Riding Lies

by Eshkar Erblich-Brifman

  He kisses the length of her neck and then he pulls her shirt open, tearing off two buttons, but she doesn’t care. Her small, pert breasts are exposed and he takes them in his hands and puts one to his mouth. An uncontrollable sigh escapes her lips. She feels good and right and hot and she wants it to be like this always.

  And then he pulls down her pants and her damp cotton panties, bends down and penetrates her with his tongue. She groans, biting her lips, trying not to scream. What would the neighbors say? But she can’t control herself and her breath becomes rhythmic, turns into loud sharp moans, faster, more rapid, more, more, she can’t control herself and the release that comes a few minutes later is more intense than she has ever felt.

  She is still pulsating between her legs when he moves his face away and looks straight into her green eyes. Warm, sticky liquid is running down her thighs. She touches it. What is that? It can’t be his, he hasn’t come yet.

  “Was that good?” he kisses her neck and she just swallows. “I’m soaking wet,” she says, embarrassed.

  “Remember when I asked you when you last had a real orgasm?” he smiles and touches his forehead to hers. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

  She doesn’t know what to say, all she knows is that she’s wetter than she’s ever been.

  “What about you?” he asks, reaching into his boxer shorts. His penis is still hard and wet. Will she let him penetrate her? What does she know about him? Maybe he has AIDS, or chlamydia, or who the heck knows what.

  “I don’t need much,” he smiles, “what you’re doing is perfect…”

  She continues to rub him, and from the corner of her eye, she judges the size of his erection. It’s most impressive, as she expected. He gasps and groans, closes his eyes and surrenders to her hands. Moments later he ejects his warm, yellowish cum into her hand.

  She leans back against the counter and feels a thin stream of sweat rolling down her neck, along her spine, and draining into the delicate curve of her tailbone. He kisses her chest, right on the collarbone, and hands her a wet wipe. She giggles and wipes the sticky liquid off her hands and then looks up at the cracked kitchen ceiling. She wonders if it’s a result of the earthquake her body just experienced.

  At home she’s quiet, self-absorbed, almost like normal. She wonders if anyone will notice the change, if she still smells of sex. Will Hanan detect something different in her? As it turns out, nobody notices. She is still invisible.

  ***

  Uri comes home for the weekend, now an exhausted and dusty soldier in uniform. His backpack is filthy and he has an M16 hanging off his shoulder. She has a weapon, in her home. Isn’t it dangerous? she asks after she hugs and then releases him. He smiles wearily. Dangerous, sure it’s dangerous, but that’s the way it is. He keeps the magazine separate, so she has nothing to worry about, certainly not about those kinds of things. She squeezes his cheeks, her baby.

  She’ll pamper him, cook his favorite meals, wash his uniforms and unpack his backpack for him. He’ll be a king this weekend. It’s so good to have him back.

  But all Uri wants is to sleep, and just a small bite to eat, nothing else. What’s in the fridge? Not much, she has to admit, she didn’t know he’d be released today. He didn’t let them know. It’s okay, he’s not angry, not disappointed, just glad to be home.

  She puts his uniforms in the washer. How weird, all this strange khaki invading her home. Should she wash the new beret too? Probably not. Wait a minute, isn’t he supposed to shave it or something weird that the boys do? She laughs and runs her hand over the felt. Her son is an IDF soldier. It’s just crazy.

  In the evening, she nibbles on toast and drinks tea while sitting in front of the flickering computer screen. She has report after report to deal with, and there’s no end in sight. She wants to hear about Uri’s experiences but he’s too exhausted and promises to tell her everything tomorrow.

  Hanan is also focused on a screen. He’s watching a basketball game, with Uri and Ben, a bowl of nuts, a bottle of sparkling drink and a packet of dry, over-salted chips. Pizza is on the way.

  She studies them from the corner of her eye, and then she smiles. How wonderful it is to see the three men of her life together. She’s glad they have something in common, unlike her. She is their mother and only their mother. They went their own ways when they were about ten years old. She wonders if that’s the way it is with all the boys. She has no idea. In any case she didn’t know what else she could do, how to close that distance and prevent it from becoming too wide to bridge.

