Deborah

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Girl escaping from Homeland Security finds a refuge
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The car door slams shut in the driveway as I run the comb through my long black hair, completing the preparations on which I have spent hours as I await my benefactor's return. It is ironic that even though I have spent all day primping, I am wearing almost nothing. To ensure that I remain free, my strategy will be to titillate him so that while I am his guest, his life will be one of ecstasy as he stands between me and the officers of the Department of Homeland Security whose task it is to arrest and confine every Jewish citizen of the United States of America to a ghetto or worse.

I run to the bedroom window and open the curtains a crack to peer out. A red Volvo S60 is parked in the driveway and my friend Daniel is walking from his car to the front door of his house, where I am now his involuntary house guest for an indefinite stay. After dashing out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the foyer, I stand before the door to await his arrival.

Standing almost at attention at the door, I feel like a lowly private during boot camp, awaiting inspection from the drill instructor, fretting that I will not measure up. The drill in which I imagine myself is the most important in my life, for failure might result in the forfeiture of my freedom.

Never having prepared to act so blatantly sexual in front of a man with whom I have not shared intimacy, my mouth is dry and my heart pounds in my chest. Despite not having smoked since college, I crave a cigarette. As I polished my nails, bleached my mustache, shaved my legs, and plucked the tiny whiskers from my chin that are the bane of the lives of women of Mediterranean ancestry, I devised something clever to say to him. But in the heat of the moment my mind is drawing a blank.

Waiting as he traverses the short distance from the driveway to where I stand to greet him, I take in a deep breath, hoping to have not overplayed my hand, wishing that he be pleased by the new look of his old friend who unexpectedly landed on his doorstep the night before and desires her to be his intimate companion.

Upon seeing Daniel's silhouette through the translucent glass, I fling open the door. The young man into whose hands I have placed my fate is speechless as he regards me standing with my hands on my hips clad only in a black brassiere and matching bikini panties.

*****

Just one week before we had been colleagues on the medical staff of the local hospital after having serendipitously found jobs in the city in which we had lived as adolescents. Daniel's retired parents having just moved to Arizona, they took their house off the market upon their son's recent return to town so he could take up residence in the home in which he grew up while deciding if the surroundings he knew as a youth would be to his liking in his adult years.

.

Our medical practice involved making daily rounds on the wards visiting patients whose own doctors chose to cede the responsibility of caring for of inpatient to physicians on site in the hospital, who would be available quickly for emergencies when the need arose. Not infrequently, lulls in the workload allowed a friendship that had lain dormant since our teen years to be rekindled.

*****

Neither of us were particularly concerned that world events would ever affect the rhythm of our lives. My native Israel had recently overthrown the newly formed Islamist government of Jordan, which in its brief existence had abrogated the peace treaty signed by the wise King Hussein. The world was ready to accept the demise of another radical Middle Eastern regime and Israel's military occupation of the country, but the deportation of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians from the Gaza Strip and West Bank into the newly conquered Arab lands made the Jewish state into a rogue nation.

The United Nations demanded that the refugees be returned to the encampments in which they had existed in squalor for more than a half century. Tough sanctions were imposed that made importation difficult for everything but food and medicine.

The nuclear armed Israelis refused to undo the ethnic cleansing of what had been known for decades as the Occupied Territories, having finally succeeded in realizing their longstanding ambition to incorporate the West Bank and Gaza into Eretz Israel. If sanctions were not lifted, the government in Jerusalem hinted that the oil rich Persian Gulf would be its next conquest.

To show the Zionists that the world meant business, the UN authorized the American air attack that crippled Israel's nuclear reactor, interrupting that nation's source of enriched uranium and decimating the brain trust that maintained the country's atomic weapons. Israel retaliated by launching the first nuclear attack since the end of the Second World War. A cruise missile equipped with a nuclear warhead was launched from a submarine in the Mediterranean Sea and detonated over the air base in Turkey from which the strike on Israel's reactor had been launched. Thousands of Americans and NATO personnel perished.

