Egyptian Men Part 1: The Penis Story

Most bad decisions make great stories. My imprudent decision was to spend a few days traveling through Egypt by myself. As predicted, it resulted in some of my best stories of all time.

Egypt is Muslim country, so that means I spent most of my time interacting with men whether I liked it or not. Most of the time, I liked it. Other times, I liked seeing how tough of a chick I can be when I come into a situation where I feel threatened in one way or another.

My flight to Cairo landed around 5:30 am, and I found myself on a piece of crap bus that looked like it should have been donated to The Kidney Foundation back in 1955. The bus ride started the trip off in the same way that I found most of the rest of my solo adventures: free from the cares of safety, modernity, caution, and female company. As the bus slowed down to let people on and off, I noticed how adept all the men were at keeping their cool when entering and exiting a moving vehicle.






I miraculously landed safely on the ground in front of the Cairo Train Station, notepad in hand with a timetable of the trains going to Aswan, a city in southern Egypt. As I attempted to use my broken Arabic to buy my ticket, I realized that the guy selling tickets wasn’t interested in selling me the one I wanted. Luckily, a guy about my same age overheard enough of the conversation (Me: “La, la, la, la. Anna LAZIM rooh Aswan fee wahad sa’an, mafi lilit.”) to know what was going on. He looked like the kind of guy who would be in the military or some other organization that liked playing the hero, so he stepped up and did all the talking. Sometimes it’s nice to be a white girl who shows a little hair! Turns out, he was riding on the same train and managed to get us seats next to each other.

I thanked the guy for his help, and we boarded the train that was slightly newer than the rickety buses. The train began to move, and we each pulled out our breakfast. I shared my bananas and rolls with him, he shared his Pepsi and cookies with me, and we began the small talk that consumes nearly every train, plane and bus ride I’ve ever taken. The conversation lasted about an hour, then he moved on to more obnoxious topics. He asked me if people fart in America, and I explained that everyone does it, but it’s not considered polite. I don’t know where he gets his facts, but he said that fat girls fart all the time. I decided that I would change the topic to who he was going to visit after he exited the train. His face lit up and he announced that he was returning home to see his wife and daughter. He had been married for four years, and he loved his wife very much. I saw a picture, and agreed that she was beautiful.

This is the part where it got even more uncomfortable than questioning arbitrary fart facts. He said that his wife is very beautiful, but he likes to have girlfriends, too. He asked me if I wanted a boyfriend, and I told him that I wasn’t looking. I told him that I had been up all night and needed to get some sleep. I rested my head on the window, in the direction opposite of where he was sitting, then crashed. I woke up a few minutes later and he had put an unrolled sleeping bag over both of us. I thanked him, then dozed right back to sleep. Next thing I knew, his hand was on mine, moving it to his crotch. When I realized what had just happened, I jumped up, loudly said that he had a small dick, then grabbed my stuff and moved to another seat.

I spent the next several hours enjoying the view of the beautiful countryside, reading a book and dozing, all the while hoping that no one would sit next to me.




From then on, I was a bit leery of Egyptian men. I kept my guard up, and am happy to say that was my only penis experience for the remainder of the trip. After that, everything tamed down even though all the major characters in my adventure were still Egyptian men.