  She finds the sound of the doorbell ringing grating. The pizza must have arrived. The men are totally engrossed in the game, and it doesn’t look like they’re planning to go to the door. She stops herself from getting up and calls out: “The door! Pizza! Someone!”

  Ben shakes himself away from the screen and gets up. “I’m taking money from your wallet,” he informs her and drags himself off to open the door.

  She doesn’t respond. It wasn’t a question. Will they remember to leave her a slice this time?

  ***

  She lies on her back, trying to catch her breath. He’s beside her, his legs apart, his limp penis dangling between his legs. The smell of cum is still hanging in the air and a thick yellowish stain is slowly seeping into the sheet.

  He turns on his side, looks into her eyes and strokes her cropped hair. The rain is beating at his bedroom window. Despite the early hour, it’s already dark outside. Damn this never-ending winter.

  “Koby,” she asks somberly, “You’ve done all the tests, right? I’m risking not only myself here, you know.”

  “Yes, of course,” he assures her with a kiss, “I’m not that irresponsible.”

  “I’m not so sure,” she tilts her head, “besides, I don’t understand why you won’t use a condom.”

  “I can’t stand how it feels,” he says, “and who better than you should understand…why don’t you wear a bra?”

  She smiles. Undoubtedly there is something to what he’s saying.

  “If you had daughters, would you buy them bras or advise them to go without?”

  She bursts out laughing. Where did that come from? “I don’t know,” she says slowly, trying to decide, “I guess that depends on the size of their hypothetical breasts…and anyway, luckily I only have sons…and if we’re talking: Won’t you teach your boys to use a condom only because you can’t stand how it feels? You have two boys, if I’m not mistaken…”

  “Say,” he changes the subject, “how come you never ask about my children?”

  She sits up, surprised, “Are your women always interested in your children?” she snorts.

  He smiles and doesn’t answer. “Aren’t you curious?”

  “Not really,” she answers dryly, “and you told me about them once. What else is there to know?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “Weirdo…” he mutters and kisses her.

  “I also don’t tell you much about my own,” she adds, “I’m just not that way inclined. I never have been.”

  “Basically, this is a strange conversation for the bedroom, don’t you think?” he asks and kisses her again.

  “You started it!” she laughs and curls the nape of her neck.

  He nods and kisses her neck, rubbing himself against her exposed legs, which she made sure earlier to shave well. “Do you want a second round?” he whispers in her ear.

  She giggles, “I’m not sure I can handle it,” she hesitates.

  “Want to bet?” he asks.

  She feels him getting hard again. How much stamina does he have? You’d think he was eighteen.

  Thunder rattles the window pane while he’s inside her, riding her, his hips moving rhythmically, fast.

  She grunts uncontrollably, finally letting go of all thought, allowing herself to be free, unrestrained, uninhibited, competing with the thund
ering storm above her, her arms outstretched, allowing him to do whatever he wants with her, just don’t let him stop.

  ***

  She walks around the Mahane Yehuda market, taking in the hints of spring. It’s not quite there yet but almost. The rain has just about stopped and blossoms are starting to crown the trees. The sun’s rays are stroking her short hair. The market is cheerful and vibrant. She’s not used to it. She usually does her shopping at the grocery store.

  She buys vegetables. Uri is coming home for the weekend and he asked for a thick, rich soup with vegetables and couscous. Two new friends he made in basic training, of Moroccan origin, don’t stop talking about it, and about their homes full of food waiting for them on the weekend. Now he’s craving homemade, Moroccan food. She chooses a good cauliflower, parsnip, and asks for a small piece of pumpkin, asking if it’s fresh.

  She’s not used to dealing with so much noise and tumult, and she doesn’t like it. The sellers are shouting their prices, and it’s irritating her. She also prefers not to be blown up or stabbed, if possible, and she tries not to think about the last bomb that went off there. Perhaps that’s why she rarely comes to the market. The grocery store is safer.

