Exotic Sights

If she'd been asked to identify where Bahrain was on the globe, Faith would absolutely flunk. The ditsy stripper just knew she'd been in the air for hours. At least it was a private plane, with an Arabic stewardess who tried (unsuccessfully) to teach the American a thing or two about where she was going.

The brightness of the sand and the cerulean sea startled Faith as she got off the plane. She was met with a non-descript Arabic male in his twenties, and taken by boat to a private island with the biggest house Faith had ever seen. She marveled at the foreign architecture, even as she quickly made her way inside as the heat started to rise. She thought South Carolina was bad.

Her host was in his mid-30s, bearded and hirsute, wearing a gray thobe. Faith felt conspicuously overdressed in her tight red miniskirt, but he didn't say anything.

"So you are Hope," the man said, his voice a rich bass.

"I am," Faith said, feeling awkward.

"Better known as Faith," he said, smiling as her mouth made a tiny 'o' in surprise. "I've learned much about you, Faith. Come, sit on the veranda with me."

They made their way off to the back, under a swirling fan, each drinking an iced water. The man, Omar, was a member of the royal house, a trusted advisor and confidant. His weakness was women like Faith -- godless whores made for sin. She looked at the beautiful seas, having never imagined seeing a sight like this when she signed up at Sugar's.

"I can't believe I'm here," Faith gushed. "I only hope I can live up to your expectations." Omar smiled thinly.

"Let us have faith in you then, and hope." She smiled dumbly.