Getting There is Half the Trip - Literally

As I entered that cab I asked myself – what the fuck am I doing? I hadn’t slept for three days on a row and it wasn’t looking like I would for the next two – the flight would see me 24 hours older and the first day in town would see me opening the lights of this new city in a way they had never seen before. That amounts for a good week without sleep. I’m sure I’ve done worst.

The flight was what every flight is – I got to the counter and told them Miss Mia can’t possibly fly common class, to which the lady behind the desk insolently replied, “You shoulda bought a Posh Class ticket then innit.” She was Arabic so I don’t know if the innit was in there, but I thought I’d add it for an extra texture.

At the end it was Common Class all the way, and yes they also sat me next to a fat smelly lady. On the other side was a pervy short man who seemed to have a thing for slipping his hand a tad too close to my bare legs. Not a comfortable look. Six hours later, feeling slightly violated and cornered, we arrived at our Stop-Over of Hell – eight whole hours in Dubai.

Now, I wouldn’t want to be prejudiced but women like me are not welcomed in countries like Dubai. An oxymoron, if you think about it. Every time I lifted my bottom from a seat and went for a wander around the multiple Chanels and Armanis that peppered Duty Free, a sea of men clad in the most typical Muslim garments would run to the toilets for a wank. I could hear the swishing as I went – and I got to say it felt good.

By the time I got to the flight that was to take me to my final haven, I didn’t know anymore what time it was, who I was or my raison d’etre in life as a whole. The next seven hours were of torture as my stomach begged for arrival, for a bed, a valium at least. It was all denied to the poor thing. Seeing my agony, the flight attendant stared being extremely solicitous, giving me a medicine here, a smile there, and a word of comfort every so often to keep me at peace. Next thing you know he was licking me dry in the toilets – you can’t beat service in occasions such as this.

And finally, an orgasm and a few pills later, I arrived in Beijing. The door to a whole new phase in a life where every chapter lasts four pages. Nearing death, I somehow made my way to my friend Chanel’s pad. I can see we’ll be having a ball.