I said I would write a bit about my life. This is because everyone I know seems to tell me "you should write your life story." So here is an exerpt of the day after my "first time" with a 17 year old Palestinian in Jerusalem, Israel/Palestine:
Awakened by a knock at my door, I called “Just a minute.“ I dashed to the bathroom. His smell was on me; the scent of his leavings mingled with my own was new to me. I looked into the mirror as I washed my hands, searching my face to see if somehow the night’s revelry would show. I looked the same. That was a surprise; I expected to look different. I had done something so deeply primal in my complete submission to him that I felt the profound change within should be mirrored without.
Every nerve ending on my body was sensitive now. I combed my hair and put on my robe. When I opened the door, he was standing there; his dark curly hair still wet and his beautiful eyes still merry. “Good morning, love,” he said, and kissed me on the lips, his tongue probing with familiarity and his hand on my breast. My heart fell so hard; I could feel it, like a stone in my breast that flopped to my stomach. We broke apart. “Come in,” I said, shakily. He had the longest, darkest eyelashes I had ever seen. His dimpled smile was radiant and devastating.
“Do you want some tea?” he asked, as we sat on the bed, facing each other.
“No, I am not hungry just now.” I sounded stupid. I was shy, and didn’t know what to say. Facing him in the light of day was different, and difficult. I was embarrassed about my boldness of the night before. Would he think badly of me?
“What’s wrong in you?” he asked, sensing my reticence. He was touching my cheek gently. I looked into his beautiful huge brown eyes. I was gone, then. I could feel my soul falling, falling to a place it had wanted all my life but had never been. I could feel so much.
I was sure that it was not the same for him. I felt so vulnerable, foolish, small, and embarrassed all at once. Worst of all, having had him; the need was not gone............it was deeper, stronger, more intense as though every nerve and cell in my body cried out for his. I felt chained to him, invisible chains from my heart and body, even my soul. Yet I was sure he didn’t feel the same.
“Come, Cassandra,” he said. “Get dressed; you can come with me today.” His tone was gentle, sweet, laughing. My name was a caress from his lips.
“Ok, but you have to wait outside, I have to shower and dress.”
“Why? I have seen you, touched you.” Amusement showed on his face. What was for me a shattering experience seemed to sit lightly with him. He didn’t seem as moved at all.
“Because I am not ready to shower and dress in front of you. It was dark last night. I can’t, .....I can’t...” I stopped and dropped my eyes.
He got up and with a smile went out. His eyes as he left told me he somehow understood. I felt weird. Here I was, so much more sophisticated than he, well traveled, a year older, and yet I felt like an untried girl around him. I got up, showered and dressed. I cried, hot tears burning my face, washed away with cool water. Somehow, I would not let my fears overwhelm me. I couldn’t think with his touch still so fresh on me.
We spent the day together, talking, laughing kissing. We shared an orange, he taking a slice in his mouth and then passing it to mine with a kiss. We were so young. I felt like lovers, newly in love and shut out my rational mind completely. I felt like we had a secret, shared only between us. Succumbing to the feelings of the moment, I rode a wave of happiness I had never felt before. He loves me! Even after! I was astounded, humbled, warm, validated. I felt young, innocent still, and so in love. I wanted to go anywhere with him, be his forever, live in his pocket, and know his thoughts. I wanted to be his posession, his slave even. All those rationalizations of before melted away; I was finally allowed to just feel and feel and feel and be. I could allow my passion and deep feelings full rein at last, without them being trivialized or feared. This was serious and sharp, an unbearable sweetness. I deliberately blocked out the fact that I would have to leave in a few days.
That night, he took me to Jaffa gate, in the dark. He sat me on a bench some way from the gate and bent to kiss me. It was a long, passionate kiss, stirring us both. He placed my hand on the bulge of his pants.
“You make me want you,” he whispered against my lips.