  While she’s choosing carrots, her phone buzzes. Her hands are full, but when she takes out her wallet to pay for the carrots, she checks the screen. There are two messages. “How about coming over?” is the first.

  The second is a message for the riding group: “Who’s coming on Friday and can give me a ride? I’m stuck without a car.”

  She can’t take anyone. She’s not planning to go this week. Uri is coming home and that’s much more important.

  “Lady,” the seller hands her the change, and she shakes herself. She turns off her phone, picks up the bags and hurries toward the car.

  She leaves the carrots, cauliflower, onions, pumpkin and parsnip in the car and rushes up the stairs. She doesn’t have to run, she knows, as it is she’s being pathetic, responding to every call, not missing an opportunity. An opportunity for what? For momentary gratification? To hurt Hanan, her man, the father of her children? What is she doing here? She has to end this and quick. She’s not in love. He’s not in love. There’s nothing here but physical pleasure and curiosity. And she can carry on living without it, just as she did until not long ago, until she rediscovered her body, until she reached heights that she never imagined existed. She enjoys it but that’s not everything in life. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

  Again, she finds herself uninhibited, on the kitchen counter with her legs splayed, on old cake crumbs beside dirty dishes. He penetrates her forcefully, not stopping for a moment, not allowing her to move. She bites her lip and grunts. Maybe tomorrow she’ll tell him it’s over. Maybe tomorrow.

  Only after she gets off the counter, she notices the cake crumbs. “Is that Anat’s banana cake?” she asks and bursts out laughing.

  He nods and laughs along with her. “You see,” he says, “it’s almost like having a threesome…”

  She laughs harder. She’s still naked, in the small kitchen, playing with his nipples and kissing them lightly. “Oh boy, wouldn’t you love Anat to join us!” she blurts out and giggles mischievously.

  His drooping penis begins to rise. “Have you ever had a ménage à trois?”

  She shakes her head, “But I’ve always wanted to try,” she says with a curious smile.

  “It’s a crazy experience,” he tells her, speaking like someone who has, “a spiritual experience if you ask me.”

  She continues smiling but says nothing. She’s never spoken to anyone about it. Hanan has never asked her if she wants to try new things. Just the thought of it embarrasses her. With Koby, however, there is something so natural, so free, it feels like anything is possible. She can allow herself to be whoever she wants to be, without being judged. She finds it liberating. She doesn’t have to hide things all the time or to put on an act. He never criticizes what she says.

  “So…should I invite Anat to join us?” he winks and moves down, kissing her bellybutton. “I see you’ve really hit it off.”

  “Yes, she’s a sweetie.” Her heart rate is rising. “Koby, I have to go,” she tries to stop him from starting again, “I have vegetables in the car…”

  “And are you worried about them?” he asks and penetrates her with his finger. She closes her eyes and tries to control herself.

  “No Koby,” she pants, “I really do have to go.”

  She forces herself to pull his wet finger out of her, gives him a peck on the lips and gets dressed.

  ***

  “Maybe I’ll come with you,” she suggests as she stuffs rice noodles into her mouth, splashing brown soy sauce all over.

  “Come,” he says, sipping his soda, “it’ll be great. Are you fit enough to do all the trails with me? I’m going to be riding all day…”

  “If I join you, you can ride through the night too,” she gives him a mischievous look and continues to splash brown sauce around.

  “I like your way of thinking,” he says, “I don’t know yet where we’ll sleep, but we’ll manage.”

  “I have a coupon from work,” she crooked her head to one side with a triumphant smile, “They gave them to us almost a year ago and we haven’t used it. A night at a B&B, with quite a long list of options.”

  “You’re the greatest! Now I’m definitely taking you!” he grins and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “What will you tell Hanan?” he asks.

  She shrugs. “Maybe that I’m going with a girlfriend. I’ll see. So where are we going?”

  “To the Besor region,” he answers, his eyes lighting up, “I don’t know if the flowers are blooming yet, but by the time we go with the group, it’ll be stunning.”

  “When is it?” she asks.

