[pagan-magik] UP! 269// SEX 1 for Xmas// 16 12 07

[fraser at parallel-youniversity.com]

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*____,,,,**_{**ô**¿**ô**}_,,,,_* fraser
it's UP! 269 = two hundred & *69!*  so it /has /to be sex, which we 
haven't touched for some time but which, along with *love*, is 
indisputably at the heart of everything :)  as tim leary pointed out 
years ago, for example, 2 hydrogen atoms DON'T fancy making water with 
just ANY old oxygen atom; they're /attracted /or they're not.  just like 
everything alive.

so this is SEX 1,  the /personal/.  UP! 269// SEX 2, the /political/, 
follows shortly.

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**All truth passes through three stages.*UP! **269    *
**1, it is ridiculed. **---- /LA- LA- LA- LAP-TOPPLING DA SYSTEM! ---///
2, it is violently opposed. **16  12  07
*/u cant innerstand yourself without understanding the world/*
3, it is accepted as self-evident.  *Get UP!  /And Don't Give Up The 
Fight! /**/(only we don't mean violence, ok? :)/*
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*____,,,,**_{**ô**¿**ô**}_,,,,_* fraser
Travels round the Atlas (Mountains of Morocco)
PART TWO

khenifra, morocco.  friday
a glimpse beneath the veil
khenifra sits so high in the mountains [and i do mean high], that it 
suffers from sporadic electricity. 

no "news" has reached me for 6 days.  why, unlike everyone else here, 
should i assume there IS news every day?  news breaks out from time to 
time, having built up during the preceding, no?

anyway, after 9 days in morocco i am so so so glad i made the move!  my 
body has averaged 2 hours of sunshine per day, and feels now like it's 
shining.  i begin to re-possess my own inner heat - somewhere at the 
base of the spine i fancy.  solar power?  look, the closest Mega Entity 
in this part of the universe radiates continually what we humants 
interpret as "light" and "heat" (cos that's all we're capable of 
perceiving!)  so it's almost a sacred blessing to have this Being pour 
His/Her/Its beneficence over your body's skin.  call it vitamin D if u 
insist as long as you accept you're making chimp talk :)

my health is returning; i've become much more sociable and tolerant 
(than i was when i finally left london).  still retreat to my room 
often, however, and feel tired, yet can't sleep.

did i mention the berber musicians going for it outside the hotel as i 
write this?  well, as i wrote the last few lines, i was thinking of 
going out to catch some of the live music (which might not recur after 
all) but it's stopped.  now what?  if they kick off again into one of 
those extended flights i'll go down... i hear a snatch of marley on the 
system.  it stops.
¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥

just got back.  the music kicked off again so i went.  turned out to be 
one of those hand-round-the-cymbals things where you're invited to bang 
in.  i declined as i usually do these days.  my big breakthrough, 
though, was a new refusal line that nobody believed but hugely everyone 
enjoyed for a number of reasons:

"i promised my father i would only play the bagpipes. do you have any?"

these guys respect tribal and family loyalties.  though they know am 
joking they admire whence my excuse is coming :)

khenifra, morocco.  saturday
Leila and Johnny

lay lady lay
lay across your big brass bed
lay lady lay
lay while the night is still ahead.
whatever colours you have in your mind
i'll show them to you
make you see them shine!

when our mint tea arrived, my current student/guide, rafik, invited her 
to join our table.  it was quite un-moroccan the way she moved over from 
where she'd been sitting alone.

her name was Leila while mine was johnny [did i mention how i use this 
name when traveling in non-english speaking countries?  it's easy on the 
tongue, it's recognised worldwide, but very few people have ever met a 
Johnny!  it turns out that everyone loves johnny!  i think it's a name 
from early american movies, and johnny was always this handsome, 
easygoing, democratic kinda 'californian' guy who you couldn't help 
loving and the senoritas couldn't resist.]

i'd spotted her twice before around town, chatting with groups of local 
lads.  a relatively free moroccan lady?!  watching her close-up now 
talking with rafik, she was clearly older, almost a young aunt?  (not 
that these sex-starved mountain youths would bother about that!).  our 
eyes kept meeting.  everything seemed suddenly very clear.  i swear a 
cloud dissolved over the snow peaks.

