Motti by Asaf Schurr Read Free Book Online

watch the passing cars. And talk about life. She’ll say, it’s funny how we were neighbors once, and I looked at you like that on the stairs, and he’ll say, funny, right. And then he’ll be quiet for a moment, and say, you know, I already had a feeling back then that one day we’d be together. She’ll laugh. What, really? And he’ll say, of course. She’ll laugh again, and then she’ll understand that he meant it seriously, she’ll smile and hug him. So they’ll sit another moment in silence, and then she’ll tremble. Are you cold (he’ll ask)? And she’ll just nod. They’ll get inside the car. And she, as if unintentionally, will reach her right hand out to his pants. And free him (his member, I mean) from there. His breath will immediately halt, and then he’ll expel the air with a loud, heavy sigh. And she’ll take off her pants, take off her underwear too, and sit down on him slowly. By the wandering glow of the lights on the car’s ceiling, on its seats, on their bodies, on her face that will be raised up with eyes closed, on her hair that will be spread out like a curtain over his likewise closed eyes, on her breasts that will be freed from her shirt whose buttons will be undone, on his tongue, on the hands that will embrace, on the mouths that will open, the tongues that will reach places you couldn’t fathom, the hungry fingers, the body rising and falling, the air that will escape through lips wide open, the moan, the moans, the moan.
    Never had he come like that. Only that one time: as if a herd of horses were racing down his whole body, thundering the length of the arms and legs, a thousand manes wild in the wind, everything throbbing in his stomach and the tips of his fingers, and all the mighty horses galloping down the full length of his body as if he’s a vast plain with grass that bends blithely in the wind, all of them galloping until they exit from him in a single, sustained rumble. And the breath is caught in his throat, almost shrieking. As if his soul is only barely kept inside. As if it had already started leaving, most of it already out, and only the tip of its tail caught on something, and then all of it gets pulled back inside again, a second wave of pleasure that will be almost too great to contain.
    Â 
    Or they’ll arrive at the inn. Like an experienced, seasoned married couple they will unpack their bags, they’ll place their folded clothes properly in the closets, put on water for coffee, consider what to eat that evening.
    And they’ll return excited from dinner, the two of them will already know what’s about to happen for the first time. He’ll wait in their shared bed and look at the light leaking from the milky glass of the bathroom window, what is she doing in there for so long, and then she’ll come out in a nightgown that will spill like water over her body (which will be naked under it, I mean under the nightgown), and she’ll get into bed. There will be absolute darkness, outside just crickets and a distant jackal, and like the jackal he too will only want to howl, to let out everything rising inside him after so many years of waiting. Her fingers will caress his face, afterward his chest, afterward further down than this. And then, when he can’t get it up, she’ll take it in her hand (I mean his sexual organ) like a baby chick and breathe on it to arouse him. Years he waited, it’s understandable that now he’s too excited. They’ll lie in bed, and she’ll smile at him that way for the first time, and his two hands will spread her legs which perhaps will still be a little chubby, behind her knees will be drops of warm perspiration, and then he’ll enter her slowly and sweetly, and this is how they’ll do it, she’ll hug him and be happy even though maybe he’ll finish too quickly, because what difference does it make, an entire lifetime