You see if you like touching her, you smell each other.Then you go to bed together." I sat up straight, all languor gone. Perhaps Kemal was right, though he'd never been married.Amir had spoken more to me, and much more eloquently, when we were friends than he ever did in the hours and hours we spent making love.
Perhaps this was why there had been a lot of musicians in my love life years ago.
And it could be that men from some of the Muslim countries shared this style.
I was telling myself that it would be perfectly understandable if Kemal walked away, but instead he asked if we could go somewhere for a drink.
I suggested my house, a little nervous because we hadn't so much as touched. Kemal was everything I was looking for in bed, or almost everything.
This reminded me of the last man I'd cared about, the only Muslim I'd ever dated.
Amir had said he was a believer, but the two men shared a bedrock gravity and naiveté about religion I'd never found in a Christian or Jew I had dated.
And I'd grown to feel that Americans were too quick to make friends of their lovers, or to think that what they needed in a lover or a spouse was another friend.
If I could satisfy my curiosity about a man by talking with him, I didn't need to go to bed with him.
Perhaps you had to have once really, really believed in your God to come to this point.
Kemal continued in his perfect, nuanced American School English, speaking of a loss of faith that had been spurred by reading Omar Khayyam, and I almost laughed.
I let the topic of Allah drop, sensing that the cursing was part of a flirtation.