I was Saudi billionaire s 'pleasure wife'

I was Saudi billionaire s 'pleasure wife' I was Saudi arms dealer’s ‘pleasure wife’ Billionaire Saudi Arabian arms dealer Adnan Khashoggi is best known for his roles in some of the most infamous political scandals of the 1980s. They include the Iran-Contra affair (he was a key middleman in the arms-for-hostages exchange) and accusations that he concealed funds alongside Philippines First Lady Imelda Marcos. (Khashoggi was acquitted on federal charges of obstruction of justice and mail fraud after more serious charges of racketeering and conspiracy were dropped.) But the 81-year-old, who now lives in Monaco, was also a womanizer with multiple wives and a bevy of beautiful girls at his beck and call. Among them was young American model Jill Dodd. Ahead of the June 6 publication of her memoir, “The Currency of Love: A Courageous Journey to Finding the Love Within,” Dodd — now 57 and a fashion designer — shares her story of sex, drugs and life as a member of Khashoggi’s harem with The Post’s Jane Ridley. Sitting on the bed in our Middle Eastern caftans, I knew it was only a matter of time before one of us leaned in for a kiss. After all, we’d been dancing around each other for more than a month. But Adnan, who had just watched me in the nude, taking a bubble bath, held my face in his hands. Modal Trigger Jill Dodd in a 1978 modeling shot.Robert Kittila “We can’t kiss until I tell you the situation,” he said. “I want you to be one of my pleasure wives. By Saudi Arabian law, I’m allowed to have 11 pleasure wives and three legal wives. “I won’t kiss you until you agree to this contract.” “Yes,” I say and we seal the agreement as our lips meet. In that moment, I become a member of Adnan’s harem, taking turns with other women to have sex with the man I love. It was fashion modeling that allowed me to mingle with movers and shakers like Adnan. I’d grown up middle-class — my dad a fireman, my mom a secretary — in Downey, Calif., 10 miles from downtown Los Angeles. In 1976, when I was 17 years old and 5-foot-9, I answered an ad in the LA Times for a fit model. Before long, I was modeling swimsuits for magazines and catalogs. I joined a not-so-good local agency but then got lucky and signed with the prestigious Wilhelmina Models when I was 20. The agency dispatched me to Paris, even though I didn’t have the signature ’80s look of big blond hair and perfect teeth. I was a size 6 and curvier than most models of the time. Nevertheless, I started getting high-profile jobs. I was on the cover of Olympe magazine in France and made it into the French editions of Vogue and Marie Claire. Then, in August 1980, I accompanied my booker, Pepper­*, on a weekend jaunt to Monte Carlo and one of her friends invited us to a party in Cannes. The venue was Le Pirate, where long-haired, shirtless waiters strummed guitars and banged tambourines. A crackling bonfire, 20 feet high, lit up the night sky. A “pirate” handed me a glass of Champagne, which I swigged before throwing the glass into the fire, just like all the other guests. It was so wild and decadent.