I was sitting in a bright room overlooking the sea. It was already warm, thought not yet hot. I felt confused, happy, sad, and a bit afraid. A knock on the door and a lady walked in. She came over to me, I stood up and we shook hands. She was somewhere between 35 and 40 , friendly, wearing a dark skirt, white blouse, medium heels and carrying a briefcase.

“Hi, I’m Helen, mind if I sit down?”

“Of course, sorry, please do sit.”

She sat in an armchair on my right. I turned towards her.

“What do I call you?

“Jim, Jasmine, as you prefer”.

“I think Jasmine will be best – I think that’s where your mind is now.”

I was wearing a mid-length light blue dress with heels. Jasmine did seem more appropriate.

“Are you the shrink?”

“I’m a clinical psychologist, but you can call me a shrink if you prefer. I’m not a doctor, I’m just here to help you deal with what’s happened before you step back into the world again.”

“Lisa called it decompression, your word I’m assuming?”

“Yes; you’ve been through things most people will never experience. Sometimes that can continue to hurt, not just you, but those around you, especially those closest to you. I might be able to help you deal with that.”

“Is that why I can’t call home?”

“It’s not can’t. You can walk out right now and call whoever you want. But we’ve seen this before, know what might help. Will you let me help?”

“Then how come you let Lisa meet me? Were you not concerned about her?”

“You needed to meet someone that you could trust; anyway, we couldn’t have stopped her!”

“If I’m like you say, I don’t want to hurt her.”

“She’s hurt already, but not something you’ve done.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I thought could manage my own pain, but could not countenance her being hurt. I looked expectantly at Helen.

“You weren’t targeted randomly…”

“What’s that got to do with Lisa?”

“Just bear with me; I’ll explain. Do you remember the security boat that came alongside in Alexandria?”

I nodded.

“We can’t prove it, but we think that one of the crew fingered you”,

We both understood that fingered in this case meant identified…

“Have you ever heard of mukhannathun?”

I shook my head.

“Homosexuality in Egypt, and a lot of countries in the Middle East is illegal. Being transgender is not, and sex change is regarded by some as a cure for homosexuality. I know that makes no sense to us, but it’s where thinking is here.
But of course, there are men who want to use what we call rent boys. Mukhannathun are regarded as not being really male. The concept is hard to define but seems to encompass someone whose neither sex or is in the process of changing from one sex to another. Having sex with them is arguably not homosexuality.”

The penny dropped. I had been fingered because I was seen as intersex, or some variant thereof. Lisa was blaming herself for setting me on that road.

“But it’s not Lisa’s fault; I was always able to stop her dressing me, I just didn’t want to!”

“Probably only you can tell her that. I know that she has looked after you since yesterday, and will be staying with you while you’re here, but she needs some looking after too.”

“How do I do that?”

“Maybe you can start by telling me what happened?”

She had picked up a writing pad.

“Do I get to see your notes?”

I wasn’t challenging, more curious.

“If you want, when they’re typed up… I use Pitman Shorthand”

I nodded, but no words came. I didn’t know where to start. I was looking at the floor, nodding as I tried to find where, how, to get into this… Helen spoke first…

“Dimitri and Greg searched around for you for about an hour, but nobody apparently had seen you. Eventually they ran back to the harbour, got dropped out to the yacht and told George. He contacted the boss of the security company that was guarding the Yacht who contacted the police”

“Given that they had fingered me, that probably didn’t help?”

“We think that the owner was OK, just one bad staff member… anyway, you were probably followed to the souk and that’s where we lost you…

“I remember going into the stall with the harem and belly dancing gear… next thing I remember is waking up with an enormous headache…. I couldn’t move…it took some time to get some idea of where I was. I was lying on something scratchy, like a blanket, on something hard. Actually it was the floor. I couldn’t move my arms, eventually I realized that they were tied behind my back. My wrists hurt and I figured out that my ankles were tied to my wrists… hog tied as Americans would say. I couldn’t open my eyes, a blindfold, and there was something soft stuffed in my mouth.

I must have groaned or made a noise. Someone shook me. I tried to grunt into my gag, then it was being removed. A voice in my ear….

