Chapter 3 - Girls with dreams

Dilan Talebani, a 21-year-old influencer based in Beirut, was a striking figure in the world of social media. Known for her daring videos and outspoken political views, Dilan had made a name for herself by fearlessly challenging societal norms and advocating for women’s and LGBTQ+ rights.

An embodiment of Arabic beauty, Dilan had long, flowing black hair and captivating dark eyes that reflected her bold spirit. With her penchant for wearing bikinis and other revealing outfits, showing off her stunning figure, Dilan unapologetically showcased her beauty, pushing the boundaries of conventional fashion in Lebanon. On her left forearm, she proudly displayed a tattoo of a Cedar Tree, to symbolise her patriotism for Lebanon, another affront to conservative sensibilities.

Her outspoken nature and daring fashion choices drew the ire of religious conservatives, who criticized her for challenging traditional values. Despite this, Dilan remained undeterred, continuing to use her influence to promote progressive change. She was a vocal participant in local protests and activism while wearing the likes of denim cut-off shorts, mini skirts, and crop tops. She had a huge following among young girls and lecherous old men.

Dilan Talebani was more than just a social media personality; she was a symbol of modernity and progress in a conservative region. She had a busy schedule but was happy to meet with Mr. Karim Al-Faraj. Dilan had received numerous offers from charities, but there was something raw and pure about Karim. The social media presence of him and his charity had significantly grown in the last month or so, and she was deeply moved by the plight of the children around Europe he was helping—gay Arab kids and Palestinian children affected by the recent wars in the region. Some of the videos had brought her to tears, and she shared them, amplifying their impact.

She met Karim in an upmarket restaurant in Beirut. Karim was obviously gay and very camp, but he had an infectious sense of fun that helped the beautiful young woman relax in the presence of this flamboyant forty-something man.

“You know, Dilan, you are so beautiful,” Karim said with a warm smile. “I think it’s a testament to God’s will that with great beauty he gave you such a strong heart as well.”

Dilan was used to flattery but still blushed. “Men here think I am a brainless idiot,” Dilan replied, her eyes reflecting both determination and frustration. “But I want to change the world.” She placed her hand on Karim’s. “It must have been so hard for you growing up, especially back then, being gay.”

“Yes, it was tough” Karim’s eyes watered. “Some of my friends, in Syria and Egypt, they...”

Karim leaned back in his chair, wiping his eyes behind his glasses. “I’m sorry Dilan, but it is thanks to young people like you that the world is becoming more tolerant.”

Dilan’s smile erupted, a full bloom revealing a dazzling array of white teeth. Dimples punched into her cheeks, her eyes crinkling at the corners with unrestrained delight. It was a smile that radiated pure joy, fuelled by the knowledge that she was making a difference.

. Her smile, like a beacon, drew attention around the restaurant. Husbands stole shy glances, their wives pretending not to notice. Young women, usually radiating confidence, couldn’t help but cast envious looks. Even the children, wide-eyed with admiration, were captivated by the minor celebrity’s infectious joy.

Karim Al-Faraj, also known as Edward Pembroke, smiled back. He had often used the trope of the flamboyant gay man to lure cute young women into a false sense of security. It hadn’t cost much to buy the Reddit, Twitter, and Facebook social media accounts of an old Arab charity and spruce them up with some heart-rending videos—some stolen, some staged, and some made up with AI—to engage with social media followers. A little bit of artificial cash injection made it seem like a going concern.

The beautiful young woman opposite suspected nothing. She was a fool, to fall for his virtue signalling and the apparent safety of a genteel gay man. She had no idea she was having lunch with a predator with orders to kidnap her.

Pembroke gazed at her short, snappy leopard skin halter neck top and her denim skirt, detecting a sliver of white cotton between her legs as she crossed and uncrossed them excitedly, talking about local politics. His predatory instincts kicked in, and he couldn’t help but imagine how easy it would be to slip some drugs into her lemonade in front of her, escort her to his hotel to take a call from children eager to talk with her, and instead have his way with the intoxicated girl. He imagined taking photos and videos, which he could use to utterly ruin her reputation in the still conservative region. He imagined running his fingers and tongue all over her tight, taut physique, plundering all her holes, and leaving the country and destroying all traces of Karim Al-Faraj while she was still picking up the pieces of her ruined young life.

But, alas, this was part of a longer game. Young Ms Talebani was being drawn into a spider’s web, and very soon she would no longer be showing off her body and her opinions to the world, or anyone for that matter, save for the Crown Prince of Azmaria. Even Pembroke bristled at her tirade against Arab conservative rulers, and got an insight into why the Crown Prince was so keen to have her in his harem. This rebellious young woman would soon be leading a life of pain and subservience, and quite right too.

The housing estate in Sunderland, in the North East of England, was a far cry from downtown Beirut or the gentility of South West London.

Rebecca Parker was 40 years old, with two kids who wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Neither did anyone else in her circle of friends and family.

She had become addicted to porn to deal with the stress of being a single working mother but cursed the day she met, online, Stan Bridgerton. She had fallen for the pervert, who had drawn her into a

depraved fantasy world of child pornography and even used her own children as material for him.

She had never even met him, but was eventually found out when material surfaced which she had made when completely drunk and which she did not even remember making. Thereafter followed years of misery; prison, having her kids taken away, occasional violence from others happy to take it out on the local paedo, and having to constantly move.

She was blonde, blue-eyed, with a buxom figure, and still harbored hope for a happy life with someone who would love her. But who could, with a past like hers? With children who might never see their mother again?

She was so despondent, she had made one mistake while drunk on the computer, and now it felt like her life was over. She drank every day to ease the pain, and often found herself contemplating why not end it all?

She made her way home to her bedsit in the rough council estate, praying there would be no new graffiti. She wore a hood to disguise herself, in case local louts pelted her with stones again.

That night, she cried herself to sleep beside an empty bottle of vodka. She did not notice an intruder who had forced open a window, and who was prowling around her bedsit, looking around.