Some in the federal government had realized long before that the US and the ever more isolated state of Israel were on a collision course and that American Jews were a potential fifth column. At the behest of the FBI and Department of Homeland Security, over the years hackers had penetrated the computers of synagogues and major Jewish organizations, providing the names, addresses, and working places of virtually all Jewish Americans. Surreptitiously a plan had been formulated to confine Jews living in major cities within ghettos and collect those from the hinterlands into motels, tent cities, or prisons in the event of trouble between America and Israel.

*****

Standing before him in my skivvies, I cannot tell whether his expression is one of surprise or disgust. After he regards me for several seconds without saying a word, I take his right hand and guide him across the threshold closing the door behind us. Breaking the ice, I let go of his hand and stand before him, finally asking, "Do you like the way I look?"

"Sh-, sh-, sure!" he stammers.

It is not the reply that I expected, having dreamt that he might take me into his arms and kiss me, just like in the movies. Caught off guard, I don't know what to say next. Maybe he has become involved with somebody during the few days we have been apart. Or maybe it is just my fantasy that I turn him on. I suddenly feel self conscious.

"I don't look fat, do I?" I blurt out and then feel my face turning crimson. "Oh my god, I can't believe I just said that. That was so stupid. I can't believe I'm dressed this way. This was a dumb idea. I'll put some clothes on."

"You don't look fat. You're beautiful."

His deep voice is soothing. He could have been a public radio announcer. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had next uttered, 'And now we will hear the Adagio for Strings in D Minor.' The words I had rehearsed in the hours before his appearance now come back to my memory.

"OK. It's obvious how you feel about me. I've felt your eyes on me every time we've passed by one another, even back in high school. I was stupid for ignoring you then. You've been a wonderful friend. It's time for me to return your generosity."

I again take his hand and lead him up the steps. When I turn down the hall that leads to the master bedroom, he follows, but only reluctantly. We stop at the threshold and regard the king sized bed, made flawlessly by me earlier that day, which is beckoning us.

He turns to me and says, "That's a strange site. I almost never make the bed."

Onto my face shoot droplets of his saliva, the preternatural calm of a moment ago now gone.. Seeing that he has become even more nervous than I am, for an instant I regret choosing such a brazen way to broach the painful topic of our mutual attraction.

"I bet you make the bed when you think a girl might be coming over to spend the night," I counter, smiling lasciviously, hoping to steer the conversation in the direction of our impending intimacy.

He is silent and his countenance is grim. He makes no effort to cross the threshold into his bedroom. Frolicking with me on that bed seems the farthest thing from his mind. I panic, thinking that his next words will be a request for me to leave, that I should turn myself in to the authorities or find another place to hide.

.

"It's never happened. I've never had a woman over here. In fact, I've maybe had a half dozen dates in my whole life. That might even be an exaggeration. Friends of mine try to fix me up with blind dates, but they've all ended badly.

"For the first few years after I left home for college, it wasn't too bad. I could always find guys like me who weren't dating anyone and we'd go out and have a good time.

"But since coming back here, I've been lonely. In the last couple of years almost all of my friends have gotten married. The single guys my age are either losers or divorced. And the divorced ones have their kids to see on weekends. It's weird going to a baseball game with your buddy and his little kid.

"I'm starting to think I belong in the category of the losers, because I don't think I could even get laid in a morgue. Even when I'm at a convention in a big city and go to bars where the travel guides say eligible women who might want to meet a rich young doctor hang out, I don't know what to say and never manage to connect. After I try to make small talk, the girl nods and then drifts away after I've bored her enough."

"You don't have to worry about that with me. We have a lot in common. You know I find you interesting."

"Yes, you've been a friend going way back. But it's funny that you're showing an interest in me now. To put it delicately, I've never been with a woman. I'm thirty-one years old and still a virgin. And when it's time for that to end, no matter how long it takes, I want it to be with a woman who loves me, not with someone who doesn't feel she has a choice in the matter."

I plant my lips on his and kiss them softly.

