That is why she became his.
Amelia’s back arched, and she presented her lips for his consumption. She felt his rough hands on her robe, unfastening it, opening it up. He did not remove the mask yet. Amelia’s head whirled in conscious surrender.
The robe came open, and he removed it from Amelia’s body. He unfastened the sash around her breasts. She felt an explosive freedom. He had considerable trouble with her cotton slacks and shirt, as if he had never seen such garments before. But Amelia did not assist him. She lay passive, allowing him to take rather than giving herself to him, not wanting to break the spell of freedom that her inaction offered.
The pants and shirt joined the robe on the floor. Then her undergarments.
The smell of sandalwood filled her nostrils.
She moaned softly as she felt the man’s hands on her breasts. His caress was strong, insistent, but there was an underlying gentleness, as if she were a profoundly important person, but belonged wholly to him. Amelia was still blind, but her mouth was exposed and he kissed her briefly before disrobing himself. Then he lay upon her, his naked form against her, as she presented herself for him. With his hands and his mouth and his body, he took her. He possessed each part of her body with sensuous fervor, starting with her breasts, continuing to her mouth, slowly working over her belly and back, then gently entering her with his fingers. Amelia remained passive, delighting in the sensation as his fingers slid smoothly into her. It was after that that he pulled her body against his. He guided her mouth to his shaft and, giving herself fully, her eyes still shrouded, enveloped by darkness, Amelia began to feed.
This was a transgression against her social code, but somehow its context was different than her other desired transgressions. Inexplicably, she pictured herself smoking in a bathroom somewhere; then the momentary image faded. The man guided Amelia onto her back, coaxing her legs open. She knew that the time had come. He laid himself fully on her, and she felt a sharp pain as he penetrated her. It had indeed been a very long time; she suddenly remembered the last time she had made love – it was in a hotel in Algiers with a man named Jean; then that memory dissolved and she only knew that she was making love now. A curious wave of fear went through her as she felt him settle down on top of her. Then her fear dissolved like the memory.
His lovemaking was gradual, as if he sensed that she had been slightly afraid. But Amelia’s passivity gave way as his slow thrusting grew more deliberate. She pressed her thighs together around his body, feeling an astonishing sense of well-being. Perhaps it was that sense of well-being that caused the curious shaking in her belly and thighs. She began to moan, and it felt like she was having some sort of attack. But it felt curiously good. The curious feeling grew stronger and stronger, the pleasure blotting out all else. Her buttocks pressed against the mat as he made love to her, thrusting deep inside; then she lost all control of her body and it seemed that she passed into a world of sensation, her skin tingling. She felt a sudden shock of guilt and shame, which then dissolved to an oddly satisfied feeling. It was not unlike being extraordinarily drunk, as she could just barely remember having been once or twice, but the newness of the sensation fascinated her. After a time, she lost the feeling – it slipped away through her fingers like grains of sand scattering about her. When she did, she was aware that the man had finished inside her and was kissing her neck hungrily. He seemed very pleased.
The sensation had been unpredictable – like nothing she had ever heard about. As if she had passed into a new realm of the spirit. Perhaps she was dead, and this was Heaven. Or Hell?
Definitely Hell, she thought, caressing his back as he kissed her, hard, nipping her lip so that she tasted blood with a frightened thrill.
The sensation returned to her, briefly, in a gentle spasm inside her. It was most certainly a horrible transgression against the laws of her tribe. But she no longer remembered what those laws were, or who had made them.
Abdelsaid was unwilling to let them do it, at first. He had told his three wives that they were to provide the French visitor, Monsieur Breton, with food, to ensure that he was properly taken care of, and see to his physical needs if he would allow them to do so. They had offered, but each time the Frenchman had refused.
“You see,” Abdelsaid told them. “As I told you. They have many of them in France. They fill the streets there, I heard it from the man who tends the camels. It is no surprise. Why not let me have my peace with him?” Abdelsaid smiled mischievously.
The three wives were like snakes, though, always possessive. Always acquisitive. The Frenchman had seemed so eager at first, they said. All three reported the same experience. He desperately sought their lips, their breasts, their bodies, wanting to touch them. But he had refused when they offered to provide for him.
“Monsieur Breton wants me to provide,” said Abdelsaid angrily. “That is their way. Why else would there be such a thriving French market in the Black Lily, that would allow us to live with such finery?”
But his wives were insistent. “The Frenchman expressed such interest! Allow one of us to be present, in case such needs arise!”
“No! I forbid it!”
The voices of his three wives rose in cacophony, like a terrifying anti-song, something from Europe played on one of those portable boxes. Something horrible. Abdelsaid finally gave in, having known from the start that it was hopeless.
Abdelsaid was a stern man. But he could not stop the wind, nor hold the sun at one place in the sky.
Amelia continued to drift in and out of consciousness, floating in the curious pleasure of a life without memories. There was nothing before the man. Nothing before the harem. Nothing but the sensations of the sun streaming through the high window, the taste of the food the women brought, the sensations of Abdelsaid taking her. She knew only surrender.
Abdelsaid. He had wanted so much to know her name. She had known that from the way he had spoken to her, in Arabic, caressing her ear with his tongue. The way he had pointed to himself and said firmly, “Abdelsaid”.
She had wanted very much to tell him her name, as well. She felt for a moment that something was there, that there was a place where she had had a name, that she had once been named. Perhaps she had known her name just yesterday, or only a minute ago. But it slipped away like it was nothing, and she just looked sheepishly up at Abdelsaid, wishing he would kiss her and caress her and enter her and make love to her once again. Abdelsaid waited patiently for the woman to tell him her name. But she did not. It was as if she did not know. He pointed at her and said over and over again, “French?” Amelia looked at him blankly, feeling that she did not know what the word meant. Finally she nodded and said “French,” pointing to herself. Abdelsaid shrugged and seemed to accept that.
He spoke for a time to her in the language she did not understand. The language was soothing, seductive, and she found that it was not important that she understand him. Her head came to rest in his lap and he stroked her hair gently while he spoke to her, his voice a rhythmic caress as if he were reciting poetry. She fell asleep with her head in Abdelsaid’s lap, and soon he left her.