📘 Facing East – Where We Are

Continued from: FACING EAST – WHO WE ARE

A week has passed, and I’ve had no idea about Yahya’s whereabouts. WhatsApp, our only means of communication, was not delivering messages to him, and it was pretty clear that either I’d been blocked, or the number wasn’t registered with it anymore. I’ve spent days thinking about whether I should send a simple old-fashioned SMS and ask about what’s going on. I couldn’t call, it wouldn’t make sense because he doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak Arabic. Also, I find it very rude to call or even text someone if I’d already been blocked. It must have been for a reason.

But, in all honesty, I couldn’t understand what the reason was, and it was bugging me a lot. I’ve thought that it might be an error in the translation of my last messages to him, maybe the messages were unintentionally rude or offensive, so I’ve checked multiple translator tools and realized that there appeared to be no error in what I’ve sent him. I was kind and loving, giving him my emotional support and being there for him.

That day, I’ve reached a decision. I’ll send him a simple SMS asking: "Yahya, is everything OK?". I’ve translated the message into Arabic and pressed send.
Nothing. Hours have passed, and still no response. At this point, I was really worried that something bad has happened to Yahya. But, to my surprise, a message from Yahya arrived.

"This is Akeem, Yahya's neighbor. He has left his phone with me when he got drafted to go to battle. If all goes well, he will contact you when he comes back."

My heart dropped. He’s been drafted and has been actively fighting for his life while I was sitting here in my white entitlement, thinking if I’d said the wrong thing, or if he’d ghosted me like a western fuckboy. It was suddenly very clear that even seconds before leaving, he has been thinking about me and had to promptly block me so that his friend would not get or see any of those love messages we used to send each other. I’ve felt like a piece of trash for not believing in him more when he never gave me a reason to doubt him at all. However, the angst remained – is he OK? There is, naturally, no way to reach him, and even if there were a way, it wouldn’t be wise to interrupt him and possibly endanger him further. I was really happy that I’d kept his secret and hadn’t sent anything that could out him or our involvement in front of his friend.

A few more weeks have passed, or to be exact, 33 days since he last wrote me a message. I’ve been very worried the entire time and have slowly started to lose hope. After all, there isn’t anyone who’d know I existed even if the most unfortunate had happened. I would never know. And in a way, I wouldn’t have any right to know anyway. But, on the 34th day of radio silence, a WhatsApp message has arrived. It was from Yahya. He’s alive and well and has just gotten his phone. In his words, all he could think about was getting home to his children and reaching out to me again. He knew I must have been very disappointed, but he hasn’t had the time to tell me what’s going on as he was drafted very quickly. He has been so apologetic, trying to explain. A swarm of messages, one after another, hasn’t allowed me to even respond that it’s all fine and that I’m just happy that he’s alive. I have to manually translate each of his messages and if I’m slow to respond – he just goes on and on. But that’s the Yahya I love and care for.

Needless to say, that same evening, he’s gotten the best cam sex session from me. We enjoyed each other’s presence, even if we were thousands of miles away from one another. Both for him and me, the re-established contact was enough to get us through the day. We’d go back to dreaming about meeting somewhere nice and spending time together, laughing about how awkward it could be because we would not actually be able to speak to each other. But also, we realized how irrelevant all of that is. If there’s love, there’s no need for words.

Yahya was craving for my body, the urge was getting stronger and stronger. His eyes would flash when I would undress and show him my ass, and his cock would instantly be rock hard. I sometimes think that his dick was hard all the time while talking to me, it’s just that I couldn’t see it. Our roleplay went deeper and deeper. It all progressed from him being the strong man and me a weak white boy that was crazy about him, to him still being the strong man, a husband, and me being his white wife. He even gave me a name: Nashwa. The name Nashwa means “euphoria” in Arabic, and that is the feeling he would get when thinking of or writing to me. I have, at that point, been very immersed in being his Nashwa and everything was just progressing wonderfully. The Nashwa-wife thing has slowly but surely grown out of the sexual roleplay and became a regular part of our everyday conversation. Note that I’ve never been a crossdresser or had any trans thoughts, nor has he ever wanted for me to be or become an actual woman. Just the fact that he called me that was a way of his dominance over me and him feeling like he owned me and thus was closer to me. I’ve had the same feeling about that and it was very comfortable for me to feel like I’m “protected” by a strong and dominant man for the first time in my life. Speaking of strong and dominant, don’t get me wrong, Yahya is not physically big or strong, but his character is bigger and stronger than any man I’ve ever met.

