs: 'I knew it, I imagined it'. He hugs me tighter than before, "I have an infallible gay radar, you know? And then I saw the way you looked at me that day in the hammam..." he whispers in my ear as he slowly brings his face closer. I feel his beard rubbing against my chin, I close my eyes and our lips meet as he begins to run his hand down my back and squeeze my bottom. He kisses me passionately and fiercely, grunting in approval as our tongues entwine and touch as he pushes me down hard and I collapse to the floor. In seconds, his athletic shoulders spread, he unbuttons his shirt, leaving his chest bare, and drops his trousers: his cock is on fire and I begin to saw it off with my right hand. He opens me up and almost tears my shirt off, pulling everything off me and slapping my ass cheeks as I roll over on the grass to offer him my ass. He starts licking my neck and back: he's rough and energetic: after a few seconds he comes back from the car with some lubricant and condoms. The bastard had brought me here just to fuck....
    He's good and he's good at it: his years of 'study' abroad have served him well, I'd say. His pole is wide, maybe not very long, he manoeuvres it well and enters me firmly and gently, a little at a time. I moaned under his strokes and his virile power inside my body, which slowly made me more and more aroused: all my blood was boiling and I felt myself bursting with excitement, while rivulets of sweat soaked my whole body. Yussef continues to increase the pace of his fucking with his cock in my ass: I begin to feel myself coming as he explodes in a hoarse, muffled scream. Caught up in the orgasm, I feel my ears ringing and for a moment I can barely think, my head separating from my body in the throes of excitement. I let out a deep breath: it was a good night.
    "Aah..." - he gasps a little hoarsely after we have reached pleasure - "you did well. Yussef smiles at me. I smile back and kiss him again. "Listen, what are you doing tomorrow? Are you free?"

 

[boson]

PART 5.

The next morning I woke up all sore. Yussef was waiting for me for breakfast. I felt a bit ankylosed, as if I had spent the day at the gym: I got dressed and went down to the lobby. "Hi! Did you sleep well?" he immediately asked me, with a mischievous grin. I answered yes and then followed him for breakfast: we were going to go for a walk downtown. "Today there is someone I want to introduce you to," he explained, taking me to a modern café on a fashionable street in the modern building district.
    Waiting for us at the table was a girl in her twenties, elegant, well dressed, smelling of a delicate fragrance. She was Fatima, who immediately took the floor after the pleasantries: a friend of hers introduced herself first, and after meeting us she moved on, leaving the three of us alone. Perhaps she had accompanied her so as not to leave her alone in the bar, I don't know. "Yussef and I, as you know, are engaged," the girl began, "and as you may have guessed, well... ours is not a marriage we really wanted. "Um," Yussef murmured, "maybe it's not the ideal place... Maybe we'd better finish eating and get up. They debated for a second, were polite enough to do it in English so as not to exclude me from the conversation. There was a bit too much mystery in the air: the fact remains that the friend who was nearby came back into view and followed us, exchanging small talk because she did not chew English well, to Yussef's flat. He lived alone in a glass building, on the seventh or eighth floor. I had more or less framed it but only then realised that he was a wealthy man. The house was minimalist in design, very understated, a discreet luxury, the kind you wouldn't guess at first glance.
    We sat in a small living room and the other girl stayed behind to wait in another small room, because we had to talk to each other, Yussef said. Fatima began in an excited manner to tell the story. Yussef's parents owned, like Fatima's, a large share of a local oil company. Their plan was to join forces with a family alliance and attempt to take over the majority shareholding. In the end, they explained, it wasn't that arranged marriages worked that badly, but there was one glaring problem: Yussef didn't like women and Fatima didn't want to know, after she had managed to wrest a few years of freedom from her parents in Europe, to marry a local there and give it all up. She was a determined girl, proud of her origins, but markedly different in mentality from most of her compatriots, she said. She wanted to go back and secure her escape. Yussef had devised a perfect plan.
Soon his father would give him the shares as a wedding present, to help him settle down. Fatima would do the same. Helped by front men, they would sell the shares and with the money they made, they would have enough to disappear, live on their income and cut ties with their families. Of course, they would be searched for: they would have to find a new identity and make a quick getaway. It was all planned. Fatima had a very good friend in high finance in London who would have taken care of all the financial aspects: she would have fled quietly with a passport she had already obtained...
"But what does this have to do with me?" I asked in astonishment. I imagined they were trying to set me up somehow... "Well, since I imagine Yussef will have told you about his project if you're involved, although I didn't understand how he intended to do it... I think the money is for you," Fatima explained frankly. "What?! What project?" "Well - Yussef clarified his voice - we could use it for our life together, couldn't we? Didn't you understand?"

