Love on the Edge of Time

by Julie A. Richman

  Taking a second to break from kissing, she pulls at her garment to smooth it down, so that it again covers her appropriately. Now with both our garments between us, I breathe slightly easier that we will be able to exhibit some sort of control.

  With her lips hovering just above mine, I weave my fingers through her long wavy hair and pull her in for a deep kiss. Slightly lifting her body, she repositions herself on me, the tip of my erection poking at her sex.

  “No, Rachel,” I begin to protest, but she silences me with her lips and begins a slow motion of rocking, making my hardness feel like it was in the soft embrace of her sex’s outer lips. Back and forth she moves on me, the linen of our undergarments rubbing us both into a frenzy. I ache to press myself into her, but don’t, and just let her continue to stroke me with the motion.

  “David,” she calls my name.

  “Rachel,” I whisper back.

  “Mmm, David.”

  Her guttural sound is almost enough to make me lose control, which I am fighting hard not to do, and failing miserably. Moving both my hands to her bottom, I stop her motion and press her down onto me, knowing my hardness is now pressing exactly where it needs to be to give her release.

  “I wish you were inside me,” her voice is quivering.

  Totally killing me with her words, for I ache to pull away the linen barrier between us, and drive up into her hard as I fill her. Again and again and again.

  Holding her to me tightly, I gently moved my hips, showing her what she was doing to me as I rub slowly on the outside of her sex. The sounds she makes in time with my movements are music, creating our unique story and urging me on to the next verse, so that I can be treated to more of our melody.

  “This feels so good.” Her face is buried in the crook of my neck.

  “Mmm-hmm,” is all I can say as I focus on what I am doing to her and to myself.

  “Will you please let me feel you a little bit?” she asks, breathlessly. And I know just what she is asking of me.

  Moving my hands from her bottom to the tops of her thighs, I spread her legs and I am rewarded with a gasp that makes me even harder. I then shift her, so the crown of my shaft is positioned on my side of my linen garment to enter her, pushing both garments inward. At first, I just rub gently on the outside, round and round at her opening, until she moans and quivers. Holding her down tightly on me, I raise my hips slightly until I feel her opening’s edge surrounding the top of my tip.

  “David…” She is shaking.

  With my lips at her forehead, I ask, “Do you want me to stop?”

  Almost violently, she shakes her head. “No. No. No.”

  Any more pressure and a portion of the crown will be just inside her. I know I should stop. To defile her is not right and not righteous and I cannot come to terms as to why it feels so right. With her.

  As if reading my thoughts, “David, I know you want to stop because you do not want me to be an outcast. But I am already an outcast. You and Daniel and your friends are the only people I have felt comfortable with in as long as I can remember. What we are doing will not hurt me.”

  Holding her in place, because I am not ready to release the feeling that is binding us, I look up at her. “Rachel, I never want to hurt you. I’d rather hurt myself than hurt you.”

  “Then let me make this decision.”

  And as she presses herself down on me, I can feel her heat surrounding the top half of the crown. I let it remain there a moment, before pulling away and entering again. I don’t go deeper, somehow convincing myself that just the tip of the head with two linen garments in the way isn’t really violating her.

  Pulling out again to hear her yearning sound for me, I once again press up, the fabric now wet. As I slip in, Rachel presses down, taking in the entire head and letting out a sensual moan. My entire crown can now feel her glorious heat and I ache for more.

  “The linen is chafing me, David.”

  “We can’t, Rachel.”

  “We already have, David. You have been inside me.” She lifts herself, slipping me out of her with the motion and immediately making me ache to be surrounded by her again, craving the warmth. Even if it is only a small portion of me.

  Moving her undergarment and mine out of the way, she then lowers herself back down to my body, repeating the motion she had begun with, placing me between her sex’s outer lips and moving back and forth, stroking both the length of me and herself. Without the garments, the warmth and wetness coats me as she slides effortlessly and the friction between us escalates.

  Roughly grabbing her hips, I stop her movement. “Rachel, this is as far as we go, for it is already too far.” I am finally beginning to gain clarity.

  “No. No.” Shaking her head, her long hair coats my chest in a swirling motion that creates a storm which we are not weathering well.

  Moving her back toward the base of my shaft and away from the offending head, I again press her down as hard as I can, knowing what the pressure will do to her already swollen sex, and hopefully causing this madness to stop. It takes only a few seconds before she begins to quake on top of me. Sliding my hands up from her hips to her waist and then her back, I don’t let up on the pressure until she quiets and then I pull her down to my chest, hug her to me and softly kiss the top of her head.

  We remain wordless, and in that moment, as the heady rush clears and my blood slows down, I am ashamed.

  “Did you stop because I look like a monster?” her voice is choked.

  “No. I stopped because it is my job to protect you. And I failed. And now you need protection from me.”

  “That is not true,” she protests. “You did not hurt me.”

  What she doesn’t see is that I did. I violated her in multiple ways. My actions were selfish and weak, and in the darkness of this small room, I fill the space with self-loathing. I am appalled.