her small, shapely body was in jeans, a black waistcoat, glittery purple 
blouse, t-shirt and wrapped arabic scarf.   lovely rather that 
beautiful, but that could be the european talking; her face was pale, 
striking; her deep black eyes looking almost haunted, full of eastern 
prom- [oh for goddess' sake, johnny!]

naturally we spoke french, and, in her deeply caressing voice, she 
seemed very french, even too french.  she looked like a '60s 
existentialiste, and sounded like some old french movie diva - she'd 
probably practised her french in the cinema! - well, johnny was an old 
american movie hero himself! 

rafik later told me she'd immediately started talking about "Love" - 
Leila reported that he'd proposed marriage in the first minute!  her 
first serious line to me was when i finally got the chance to ask, in 
english, where she was from: "i remember noseeng.  i forget more evree 
day.  i am noseeng."  she went back into french and stayed there.  too 
french, you see?  i rejoiced, though, that it wasn't going to be tourist 
chatter.  when she went too far and said, "quand j'ai oubliee tout, je 
serai disparu en tout"  (when i've forgotten everything i shall finally 
disappear) i replied, or johnny did, in french from now on: "no, you ARE 
more when you KNOW less."

i quoted the zen saying that the Student knows more every day but the 
Seeker knows less.  i felt her whole inner body lean towards mine.   i 
had something to give this being.  "et enfin, quand tu sais rien, tu 
verras tout comme il est!" (and finally, when you KNOW nothing, you will 
SEE everything as it is.) 

"what is Love?" Leila, her eyes no longer looking IN, asked Johnny.  
"it's a word humans use to try to capture a tiny bit of some of the 
things and levels that exist."  it's much easier to say these kinds of 
things in french.  i'd tell a french girl her eyes are "like the sky" 
(it's poetry in french); i'd NEVER say that to an english girl.

she's very touch-feely, often touching rafik's sleeve in pleasant 
surprise or mock shock.  does she realise what her language means to 
these young (frustrated) moroccan guys?  but maybe, if you won't be 
intimidated from going out in the evenings, a certain physical intimacy 
with the males is safer than a withdrawn preciousness?

sensing a deep loss in her, despite the existential angst style, i speak 
at some length of my Eternity idea.  i want to try it out on others 
anyway.  i tell her that nothing ever disappears, that nothing CAN ever 
disappear, that we get to repeat every aspect of every experience 
thousands and thousands of times.  i rant a bit.  something tells me 
strong and clear that she wants to hear this, or at least she wants to 
hear SOMETHING.  something NEW!  that the only and best gift i can give 
is to help her move out of wherever she is.
[back in my room afterwards, i want to make notes, like these.  but 
mostly i want to curl up on my bed and recall and re-live.]

¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥

i was right about the french 
rafik and i met her next day at the vista point on the edge of town.  
he'd been telling me that her husband (lover?) had been french (!), but 
that he'd died suddenly of a brain tumour and left her a widow.  widowed 
so young!  my heart opens to her and i'm even more certain i want to 
give her something.

under another cloudless blue moroccan sky we're sitting looking a half 
mile down on the redbrown and green valley below.  part of me wishes i 
was alone to contemplate the scene.  instead i opt to talk to her more 
about Eternity.  i rant again (too strong; i /'declaim confidently'/).  
she will re-experience EVERY detail of what she thinks she has lost.  
she'll even experience them hundreds of thousands of times.  it's going 
in deep, i KNOW it.  and want it - for her; to shine potential into the 
dark corners she felt would never see the light of day again... new 
growths that can continue after i've exited her mountain top.

i say: rafik told me about your marriage?  not marriage, she tells me.  
she only married once, when she was 19.  feeling my way forward, 
watching one hawk chase another in long beautiful sweeping glides below 
us, i feel Leila and i are paralleling them.

she jumps to her feet.  she's always suddenly jumping up and doing 
something else, like she's jumping away from something to which she was 
getting too close.  it's mostly nerves, but something else too, and what 
does that mean anyway?  she says, with her ex, she also used to giggle 
and jump.  her eyes are very bright today; as is her life attitude; i 
sense it's the positive effect am having on her and feel even more 
confident and ... expansive.