“Shhhhhssssss”

I grunted once, hoping that he would read this as assent to a clear instruction to keep quite. The gag came off and I felt the nozzle of a waterbottle rubbing against my lips. I opened them and a hand cradled my head as I sucked in water. I was given small amounts at a time, regularly, until eventually I said quietly,

“OK”

The gag was not replaced. I lay still, my head throbbing, listening to low, incomprehensible talk.

I felt someone untying the rope tying my legs to my wrists and then my legs were untied. My wrists throbbed as the pressure was released. They were still tied behind my back but at least were not being pulled by my legs anymore. I was pulled to my feet and held upright until I was able to stand. Something was wrapped around the back of my neck and I was led forward slowly, guided through some turns and then stopped. I felt someone tying rope around each ankle, but my legs were not tied close together so I could stand and move a little. Whatever was around my neck was removed and then my blindfold pulled off.

For a moment I couldn’t see, then my eyes adjusted slowly to the light. I was standing facing a sink and mirror. Instead of my own shorts and t-shirt, I was wearing the harem set that I had first admired at the stall! I had to hold onto the sink to stop from falling… WTF is the modern abbreviation for what I was thinking. Sometimes the mind is overwhelmed by the amount of information it has to process and freezes, like a modern computer screen: That’s where I was at right then. I looked around; there was an eastern toilet to my right, beyond that a shower with a curtain.

Still holding onto the sink, I looked to my left. A man was standing in the bathroom doorway, dressed in local dress, about 45, holding a leather belt in his hand. That’s what must have been around my neck. Some rope and cloth were lying on the floor just outside the doorway. He had a beard and was making no attempt to hide his face. He pointed to the sink. There was a disposable razor and some shaving cream lying on it; I looked back him and he pantomimed shaving. I started, then he caught my arm to stop me and opened the bow of the top that I was wearing and took it off me. He then pantomimed shaving under his arms. I did this every second day anyway but complied with what he wanted. I knew that, with my legs fettered, he could easily overpower me if I tried to fight, and I also knew that he wasn’t alone from having heard voices earlier.

I finished shaving and he indicated that he wanted me to turn my back to him. I pointed to the toilet; he nodded, and I shuffled over. The harem pants that I was wearing was open on the inside from ankle to ankle, so I did not have to try to take it off, but I felt very self-conscious peeing in front of him. I finished and washed my hands. He again indicated that I turn my back to him. He caught my left arm and tied a rope around my wrist, then the other wrist. This time it wasn’t too tight, just firm. Then he fitted the harem top on me, slipping the halter-neck over my head and tying the bow in front by putting his arms around me. This brought him really close to me, too close, and I could tell that he was enjoying himself. My blindfold was put back on and I was led, slowly as the fetter was still on my ankles, to somewhere else. I had no sense of where I was being led. I felt a chair being pushed into the back of my knees and I sat down. I was bent forward and my arms pulled over the back of the chair and tied to some part of it. Without removing the fetter my ankles were tied to the chair legs.

I must have been sitting like this for about 10 minutes when I heard the door open and close. Something was plonked down close to me with a slight thump. My blindfold was removed, but I could not see by whom as they were standing behind me. I felt softer hands, clearly a woman’s, gather my hair, pulling it back from my face and tying it in a pony-tail. She put one hand behind my neck and pulled my head gently backwards by my pony-tail until my face was tilted up at a slight angle. There was a bit of fiddling around my back and I realized that she had tied whatever she used to make my pony-tail to the back of the chair to keep my head tilted. She moved around the chair and I could see, from the corner of my eye, that there was a small table beside me with a container of something on it. Her eyes were somewhat expressionless; her face looked hard and worn. I found it hard to tell her age, maybe 50. She rubbed her hands along my face, then started to rub some cream into it. She was doing my makeup!