My hand felt the heat of him, the hardness of him and I wanted to lie back right there and open my legs right then under the moonlight by the old stone walls of Jerusalem.
Awakened by a knock at my door, I called “Just a minute.“ I dashed to the bathroom. His smell was on me; the scent of his leavings mingled with my own was new to me. I looked into the mirror as I washed my hands, searching my face to see if somehow the night’s revelry would show. I looked the same. That was a surprise; I expected to look different. I had done something so deeply primal in my complete submission to him that I felt the profound change within should be mirrored without.
Every nerve ending on my body was sensitive now. I combed my hair and put on my robe. When I opened the door, he was standing there; his dark curly hair still wet and his beautiful eyes still merry. “Good morning, love,” he said, and kissed me on the lips, his tongue probing with familiarity and his hand on my breast. My heart fell so hard; I could feel it, like a stone in my breast that flopped to my stomach. We broke apart. “Come in,” I said, shakily. He had the longest, darkest eyelashes I had ever seen. His dimpled smile was radiant and devastating.
“Do you want some tea?” he asked, as we sat on the bed, facing each other.
“No, I am not hungry just now.” I sounded stupid. I was shy, and didn’t know what to say. Facing him in the light of day was different, and difficult. I was embarrassed about my boldness of the night before. Would he think badly of me?
“What’s wrong in you?” he asked, sensing my reticence. He was touching my cheek gently. I looked into his beautiful huge brown eyes. I was gone, then. I could feel my soul falling, falling to a place it had wanted all my life but had never been. I could feel so much.
I was sure that it was not the same for him. I felt so vulnerable, foolish, small, and embarrassed all at once. Worst of all, having had him; the need was not gone............it was deeper, stronger, more intense as though every nerve and cell in my body cried out for his. I felt chained to him, invisible chains from my heart and body, even my soul. Yet I was sure he didn’t feel the same.
“Come, Cassandra,” he said. “Get dressed; you can come with me today.” His tone was gentle, sweet, laughing. My name was a caress from his lips.
“Ok, but you have to wait outside, I have to shower and dress.”
“Why? I have seen you, touched you.” Amusement showed on his face. What was for me a shattering experience seemed to sit lightly with him. He didn’t seem as moved at all.
“Because I am not ready to shower and dress in front of you. It was dark last night. I can’t, .....I can’t...” I stopped and dropped my eyes.
He got up and with a smile went out. His eyes as he left told me he somehow understood. I felt weird. Here I was, so much more sophisticated than he, well traveled, a year older, and yet I felt like an untried girl around him. I got up, showered and dressed. I cried, hot tears burning my face, washed away with cool water. Somehow, I would not let my fears overwhelm me. I couldn’t think with his touch still so fresh on me.
We spent the day together, talking, laughing kissing. We shared an orange, he taking a slice in his mouth and then passing it to mine with a kiss. We were so young. I felt like lovers, newly in love and shut out my rational mind completely. I felt like we had a secret, shared only between us. Succumbing to the feelings of the moment, I rode a wave of happiness I had never felt before. He loves me! Even after! I was astounded, humbled, warm, validated. I felt young, innocent still, and so in love. I wanted to go anywhere with him, be his forever, live in his pocket, and know his thoughts. I wanted to be his posession, his slave even. All those rationalizations of before melted away; I was finally allowed to just feel and feel and feel and be. I could allow my passion and deep feelings full rein at last, without them being trivialized or feared. This was serious and sharp, an unbearable sweetness. I deliberately blocked out the fact that I would have to leave in a few days.
That night, he took me to Jaffa gate, in the dark. He sat me on a bench some way from the gate and bent to kiss me. It was a long, passionate kiss, stirring us both. He placed my hand on the bulge of his pants.
“You make me want you,” he whispered against my lips.
My hand felt the heat of him, the hardness of him and I wanted to lie back right there and open my legs right then under the moonlight by the old stone walls of Jerusalem.
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