and sometimes her body will suddenly shake, she tells me, and wants to 
know why.  i work it out, but don't manage to complete it till the next 
day, that it's her Whole Body breaking through...  our culture helps to 
break down our bodies into separate self-functioning sections (writing, 
football, ironing) and we lose contact with our Whole Body, which always 
works with the whole body involved.  when her body jumps it's her Whole 
Body kicking in.

what a lovely creature she is!  and how her Love has been closed down!  
i begin to appreciate more her refusal to be browbeaten into 
submission.  she's a brave foxy lady!  but i fear for her too, she seems 
almost too alive to survive.  and all that time without a man!  without 
a man to appreciate her.  to worship her.

¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥

back at the hotel cafe i leave her with rafik.  i feel the need to make 
some notes, and also to have a shower.  i'm also making a point of being 
sexually non-aggressive - which isn't really hard for me these days tho 
i track the ghosts of my Desires while simply enjoying where we are; 
goddess knows i'm familiar enough with Disappointment not to be bothered 
if it comes again. 

free?  free at last?!

up in my room, sensing things over, i intuit she's beginning to accept 
me as her husband, only not.  a preordained sense of erotic destiny has 
captured my loins and my mind.  i decide to say to her, in my prophet 
voice (because she needs some answers, a way forward, at the very least 
the renewed possibility that there COULD be a way forward) that, for a 
woman, solitude is worse than for a man because she is so much about 
Beauty which needs must be worshipped to exist (can't find the french 
word for worship and settle on appreciate).  and, more or less, i would 
be happy to perform that service :)

but there's no sign of Leila when i go down.  later i worked out that by 
then it was too late for her to be seen hanging out around town.  it's 
outrageous enough that she does it till an hour after dark when 
practically no other woman is seen, except of course the western girls.


¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥

next day Leila tells me she'd been building up to inviting me to her 
house the day before; she'd decided; and now she was inviting me.  
having agreed our plan, with a sensuous rush in my ears, the rest of the 
day is shaped by this.   gradually, but very gradually, i become more 
sexual until the early evening walk to her house.

the three of us head towards the little lake below the town.  half way 
up again, while rafik was talking to someone, i put my hand down the 
back of her pants and squeezed and told her: "you have a nice, tight 
ass," and she draws away giggling as i draw away too (to give her her 
space), and then she's leaning and squirming against me, like that.

"johnny!"

i don't know at this point that there's a whole Moroccan Romance thing 
going on as well as what i'm experiencing.
[i'm writing these notes 48 hours later, half hoping this tale is a 
Short Story; cos it's wonderful as that; magical, and penetrating.]

through the town, where my behaviour quickly changes, with me being more 
restrained than she who's always touchyfeely when she talks to a guy.

suddenly there's a blackout.  there have been 2 since i arrived in 
khenifra.  both lasted an hour or so.  this one is to go on so long that 
i several times wonder [and still do] if our energies had blown some 
historical fuse.  lamps and candles start winking on, and then bonfires; 
it's really very romantic, and there's that word again.  the mores of 
seduction - the hidden moves and signs.  Leila says: "i shall go ahead 
and you will follow me."  i grok immediately and say "i'll be 10 minutes 
behind you".  i think she threw back over her shoulder: "it doesn't have 
to be TEN minutes!"

with darkness and now with the blackout, of course, we seem pretty safe 
from prying moroccan eyes - but it was to be a theme that developed and 
reverberated all night.  and i still don't know how real it all was.  i 
guess she didn't really know either.  which is half the problem.  maybe 
nobody knows!  maybe you just have to accept that what happened is what 
happened.  but i know if there had been a law against what we were about 
to do then we could have taken absolute precautions.  as it was, our 
little operation was a bit of a mess from a security point of view.  
several people, for example, passed us on the road, and "the widow of 
khenifra" and "the long haired hippy crusader poet" were pretty hard to 
miss and even harder to forget.

