Tangiers Afternoon

Tangiers Afternoon  
 
     They are wrapped in burkas which cover all but their eyes and nose. My eyes intrude on them like a voyeur from a pagan land. I step down the stairs like Zeus descending Olympus. These women dart like little birds back into their nest. They close the window doors to ward off my prying eyes. I feel as though a boudoir of feminine mystery is just beyond my reach. If only I could touch these warbling women with just my fingertips.  
     Suddenly the window opens again. Her face peeks out from paradise with a tongue click beckoning me to taste the hidden heart of her womanhood. I gaze into her eyes and see into the portals of dark fury. She compels me with the spell of her strangeness. And so I fall into her lair. Each blink of her eyes sparks a mountain of wonder in my western soul. She opens a door below and I find myself in a dark room scented by lemon. The sweet aroma engulfs me with citrus lust.  
     We are alone in this temple of womanly delight. She clicks her tongue and says, “I speak English. Are you surprised? Well I was trained to seduce western men. We would take them hostage for ransom. Are you afraid?”  
     “Well I knew there was risk. Your owner might be angry if he caught us here.”  
     “Tsk. tsk. He ordained our trap. He has only one rule. You must make love to me. Through the conjoining of our flesh he finds joy. Why you ask? He likes to hear all the details. How you kissed me. How it felt when you entered my sesame. He is a strange man. But he proclaims it Allah’s will. Who am I to question God?”  
     “And I am obliged to obey?”  
     “If you want to see your freedom again you must. If need be you will be stripped, bound and teased to compliance.”  
     “How do you know I can be coaxed into readiness?”  
     “I have always had this power over men. No man can resist my charms. You are a man. You will do as you’re told.”  
     She reaches out and caresses me with the sensation of wet velvet on my linen cheek.  She unwraps her burka till her charcoal hair falls in waves down her cappuccino hued shoulders. Like a slice of orange she penetrates my mouth with her tangy tongue. Her taste splashes into me like fresh squeezed satsumas. I feel the golden gate of her womanhood welcoming my American cedar into her lover’s garden. She bares my figs and squeezes them into ripened fullness. “Those are my favorite fruits” she exclaims. “God I love my job” she says.  
     I feel the push of her olive press coax out my oil. We bathe in aromatic body lotion. She lays next to me like a Saharan queen pleased with her slave. Her breath blows like a tropic breeze upon my face. The softness of her opulence wraps around my nakedness like a odalisque from heaven.  
     She whispers into my ear. “Go now. Get out before he finds you here. He’ll take you hostage if you don’t leave. Take this vial of perfume with you. I wore it for you here. You’ll remember me when you smell it.”  
     I emerge into the alley. Her scent follows me like a tangerine dream.