"You don't really believe you're a god?" I asked afterwards, feeling more confident in my relationship with him.
"Of course not," Robin smiled. "To hold such a belief would be arrogant and foolish. The real gods, you see .... they are very jealous."
The answer filled me with relief. I believe I would have left the very next day had Robin declared himself a divine being. One can be rich and arrogant, but not possessed of so much damning hubris.
Tina and I remained on the top deck with Robin for most of the afternoon. We drank champagne and Mai Tais, as the Tits cruised around the bay which surrounded the capital. It had turned in to a very pleasant afternoon.
Suddenly, we heard screaming from below decks. It was one of the girls from the other house. Robin was up immediately, and Tina and I followed, curious as to what was happening.
The girl screaming was running from one of Robin's friends. She came to me, falling in to my arms, just whimpering. She wouldn't speak. I thought for a moment she would be wrenched from my hold and chastised by Robin or one of his entourage, some of whom were emerging from various parts of the ship.
But it was not the girl who was to be chastised. Robin began quietly interrogating his friend, a young man of around 35, whom I think was named Ozi. Ozi was at first defiant, petulant; it was clear that he had expected something of the girl whom I now comforted, and such an expectation was not satisfactorily fulfilled.
Robin suddenly snapped at Ozi. I had never heard the Prince angry before, and now, here he was practically yelling. Ozi's head was down and he only nodded, as Robin continued to rail at him. In a few minutes, Ozi again nodded, and then ascended the stairs to the top deck. He was escorted to the front of the boat. In five minutes, a helicopter landed. Ozi boarded the helicopter, and was removed from the deck of the Tits.
Robin smiled at us and led us back to our seats, where our champagne glasses had been refilled by invisible aids. The girl whom Ozi had assaulted (or attempted to assault) was invited to join the Prince and ourselves for a drink. She accepted; within half an hour, it seemed, she had forgotten the incident.
When Tina and she eventually got up to use the restroom, I leaned in and queried Robin on the recent scenario.
"What happened?" I asked.
"It would appear that my friend, Ozi, had come to a mistaken conclusion about the affections of the young lady in question," he said.
"Did he attack her?" I asked.
"No. It would appear she attacked him. The cut on her face was from him trying to defend himself. Apparently, she was inadvertently scratched."
"She attacked him?"
"She has done it before. Ozi is a very poor fighter."
"If that's the case, why did you become angry at him, instead of her?"
Robin laughed. "Because a man who brings a woman to fists and cuffs, well, this is a man who lacks chivalry and patience. Such a man needs to be punished."
I swallowed hard. "What will happen to Ozi?"
"I will have his head cut off," Robin said neutrally.
I froze. He smiled. "Little joke," he said.
I swatted him good naturedly – it was the first time I had taken such liberties. The Prince did not seem to object. "He was disciplined today simply by me asking him to please leave my boat. He knows I am upset with him. It will not happen again."
I remained silent after that, but I remembered thinking to myself: Truly, I am on another planet ... and I will never understand the customs here.
The tour around the bay lasted most of the day; come twilight, Robin started a barbecue, and we all sang campfire songs. Later that night, Robin and I fucked like there was no tomorrow, and I actually got into it. Something about sea air, I suppose. I remember much later, once I came home, no one believed this part of my tale. They were too busy convinced I was hooking over there and the Prince and his cronies were nothing but "Muslim piggies."
I did not bother to argue the point.
I wouldn't have gotten past the name of the boat, the good ship Tits with Nipple One and Nipple Two...
The Biggest Little Harem you Ever did See...
New Years. On that night, a contest was suggested by Big Roy. It was, for lack of a better title, called "Who Can Dance the Sexiest" contest. The prize was a single gold chain, which held a small diamond heart. Net worth: around $50,000.
Each girl had a shot to dance for three minutes. There were no ground rules. Many of the girls exposed themselves, front and top. Needless to say, this went over very well with the discriminating audience judging the performances.