  But what I am most ashamed of is that I am fighting every inclination I possess not to flip her onto her back, at this very moment, and plunge into her deeply. For my pleasure, and my pleasure alone. I ache to pump her and fill her and leave her dripping of my seed. Again. And again. And again.

  Sleep cannot come soon enough and I pray for salvation in the morning’s light when we will resume our travels.

  ••••••

  Jericho brings for us a similar experience to Jerusalem.

  “David, you are so well-known and so loved. Your ministry must be quite a bit larger than you let on. Everyone knows you.”

  “It has grown over the past two years,” I admit.

  “And these women, the way they all look at you, even the married ones.”

  “How do they look at me?” I ask, laughing.

  “They look at you like I feel.”

  “You feel the way you feel because I have been kind to you and I’m going to help you heal,” I explain as we journey from Jericho to Qumran.

  Smiling, she doesn’t say anything, which is unusual for Rachel, I have discovered. Eventually she asks, “Why don’t you heal me?”

  “I am a mere rabbi, not a healer. That is not a gift I possess. Some do, but I am not one of them. But I am bringing you to people who can heal you. That is my role here.”

  Smiling again, she does not speak.

  “What are you smiling at?” I ask, amused by her happy look.

  “Don’t you see you have healed me. Maybe not my skin, but my spirit. You have brought hope and love and acceptance and that has healed me.”

  I yearn to take this beautiful young woman in my arms and hold her to my chest. She knows what a fraud I am, trying to conceal the depths of my attraction and my feelings for her. I have lain with many women and had many others make their intentions for my affections known, but there never has been another Rachel. With her questioning, her spirit and her bravery, I am as captivated by her internal beauty as by her external. She has stirred in me a need I did not know existed, the need to not only share my life with God, but with a woman I can make my wife
and the mother of my offspring. But I have kept her at arm’s length the past few days, knowing I must do what is right for her.

  It is a full day out of Jericho before we reach our destination at Qumran. Entering the central meeting place at the community hall, I can feel Rachel’s tension.

  As we wait for Mendel, an elder healer, to join us, I try and calm her. “The members of this yahad, this community, are very pacifistic. They serve one another and believe in a communal lifestyle. Their life is very simple and guided by both prayer and the work to transcribe scripture. It is just a short walk from the salt sea, Lake Asphaltitus.”

  Dressed in the white robes of this sect, Mendel enters the room and it is impossible not to feel the power of his energy.

  “David ben Abraham, it is good to see you.” He acknowledges Rachel with a nod of his head.

  “My old friend, it is a blessing that we meet again. I have brought another friend, Rachel, to you, who is in need of your healing. I pray that you can help her and restore her to good health.” I indicate for Rachel to come stand by me. “I’m going to show the healer now.” And I asked her to remove her outer garment and push up her sleeves. Lifting the hem of her garment, she exposes the lesions on her legs. As I watch her face, it is clear to see her confidence wane. This disease has taken its toll on her spirit and I hurt watching her.

  Mendel slowly circles Rachel, mindfully taking in the disturbances on her skin. Gesturing for me to follow him out of earshot, his prognosis is positive. He feels that he can help, but Rachel has to commit to stay with them for a month. He explains she will partake in a regimen that includes daily immersion in rain waters that they have stored in tanks. Once cleansed in the rain water, she will next be covered in mud and minerals and lie on white rock in what is known as the solarium, while the mixture completely dries. From there she will walk to the sea to scrub the mud and minerals from her body and float in the sea for an hour and then she will go back to the solarium for the remainder of the afternoon, lying naked on the white rocks until the sun falls behind the boulders’ peaks.

  At night, she will join the community for cooking, serving and eating. As they do not permit animal sacrifices, her meals will consist of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and grains. After that, there is time set aside for meditation. He ends by telling me he feels certain he can cure her. I am elated by his words and excited to share what I have learned with Rachel.

  Sharing the good news, I walk her through the regimen Mendel has described. “You need to remain here for a month.” Was the last of the information I share.

  “You are leaving me?” For the first time since we’ve met, her eyes fill with tears.

  I nod. “In the morning. I will help get you settled tonight.”

  This doesn’t seem to lessen her discomfort.

  “It will go by fast,” I promise.

  “You will come for me?” the fear in her voice is palpable.

  “Always, and without hesitation,” I promise, unconsciously reaching out for a lock of her hair and allowing it to slip through my fingers.

  Before being sent to separate sleeping quarters on opposite sides of the compound, I am able to get her alone for a moment, away from other members of the yahad.

  “I will be back for you,” I promise and lean forward to place a soft kiss on her lips. Her eyes are wide with questions it is not yet time to answer. “I will be back.”

  I understand her fear only too well. With Judea being under the rule of Tiberius Julius Alexander, it is a time marked by tumult, with tomorrows that are never certain. I know this and it hangs over me like a storm cloud ready to strike. Before I left both Jerusalem and Jericho, I gave specific directions to trusted members of my ministry that if something were to happen to me, make sure someone went to Qumran to retrieve Rachel and to bring her straightaway to Daniel, where I know she will be looked after.

