Another long story about getting laid.... NO, sorry about the Power Of Intentions.... OK, WHATEVER...
Let me start by saying that in my stories thus far, names were NOT changed to protect the “innocent”, since I believed that whoever danced with me during my bad-ass days, is guilty as charged.
I hear a voice inside me saying: “Write about Zvi”
Me: “I don’t want to!
Voice: “write about Zvi”
Me “I don’t want to!”
Voice: “Write about Zvi”
Me: “Why are you insisting?”
Voice: “Write about Zvi”
Me: “Stop that! you are freaking me out!”
Voice: “Write about Zvi”
Me: “Oh why don’t you just fuck off? “
Voice: “ Write about Zvi”
Me: “OK I will, but tell me why?”
Voice: “because it will help them (and you) understand.
Me: “understand what?”
Voice: “understand the power of INTENTIONS.”
Me: “OK, here it is:”
Zvi was not what most people would categorize as a very handsome man.
He had dark black hair and blue eyes, but the thing that attracted me to him the most, was his sense of humor.
I am not talking just funny- I am talking HILARIOUS.
The kind of funny that makes you pee in your pants or roll over on the floor holding your stomach.
Zvi was single, without a girlfriend, young and willing, full of vigor AND available, but there WAS a catch.
I was 16 and he was my photography teacher in high school.
I once confessed my love/ passion for him to a girlfriend of mine, who told me to “Get in the back of the line!”
“Every girl wants him” she added, “And not just our class, but also the senior class and previous classes as well. “Get over it! No girl was able to get him, he has high morals and he does NOT date students, not even AFTER graduation.”
And so, I tried to bury my passion for him deep inside me.
But, I have to admit that I could not stop lusting.
I looked at him with lust filled eyes in class.
My heart raced faster when he locked the door of the darkroom, to show me how to load a film or develop a print.
Much like a child that is left in a room and is told NOT to eat the chocolate on the table, I yearned for the impossible.
I visualized us in most intimate positions - not while laying in my bed at night, but while sitting on the bus or listening to him at school.
It was alive and “real” for me like the money I handed over to the bus driver for my ticket.
I finally contrived a plan:
On our graduation night, I will dress up in my sexiest dress and find an opportunity during the party to bravely confess my love/ passion for him.
I was fully prepared for a rejection if it would come.
I resigned myself to the fact that it is better to have tried and lost than not try at all.
I also knew that it was my LAST chance.
We did not live in the same city and that I would probably not see him again, or have the courage to speak my mind.
In a twist of faith, another war had started around the day of my graduation.
He was drafted into service and the party got canceled.
BUT, I was granted a miracle.
He showed up in the ceremony with an army buddy, both in uniforms.
He saw the disappointment in the eyes of the students and impulsively invited us all (only around 12 students graduated the photography department), to his apartment for an informal party.
We crowded into a few cars, someone picked up some drinks and party snacks, and the music was great.
I had made my way into his arms in a slow dance.
I was wearing a spaghetti stripped white summer dress that my mother bought in Palma De Majorca the summer before.
I took a deep breath and whispered in his ear my love for him,
my passion for him,
my craving for him,
my longing,
my obsession.
He held me gently as we moved with the music.
I could feel his confusion, his hesitation, his stiffness, while his legs kept on moving mechanically to the music- I was waiting silently, secretly praying.
“Maybe,” he finally said, “If this war will ever end, if I’ll come home safe and whole; I will give you a call, give me your number.”
The music was over and his short, stocky, army buddy, grabbed me by the waist and swirled me in a quickstep dance.
The magic was broken and Karina, a red headed beauty with a secret passion for him, took my place in his arms.
He did call me during the war once.
Said his army buddy cannot stop talking about me,
Said that he can’t forget what I’ve said,
Asked if I was really serious?!”
YES! YES! I almost screamed, as my mother, my father and my sister raised an annoyed eye in my direction.
