RainStorm

the way men did, although it seemed that he was trying not to.
    "When I realized he was looking at me that way, it was . . . exciting.
    Here was this man, this war hero, handsome and intelligent
    and so much older and more sophisticated than I was, and still I had
    this power over him. I started . . . experimenting with the power.
    Testing it, in a way, to try to figure out what it was. I would laugh
    at something he said and hold his eyes a moment too long. Or
    brush against him when I walked past. I didn't intend for it to lead
    anywhere; I didn't even know that it could lead somewhere with a
    man like Dov, or where that place might be.
    "One day, when he was home and my parents were out, I put
    on what I thought of as my sexiest outfit--a white bikini top and
    matching sarong. I knocked on his door. My heart was beating
    hard, the way it always did when I was near him or even thought of
    him. I heard him say, 'Come in,' so I did. He was sitting at the small
    desk in his room, and when he saw me he stood up, then flushed
    and looked away. My heart started beating harder. I told him I was
    going to walk down to the beach--we lived near the ocean--and
    asked him if he wanted to go for a swim. He didn't say anything-- he just looked at me for a second, then away again. I realized I
    could hear his breathing. I was so young at the time, I didn't even
    know what that might mean, but it excited me. And I felt awkward
    because he hadn't answered me. I didn't know what to say, so I
    fanned my face a little and said, 'It's so hot in here!' which it suddenly
    was. He still didn't say anything, he just looked at me with
    the oddest expression--smiling, but almost a little sick, too, as though
    he was in pain and trying to be brave about it--and I saw that his
    hands were trembling. It made me nervous that he wasn't answering
    me, so, just trying to think of something to say I said, 'It's okay
    if you don't want to swim,' and I realized my voice was as shaky as
    his hands.
    "His lips moved, but no words came out. Then he reached out
    and touched one of my cheeks with the back of his fingers. I was
    surprised and took a quick step away. He pulled his hand back and
    told me quickly he was sorry. I didn't know what he meant by that
    or why I had stepped back; all I knew right then was that I wanted him to touch me, wanted it more than anything, and without another
    thought I took his hands in mine and said, 'No, no, it's okay!'
    Then he looked at me with his beautiful, dark eyes, took my face
    in his hands, and kissed me. It was my first real kiss and I felt like I
    would faint from the pleasure of it. I could hear myself moaning
    into his mouth and he was moaning, too. And you know what?
    When he put his hands on my body, just my hips and my breasts, I
    came. That was another first for me--I didn't even know what was
    happening, I couldn't breathe, there -was this explosion of pleasure
    and then I was sagging against him and crying. He held me and
    stroked my hair and told me over and over that he was sorry, and I
    couldn't speak so I just kept shaking my head and crying because it
    was so wonderful, he was so wonderful."
    I smiled, wanting to believe that the story was true, that she was
    showing me something more of the person behind what she had
    called the "poseur." Maybe she was. Even if it was a pseudonym,
    Dov was an Israeli name. From what I could tell of the timelines,
    Israel's Six Day War might have been the conflict in which he had
    distinguished himself. Her city by the sea? Tel Aviv? Eilat?
    Or maybe it was a story she had told so many times and for so
    many reasons that she'd come to believe it herself. Maybe it was
    part of a campaign to get me to develop an attachment, to warp my
    objectivity, cloud my judgment.
    But I could remind myself of all those unwelcome possibilities
    later. I didn't see the point of dwelling on them now.
    "Did he make love to you?" I asked.
    "No. Not that time. Although he could have. He could have
    done anything with me."
    "What happened after?"
    She smiled. "We promised each other that it would never happen
    again, that it was wrong because he was so much older and if
    my parents found out it would be a disaster. But we couldn't stay
    away from each other. My brother was in the army then, and he
    was killed that year. I don't think I could have gotten through that
    without Dov. He understood war and had lived through a lot of
    loss. He was the only one who could comfort me."
    "That