  I feel a deep responsibility to protect this beautiful young woman and ensure she remains safe, whether I can personally provide that for her or not. Plans were in place if the latter were to become my reality.

  ••••••

  The month without her by my side proves to be much more challenging than I had anticipated. My thoughts are almost obsessive during our separation as I think not only about that night together, but of the deep conversations we had as we traveled, discussing the nature of man and God, good and evil. I shared with her my beliefs and how they had been shaped, mostly through scripture, and she challenged me with thought-provoking questions that I knew were born of her experiences as an outcast. While I built a life that had been inclusive and created community, Rachel’s experiences were those of exclusion, of being judged and sentenced for what was beyond her control.

  Rachel has proven to be much more than a beautiful young woman in need of healing and it is during this month apart that I realize she has brought me as many, if not more, answers than I have provided for her. I brought her to be healed, but her constant questioning of me made me look at places deep within myself, to study where scripture ends and humanity begins.

  “Women have always been attracted to you, David. But what I have never seen before is your heart open in more than what is just an empathetic or physical way. This time appears to be different.” Daniel knows me better than anyone.

  “I have never felt like this, Daniel. The time I have spent without her by my side is interminable. So many days I’ve woken and thought, I’m just going to go there to be with her. But I know that is not what is best. She needs to heal on her own. It will be a reawakening of her spirit and from there she must make her own choices.”

  “Do you really think her choices will not include you?” He absentmindedly strokes the fur on the wolf at his feet. Rachel’s wolf. We have concluded that the animal must have been lost from his pack at a very young age and raised by humans. While very protective of his human pack, he is gentle and nurturing and reads the moods of the people who care for him.

  “I don’t know how she’ll feel on the other side of this. She may choose to go home to her family and have her father arrange a marriage. I try to remain hopeful that will not be the case.”

  Quietly, Daniel sits there looking at me, appearing so wise in his brocade silk robe. I can tell from his eyes he has something important to say to me. With a direct look, he finally speaks. “Rachel will be by your side the rest of your days, David. You have found one another and I look forward to blessing your union.”

  As the days go on, it feels as if our time in Jerusalem is becoming more precarious as a shifting wind prevails. Members of our congregation and others we know have been harassed with more frequency by Tiberius Julius Alexander’s guard. There are never charges that stick, but beatings and jail time are becoming the norm. I stay out of sight as much as I can while I’m here, knowing I need to get to Qumran to retrieve Rachel.

  “Let me come with you,” Daniel offers.

  “No. I need you here. Our congregation needs you here.” Daniel would be leading all prayer in my absence. “I will be back after I take Rachel to Anathoth, to her family.”

  “May God be with you,” my old friend blesses me as I begin my journey.

  Not ten minutes into the journey, I am accosted by Cassius Petronius and his men. My face hits a stone wall before I even know they are upon me. As jagged edges rip the skin beneath my right eye, I have but one thought. None of my people are aware this is happening. There’s no one to retrieve Rachel. She’ll think I’ve deserted her.

  As they drag me off, I know I will be incarcerated, and my best approach is to remain totally pacifistic and not fight them, as that will hopefully result in less jail time.

  For two days and two nights I sit in a cell that feels like being trapped in a filthy stone box. As the hours slowly pass, I pray for many things and many people. I pray for my flock, that they may all remain safe and free to worship as they choose. I pray for Rachel, that she maintains the faith in her heart to know that I am coming for her. I pray for Tibe
rius Julius Alexander, born a Jew in Alexandria, the son of wealthy merchants who had contributed the gold and silver for the gates of Herod’s second temple here in Jerusalem. I pray that although he turned his back on his ancestral faith, that he will not terrorize and enslave the people who chose to remain Jews. And selfishly, I pray for myself for a speedy release. I need to get to Rachel.

  On the third day, my prayers are answered.

  My first inclination is to go back to where Daniel is staying, bathe the filth off me, change clothes, and have my wounds attended. But something tells me better. I need to leave Jerusalem. Immediately. I will find help and all I need along the way, of that I am sure. God will guide me safely.

  Traveling alone, I cover more ground quickly, attempting to make up lost time. I keep wondering if I will see Rachel on the road coming toward me, if she has left Qumran on her own and I search the faces of all the pilgrims who pass looking for a set of dark almond-shaped eyes. I know if we encountered one another, she will know I was on my way coming to get her.

  Arriving in Qumran, I silently pray she is still there. And safe. That somehow, she knew, that she could feel me, knowing I’d been detained and that I would still come, as promised.

  I wait in the great hall for Mendel, watching the white-robed inhabitants as they tend to their business in silence. Everything feels like it has its own flow, in harmony with nature. There is such a peacefulness to the community and I pray that it has provided Rachel with acceptance and solace.

  Entering from across the long haul, Mendel greets me with a concerned look. My first inclination is to fear for Rachel, but that quickly abates when he speaks.

  “David, my friend, you have been injured. We need to get that attended.”

  Without even addressing his concern, “Mendel, how is Rachel?”