her breasts are tucked behind corset-like armour.  she has, as i said, 
the tightest little ass.  at some point in the walk to her house her 
hand is fluttering between my waist and the top of my legs like some 
lost but wondering bird and i place it on the package.  "johnny!"  did i 
mention we were both wearing jeans?

it's a bit of a blur now, and indeed then; it felt like (and was 
intended by Nature to be) a long, slow-motion fall into bed, but this 
wasn't Smith Street, Oldtown, England.  i do remember her saying at one 
point (i was walking behind her with my hand half stuck down the front 
of her very tight jeans) "you've had many women, johnny," which i 
decided was best left unanswered.

finally at the house, with the whole star-studded firmament conspiring 
in our affair.  i remind her of her dead man, she says, more than once.  
but she doesn't mean anything so banal as looks.  perhaps they met at 
university but i've long since decided not to proceed on that level.  
what's between her and me is that she gets new hope and sparkle and 
juice and i get a lovely erotic glimpse behind the veil :)

"johnny!"

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*
khenifra, morocco.  saturday
[now am remembering Bushra from last year's caravanserai club trip to 
morocco.  now i understand her!  now i'm ready for her!  now i know 
about today's moroccan womanhood!  she said in an email that she might 
join me up here.  now my fantasy life is taking me over.  am thinking of 
Leila, Bushra and me in the next valley!  the three of us!  exploring 
the alleys, highways and byways of Free Love!

i stopped writing there for a few moments.

one thing i know now that i did not know yesterday is that moroccan 
women definitely perceive the relative freedom of the West, and those 
who know a little are attracted by the european man.  his gentleness, 
his laid-backness, his lack of that truly terrible possessiveness of the 
arab male.  to give you an idea:  Leila told me last night at her house 
that her marriage, at 19, was to a guy she met when they were both 
studying at university.  he said of course she could go on with her 
studies and other things when they were married but, the very morning 
after the wedding, (and particularly after possessing her) his attitude 
completely changed, Jekyll & Hyde stylee, and this male monster 
"ordered" her that "you are now my wife, and all his will end!"  she was 
locked in, beaten to make her submit to her new "Master", and finally 
escaped after 3 months. 

though she, it seems, bothered to go through the whole muslim divorce 
procedure over several years, i imagine this sort of thing is happening 
to a great many shocked young muslim brides, and what are they to do 
afterwards?  even if they want to marry again it will be very difficult, 
for they are now tainted.  and if they DON'T want to EVER marry again 
what are they to do?!  they probably have to move to a different city to 
feel safe from their "lord, master and husband" who might feel the right 
or even duty to justify his "rights".  and the terrible truth is that 
they really CAN'T find some Loving with any arab males because they can 
be so violently possessive and jealous.  so now i understand the whole 
Bushra thing!  why she hung out with us guys, what she actually wanted 
when we were wondering if she was going to steal our money, or get us to 
marry her, or so we'd pay her.  young widows, probably thousands of 
them, are really just seeking a Way Out!  some Love!  it's all 
absolutely Normal - the word Leila most used when referring to how she 
or we might be seen by muslim society - in her house, during a blackout.

i'd guess Leila would have strung along with our party just as Bushra 
did, on any level  up for anything so long as it was an aspect of love.  
all over morocco, in the larger cities, there must be tens of thousands 
of poor female creatures desperate to be loved, gently, adoringly, 
respectfully and passionately!  is their young beauty to be unseen 
forever?!   is what i consider the loveliest of all Goddess' creations 
to be NEVER appreciated or worshipped?!  goddess, i keep noticing in 
everyone's face these days what a tiny part of their potential they 
actually experience.  we live in the last hundred years of the 
stultifying Middle Ages and it's a Human Tragedy!  for most humans alive 
today, catching even a fleeting glimpse of our true possibilities would 
certainly drive them mad.]

¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥

i'm sitting on a chair in the kitchen with Leila crouched between my 
legs, perched somewhat uneasily in her kitchen IN CASE SOMETHING 
HAPPENS.  one of her bras is gone, and both our shirts are untucked from 
our waists, when there's a knock on the door!  she's already lifted the 
candle and headed off, tucking her shirt in.  there had been several 
noises previously which she'd jumped up to check, actually opening the 
door each time to look out and even call! 