I won the contest because, quite frankly, I think my dance combined humor with just plain old gross-out appeal. There was the sexy element, too, but the gross-funny aspect of the performance was the key element in my victory.
I danced to "I Will Survive" and I did not dance alone. I reached for a huge cucumber in one of the many fruit and vegetable plates in the bar area. With the cucumber, I simulated as many sexually related activities that I could remember (or imagine). I left no holds barred. The crowd went wild. And the diamond heart was mine.
I don't think I would have performed as aggressively had Prince Jefri been in the audience. On New Years, he did not make an appearance, preferring instead to spend the night with his family.
Robin and I continued to have "tea meetings." I began a little investigation among the other girls pertaining to the Prince; I was curious as to precisely how many of them had actually slept with him. Out of around thirty girls, I spoke with ten. Three of those ten, including Tina, had been involved with the Prince on an intimate level.
So much for the tabloid theory that every woman invited to Brunei was nothing more than a sex slave.
In truth, our biggest danger collectively was boredom. And self-indulgence. We ate a lot. We drank a lot. I liked to ride the horsies in the Royal Stables.
And as already discussed, being cut off from the rest of the world, our love lives non-existent, we fell into some pretty controversial sexual behavior among ourselves.
I had heard various rumors that one of the doctors was handing out amphetamines (uppers) to some of the girls. Many of the girls feared gaining weight; the uppers tended to make them high-strung, nervous – and destroyed the appetite.
I, who was content to be pleasantly plump, never inquired into the availability of the drugs. Nor, in all fairness to the Sultanate doctors, had I ever really met one girl who admitted to receiving a secret stash of hunger-killing stimulants.
I mention this as a response to what I had read in one of the tabloids: that the dispensation of drugs was a routine thing, expedited and encouraged by the Sultan's medical people – and in fact by the Royal Family in general.
This was simply not the case.
A more common form of weight control was bulimia. When some of the girls felt they weighed too much, and out of fear they would be asked to leave by the Sultanate, they sometimes induced vomiting. Not the healthiest way to maintain one's girlish figure – but for many, it worked. This may sound like a strange and tragic practice, but in fact, it is employed by many of the top models and actresses in Hollywood. Few will admit it, but it is a weight control alternative which is in wide use – both in California, in the heart of the entertainment industry – and in Brunei.
I was also not terribly happy with the weight I had gained in the past months. As January came to an end, at one hundred and forty pounds, I was practically an untouchable. In fact, I was the heaviest girl in the "harem."
But . . . I was the only one of Prince Jefri's friends everyone wanted to hear sing nightly. I suspect this was the primary reason I was kept around. That, and I was fucking Robin periodically.
It was in the last week of January, 1996, that things began to change.
***
I was summoned for tea with Robin following the worst night of my stay in Brunei.
As I have already mentioned, the dispensation of drugs by the Royal Family doctors is a tabloid myth; at worst, they
would pass out Valium to any girl who asked for it, or painkillers for the monthly demons. I did not speak to a single girl who got "uppers" from the docs at the infirmary.
But drugs were an issue in the Harem. I don't know how, but some pretty exotic stuff was smuggled in periodically. Never large amounts, of course; Sultanate security was pretty tight. Yet small increments of cocaine, GBH, ecstasy, marijuana and even weird mixtures of heroin passed through the front doors of our mansions.
Historically, girls who were caught either dealing or taking the drugs, while in the employ of the "harem" were unceremoniously kicked out of Brunei. Thus, any girl involved in the illicit importation or acquisition of these drugs, was generally pretty sophisticated in hiding her stash.
I had been in Brunei for over three months and not a single girl had been kicked out of the country – at least for drug use or possession.
