"The Accidental Patriot"

I have danced with the devil himself


Many years ago I worked as a Dominatrix, not exactly a prestigious job but it paid well enough and it was easy work. How many people get paid to beat up and humiliate men for fun?.

My clientele ranged from your average Joe to the rich and famous (ask me about David Carradine sometime), but (unknown to me or anyone at the time; my most “infamous” client would turn out to be one of the worlds most nefarious 9/11 terrorists; Nawaf "Rab" Alhazmi.

I can guarantee the hour he spent with me back 2000 was more painful than dying. On his way out, he complained that I didn't do what he wanted and it was too "painful" to be enjoyed. I had warned him beforehand that I was a sadistic bitch; it’s not my fault that he could barely speak or understand English. I knew that he would never come back to see me and I was glad, something about him creeped me out. I still think about "If I had only known", but who would have believed someone like me?

Here is an excerpt from my manuscript "Momentary Lapses of Insanity" of that fateful day back in July 2000:

The Accidental Patriot

“Rab” started walking toward the front door to leave and I followed behind. Just as he reached for the door knob he turned toward me. I knew he hated everything I did to him, and was pissed off that I got him to beg and cry like a little girl.

“I know what I do here is “haram” (against Muslim law), but very soon Allah will reward me and all of your people will know.” He arrogantly proclaimed in his broken English.

“Whatever” I thought to myself and pushed my arm past him to open the door. It was already pretty dark outside and he cautiously walked out the door.

As I started to close the door behind him he turned and mumbled a sarcastic “Thank you”.

“Afwan” I replied smugly (Arabic for “you’re welcome”).

The look on his face was priceless as I closed the door with a deliberate bang and locked the bolts.

The place already pretty much cleaned up, so I quickly threw on my clothes and headed out to my truck that was literally parked about 10 feet away from the front door. I called my husband like a good girl and headed home.

In about fifteen minutes I walked into the front door and was greeted by shouts of “Mommies home!” and a kiss from my husband.

After the kids chilled out and settled back down in their rooms to watch their movie, I briefly told my husband about my session with Rab. I knew better to leave out the fact that “Rab” had physically grabbed me, but I did say the guy was a little creepy and I wouldn’t see him again if he called. I also mentioned in passing what “Rab” said about “Allah” and how he would be forgiven, but neither of us thought anything about it. It was merely the ranting of a fetish freak filled with religious guilt and never thought about him again.

Until now.

Approximately one year and two months later. I would recall Rab and the session. I now know knew his real name was Nawaf al-Hazmi aka Rabia al-Makki (his alias “Rab” now made sense). He was 25 years old and on September 11th, 2001 he piloted the plane that crashed into the Pentagon. So, not only was he a terrorist, he was also once a “client” of mine.

How the hell was I to know that he was a terrorist?

Should I have called the FBI and told them that I am a Dominatrix and an Arabic man came to see me and wanted me to treat him like a dog? That would have been an interesting conversation, either they would have hung up on me or sent out the “men in white suits” to pick me up.

There was nothing he did to indicate he was going to blow up Americans. Or was there?

“Soon Allah will reward me and all of your people will know.” Over and over in my head I kept hearing his fucked up English with his Arabic accent repeating those words.

It was a warning, but I didn’t get it. Fuck! I was going nuts sitting here; on one hand I was trying to convince myself that there was no way any one would have given any thought to what he said. But, on the other hand, I am not just anyone; I should have known something was wrong.

Suddenly my husband walked in and before he could close the door I bombarded him with the information I had learned. He was having a hard time following what I what saying due to the fact I was not exactly being coherent. The TV was still on and the pictures of the 9/11 terrorists were up on the screen and I pointed Rab out.

“He’s the one” I said “Remember I told you last year about this Middle Eastern guy and how he was kind of weird? That is him!” I jabbed my finger at the picture on the TV screen of Rab.

At first my husband said I had to be mistaken, but when I showed him the alias Nawaf al-Hazmi used “Rabia al-Makki” and reminded him how I thought it was strange he used the name Rab; R-A-B, not Rob or Bob, etc. (the usual run of the mill alias’ clients would use). Rab was obviously taken from Rabia.

He stared at the computer image of Rab and then got up at sat down on the couch in front of the TV.

“What should we do?” I asked him. “Maybe we should call someone” I added.

“And tell them what?” he snapped at me. “You don’t know anything and I am not taking the chance that some gun ho FBI terrorist hunter decides to come after you, especially since you are on probation”. His tone was serious.

“You did nothing wrong and I am not going to take a chance on losing you again” he said softly “and those kids need their mother”.

“You’re right.” I murmured. “But, what if they were watching him and they know that he had contact with me”.

“Well obviously “they” were not doing a very good job watching him in the first place and “they” aren’t going to come after you just because you have met him” he said calmly. “What do you think they are going to do; round up every cashier, waitress, or old couple that happens to live in the same neighborhood and arrest them?

“No” I said flatly. “Just me”

He didn’t say anything. After going through some of the abnormal situations since he has been with me; he knew that there was actually a possibility that the government was going to crash through the door and arrest me and locked up for “consorting with the enemy”.

Months passed into years and no one ever came to get me or question me about my contact with Nawaf al-Hazmi aka “Rab” and I no longer felt guilty about my contact with him. In fact I should get a medal for what I did to that piece of shit or at least bragging rights.

This is only an excerpt from the chapter "THE ACCIDENTAL PATRIOT" not the full story. If you would like to read the whole story e-mail me and I will send it to you.


I had a felony charge against me (still do) that I was blackmailed into pleading guilty to. I had been working a "Medic", but having a felony limits job opportunities. Becoming a dominatrix was easy, paid well enough and I certainly looked the part.

Out of the bad comes the good, at least this terrorist suffered and I do mean suffered. I was in a bad mood that evening anyway and there was something about him I didn't like so I did not hold back on the corporal punishment that probably left scars for weeks of more.

A terrorist is nothing but a chicken shit that has to hide behind masks and their mothers skirts. At least this one was forced to face me like a man, actually more like an abortion of nature that should have been put out of our misery along with his friends years ago.


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