"halo! quelqun est la?"

wow, i think, but i'm not really THINKING much at all.  the hands in my 
mind are still caressing the tight warm buttocks that are now outside 
the house.  but i did find it a bit odd.  one of her most frequent 
comments was "i want to live openly"  - like it would be EASY but DEAD 
to play the Game.  which may explain SOME of what happened last night.

anyway, it's "only" named, the friend who "most comes to visit me", and 
who works for a german company in the valley below.  i'm still adjusting 
to the FACT of him sitting at the other end of the table, while she's 
telling me how he's always cared for her.  he's a blacker, handsome 
young dude with a nice smile which she draws out of him constantly as 
they talk.  and she saying how, if she finally decides to give up her 
freedom, he's prepared to marry her - like, the implication is clear, 
that's very honourable and decent of him.  to overlook her hanging out 
with europeans and being divorced and so on i suppose.

though she's actually sitting close to him, handcontacting him and 
babbling away in fast, excited french/arabic, i do catch that she's 
explaining how she's always been very honest with him about what she 
WANTS, she's been open, and he's grinning his beautiful white smile like 
he agrees, and his face goes from darkly serious to smiling and back.  
and later, after he's gone, she tells me she doesn't know how he'll 
react, or what he might do (about my visit). 

he's quite liberated through working alongside the germans, she says, 
but she's clearly very worried. 

"what are you afraid he might do?"

"he ees a good man, a kind man,"  she says, settling down on my knees 
again.  "but i don't know WHAT HIS RELIGION WILL MAKE HIM DO!"

all at once it's all very real.  the blond christian is 2 miles from 
town, in the middle of a moonless night, during a blackout, stranded and 
disshevilled at the widow's house, and the fiancee might be rounding up 
a possee of fundamentalist believers from the village at this very 
minute.  or an angry mullah? 
ZZ extend?
it takes an age (an era?) for things to settle again.  but slowly our 
natural slow-mo fall into bed picks up pace again, all "absolutely 
normal"  (as i continually point out to her while her Nature gets back 
on its feet).  we're down to one veil now; i've had her breasts out, 
large-small with quite enormous purple-brown nipples that jump about 
like she does.  and i tell her so, and i want her to know because her 
beauty has (presumably) been so unseen for so long.  they're firm but 
tricky, and i've kissed and licked each perky tip, and done it like a 
junior priest to a middling goddess, with 100% attention, respect and 
erotic gratitude, and she's accepted it as this, and is starting to 
reach deeper levels of relaxation and sensuousness.

"johnny!"

though somehow our conversation continued along the way, my brain was 
too warm and wet to remember much now.  really it was reassuring sounds 
that spiritual animals make to each other, contented purrs and soft 
growls.  mine is mainly saying:  Everything is absolutely fine.  and 
totally normal and natural.  live out whatever was lacking.  do those 
things you dreamed of doing.  go for those thing you'll wish tomorrow 
you'd done.  do WHATEVER you want.  we both KNOW what is right and 
natural and absolutely "NORMAL".  we KNOW.  the moment is ours, let's 
make memories and visions that will turn us on in years to come.

¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥

then i realise she's explaining or confessing to me that she'd TOLD 
named i might be coming to visit!  she might even have said she'd 
invited him to drop by and meet me; i was pretending to understand more 
than i did to keep our flow.  part of her brave (but foolhardy?) desire 
to live openly & honestly i suppose.  is there an added french thing?  
liberte´ & egalite´?  but she's up and off again would i like some coffee?

i guess i made a move at this point, though i didn't see it at the 
time.  but it suggests i came to a decision when it felt more like a 
Resolution simply emerged.  after being ultra ultra patient, easygoing 
and liberal, and giving her all the time she needs or wants,
and after i've kept saying this very thing to her, to "take your time,"  
that "you don't have to go any further," but "if u want to then DO it, 
let's DO what we want NOW, take this opportunity dans les deux mains in 
both hands,"  stuff like that in rusty french
i finally declare, in English first and then in French: "we got to move 
things more horizontal, babe, where's the bedroom?  we can't spend the 
whole evening sitting here in case someone comes to the door."

she's already on her feet, picking up a candle and heading into the dark 
doorway out of the kitchen.  "why do you want to find the bed?" she 
trills, "are you sleepy?"  a joke?  a throwaway line, like many this 
evening?