But in the early morning hours of January 24, 1996, my other roommate, Patty, had gotten hold of a drug that damn near killed her. I had just come out of the bathroom, having removed my makeup and evening dress. Tina was removing her eyelashes at her boudoir on the other side of the room. I glanced over at Patty, who was wolfing down some chocolate cake – a desert she had requested in the early evening from our cooks, just before the party. She was shoving the cake into her mouth with both hands. When all the cake disappeared, she started stabbing at the crumbs with her fork. When some of the crumbs spilled onto her bare leg, she began stabbing at her thigh. Repeatedly. And with considerable force.
I screamed. Tina turned, and backed up against the door, yelling out for help.
Patty snapped her head up to us and screamed: "I'm not hungry anymore! I'm not hungry anymore!"
She kept stabbing her right leg, and then moved on to her left. I was transfixed in place, occasionally reaching out my hands in silent pleading, but unable to take the step forward to wrestle the fork from her hands. Had I even the courage to do so, it wouldn't have been the wisest course of action. The fork was moving so fast, it became a blur, and thus, a potentially lethal weapon.
She stood a second later, and limped over to the window. She smashed her fist through the pane glass and began stabbing at the air outside. The jagged glass from what remained of the window pane sliced into her arms and side, as she simultaneously stabbed and gesticulated into the night.
A young guard appeared about thirty seconds later, and he was equally stunned by what he saw as were the rest of the girls. By this time, every other member of our house was watching from the doorway. The guard, to his credit, suffered from only momentary hesitation. He lunged forward, and grabbed Patty from around the waist, twirling her around to face him.
She stabbed him in the face with the fork, but he was a strong man and wrenched it from her grip a second later. She then began screaming like a demented animal; the guard took her to the nearest bed, my bed, and pinned her on her back. His face was bleeding but the fork attack had missed his eye. At that point, a few of the girls, including myself, approached the bed and attempted to comfort Patty.
But she was generally unaware of our presence.
She continued screaming until other guards arrived, along with one of the young doctors from the infirmary. Patty vomited, again, the poor hapless guard who was stabbed, received the main bulk of Patty's projectile throw-up.
The doctor injected Patty with something, and she quieted down almost instantly. He examined her in silence; not one of us spoke. I ran to the bathroom and got a towel for the bleeding and vomit-ridden young guard, my only useful act throughout the entire scenario.
At length, Patty calmed down and fell asleep.
Dr. Sam turned to all of us, the young guards included. "I think it would be best if this matter went no further than this house."
The girls all nodded in agreement. I actually accepted a shot of vodka from, of all sources – Dawn – my mortal enemy in Brunei. As it turned out this was a grave mistake on my part.
The guards appeared ambivalent about the decision to not report this as an 'official event,' but Dr. Sam was a persuasive fellow and convinced them to remain silent. In truth, the guards probably were relieved that an official report to the Sultanate could be avoided. Ultimate blame for the incident might otherwise have filtered downward, landing on their heads as House Guards for being less vigilant to drug use and/or misuse.
There was good reason for the decision to keep this tragic affair under wraps: had the Prince or any other member of the Royal Family found out about the drug scare tonight, the repercussions might have been severe. We were all afraid that we'd be kicked out of Brunei instantly. Or worse.
Patty was taken to the infirmary and held there overnight.
That night, I had my own incident with running through the halls of the palace like a madwoman, then being dragged home – the incident also not being reported – as it was clear Dawn had spiked my vodka with some kind of shit, as I mentioned at the beginning of my tale.
I would plot my revenge, but not right at that moment.
I awakened the next day feeling like spilt fuck and discovered that Patty had left Brunei.
Apparently she had taken a drug she believed to be a combination of Ecstasy and Cocaine. I suspect that Dawn was also part of that piece of sabotage. Patty's reaction had been massive, and Dr. Sam told us later that she almost died that night. It was Dr. Sam who forced Patty to return to the United States; she was no longer welcome in the Palace. He agreed to remain silent so that there would be no danger of her being shipped off without collecting her salary of half a year.
Robin would never have done that to Patty, though – he liked to believe himself to be a deity and savior to women at large.
