Magic Fingers, ALbert Russo [best young adult book series txt] 📗

many a sleepless night. It happened at the end of a stifling month of August, just when Meriam had left Jerba to rejoin the family in Sfax, for she had suffered much from the heat and needed a breather.
The second Madame Gérard cast her eyes on the young masseur, she knew she had to have him. Abdel had experienced infatuations from foreign women in the past, but he’d always managed to keep them at bay and to reason himself. He had a natural charm and though he was aware of it, he never tried to seduce these women, but then too, he was not made of wood and it would be a lie to say that some of them - he had a weakness for the blonde types - did not stir his imagination. But in the case of Madame Gérard, who was still quite handsome, with her high cheekbones and her expressive almond-shaped eyes, things got out of hand, so to speak.
It was a rule at the spa that the female clients wear at least a two-piece bathing suit when the physiotherapist was a male, for you should not forget that, however modern Tunisian society is compared to that of other Arab countries, propriety requires that women be soberly dressed in the presence of the ’strong’ sex, especially in public. When Abdel, having asked Madame Gérard to prepare herself for the massage session, returned to his cubicle, he missed a few heartbeats: the woman had shed her bathrobe and was now naked, save for a G-string. Her limbs were still firm under an even bronze tan - before coming to Jerba, she must have spent some time on a naturist beach -, her thighs bore none of the ugly marks of cellulitis and her breasts looked as ripe as those of a young girl. The wrinkles of her forehead and her sandy-colored hair brought the beholder back to the reality of her age, she probably was in her early forties. Although the ceiling fan was blowing at full throttle, Abdel felt the heat surge from below his waist up, and he soon felt beads of perspiration tease his pores, for, like all of his colleagues, he wore a starched white cotton tunic over his pants. He’d had, in the past, other female customers who’d more or less candidly thought they should take off the top of their swimsuit, but he’d always gently advise them to keep it on.
Blushing, and in a tone that was barely louder than a whisper, the young physiotherapist asked Madame Gérard to cover her breasts with the bra he’d handed her from the metal closet which stood against the wall. In response, the lady gave him an impish smile and said: “Surely you’ve seen women in the nude before and, anyway, I like to be massaged on the whole surface of my body, so please put that away.”
After some hesitation, Abdel motioned her to the table and told her to lie on her stomach, then he started applying some algae-enriched oil over her legs. When he began to actually work on her, she stretched her arms and murmured: “Mmm, it feels as if a hundred butterflies were frolicking over my skin, what wonderful hands you have!” She almost dozed off in bliss, until Abdel gave her a light flick on the shoulders, ordering her to turn round. A minute later, Madame Gérard grabbed the young man by the waist and kissed his mouth. “No, Madame, please,” Abdel mumbled, “it’s not proper, it’s ...” but she did not let him continue. For a while the young man succumbed to her embrace and responded passionately, but very soon he recovered his senses and wrested himself from her embrace, muttering an excuse for his ‘untoward behavior’.
He averted her eyes as she said: “I agree, this is not the right time nor the right place. From now on, you will come to my hotel and give me private massage sessions. I shall pay you double the rate. When are you finished here?” she asked, with a certain aplomb. “At 7 pm,” said the young man, “but ...” She got up, slipped into her bathrobe and scribbled the address with her room number on a piece of paper then handed it to him. Without waiting for his answer, she said, “I’ll expect you at 9 sharp this evening,” and she blew him a kiss, before opening the door of his cubicle.
Abdel had butterflies in his stomach, he’d never been or at least allowed himself to be in such a situation. He was torn between the decision to go back home and that of rejoining Madame Gérard. It was also the first time Meriam was not with him. He finally gave in to the temptation and two hours later, he found himself standing, dressed in his navy blue suit and wearing the suede mocassins he’d sported on his wedding day, in front of her door at the sumptuous moorish-style Hasrubal Hotel. She welcomed him, garbed in an exquisite embroidered silk kimono whose deep turquoise background highlighted her tanned complexion. Offering him a glass of Champagne from the living-room bar, she told him to call her by her first name. This was an introduction to the most glorious love-making Abdel had ever experienced, not even in his wildest dreams had he fathomed that such peaks could be attained. There was total osmosis between him and Anaïs and such incredible freedom in her gestures and appeal, that all the sexual taboos his environment had accustomed him to, fell, all of a sudden, as lightly as a castle of playing cards. The young man felt as if his whole body and spirit were shrouded in a bracing, sweet-scented breeze. Then Anaïs said something he first believed he had misheard. As he did not react, she repeated the words: “I don’t want you only as my lover and my personal masseur, I want you to marry me.” The young man froze. His mother’s warning flashed behind his lids like a net of needles: “Never succumb to those shameless foreign women, they will beguile you, then it will be your ruin!”
Abdel could not resist Anaïs and he saw her every single evening, but his conscience was torturing him, in spite of the fact that he had repeated to her he would never leave his wife or divorce her.
On the eve of Meriam’s return, Abdel had a very disturbing dream: his wife was running towards their house, she was about to put her arms around him when he pushed her away as if she were a total stranger, while behind her shoulders Anaïs smiled at the scene with a triumphant grin. He began to perspire profusely and he watched himself with horror melting down like a wax figure cast near a hearth of smouldering embers. Imprint

Publication Date: 11-18-2009

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