We had a single rotary dial telephone in the house, and it was located next to the TV room, which gave one absolutely NO privacy, whatsoever.
Everyone was always listening on everybody’s conversations.
The war was over and he called me.
Invited me to have dinner with his friends.
There were six of us including another teacher of mine, whose eyes got wider as I’ve entered the restaurant and took my place at the table.
But they were all young (in their 30’s), and cool, and we had a great time.
Our love affair was fiery.
We’ve made love 2-3 times a day.
Argued like mad and had “make up sex” a zillion times.
I laughed so hard at his jokes, cooked terrible meals for us, (mostly eggs- hey, don’t judge me -I was a youth), we had a great time exploring one another’s bodies and boundaries.
After some time together, I have “cooled off” to the idea that we had a “future” together.
Zvi was raised by Holocaust survivor Polish parents who raised him under their fears and paranoia.
Hitler was dead,
the camps were dismantled,
but they were still his prisoners.
Zvi was never able to tell me he loved me.
he said he could not verbalize it,
Said I should be able to tell by his actions,
His loyalty,
His devotion to me.
But I WANTED more!!!
I wanted to hear his scream it from the window.
So, I left.
He could have kept me longer, by saying 4 words:
“Tali, I love you”
Well, I didn’t just leave, I was messed up back then, so I’ve betrayed our love (again?)
We had a fight and I stormed out of his apartment crying.
In my tears and fury, I had bumped into the arms of his neighbor who lived in an apartment below.
I cannot remember his name now, but he was a tall, handsome and fit man, and he stopped me in my tears, invited me into his home, made me a fresh squeeze orange juice and listened to my incoherent lamentations.
He was exactly the kind of boyfriend I ‘Should have” been hooking up with.
He was warm, kind, open minded, well traveled, emotionally secured and eager for a woman like me.
Maybe I wasn’t looking for “happiness,” but I stayed for only one night,
Refused to give him my phone number,
Left the next morning after he made me breakfast in bed.
I did see him once after this.
It was years after I had forgotten our one night together.
I have “bumped” into him in my boyfriend’s restaurant.
He had married a beautiful woman, with a long, soft, blond hair with flowers in her hair.
They had with them four beautiful, jovial girls.
His eyes lighted up when he saw me; his wife’s eyes narrowed down.
He obviously told her about our one night stand.
I finished my meal and rushed outside.
Life gave me a second chance to “right” things with Zvi.
It was years later and soon after my divorce from Roni, my first husband.
Zvi entered my restaurant with a friend.
I joined them for lunch and we “caught up” on years of living.
He was no longer a teacher, said there was no money in it.
Said he owned a photo lab and was offering services to professional photographers.
I was hurting and lonely and he was still single, so we’ve made a date at his photo lab after working hours.
We fell passionately into one another’s arms again.
Hmmm.... this is not quite right.. should I say it? .....
Heck why not?
I am standing naked here anyway;
We have made love standing there, in the doorway of his darkroom with my skirt pulled over and the smell of the fixative and developer still in the air....
There I said it!
Much better.. the smell of truth is in my heart now...
I still love the smell of photo labs.
They bring FOND memories to my mind and a smile to my face.
Zvi still had a complicated mind and a complicated life.
He lived in Jerusalem and worked in Tel Aviv- a daily commute of 2.5 hours each way.
Our love affair was short.
I drove over to his place late at night after work,
The road was dark and it snaked up the mountains.
Often I drove tired, overworked and many times- all liquored up.
It is a pure miracle I survived that crazy affair.
Nothing was different the second time around.
Zvi still, could not say I LOVE YOU, still was not able to please a craving woman.
I remember the last night when I got out of our love bed, put on my clothes and with little words, got into my convertible and drove back to my bacheloret apartment in Dizingof towers, where I showered, and went to sleep with the city lights in my floor to ceiling glass window.
I have not seen Zvi in many years, but this time, I hold no regrets.
