Go to the the Wakala of Al Khalili

You lazily regard the girls but none particularly takes your fancy. Perhaps you’ve become spoilt. Jaded by too much ripe beauty too easily taken. Soon your feet begin to take you back to familiar territory, the Wakala of Al Khalili.

This is the Caravanserai where you did much of your trading and built your immense wealth. You have fond memories of this grand building. It was here you met with exotic merchants from the distant corners of the world, making gifts of lavish jewels and supple concubines to firm trade agreements. You recall the luxuriant marble fountain in the central courtyard where you haggled deals to the cries of scantily clad **** girls mock wrestling in the chilly water. It was over sumptuous banquets of steaming fuul, kufta, kebab, fiteer and kushari that you would ponder the finer point of a contract, all the while limber courtesans dancing enticingly at your whim. It was here that you lazed about, sucking on spicy nargilahs, drinking sweet rose shay and playing backgammon, fanned with peacock feathers by half naked **** girls. You smile at the memory of the Caravanserai’s rich bedchamber walls, lined with extravagant Ottomans to muffle the hedonistic cries of its curvaceous ladies of pleasure.