
Really exposed. As in, broad-day-light-penis-in-the-wind exposed.
Now, let me set the scene for you. I have a guest visiting from Malaysia. A very sweet girl of South Indian origin, and I have agreed to put her up for a few days and show her a bit of the city as time allows. The two of us had just left my favorite café in Amman, and were making our way down the famously tolerant Rainbow Street towards downtown, where we hoped to pick up a lovely pashmina or two from the souq.
As we were making our way down the cobblestone road (a rare and charming site in Amman) towards the steep stone steps that cut into the mountainside leading to the balad, I saw an Arab gentleman (I use this term loosely) leaning up against a parked car with one hand while his other hand was suspiciously out of view. His back was to us, and was on the same side of the street as we were. As we neared him, lost in aimless chatter, I half-noticed his arm (presumably attached to his absent hand) moving quite furiously in a rhythmic fashion. I thought for a moment that he might be masturbating, then thought better of it and kept my pace.
As my lovely female companion and I passed him on his right, we heard a most unsettling groan. I instinctively turned to look at him, who was now no less than three feet to my left, and noticed his face clenched in what can only be described as mid-orgasm expression. I then looked down to find his (thankfully) circumcised member in his otherwise unaccounted for palm, and discovered he was certainly mid-orgasm. He seemed rather unperturbed by our intrusion on his special moment; in fact our presence might have been what caused him to explode all over the charming cobblestone street. By the sheer grace of God, I presume, we were spared any “spillage” as most of his ejaculate missed us.
While a native of the States, where this sort of thing, though not common, is certainly not unheard of, it’s a bit of a shock here. Without missing a beat we continued to walk, while I calmly shouted back to him, “7aram alayk!” A lovely muhajiba woman was just behind us, quite aware of what he was doing, and without looking just stepped over the gelatinous pool on the sidewalk and looked to us half giggling and half horrified. She just said, “majnoun” and walked on towards downtown. We did the same. I have decided that perhaps my lovely cobblestoned Rainbow Street might be a bit too tolerant. But at least my traveling houseguest got to see a bit more of the “natives” than she had anticipated….