"au contraire" i respond, remembering the phrase from some childhood 
classroom.  she giggles, and disappears; but this time with me carrying 
the little oil lamp following after as she disappears again (to change 
costume?  like removing her final bra because it appears to be locked?) 
(only joking) (i think).   i check out each room, i have a needed pee; 
my erection's been standing to attention all night but with no sense of 
urgency, my mind, my soul have been savouring each erotic moment, finely 
etching in each detail.

i've found the bedroom; a lonely bed, not made up, a bed that wasn't 
expecting visitors.  i've sorted a red sleeping bag and two heavy wool 
blankets, and she fluffs around and finally comes in and lies down.  
"johnny!"   just as things are beginning to get much more interesting 
than was possible at table, she's suddenly on her feet again, pulling up 
and half closing her jeans, and starts complaining in a loud voice, 
mostly arabic, how they won't leave her alone, how all she wants is to 
live her life as SHE wants to, openly and honestly, how if they came and 
found us in her bed would they think?!

now it's all coming out.  the culture.  the religion.  the arab male.  
all the men in the town want her but they say different things behind 
her back.  how she only wants to live openly and freely.  the Insult of 
it all!

and 'who cares what prisoners of history think?' enquires the european, 
and they care answers she, and they may come, and we should not be in 
the bedroom.  there's another bedroom, a small one, which would be 
safer.  why?  because it's not, though i don't think she actually said 
it, the marital bedroom.  and it's just off the kitchen! 

(easier to retreat from).

gradually i begin to tell her that things ARE changing.  at first she 
protests "on the surface, yes," but i persevere, perhaps i wear her 
down, and she starts to just listen; i tell her there is no doubt about 
it, that i am coming from the Future where everyone is heading, how she 
is in the avant garde of her people, how she is actually leading the way 
back to the Natural.  by the next day i'm talking of her writing her 
thoughts on all these things, how she could be leading the next 
generation of moroccan feminist writers.  and she's agreeing, she sees 
how this is a frontier.

[am having insights into the problem the Megatripolitans have when they 
timedance back to our point in their history.  THEY know how things 
turned out, but we DON'T.  we can still see the edifices of the Old 
Power but cannot know how bereft and empty they are, and that they will 
NEVER return to destroy and punish us again, that those days are truly 
over.  you see, every previous time of relaxation the Old Dino force has 
always come back harder than ever.]


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***recommended to the **Parallel YOUniversity**// Megatripolis Dance 
Dept **as*
* **/"showing signs of life"./**  **Since recipients forward it widely 
to their own lists & sites*
*we conservatively estimate **_50,000+ _**direct recipients.*
*A further 40,000 read it on the YOUniversity's site.*
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*   it's increasingly being posted on a variety of sites worldwide,*
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***)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o/)(\o***

Overseen by Guilt Cameras
oh, the Fear!

Leila's back between my legs in the kitchen now.  but, though i've 
pulled out John Thomas a couple of times for her to stroke, admire and 
even worship , i confess to still being distracted by what the outside 
world MIGHT be getting up to , especially as she starts at any sound.  i 
re-run the terrible fate of the widow in Zorba the Greek.  i remembered 
how, earlier, the first few times i'd seen her, she'd seemed just on the 
beginning of the very edge of extremity, of madness, her face pale, 
pale, open yet drawn at the same time.

"johnny!"

[back in london a good jewish friend asked if i saw the Muslim Problem 
for real now and i replied that i'd really seen it like the British 
middle ages, a question of being stuck in History.]

talk about reality tv, this feeling that the Moral Majority could come 
crashing in at any moment, that every millimetre my fingers crept into 
her increased the likelihood.  was it mostly in her mind?  but then how 
had it gotten there? 

yet time is passing, and dust eventually settles - doesn't it?  we're 
discreetly diddling and doodling like we're being Overseen by cctv 
cameras.  i've suggested she change to a long, loose skirt so she's 
equally ready for the Natural OR the Demonic, and that's proving quite 
effective.  but the hour is getting late; we can't recline when every 
cell in our bodies is ordering it, and she keeps jumping up at the most 
erotic moments.  like she's too highly sprung along the puritan/passion 
cusp, but she's not to blame!

i ask at some point if we're moving too fast and would be content with 
any answer she might give; even this is enough, and i'm grooving every 
nanosecond.