"Nothing would please me more than to be your lover."

"Are you sure? Would you have said that if I weren't providing you refuge in my home?"

"No. We surely wouldn't be standing here like this on the threshold of your bedroom if events hadn't thrown us together. But the terrible things that have happened to me have opened my eyes.

"The men I've dated, even the guy I was engaged to, thought I was just a Jewess with big tits and a nice ass. They all told me how interesting I was and how cool it was to be with a woman from a little country where girls learned to shoot machine guns in order to help kick the asses of the bad guys who are our neighbors.

"But when they realize that I need someone to tell my troubles to; that I need someone to hold me and tell me everything will be OK when I'm sad and that they still love me, they realize that I'm like any other girl. And then when someone else with better boobs or a nicer ass who doesn't belong to an ill-starred religion that doesn't celebrate Christmas comes along, the phone calls stop and yours truly is home digging into a container of chocolate ice cream on Saturday night.

"But you, who took long walks with me and listened as I blathered on about how hard it was to be a Jew on Christmas when we were growing up, I never gave a chance to. And now it's time you had yours."

I take his hand. I feel him trembling. He finally wraps his arms around me and plants his lips on mine. As our mouths open and our tongues dance together, I feel the tension leave his body.

Our lips part and he looks down on me, staring into my eyes, still puzzled by what is taking place.

I laugh when I notice splotches of my lipstick around his mouth. He regards me quizzically and still does not speak.

"You look funny with lipstick on your face."

I break away from his embrace and dart into the bathroom, returning momentarily with a tissue that I use to erase the trace of our kiss.

The news that American Jews were being rounded up and confined to ghettos fortunately reached me while I was attending a medical convention across the country in San Diego.

The remarkable efficiency of the US government's surveillance of me had resulted in an early morning knock on the door of the hotel room where I was a registered guest.

But I was not there to be found, having renewed the acquaintance of a fellow resident from my training program in a fleshpot a few blocks from the convention center and then doing what I had always wanted to do when he was my preceptor on the wards, which was to fuck his brains out. Our night of intimacy in his hotel room had put me one step ahead of my pursuers.

The news of the round up of America's Jews blared from the television as my Adonis was showering in his hotel room that morning. Knowing that a little romp in the bedroom was unlikely to dissuade such a red-blooded American male from doing his duty and informing the authorities of my whereabouts, I hastily dressed, grabbed my purse, and after seeing the hotel corridors swarming with Homeland Security goons, I departed the premises..

I used a pay telephone to call my parents in Miami, and got no answer at home, work, or cell phone. Later I found that my suspicion they had been detained was correct. Not daring to even try to collect my possessions from my hotel, I set out cross country to reclaim the fortune that my parents had taught me to bury in case of such an eventuality. Four days later, I was at Daniel's doorstep.

*****

"This isn't a dream?"

"No, Deborah Miller is here in the flesh, standing almost naked in the doorway to your bedroom, ready to ravish you."

"I don't know why."

"I don't understand."

"Like I told you, I've never been with a woman. I don't know what to do."

"That kiss was really nice."

"But what if I do the wrong thing next? Then you'll think I'm a pervert."

"Daniel, there is no wrong thing!"

"What if I touch the wrong place?"

I place his left hand on my right breast. He tries to draw it away, but I hold it there. "You're touching my boob. And see, nothing bad has happened. I haven't screamed or anything, have I?"

"You put my hand there."

"You can touch my ass. You can touch me between the legs. Daniel, I'm a sure thing!"

"I don't know if this is right."

"We're a man and a woman in the privacy of your home. It's up to us to say what's right and what's wrong."

"You might feel differently tomorrow."

"OK, maybe we should start out slowly. Why don't you rub my back?"

He takes his hand off my breast and begins stroking my back.

"That's nice, but it would be even nicer if I could lie down on the bed."

He says nothing. Making the bold assumption that this means yes, I stride into the bedroom and lie prone on the double bed on which his parents slept.

He sits next to me on the edge of the bed and begins kneading my shoulders. I sigh as the tension leaves my muscles.