  “On the first day of the Passover week,” he replies and asks if she’ll come.

  She says of course, and her heart contracts at the thought of Passover. She cannot stand that holiday. She cannot stand any of the holidays. And they’ll probably spend it with Hanan’s family again. Either at the kibbutz or with his parents. There’s no telling. And again, she’ll feel like an orphan. And again, she’ll be thinking about her mother. She hopes that Uri can be with them. She can’t imagine the Seder without him. If someone can promise her that he’ll be there, she’s prepared to suffer through the tedious Seder dinner in silence.

  “Who else is going?” she asks, and Koby says he hasn’t announced the trip yet. He’ll do so soon.

  “I hope Anat comes,” she says, whether to herself or to him.

  “For our threesome?” he jokes and she notices a hint of his dimples.

  “Idiot,” she says and tosses a napkin at him.

  He raises his hands in surrender and laughs, “Well then, where is this list of B&Bs of yours?” he asks and she promises to check at home and to book them a room for the night.

  The thought of it makes her heart leap. Maybe this is what they call happiness, or just excitement. Either way, she knows she’s doing Hanan an injustice. She knows that he doesn’t deserve it. But perhaps she does, and perhaps it’ll be the last time. She did promise herself that she’d stop with this nonsense. It may be right for Koby but it’s not for her. She is too moral to live this kind of life, even if she’s carrying the gene, even if her mother died. She can’t justify her behavior. She may have lost her way a little, looked down a few unfamiliar paths, but she’ll find her way back, for sure. There is nothing to worry about. After all, she almost never worries.

  ***

  She fights for two days off work without giving it a second thought. For years now, she hasn’t taken a vacation and the days are adding up, and she deserves it. Her boss is not happy, but then, she never is. She told Hanan that she’s spending the night with Anat. He was a little surprised but made no objection. It’s not like he needs her or something
. He’ll manage fine and it’ll pass quickly. It’s only one night. Yes, she’s taking her bike with. And he has nothing to worry about, they’ll only do organized trails.

  She’s picking him up from his place at seven in the morning. They’re taking Hanan’s car It’s new, safer, more reliable, and his work pays for his fuel. Hanan agreed, of course, and swapped cars with her for two days. Instead of his executive car, he takes her compact car.

  She waits for him outside. As always, he’s not ready on time. Eventually he comes downstairs, cheerful and smiling. He has his bicycle and two dark carrier bags with him. She opens the trunk as gets out. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and compliments her on her clothes. She looks at herself. She’s wearing riding pants and a tight black sweat-wicking shirt. What’s so special?

  He puts his bags in the car, hangs his bike next to hers on the double carrier and they set off. She turns on the GPS and asks him what to enter. For a brief moment he hesitates, then chooses one of the trails a distance away from where they’re staying. She enters the destination and the GPS calculates the route. They have a two-hour drive ahead.

  She parks at Tse’elim Junction by the side of the dirt road, covering the car with a layer of white dust. It’s the middle of the week. There’s not a single other car in sight. He lowers the two bikes, they get organized quickly and begin the trail, with small backpacks for water and health snacks. She rides behind him. He’s chosen a nice circular single trail. They ride along the Besor Stream, swirls of green, lush vegetation around them blending with the desert-yellow of the south. The flowers haven’t blossomed yet but the tamarisks stand proud. They pass by the observation tower but just glance at it. No, they will not be climbing to the top to look at the view. It’s a waste of time. They may do it on the actual trip.

  They cross the suspension bridge, the shaky swaying slats causing her heart to skip a beat. He races ahead while she rides across slowly, wondering if it wouldn’t be wiser to do it on foot. The natural pool under the bridge makes her want to take a refreshing dip, but they’ve only just started out, she can’t ask to stop. They ride along the streambed. The sound of flowing water gives her a wonderfully peaceful feeling. There are tiny cliffs on the edges, the result of the winter floods. Tall, yellow-tipped cane sway gently in the wind, murmuring softly. An almost imperceptible smile touches her lips. She could ride like this forever.