“Some of my best friends--”
“The hypocrite!” Naomi bit my ear in her anger. I kissed her to silence her.
“Then your government supports the Israeli aggressors?” the Arab commander was asking.
“My government is neutral, and so am I.”
“Yet you were fighting with the Jews.”
“I was merely defending myself.”
“I see.” The Arab drummed his fingers on the table. He looked like he was mulling over the international ramifications of holding Hauksho prisoner. Finally he reached a conclusion. “You will be free to leave as soon as transportation is available,” he told Hauksho.
“And my fiancee?” Hauksho asked blandly.
“Your fiancee?” the Arab asked.
“His fiancee?” Naomi muttered.
“You are holding her prisoner over there.” Hauksho pointed to the area where the guards were holding the Israeli captives.
“You mean you’re engaged to an Israeli?” The Arab commander looked confused.
“That is correct.” Hauksho was brazen.
“Well, I can’t do anything about that. She is an enemy and a prisoner.”
“What’s he up to?” Naomi whispered.
“I think I know,” I told her. “But it’s a long story.” I stroked her breast companionably.
“Now look.” Hauksho reasoned with the Arab. “You have it in your power to do the Arab countries a great service: to improve their image among all of the neutral nations, to portray your cause as one administered by men who are merciful, humane, civilized.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Love makes the world go round,” Hauksho told him cryptically. “And all the world loves a lover. More, all the world loves those who help lovers. Allow my fiancee to leave with me, and I will see to it that word of Arab humanitarianism is spread throughout Japan and Asia.”
“Hmm.” The Arab mulled it over. “Which one is she?” he asked finally.
“Come. I will point her out.”
The Arab commander accompanied Hauksho over to where the prisoners were gathered. Hauksho studied them carefully and finally pointed out a girl. They came back to the outdoor table, and a moment later an Arab guard brought the girl to them.
“Your name?” the Arab commander asked the girl.
“Rebecca Wisitsky.”
“She is your fiancee?” the commander asked the Japanese.
“Yes.” Hauksho turned to the girl. “Rebecca, my darling.” He kissed her.
“You’ve got wet lips,” she complained.
“My little pigeon; at last we will be able to marry.”
“The first thing I’m going to do is put you on a diet,” Rebecca assured him.
“All right,” the Arab commander told them. “You’re free to leave. Transportation will be provided for you in the morning.”
The happy couple walked right past us as they left. “Do I really have to marry you?” Rebecca whispered, whining.
“Would you rather be a prisoner of war?”
“I guess not.”
“Well, don’t worry. My intentions are not honorable. I have other plans for you besides marriage. Have you ever thought of what it might be like to join a harem?”
They passed out of earshot.
“Well, at least he saved one sabra,” Naomi observed.
“Yeah. He’s pretty slick all right,” I grumbled.
“Oh! Oh! Look!” Naomi panicked and clutched at me. I looked. One of the camels had strolled over to where we’d buried ourselves and was now standing directly over us. I vibrated—mostly in response to Naomi’s quivering against me.
“Suppose he decides to lie down here?” Naomi’s voice was shaking.
"‘Don’t think about it.”
“He’ll squash us!”
“Don’t think about it.”
“We’ll be buried in the sand!”
“Don’t think about it.”
“We’ll suffocate!”
“Don’t think about it.”
“Will you stop saying that! How can I not think about it with that great humped beast hanging over our heads? What am I supposed to think about?”
“Try thinking about this.” I ground my body against hers by way of taking her mind off the camel.
The sand shifted slightly, and I was engulfed in the warmth of Naomi’s thighs opening to my prodding. Her hand closed over the back of my hand and pressed it to the naked breast inside her blouse. I kissed her and she closed her eyes. Our tingling tongues blotted out the ominous presence of the camel above us.
I maneuvered my other hand down the length of her body. It located the belt to the pants. she was wearing, opened it, unzippered the pants and pushed them slowly down her thighs. She moaned in my ear as my fingers located the pulsating front of her womanhood. I brushed away some sand and dipped into the downy triangle covering it. The sand ran back over my fingers.
Naomi fumbled at my trousers with both her hands. She succeeded in pulling them down, but a cascade of sand quickly settled over the area she was trying to reach. She dug through it until she’d relocated her target.
“Ouch!” The fist enclosing me was unexpectedly rough and grainy.
“Damn sand!” she panted.
I grunted agreement. With one hand I continued to stroke her warm, moist womanhood. With the other I kept brushing away the encroaching sand. Her hands were busy with me in similar fashion. The camel stood still, but swaying, over us.
Naomi let go. She shifted her body and dug her nails into my buttocks. I clambered over her, pierced a three-inch sand blanket, and finally established contact. Squirming, I firmed the contact, and we began moving with the rhythms of passion.
How can I describe it? It was both exciting and painful. The sand clinging to our organs was both a stimulant and an abrasive to the erogenous zones involved. But the pleasure had a slight edge over the pain, and we galloped onward, oblivious to the scraping the tender skin of our private parts was taking.
“Ahhhhh!” Mutually, we stifled the outcry of our release. Slowly, our bodies relaxed. Immediately, I became aware of the fiery rawness down below.
“Ooohh!” So had Naomi.
It was then that the camel moved. Just a few steps. Forward. He half-kneeled. Squatted? His hind-quarters were directly over our faces.
“Ohmigod!” Naomi exclaimed. “He’s going to-” It was too late. He did. He hadn’t sat on us. He’d shat on us!
Before I could stop her, Naomi screamed. The camel bolted away, half finished. Several Arabs came up on the run as we pulled ourselves up out of the mess of sand and dung. We both clutched our pants at our waists, trying to fasten them, as the Arabs marched us over to where the commander was still sitting at the table with the oil lamp on it.
“Phew!” He greeted us. “Would you mind not standing to windward?”
The Arabs pushed us around to the other side of the table.
“Now, who might you be?” the commander asked, holding a kerchief to his face.
“My name is Steve Victor, and I’m a representative of the Sheikh Ali Khat,” I replied.
“You are? And why, may I ask, is a representative of the Sheikh Ali Khat rolling around in camel dung with a sabra?”
“That’s a long story. But this young lady isn’t a sabra. She’s a member of the Sheikh’s harem.”
“Really?” The commander sniffed. “Well, every sheikh gets his kicks different ways. Still, camel dung . . .”
“That was an accident.”
“If she’s a harem girl, why is she dressed like a sabra?"
“Her clothes were lost in the confusion,” I told him. “You can see for yourself she hasn’t even had time to get these on properly.” I pointed toward where Naomi was clutching the pants to her waist.
“I don’t see why she’s trying to put them on at all. I should think she wouldn’t be able to wait to get out of them and have them fumigated.”
“If you’d be so good as to provide other clothing . . .”