As our conversations continued for months, it didn’t seem like we ever lacked topics or motivation to talk to one another. I was always scared that a day will come when he’ll have to go back to fight, and he was kinda scared of that exact same thing, or that I’d meet another man and leave him. It was clear to him that I’m married, and although he had many questions about my marriage and my husband, he never complained about it. He accepted it as a fact. But he had issues with my Twitter page and me being technically available for other men to speak or talk to. He hasn’t expressed his issues with this at all until one day when his anger bursts out of control and he ends our relationship. Only after my continuous attempts to reach out and find out what the problem was, did he actually admit to having a problem with my Twitter page.
Done. Goodbye Twitter. I didn’t actually use it anyway after meeting Yahya, so it wasn’t an issue whatsoever.

After the boat was rocked a bit, we’ve promised each other to always be honest about our issues and feelings with one another. The fact that he now understood that being direct and open is very welcome and that I won’t hold it against him – he has finally opened up completely and let me know just how frustrating it is for him that we haven’t met each other in person. I knew it was because it was for me as well, but I’ve had no idea that it was so much more intense for him.
"If I can't look you in the eyes, hug you, kiss you, fuck you or use you, how are you even my wife?" – he’d say from time to time, and I’ve had no other means of solving this issue except for hitting the leaking spot with a crappy patch in variations of “I’m here, just a message away.”. He needed me, I’ve needed him. We were lost in our worlds for a long time, and it has gotten worse ever since our relationship began.

"I want to meet you." – he would write repeatedly. "Let's find a place where we could both come and enjoy our love." – he was persistent.

The whole “be open about your feelings” claim made me realize just how much of a bullshit this claim was and that I’ve opened Pandora’s box which can’t be closed. I wasn’t ready for his honesty because there was no remedy in sight. Again, not only were the logistics of it all almost impossible as Yemen is in a state of war and Yahya not being able to travel outside of Yemen, the world had gone to shit due to COVID and the whole issue was deepened by it.

"How about Socotra island?" – Yahya has asked.
"What about it, where is it?" – I’ve responded.
"It's an island in Yemen, but far from the mainland. It is safe, there are no terrorists or war there." – He said.
"But, is it possible for me as non-Yemeni to get there?" – I’ve asked.
"Please check, Nashwa. It would be difficult - but still possible for me to get there as well." – He said.

Google, being my best friend for quite some time now, was a good friend again. There is a way to get there. First, I’d have to fly to Cairo, Egypt. From there it’s an early flight in some type of an airplane-bus type of flight that stops in Sayun, Yemen where it collects more passengers before continuing for Socotra – the final destination. The travel process itself seemed to be exhausting with the potential of many things going wrong, on top of it being expensive. I’d also have to apply for a travelers visa and do a shitload of COVID tests along the way. But I was sure it was worth it. I could meet my Yahya, my soulmate.

"Could we do it in September?" – I’ve asked.
"Nashwa, are you joking?! You would come?!" – He was ecstatic.
"Yes, I would, of course, I just need to check if it's even possible for you to get there." – I’ve replied.
"I can take a boat from the south of Yemen and it will get me to Socotra. It's my country so it's easier." – He replied.
"OK, all planes are on Wednesdays - both departures and arrivals, there are no other possibilities. So I can book us a hotel there for a week." – I wrote.
"I have a bit of money on the side, Nashwa, I will pay for the hotel." – He said.
"No, it's easier for me to book it all at once, and you have to save your money for your family." – I’ve responded.
"I will pay you back when I see you. You are my wife, I should pay." – He insisted.
"OK." – I’ve responded, knowing that I would never accept his money, but I’d have to nominally accept it now to not hurt his pride.

What have I done? How will I explain this to my husband? Am I insane? I realized that I’m spiraling down the path of convincing myself out of doing it just because it’s way out of my comfort level. “Just book the damn ticket!” – I’ve said to myself and hesitantly clicked on the PAY button. It’s booked. It was official: I am meeting Yahya in September, two months from that moment. There is so much to do still, about the visa and travel rules, but I was absolutely pumped – and so was Yahya.

"I am going to kiss you so passionately, and much, much more, as soon as we get into the hotel room." – Yahya wrote.
"I know you will!" – I’ve responded.

Cold feet are out of the question now.

Written according to a true story, names and some details have been changed to protect the identities.