Posted Jun 26, 2010 in All Things Sex | 0 Comments

The Girl on the Balcony

The sun had just set over the hills of Algiers, and the White City was wrapping itself in a dark blue cloak, much inkier than the blue of the windows and of the balconies, which is the blue of the noon sky and of the sea. It was a cloudless, windless, starry evening. The sleepy streets of Telemly were whispering all sorts of things which are best said under the moonlight.

The butcher had closed, but the small shop that looked like a closet was still open. The pizza place next to Suicide Bridge must have been open too. The street smelled like something baking. Algiers always smells like something.

I was sitting with Rachid on the sidewalk, next to the police station on Robertseau Street, watching the comings and goings of our neighbors. One of the girls in the flat below ours was out on the balcony teasing us. She’d come out, spend a few minutes on the phone, lean over the railing, smile at us and then disappear between the sheets that were out to dry. We’d watch her shadow move behind the sheets that had dried a long time ago. Then she’d come back out again.

Khaled, whom we’d met the same afternoon, was sitting next to us, telling us all kinds of things guys say to each other on evenings such as this one.
“You know, for us it’s forbidden to do a girl from behind.”
“From behind? As in, doggystyle?”
“Yeah, you know…the girl is on all fours, and you’re giving it to her from behind.”
“Wait, where do you stick it in?”
“It doesn’t really matter. When you say from behind, that’s what comes to mind.”
“Well, what I mean is, you’re not allowed to stick it in her ass.”
“It’s a sin.”
The girl on the balcony was giggling. She seemed like she had no problem with taking it from behind. Nor from the front, or from any other side. I’d see her on the street the next day, but the magic wouldn’t be there anymore. It was the night that made her beautiful. The night made everything beautiful.

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