P40 Bedouin Dreams

What then?

All such thoughts fled when I felt her body shake under me. In her wonderful singsong tones she began to whisper my name, a soft mantra by my ear, even as she gave deeper groans, expressions of overwhelming pleasure taking her. She shivered under me, and I knew it was not from the cool night air. I joined her in that moment of sinful release. My cock pouring into her body a tribute to the lust she arose and to the love I was feeling.

Love? Was I in love?

I had never been in love so I don't know for sure if what I was feeling was that. Looking back on it, I do know it was her being attacked that had driven me out to shoot the Germans. I had not cared a frick for my own life at that moment. To stop them, make them pay for hurting her, humiliating her, those had been my only thoughts. If I had even had what could have been called thoughts at that terrible moment.

With great reluctance, I slipped free of her and moved to lie next to this woman of the desert. This angel of the sands. The cool of the desert night had vanished as we made love and the faint light of the coming dawn was brightening the canvas above us. I could hear the sounds of the camp, so recently arrived to this spot and set up, already moving to greet the day. Goats were being brought together to be driven away to those patches of scraggly grasses that litter the desert floor. They must feed if they were going to give the milk that was such a major part of the diet of these people.

"And of me as well." I knew that there was not much chance I would reach civilization till these desert dwellers came closer to it. And they had little reason to do that, given the recent violent welcome of the German's.

Lying there in the growing light, I looked at Rabi'ah and saw such a delight to the eyes in this woman. Her body, that had given me such pleasure, was magnificent. She was a sprawl next to me, her legs still slightly parted, those strong inner thighs faintly touched with red stains. I saw her body quiver and she gave a small moan. Smiling at that sign her pleasure was still continuing, I moved a hand to rest on that thick thatch of ebony hair. She arched her bottom off the cushion at my touch and moaned.

I smothered her moan with my lips and she kissed me eagerly. Her passion was clearly not spent, and to my growing surprise neither was mine. Taking her hand, I placed it on that half-hardness and she looked down. She gave me a look of wonder, smiled at my laughter then nodded and started pulling me back into place on top of her. I decided to surprise her though and, when I was inside her, I rolled us both and placed her on top. Rabi'ah found herself sitting astride me and she looked confused. Resting my hands on her hips, I lifted myself up and with her weight pushing down I felt myself slip much deeper into her. With a gasp, a look of wonder crossed her beautiful face. After that I had to give her no urging. She began an undulating movement of both her hips and stomach that felt too delightful for mere words. I had only to rest there and watch this incredible woman pleasure us both with her newly awakened needs.

Her hand rested in the center of my chest as she rode me faster and then faster still. When she uttered a throaty cry I heard faint laughter from outside moments later. She clapped her hand over her mouth, clearly embarrassed.

I laughed and pulled her down on top of me.

And with this woman-my Zawjah?-upon me I found a peace that had been lost since the first German bombs had fallen in England. I buried my face in her hair, breathing deep her fragrance. Marking this moment in memory forever.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

With my rifle at rest, I watched the two approaching camels. One I knew to be the mount of Abdul al-Rhasih, the Shaykh of our tribe. The old desert man called out as they rode closer and the boys I was overseeing all called out a greeting to the elder. I noticed he covertly placed his hand on the side of his chest where he had been shot three months before. I knew the wound bothered him still, but the old geezer wouldn't let his people see it.

"Dennis?" He reined in his mount "Friend. Speak." He gestured to the stranger who stopped his camel a few feet from the old man, and sat looking at me with curiosity. "English!"

Surprised, I looked to the stranger. "You speak English?"

"Yes, I do." He said, his accent horrible but understandable none the less. "I have worked with your people many times. Learn words good."

I nodded.

"You pilot? Crash plane?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Happy, me. You dead man to your people. I bring you back alive, much reward." He grinned at me, his front teeth gold. "You follow me English man. I take you home."

Reaching my hand up to my three month growth of beard, I looked to the old desert rat. He was watching this exchange closely. Since the day he had been shot I had been welcomed and yet not welcomed in his camp. I had been given tasks to do; odd jobs that needed an adult to supervise but were jobs for children. And with our broken exchanges of mixed words I had learned a few words. I was, and always would be, an outsider to him.

The Bedouin have a saying I heard when I first came to these hot lands. Me against my brother. My brother and I against our cousins. And all of us against the foreigner.

And I was a foreigner ... but I had saved him, his brother, and all of his cousins.

"No." I looked to this stranger. "I'm already home." He looked at me and shook his head not understanding. Before he could speak I held up a hand. "Thank you, but I'm staying. With them. If you would though, please answer me a few questions?"

The stranger looked at me like he had been insulted, but after a moment nodded. "Speak. I know I tell."

"Ask Abdul for me ... why he gave me Rabi'ah." The old man grinned his toothless smile at the name. "He told her to be with me. Why?"

There was a quick exchange of words, I caught more than a few that I knew but, like always, could do no more than guess at the conversation.

"Rabi'ah was to face jalaa ... expulsion from the tribe. She touched the hand of a man not her kin, much dishonor. She lost much ird." The stranger smiled those bright gold teeth. "He offered you tainted goods, Englishman."

At his laugh I wanted to shoot this man, guest of Abdul al-Rhasih or not. He must have seen it in my face because his smile vanished. He pointed to the old man. "She's his youngest son's youngest daughter. Not easy to marry her off. Then her sins took away from his Sharaf. You hero. But not Bedouin. So you have no family honor to taint, but have much honor cause you hero."

The old man said something then. And the stranger looked at him odd.

"What?"

"He say he tried to do best for his granddaughter." The stranger shrugged as if not understanding that, but I did. I exchanged a nod with the old desert man. He grinned at me. "Anything else ... Englishman?"

I could tell by the way he spit the word that he was not happy with me, probably already missing his reward, but I did not care. "Just one more thing. There is a Bedouin word I can't get explained to me. Zawjah?"

"Not Bedouin! Arabic!" He snarled as if I had personally insulted him.

I shifted my rifle. The captured Sturmgewehr resting on my hip closer to him now. He eyed the German rifle for a second then looked into my eyes.

"It means wife, you infidel." He turned his camel and without a further word rode back the way he had come.

The old desert rat looked at me, his face still holding that toothless grin. I gestured to him placed my hand on my chest then back at him. He waved me off. With a nod Abdul al-Rhasih turned the neck of his grumbling camel and followed his guest.

"Wife." I smiled as I pictured my beloved Rabi'ah, my Zawjah. Looking over at the dozen young eyes spying on me, I yelled one of the few words I knew, a simple curse to get back to work. They laughed and went back to their goats. Sitting on my camel's back, I watched them at work moving the stubborn animals from one patch of parched grass to another. They called out to each other, across the sea of hairy backed beasts, yelling what I knew to be insults. With another adult they might not have said such things, fearing punishment, but with me they knew they could get away with it.

For now.

I had to wonder, pondering a future I never thought I would have a few months back, how welcome my own child would be among them.

Rabi'ah-my Zawjah-soon, in a simple turning of six moons, would be the mother of my first born child. A fact that amazed me. I was going to be a father?

Me?

Doing my duty for my people, I watched the horizon till the stranger and the old man were dust and specks. That stranger could have taken me home ... but I was already there.

[In 1942 Flight Sergent Dennis Copping crashed his P-40 Kittyhawk into the desert, 200 miles from the nearest civilization. Evidence suggests he did survive the crash. As of this time no remains of him have ever been found.]

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I would like to thank Tx Tall Tales for his help editing this into some sort of coherent ramble. Thanks TTT. As always, any mistakes you see are all mine.