***

PART 6

My God, the man was completely mad. Like our life together? What do you mean? We've known each other for... two or three days!" "Mhm, well... Look Fatima, we need to finish this discussion, is it alright with you if we talk tonight?" "Hey! Wait!" I tried to stop them both from saying goodbye, but Fatima was quicker than me to save herself from embarrassment, waved happily, collected her friend and hurried out, slamming the door behind her.    
    "Yussef! What are you doing? Have you gone completely mad?"
    "Listen, calm down. I will explain everything to you. I have good reason to believe that I will convince you and you will accept what I propose. Please listen to me."
    "The situation is absolutely absurd and you must realise that I am in a homophobic country, which I don't know, no offence to your people and..."
    "Sure, I know, and believe me, I'm risking it too. I'll tell you what. Ten minutes on the clock: if you are not satisfied within ten minutes, I will open the front door and disappear from your life forever. I promise!"
    "What makes you think I trust you?"
    "Well, I trusted you. I told you about the situation with Fatima and everything. You know we're both in this mess."
    "Because you got me into it."
    "True, but I can't do anything to you that doesn't hurt me too. Now sit down and listen to me."
    In a bad mood, I complied with his request and stared into his eyes as he began to explain. "The story is very simple. A few months ago, when I was very distressed about this situation, I happened to turn to Mohammad, the old prophet you met. He is a fortune teller and a very, very respected magician here in Mascate. I had asked him a simple question: what would happen to my life? He had answered that within a short time I would find love and a person who would change my existence forever, if I knew how to seize the opportunity...".
    "But you are crazy!"
    "You don't believe such things, I mean."
    "It's all bullshit! You're out of your mind!"
    "If magic is bullshit, how come you've lost so much weight in so few days?"
    "Huh!?"
    "Don't tell me you haven't noticed? You have lost weight and, I think, even gained a few centimetres in height. And maybe, I don't know, a kilo or two of muscle mass."
    My God, it was true. Everything I thought was happening and tried to ignore was actually happening.
    Yussef came over and stroked my cheek: I tried to step aside and get away. He grabbed my arm: 'Listen. - I can't keep you here and I'll leave you free to do what you want. Just give me a chance to explain, and above all, give me a chance to do what I have in mind. I sat down again.

"The deal I made with the old magician is this. I will give him money. In return, he will make this happen. I don't know how Fatima will do it: and chances are we won't see each other again, so I won't ask her for anything more. But we have to stay away from that place or, if I go back, not get arrested because our parents might accuse us of cheating or who knows what. So let's not talk about my situation. Fatima makes it easy, she says it's enough to falsify documents. For God's sake, I've thought about that too, but who's to say I won't be recognised somewhere one day? I have committed a crime and I want to avoid any mess.
    "So what are you going to do?"
    "Make myself unrecognisable. And, of course, well... do it while having fun."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Come on, we all have something we don't like about our bodies, don't we?"
    "It seems inevitable to me."
    "Good. But it's avoidable. With a few tricks. Mohammed knows how."
    "Oh God, it's all so crazy..."
    "Maybe, maybe not. You saw what happened to your body, didn't you? All this happened because magic fulfilled some of your fantasies. But as I can see, you held back. I, on the other hand, am more uninhibited. I will show you what you can do, and when you have seen the full potential of this wonderful spell, you will consider whether you want to try it.