It was spring when I drove down from Jerusalem.
The night was cool and the mountain’s air whispered in my ear, that this was the end of the affair...
I hear a voice inside me saying: “Write about Zvi”
Me: “I don’t want to!
Voice: “write about Zvi”
Me “I don’t want to!”
Voice: “Write about Zvi”
Me: “Why are you insisting?”
Voice: “Write about Zvi”
Me: “Stop that! you are freaking me out!”
Voice: “Write about Zvi”
Me: “Oh why don’t you just fuck off? “
Voice: “ Write about Zvi”
Me: “OK I will, but tell me why?”
Voice: “because it will help them (and you) understand.
Me: “understand what?”
Voice: “understand the power of INTENTIONS.”
Me: “OK, here it is:”
Zvi was not what most people would categorize as a very handsome man.
He had dark black hair and blue eyes, but the thing that attracted me to him the most, was his sense of humor.
I am not talking just funny- I am talking HILARIOUS.
The kind of funny that makes you pee in your pants or roll over on the floor holding your stomach.
Zvi was single, without a girlfriend, young and willing, full of vigor AND available, but there WAS a catch.
I was 16 and he was my photography teacher in high school.
I once confessed my love/ passion for him to a girlfriend of mine, who told me to “Get in the back of the line!”
“Every girl wants him” she added, “And not just our class, but also the senior class and previous classes as well. “Get over it! No girl was able to get him, he has high morals and he does NOT date students, not even AFTER graduation.”
And so, I tried to bury my passion for him deep inside me.
But, I have to admit that I could not stop lusting.
I looked at him with lust filled eyes in class.
My heart raced faster when he locked the door of the darkroom, to show me how to load a film or develop a print.
Much like a child that is left in a room and is told NOT to eat the chocolate on the table, I yearned for the impossible.
I visualized us in most intimate positions - not while laying in my bed at night, but while sitting on the bus or listening to him at school.
It was alive and “real” for me like the money I handed over to the bus driver for my ticket.
I finally contrived a plan:
On our graduation night, I will dress up in my sexiest dress and find an opportunity during the party to bravely confess my love/ passion for him.
I was fully prepared for a rejection if it would come.
I resigned myself to the fact that it is better to have tried and lost than not try at all.
I also knew that it was my LAST chance.
We did not live in the same city and that I would probably not see him again, or have the courage to speak my mind.
In a twist of faith, another war had started around the day of my graduation.
He was drafted into service and the party got canceled.
BUT, I was granted a miracle.
He showed up in the ceremony with an army buddy, both in uniforms.
He saw the disappointment in the eyes of the students and impulsively invited us all (only around 12 students graduated the photography department), to his apartment for an informal party.
We crowded into a few cars, someone picked up some drinks and party snacks, and the music was great.
I had made my way into his arms in a slow dance.
I was wearing a spaghetti stripped white summer dress that my mother bought in Palma De Majorca the summer before.
I took a deep breath and whispered in his ear my love for him,
my passion for him,
my craving for him,
my longing,
my obsession.
He held me gently as we moved with the music.
I could feel his confusion, his hesitation, his stiffness, while his legs kept on moving mechanically to the music- I was waiting silently, secretly praying.
“Maybe,” he finally said, “If this war will ever end, if I’ll come home safe and whole; I will give you a call, give me your number.”
The music was over and his short, stocky, army buddy, grabbed me by the waist and swirled me in a quickstep dance.
The magic was broken and Karina, a red headed beauty with a secret passion for him, took my place in his arms.
He did call me during the war once.
Said his army buddy cannot stop talking about me,
Said that he can’t forget what I’ve said,
Asked if I was really serious?!”
YES! YES! I almost screamed, as my mother, my father and my sister raised an annoyed eye in my direction.
We had a single rotary dial telephone in the house, and it was located next to the TV room, which gave one absolutely NO privacy, whatsoever.