"You have nice strong hands. They feel good. I'm sorry for what I'm putting you through."

"It's all right."

"You must think I'm a slut."

"No. I'd never think of you that way."

"I'm sorry for being so forward. I shouldn't have been so pushy."

"I'm sorry it happened this way but I'm glad we're here together."

His hands still haven't moved off my shoulders, as if they are the one part of my body over which he is allowed free reign. It feels good to experience the touch of a man who, instead of putting his own carnal desires first, needs for me to gain something from intimacy with him. I become desperate to penetrate his veneer of shyness.

"You can unhook my bra and massage the rest of my back." My voice is now heavy with sleep as the tribulations of the past few days fade into memory. For the first time since my people began being herded into ghettos and huge tent cities where they faced an uncertain fate, I am able to relax, secure in the knowledge that I am in the company of a true friend who will stand between me and the problems I now face.

He tentatively unfastens the two snaps on the back of my brassiere. The elastic fabric recoils and falls away, exposing all but my nipples, which are hidden away in the bedding.

His hands travel down my torso, delightfully releasing the tension from all the muscles for which we had learned the names, origins, and insertion points in the anatomy lab. His fingers isolate each muscle as if I am a laboratory specimen as he delicately realigns the forces that hold my skeleton together, restoring the harmony with which I'd come into the world.

I am not good enough to be this man's lover, I then realize. Had he come to me in similar straits, I would have fretted over the obstacles that securing his safety posed, making the haven I would provide only marginally better than the uncertain fate he faced. But here I am, lying in his bed with no fear of being turned into the authorities, being made to again feel like a person rather than a burden on him and the world.

Thoughts of his body pressing against me as we embrace and then his lips meeting mine fill my mind. But relaxed by his gentle touch, the urge to sleep is too great. Instead of completing the seduction of my benefactor and thereby gaining power over him, I fall asleep.

*****

That day in San Diego on which my life and those of all Jews in America changed, I wandered the streets in a panic, fearing that I would be cited for jaywalking, littering, or some other minor offense and then be revealed as a Jew, the new archenemy of America. I put on sunglasses and looked away from anyone wearing a uniform, even a postal worker. Fretting that my nose would betray me; I bought a floppy hat that I hoped would keep my facial features in shadow.

I decided that the best way to reach home anonymously was to hitch a ride with a trucker, but clad in the smart outfit I had chosen to look the part of a fun loving professional woman at leisure, I feared my get up might seem incongruous to the type of American willing to providing transportation to a damsel of modest means and questionable virtue. I thus swallowed my pride and purchased a tank top, jeans, and cheap open toed sandals at a second hand store.

*****

The bedroom is dark when I awaken. The television set is tuned to a basketball game with the sound barely audible. A shadowy figure illuminated by the blue glow of a laptop computer screen is sitting in a chair next to the side of the bed opposite side of me, paying his seductress no heed while alternating glances between the computer monitor and television screen.

I look at the clock on the night stand. The time is one o'clock in the morning.

"Daniel, I must be keeping you up. I'll go to the other bedroom now."

"It's OK. You can stay in here with me."

"But you have to work tomorrow."

"I'm sort of a night owl. And I want to see who wins the ball game."

I turn toward him, hiding my bosom with the sheet, fearful that he does not yet find me worthy of being his lover. I fasten my brassiere back together, having given up on my plan to seduce my host.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep in here."

"A person can't help falling asleep. I'm sure traveling across the country and living by your wits just to get home was very stressful."

"I guess what I'm saying is that I'm sorry for insinuating myself into your life the way I have. I thought that for me to become your lover would be a treat for you. It would have been for any other man I've ever known.

"But you're a lot more complicated. You just want the real thing. I hope that someday I can be the real thing for you."

"You're no phony. I've always known that."

"I feel silly now for trying to be a siren."

"Don't feel silly. I was very touched."

"But to get dressed up in this get up and then fall asleep before the action starts is kind of embarrassing."