Lust.

No other subject, besides the current political situation in Egypt, is prone to be discussed and thought about so much as this: Lust.

I've mentioned Egypt's (and all Arab World) obsession with sex and women's body (which they try to buy, harass, possess, aniquilate, hide or even destroy) and how WOMEN, in general, are seen as men's disgrace and a troubling factor of society's order.

What if we mention the concept of LUST?! So wide and relative as SENSUALITY or SEXUALITY.

I keep on defending that the more sexually repressed a society is, the more sexually demented it will be. For some reason, I cannot go out in the street here in Cairo with any curve of my body showing. How many sacks of potatoes have I tried on to avoid another nerve crisis or getting into a street fight for the simple fact of standing out for myself and answering a pervert who is harassing me or following me home?!

Most dangerous zones (to hide meticulously in public or even at your home if you re in the presence of strange men): breasts, hips, ass (pardon me the expression), arms, legs, any piece of skin showing, eyes in direct contact with another eyes.

Hmmmm... it seems all parts of women s bodies are open territory to lust.

Just the other day, as I was arriving to my favourite Salsa dancing spot in Cairo, I had to yell like an hysterical girl on PMS (and not, I was not in PMS) to a taxi driver who could hardly drive from the moment he noticed I was wearing a dress that showed my legs till my knees.

He wouldn t care less if we had an accident, but he HAD to stare at my legs.

The whole trip to the Salsa club was an ordeal...all due to a simple pair of legs.

As he was driving, he would promptly look back at my legs (hence, not looking at the road in front of him) and try to arrange all the mirrors that were around him in order to have another sneak peak at me.

I started to get REALLY nervous and told him to keep his eyes on the road 'cause I was in no mood for a car crash. He acted like a little boy who got caught stealing cookies from his mum's kitchen.

Yet, he continued looking back at my legs, almost ignoring my presence and the fact that I was watching him do this. I know some women DO enjoy being harassed in this manner. Maybe, for some, this is the only way to feel noticed or desirable. Let s make this clear then:

I am not one of them.

I feel noticed and desirable more than enough, the whole damned time, so no need to pick on my brain just because I am wearing a F.............. skirt that goes up to my knees.

I knew the high point of the trip would be the arrival and that magical moment when I have to get out of the car and the skirt has to go up a little bit more. I was preparing myself for it, all right!

Profecy confirmed.

As the car stopped, the driver turned all his body back and stared at my legs as if I had an alien hidden on the back seat that only him could see. His eyes were blazing ice, opened in amazement, his face was hypnotized in an extremely freaky way and I was...well, how to put this in a nice way?

I was ready to kill him (but without touching him, pleaseeeeeeeeeeee................).

The yelling started:

- What are you looking at?! Please respect yourself and don t stare at my legs. Are you an animal??? - This I said, with high tone voice and a witch s face that didn t scare him at all.

He looked away for a second but returned to my leg's landscape as soon as I breathed in and out with that same lunatic, amazed look on his face.

I ran away from the car feeling like shit. And there is no other word for it. Feeling like SHIT.

Having a man recognizing your beauty (internal or external) in a nice, polite way is something. Having someone who is clearly sexually frustrated staring at you or sexually harassing you simply because you are a piece of meat he could easily screw is something else altogether different.

The first situation makes you feel nice. The other makes you feel like a cow in a line of meat packing cows. No soul. No mind. No Humanity. Just a peace of meat.

The same way when I go to a meeting for work here in Cairo and the man who is talking to me is looking at my breasts (who are never exposed cause I don t want to throw myself at the neck of any man, any time soon) instead of looking at my face, while talking with me.

Strange to know that most of these men are married (with lovers and other wives on the sides) so they must be having sex but, for some reason, they are STILL famished.

The reason for this phenomenon is another mystery to me. It has always been.