The Fertile Crescent

The sauna was very hot. I splashed water on the rocks. The water sizzled loudly and the steam rose into the air, twisting into thin wisps. Sweat dripped from my skin. My scrotum hung low and stuck to the side of my leg. According to the thermometer it was over 174 degrees.

The ambient air temperature was hot enough, and the loud arabic chanting piped in made it seem much hotter. I had known him for many years and despite my vehement protests he insisted on these sauna meetings. It was something about the cold of the Northeast maybe. Or maybe he just liked to be uncomfortably hot.

Ayaz was usually late. Today I hoped against hope that he would show up soon, because the heat was unbearable.

I had been in the sauna for over an hour waiting for Ayaz. By this point I was sweating profusely. Ayaz finally arrived and sat across from me in the sauna. He had a large duffle with him.

I greeted him with his nickname, the Jackal.

He nodded his head in acknowledgment.

Though the Jackal is a fierce and clever omnivorous predator in the Middle East, I knew him as the Jackal for other reasons. When we first met in Cairo, Ayaz approached me in a public market. He carried a grey duffle. We spoke briefly in english. Then, in perfect arabic, I said the code phrase.

"I need to take a leak."

Ayaz showed me to a desolate washroom. I was suspicious of him. Then again, I had said I needed to take a leak. He shut the door behind us and locked it. The washroom was spacious and dusty. The walls were covered with very old tiles, many of which had fallen off. The lighting was dim and every so often the lights flickered on and off.

Ayaz put the duffle bag atop the sinks and before he could show me what was inside, the powerful smell of polyurethane plastics and elastic rubber filled the washroom. I peered into the bag. Even in the poor lighting I could make out the contents: hundreds of different colored pocket vaginas. There were realistic molded ones, large ones, small ones, and a few garishly colored tubes of all shapes and sizes. Then, Ayaz spoke.

"Jackalate?"

He handed me a seemingly average looking pocket vagina. It was large, made of blue rubber, and reversible. The rubber was dimpled on one side. It felt strange, but good.

I handed it back to the Jackal. We left the musty bathroom and went our separate ways. I had established my contact in the fertile crescent.

Today, after a brief conversation, Ayaz handed me the duffle bag. It was heavy. I looked inside and saw a rifle. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was an Armalite AR-15, well worn, with telescoping buttstock. Both grip and stock were covered in blue dimpled rubber. I held the foregrip and pressed the buttstock to my shoulder, aligning the sights. It felt strange, but good.