Everyone was always listening on everybody’s conversations.
The war was over and he called me.
Invited me to have dinner with his friends.
There were six of us including another teacher of mine, whose eyes got wider as I’ve entered the restaurant and took my place at the table.
But they were all young (in their 30’s), and cool, and we had a great time.
Our love affair was fiery.
We’ve made love 2-3 times a day.
Argued like mad and had “make up sex” a zillion times.
I laughed so hard at his jokes, cooked terrible meals for us, (mostly eggs- hey, don’t judge me -I was a youth), we had a great time exploring one another’s bodies and boundaries.
After some time together, I have “cooled off” to the idea that we had a “future” together.
Zvi was raised by Holocaust survivor Polish parents who raised him under their fears and paranoia.
Hitler was dead,
the camps were dismantled,
but they were still his prisoners.
Zvi was never able to tell me he loved me.
he said he could not verbalize it,
Said I should be able to tell by his actions,
His loyalty,
His devotion to me.
But I WANTED more!!!
I wanted to hear his scream it from the window.
So, I left.
He could have kept me longer, by saying 4 words:
“Tali, I love you”
Well, I didn’t just leave, I was messed up back then, so I’ve betrayed our love (again?)
We had a fight and I stormed out of his apartment crying.
In my tears and fury, I had bumped into the arms of his neighbor who lived in an apartment below.
I cannot remember his name now, but he was a tall, handsome and fit man, and he stopped me in my tears, invited me into his home, made me a fresh squeeze orange juice and listened to my incoherent lamentations.
He was exactly the kind of boyfriend I ‘Should have” been hooking up with.
He was warm, kind, open minded, well traveled, emotionally secured and eager for a woman like me.
Maybe I wasn’t looking for “happiness,” but I stayed for only one night,
Refused to give him my phone number,
Left the next morning after he made me breakfast in bed.
I did see him once after this.
It was years after I had forgotten our one night together.
I have “bumped” into him in my boyfriend’s restaurant.
He had married a beautiful woman, with a long, soft, blond hair with flowers in her hair.
They had with them four beautiful, jovial girls.
His eyes lighted up when he saw me; his wife’s eyes narrowed down.
He obviously told her about our one night stand.
I finished my meal and rushed outside.
Life gave me a second chance to “right” things with Zvi.
It was years later and soon after my divorce from Roni, my first husband.
Zvi entered my restaurant with a friend.
I joined them for lunch and we “caught up” on years of living.
He was no longer a teacher, said there was no money in it.
Said he owned a photo lab and was offering services to professional photographers.
I was hurting and lonely and he was still single, so we’ve made a date at his photo lab after working hours.
We fell passionately into one another’s arms again.
Hmmm.... this is not quite right.. should I say it? .....
Heck why not?
I am standing naked here anyway;
We have made love standing there, in the doorway of his darkroom with my skirt pulled over and the smell of the fixative and developer still in the air....
There I said it!
Much better.. the smell of truth is in my heart now...
I still love the smell of photo labs.
They bring FOND memories to my mind and a smile to my face.
Zvi still had a complicated mind and a complicated life.
He lived in Jerusalem and worked in Tel Aviv- a daily commute of 2.5 hours each way.
Our love affair was short.
I drove over to his place late at night after work,
The road was dark and it snaked up the mountains.
Often I drove tired, overworked and many times- all liquored up.
It is a pure miracle I survived that crazy affair.
Nothing was different the second time around.
Zvi still, could not say I LOVE YOU, still was not able to please a craving woman.
I remember the last night when I got out of our love bed, put on my clothes and with little words, got into my convertible and drove back to my bacheloret apartment in Dizingof towers, where I showered, and went to sleep with the city lights in my floor to ceiling glass window.
I have not seen Zvi in many years, but this time, I hold no regrets.
It was spring when I drove down from Jerusalem.
The night was cool and the mountain’s air whispered in my ear, that this was the end of the affair...