"non, johnny!"

all the time now i'm telling her to feast her eyes and her senses, to do 
ANYTHING she wants to do, or has dreamed of doing, to do it NOW, to fill 
her soul with memories and visions.  i say more than once that women 
have been taught they shouldn't be sexually active and curious and 
experimental but it's not TRUE!  to deny these sides of ourselves is 
ABnormal!  and encouraging her on, and letting her see my body (we're 
finally in/on the bed in the small bedroom, we're both stripped to the 
waist and her long skirt is around her waist IN CASE.


¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥

Leila & Johnny Weren't Lovers
Oh Lordy How They Didn't Love!
so now we have our time.  we are both naked (Leila was never quite 
naked, always a scarf, or a piece of material around her middle, or her 
long dress, now like a belt, something to hold on to?) and looking, 
drinking in each other's body.  i've been telling her all evening that 
absolutely not a centimetre further shall we travel than she wishes and 
she has nodded seriously, gratefully (Manna from Heaven to a Muslim 
lady:).  while i know not what chasms we surfed, she and i, without 
looking down, i Trust, above all, that she has found another Good Man, 
like her ex.  to her, i pray, it came as a ray of sunlight after a long, 
grey mist (missed?). 

she led the way, or i allowed myself to be drawn more and further into 
her until, at some point, i asked again "are we moving too fast?" (this 
is the stage, after all, when the male most reveals his acquisitive 
side) and this time she said "oui, un peu," and i was more than happy to 
lay back.  actually i was beginning to get sleepy, it had been an 
emotional roller coaster of a night.  and, besides, the actual physical 
activity is starting to seem more like a way of ENDING a Perfectly 
Timeless Moment.

but comes a point when she announces these exact words:  "johnny!  now i 
weesh you penetrate me.  i weesh for you to be inside of moi"

i kiss those arab lips once more as i move my body across her; i 
separate her legs; i'm gazing once again into her dark maw where the 
deeply purply lèvres (french for lips as she's informed me) post their 
kiss at me.  she's half sitting up, touching Prince Charles with a 
finger tip and stretching its single crowning drop of love juice into a 
silver thread, and she says: "qu'est-ce que c'est ca?" (what's that, 
meaning the drop).

i go to answer but she's moved away again and it's not till the next 
day, on the little pink volcanic cliff above the village, that i get to 
explain to her what it was (i'm assuming she'd never had the luxury of 
studying it before), and how it PROVED that Allah intended us to do our 
normal natural things together. 

but, as she's pulling her long skirt back up her legs, JUST IN CASE, i'm 
getting weary, besides being more than blissed and blessed with all that 
HAS happened.   i could have made a point of explaining that drop, The 
Drop That Broke The Camel's Back, but i guessed her query came from some 
half-assed scientific pamphlet about sexual diseases - ills which would 
certainly pose more of a danger to her, a moroccan woman, than to 
western welfare-state moi.  but it was waaay too late in the night for 
'scientific explanations'; besides which, would she have believed me at 
that point?!  she'd already said "and if i have a baby?" to which i'd 
had no answer, certainly no condom.  in an arab country?!!  well, next 
time for sure :)

that, it turns out (if this is a Short Story), plumbed the depth of our 
intimacy together.  the Fundamentalist Threat virtually dissolved as 
soon as she was in the other bed, and i felt absolutely wonderful and 
fulfilled, and slept the sleep of the experientially sated.

i guess the result or lack of it could be claimed as a triumph for 
Either Side :)  technically, and perhaps much more than that (especially 
here?) we did not Make Love together.  perhaps Hamed's mullah can accept 
the technicality.  for me, we most certainly Made Love! :) 
[end]
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