Drug use is a very serious offense to the Sultanate. It is not tolerated lightly. Yet the infusion of drugs in the Harem was alarmingly prevalent. I do not believe the Sultanate simply turned a blind eye to this practice; most likely, it was fairly confident in its ability to forestall the import of drugs into the country at the border level.
Dr. Sam mentioned the incident to Mr. Jan, and he, too, decided not to alarm Robin about the matter. I understand that over the course of the next few weeks, Mr. Jan interviewed every girl in the harem, interrogating one and all about the availability of illegal drugs, i.e., who was the source. Not one girl fessed up as to having any "secret information" about the drug connection; most told Mr. Jan that Patty had probably snuck some of the drugs into the country from Singapore. This of course might have been the case – though it would have been an extremely stupid chance for Patty to have taken, given the strict and merciless drug laws of the country. More likely, there is a successful underground in Brunei (as, with the case of drugs, there is in any city or country) that flourishes despite Sultanate efforts in curtailing drug-running in general.
And Dawn, I knew, was the conduit.
Interestingly, the harem was never put on any curfew nor was it ever subjected to surprise searches from the guards, after the overdose incident. The event rankled, but it did not endure; probably, it was simply hoped by one and all that such an occurrence came under the title of "once, but never again."
Robin, as far as I could determine, was blissfully unaware of what happened that night. I was invited for tea the next morning, on rather short notice.
"Would you mind being my model?" he asked at once.
I didn't understand what he meant. "Your what?"
He laughed. "Please don't misunderstand me. I paint, on occasion. Sometimes, I use models. So ...."
My mind raced. What was this all about?
Cut to the chase and just fuck me … no need for preamble, you own my ass for the duration.
"Uh, no," I stammered. "I don't mind - modeling for you. Uh, what kind of modeling?"
"In a bikini," he said. "Just for an hour each day. If you are not too busy, that is."
Okay. I was fat. And was now asked to wear a bikini.
"Well, if it's just for an hour..." I said.
"Wonderful," the Prince said, clapping his hands twice and standing. "We can begin tomorrow." He paused then asked: "May I see you tonight?"
I smiled knowingly. "Of course," I replied. Whore on Duty, at your beck and call, Your Highness.
Fuck-Bunny Fatty at your service.
He made a quick bow and extended his hand, which I took, and then he left the garden. I was thunderstruck and wondered what this new chapter in the Fat Harem Girl and The Prince was going to entail.
I waved at the nearest guard and he walked over to me.
"Aggressive monkeys?" he joked. My plight with the first monkey incident was by then famous to all the guards.
I nodded, somewhat absent-mindedly, and began my walk back to my house, the young guard at my side, vigilant in his watch for blonde-sucking simians.
***
And that is how I became Prince Jefri's model.
That night, we fucked ferociously on one of the terraces, me leaning over the railing, staring at a dimming moon behind some low cloud cover, and Robin finishing with a low moan.
He kissed me, then brought me inside the large room we sometimes retreated to at times like this, and he produced two black boxes for me. I opened both, and found two Bulgari necklaces and one Rolex watch, side by side.
I looked up at him in disbelief, and he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. Then he reached into a drawer near our bed, and produced an envelope. Inside, was $100,000 American dollars.
I gasped audibly.
All this for the use of my friendly all-purpose vagina attached to a corpulent exterior?
"I will see you tomorrow for the session," he said. That was my sign to piss off with payment paid in full.
For the next few weeks, almost every day, I was escorted into the inner sanctum of the Palace to pose. Robin used oils to paint; in all fairness, I thought he had significant talent. He painted what he knew best: scenes from Brunei, i.e., the palace grounds, monkeys, his family, birds, and, of course, some of the girls he had known. His studio, if you can call it that, was modest in appearance; one large room, an adjoining bathroom, and a kitchenette. Canvas draped the floor and walls; a dozen easels, all holding finished or half-finished portraits took up most of the space against the walls and in the center of the room.
The Last Harem Page 12