This went on for a long time, over an hour. She spent longest on my eyes, then eyebrows, face and lips. She fiddled around with my ears, discovered the piercings, and attached a pair of long, gold coloured, rather boxy earrings. She looked at my nose and I was afraid that she was going to pierce it but she left it alone, much to my relief. Then she untied the cord, or whatever, leading to my ponytail, loosened out my hair and started to brush it. She took two pieces from in front, just above my ears, brought these to the back and fastened them in place with a hair slide. She stood back to admire her handiwork, then, almost as an afterthought, she picked up a mirror from the table and brought it in front of my face so that I could see myself.

I had worn make up before, but this was a bit of a shock. Eyeliner had been applied with a very heavy hand, and I had bright blue eyeshadow to match my top. My lipstick seemed gaudy and my face was several shades browner than Lisa had ever done it. The makeup was faded down my neck so that there was no visible line between it and my own rather pale skin. Looking pleased with her work, she picked up her makeup box, patted me on the shoulder and left the room. She didn’t replace my blindfold; that would have ruined the makeup!

Almost immediately two men came into the room, the guy who had watched my shave, and a younger man, about 30. They had some tools and proceeded to screw a metal ring with a screw tail into one of the wooden beams that held up the ceiling. They used a hand drill to make an initial hole, then screwed the ring into place using an iron bar pushed through it. I guessed that holding me was a unique event, otherwise they would have this in place as a fixture. Satisfied with their handiwork, they turned to me. They lifted the chair and placed it just under the ceiling ring. My hands were untied, brought to my front and retied. A loop was tied into the free ends of the rope tying my hands and a longer rope was run through this and up through the ceiling ring. The younger man pulled the end of this rope, pulling my arms upwards. The older man untied the ropes tying my ankles to the chair and removed the fetter. The younger man then pulled his rope tighter and I was hauled to my feet, arms overhead, hands almost touching the ceiling bean and ring, just a foot away. He tied this rope off to the loop and left the free end dangle down behind my back. The older man left the room and came back with a thin plank, about 4 foot long. Using his drill, he bored two holes, one at either end, and carried the plank around behind me. He pushed a loop of rope through one of the holes and tied it around my right ankle. He then did the same to my left ankle, pulling my legs apart. This had the added effect of reducing my height slightly and I was trying to stand on my toes to take the pressure off my wrists. They saw this and slackened the rope going through the ring to let me down a little.

Looking at me, the older man said something to his mate in Arabic; they both laughed then the younger man, who was standing behind me, caught me around the waist and slipped a hand up under my top, then up under my harem pants. Again I could feel that he was enjoying this. The older man said something, again they both laughed and his friend let me go, giving me a good slap on the ass as he walked away. I was feeling very humiliated, scared and helpless; I was struggling not to cry.

The younger man had left the room, now he returned with an instamatic camera. The makeup and harem set now made some sense. A desk lamp was put on the table and turned towards me to improve the lighting. The younger man proceeded to take some pictures of my face, then full length. As I couldn’t turn and the light was fixed, the older man would lift me and push the plank around to change my direction for side and rear shots. I thought that they had finished, then another conversation in Arabic. My hands were released from the ceiling ring, then retied behind my back. Then they were refastened to the rope going through the ceiling ring and pulled upwards. This hurt, and forced my shoulders down. I made a sound, half protest, half whimper of pain, and received a few sharp slaps on the ass. I gritted my teeth to keep quiet. The two men then lifted the table around in front of me, the table lamp was now on the floor. They pushed the table into me so that I was now bent over it at about 45 degrees. The rope was tightened more, forcing me lower until I was almost bent flat on the table, my legs held apart by the makeshift spreader bar. Some more pictures were taken from behind me, then the rope pulling my arms up was released and I fell onto the table. Instead of pulling me up, the younger man held me down from behind with one hand and proceeded to rub up against my rear. The older man spoke a little sharply to him and he pulled back. They pushed the chair in behind me again, caught me by the arms and mostly slid me off the table onto the chair. The older man used the long rope to lash me to the chair and I was left alone again

I heard the men speak to the woman as they left and her voice responding. I heard her come into the room. There was a younger woman with her, probably late teens. She seemed embarrassed, hesitant. They started to clean the makeup off my face. Eventually, job completed, they left. The younger woman came back into the room after some time had passed. She had a plate of rolled pittas, with some filling. She left the plate on the table, came back with another chair, sat opposite me, took one of the rolls and started to feed me. Her eyes were gentle, kind, troubled. I ate slowly, this was my first food since I was captured; I had no idea how long ago that was. I soon could hear from the voices outside that the men had returned and was glad that it was the girl who was feeding me. When the food was finished, she gave me some water to drink, then gently cleaned my lips with a tissue and stood up to leave. I looked at her, nodded and whispered “thanks”. I don’t know if she understood the word, but the meaning was plain enough: She hesitated, nodded back, and left.”

All this had tumbled out, sometimes in a torrent, sometimes slowly as I looked for how to express something without being too explicit… and suddenly I stopped. I was thinking about the young Arab woman. After a few minutes silence, Helen’s voice cut in, she wanted to keep me talking.

“How long were you kept in that first place?”

“Two days. I was fed twice a day, left mostly by myself. It was the hardest part, both physically and mentally. I was still in shock, and was soon aching pretty much all over from being left tied up. The only times I was untied was to use the bathroom. I had to shave each day, face, legs, armpits… at least I got to shower. The worst was the fear, boredom, when the mind is unoccupied it can go to some very dark places. I tried to focus on Lisa, our time out in Athens, working on the Yacht. Fear kept coming back no matter how hard I tried…”

“How did you leave there?”

“The morning of the third day… I had finished washing, had been fed, when there was a bit of commotion. I had been left lying on the blanket on the floor when the two men came in, obviously in a hurry, and hauled me onto the chair. Same as before, the older woman did my makeup, this time with some help from the younger one. When they were finished the men came back, tied my hands in front and pulled me up using the ceiling ring again. The spreader bar was put on my legs and the women pulled my clothes a bit to get them to fall as best they could. They all went out and I was left alone for a few minutes, then the older man came back in with another man, mid 40’s, local dress, expensive watch, jewellery, carrying a leather satchel.

The new man, who I would eventually get used to calling “Mastar”, came over to me slowly, walked around me, then started to feel my legs, rub his hands along my belly and back, inside my top and then under my harem pants. He even caught my jaw and pulled my mouth open to look at my teeth! He stood back and the two men started talking, probably haggling. This went on for some time, rising to a crescendo, then falling back to a quieter tone. As the talk died down Mastar said something to the older man who nodded. He came over to me, released the rope holding my arms up and tied my hands behind my back again. I was again hauled up with my arms behind me, pushing my head and shoulders down. Mastar was looking in the satchel which he had left on the floor. He stood up, pulling on a surgical-type glove…”

I had stopped talking again, remembering the sheer terror and humiliation that I had been feeling at this point. Helen let me be silent for a few minutes…

“He checked my out and said something to the older man. He went back to his satchel, put his glove into a plastic bag, took out a bottle of what I assume was some form of disinfectant and rubbed it into his hands. I remember that he was moving quite slowly, he seemed relaxed! He carried the bag over towards me, put it on the ground and started pulling out a set of shackles. I was still bent over with my arms pulled up behind me. He put one shackle on my ankle, the second wouldn’t reach my other ankle as the spreader bar/board was too wide. The older man was behind me untying my legs from the spreader and pushed my right leg inwards, to be grabbed and shackled by Mastar. I was struggling to keep my balance, my arms and shoulders taking all the pressure; they both grabbed me and steadied me. Mastar then fixed and locked a steel collar around my neck, this was joined to the shackles by a chain. There was another chain dangling from the collar, apparently going nowhere. He took his time, even gently pulling my hair outside the collar. He reached into his bag again and brought out what looked like a metal figure 8, with a hinge at one end and a lock at the other. He moved behind me and I could feel this being fitted to my wrists above where the rope was tying them together. He gave me a slap on the ass, then held me steady while the rope was loosened, and I was able to straighten up.

As Mastar was back searching through his leather bag, it was clear that he was a professional at this. He had all the gear and his laid back approach indicated that this was nothing new to him. He stood up this time with some cloths. I was blindfolded, then my nose was pinched closed. When I opened my mouth to breath, a gag was quickly slipped in and tightened behind my head. Something material was pulled over my head then down over my body. I was led along, I had no idea where, slowly as I had only about two foot of chain between the shackles. I heard a car boot being opened and I was suddenly lifted and left down, obviously into the boot. It was closed, not slammed, then I heard the car door close and the engine start.”

“I think we need to leave it there for today”,

Helen interrupted, unusually. I looked at her and she nodded down towards my hands. I was digging them into the arms of the armchair that I was sitting in, the backs of my hands were white. She passed me a tissue; I was covered in sweat. I wiped my face.

“I know this is very hard now, but it will be worse if you bottle it up. I’ll see you tomorrow, same time, OK?!

I nodded. She got up and opened to door and called out,

“Hi Lisa, I’m off now”.

I heard a brief murmur of conversation, then Lisa came into the room. She sat quietly opposite me for a few minutes then said.

“Maybe you would like to take a shower and change?”

My dress was soaked with sweat, I nodded, she reached out a hand to help me up and walked me to the bedroom. She helped me out of my dress and started the shower. I stepped in and slid the curtain over and started to wash; the curtain opened slightly and Lisa slipped in beside me.

“Remember? Save water, shower with a friend”.

She washed me, taking some time to feel around my body. We were both a bit self-conscious; this was going to take a bit of time.

Shower over, we sat on a couch overlooking the sea and chatted a bit. Lisa told me afterwards that she had been briefed on bringing me up-to-date on what had happened when I disappeared. The police were, as expected, useless and disinterested. They were even less interested when they saw the only recent photo of me; the one Lisa took in the mirror when I was made up as a girl. Aristotle, on the other hand, was furious. He saw the kidnapping of one of his staff as a personal affront and immediately contacted his Head of Security, a former member of the Greek intelligence community. He wasn’t in a position to do much, except to identify a local retired intelligence officer, now freelancing. This man’s name was never divulged to us. His first move was to keep this out of the papers and media. If it became a major media issue, things in Egypt might get too hot and I’d be moved to the Gulf. Let it die down. Aristotle’s Head of Security was dispatched to Ireland to brief my family and persuade them likewise to keep a lid on the story, not an easy task, but he succeeded and thereafter served as liaison between my family and the attempts to find me. He was just flying back now, having confirmed that I was safe, being looked after, needed some time and would be in contact as soon as possible.

The basic premise of the search was that word about me would surface in the appropriate community in about three months. It would be hard to keep this quite amongst the fraternity who were involved in the scene. The Local Agent would maintain a listening watch through his network. The yacht was delayed for a few days in Alexandria but eventually sailed back to Heraklion. There was a lot of self-recrimination on board. Lisa, and to a much lesser extent, Maria felt guilty about their role in my apparent transformation, while Greg and Dimitri felt directly responsible for losing me.

“It was thinking of you that kept me going”, I said. “Our time in Athens in particular, but all of the three or four weeks before I was kidnapped were the best days of my life”.

Lisa looked down, looked sad.

“But it’s my fault that you were taken; I was pushing you down a road that led to this.”

“Were you pushing or was I pulling? You can’t be responsible for me turning into the person I want to be. Remember you told me twice that you thought that I was a lesbian? Well I am, now more than ever….

And neither of us could possibly have foreseen the kidnapping. Wrong place, wrong time, shit happens…

Neither of us can go forward blaming ourselves for this; what sort of a life would we have together?”

That slipped out… bad timing as there was a lot to sort out…. and I had no idea if Lisa saw a long term future for us. That dream had kept me going for 4 long months when I could have easily turned to despair, but it was my dream, not necessarily hers.

“Life together?

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve spent the last 4 months dreaming about a future with you. It kept me going.”

“But you don’t have to dream now; you’re safe, you’ll be back with your family soon.”

“It’s still a dream for me; but no pressure! You’ll have your own dreams.”

“And if our dreams coincide?”

“I have been changed; I’m not the same person that shared a cabin with you on the yacht”.

“More than a cabin, if I recall correctly.”

She slid over on the couch and nestled into me.

“We don’t have to solve anything now… let’s just keep dreaming”.