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Message-ID: <36390asstr$1020762601@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: fader2011@hotmail.com (Jacques LeBlanc)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 7 May 2002 05:49:21 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Fatwa (MF rom viol) by Jacques LeBlanc
Date: Tue,  7 May 2002 05:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Warning: This story contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity;
if you are underage, live in a place where such material is illegal,
or are simply uncomfortable with this kind of story, then don't read
it.  (And get out of this newsgroup!  What did you *expect* to find in
alt.sex.stories?)

This story carries the codes: (MF rom viol).  The code "MF" means that
the story contains sex between a man and a woman; the fact that both
letters are capitalized means that both characters are over 18 years
old.  "Viol" indicates that the story also contains some violence, but
there is no overlap between that and the sex.  For other codes, and
how they can help you find the stories you want, see the Story-Code
FAQ for Readers at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/code/scfr.htm.

Finally, this story is Copyright 2002 by Jacques LeBlanc.  You may
send it to your friends, save it to your hard drive, print it out to
read at your leisure, and repost it (as long as no changes are made to
any of the text, including this notice) in any free forum where you
believe it will be well-received, but any commercial use is absolutely
prohibited.

Fatwa
by Jacques LeBlanc

"This is a samba, and next up will be a tango, by request," the DJ
announced.  *About time,* I thought, having handed him the CD half an
hour earlier, just after I arrived at the Chevy Chase Ballroom.  *I
hope he remembers which track it is.*  I noted that Mina Patel had
just arrived, and began working my way across the room to where she
was sitting, threading my way past couples engrossed in the energetic
Latin dance.  I'd met Mina at a dance the previous winter, and been
impressed with her talent.  Though she'd only had a few ballroom
lessons at that point, she followed well and learned quickly; I only
had to show her a new figure once and she'd follow it perfectly from
then on.  Of course, her looks hadn't hurt any: petite and slim, Mina
was blessed with a small chin, full, burgundy-red lips, prominent
cheekbones, and enormous dark eyes that sparkled with merriment and
mischief.  I'd only seen her a couple of times since then, but the
last time I'd given her and three of her friends from the American
University Ballroom Club a ride back to their campus following a dance
at the University of Maryland, where I was studying.

"Would you care to tango with me when the next song comes on?" I
asked, as I came up to the bench where Mina sat.

Mina looked up from putting on her dance shoe and favored me with a
dazzling smile, made brighter by the contrast between her white teeth
and dark skin.  "Hi, Nathan!  I'd love to; just a moment."  She
finished adjusting the straps and turned to the other shoe.  Finished
with that, she rose gracefully to her feet, placing her small hand in
mine.  "I like your pin," she commented, touching the little silver
Darwin fish on my lapel.  "Just like the one on your car."

"Thank you," I said.  "It lets people know where I stand; sort of like
a believer wearing a crucifix or a Star of David.  Of course, some
people don't know what it means; that's led to some interesting
conversations.  Fortunately, ballroom dancers around here are a pretty
liberal, secular-minded bunch; I've met a couple of good little
Christian girls who were offended by it, but not a lot."

"Certainly not me," Mina said.  "But you already knew that."  I
nodded, recalling her delight on first seeing the Darwin fish plaque
and the bumper stickers that adorned my car: "When Religion Ruled the
World, They Called it The Dark Ages;" "Freedom is the Distance Between
Church and State;" and "Support the Theory of Evolution: 400 Billion
Amphibians Can't Be Wrong!"

We stepped onto the floor and into closed dance position.  A lot of
women, especially beginners, tend to shy away from the suggestive
physical contact that a proper closed position entails, and their
dancing suffers for it.  Mina did it right, flowing up against me with
her right knee between my legs, her right breast brushing my chest,
and our hips always in contact, because that's where the lead comes
from.  She wore an off-the-shoulder dress, and the fine, downy hairs
on her upper back tickled my right hand where it rested behind her
shoulder.  I found the sensation vaguely sexy, which was odd when I
thought about it; usually I found body hair on women something less
than attractive.

As we squared up, the samba faded out and the next song began. After
the opening dramatic musical flourish (an essential part of any good
tango), Tom Lehrer's scratchy tenor filled the room: "I ache for the
touch of your lips, dear/But much more for the touch of your whips,
dear/You can raise welts like nobody else/as we dance to the Masochism
Tango."  Recognizing the song from the first couple of chords, Mina
glanced up at me and grinned.  "I might have known," she said.  "This
was your request, right?"

"Yup."  I grinned back at her.  "I seem to recall that you enjoyed
this song last year."   Then I straightened up, holding my head high
and to the left as my instructor always insisted.  I reminded myself
to keep my steps small; even with her high heels, the top of Mina's
head was barely higher than my chin, and her small size would make it
all too easy for me to throw her off balance if I wasn't careful.

After taking a moment to catch the rhythm, I began to dance, leading
Mina through several basic American tango figures.  She followed even
better than I remembered, so I risked leading something a bit
trickier, an open fan reverse turn.  She executed it perfectly, as
Lehrer sang, "At your command/Before you here I stand/My heart is in
my hand... ugh!/It's here that I must be!" Coming back together, we
paused in promenade, and Mina arched gracefully over my arm as we
waited for the rhythm to resume after the "ugh."  Then we continued
the dance, working our way around the floor twice before the song
ended.

"You're getting really good, Mina," I complimented her, as we walked
back to the bench.  "I know girls who've been taking lessons longer
than I have who don't follow that well."

"Thanks.  I took an American Smooth class over the summer, and I think
it helped a lot.  Did I get that fan turn right?  Sometimes I'm not
sure which way to turn."

"You did it right.  If you can't tell which way to turn, it's probably
because your partner didn't lead it properly."

"That could be," she acknowledged.  "Most of my partners are beginners
like me.  It's nice to be able to practice with someone a bit more
experienced."

"I'm hardly the best man here for that, you know," I said.  "Compared
to most of these guys, I'm a beginner too."

"Maybe, but you have a year and a half of lessons on me, and you're
patient when I make a mistake; most of the advanced dancers I know
don't like dancing with newcomers...." She paused, noticing a couple
from American University who had just arrived.  "There's Vlad and
Marina; I'm going to go say hi to them, okay?  I'll see you in a bit."

"No problem," I replied.  "Save me the next rumba, okay?"

"Sure thing," she said, and headed over to greet her friends, while I
looked around for my next dance partner.

Most of my usual partners weren't there that evening, and Mina knew
very few of the men in attendance, so I ended up dancing with her more
often than not.  Her sultry rumba, danced to Gloria Estefan's "I'm Not
Giving You Up," made me wonder whether she was flirting with me, but I
couldn't tell for sure.  I've never been good with non-verbal
communication, and the rumba, when done well, seems seductive whether
that's the intent or not.

Delightful as her tango and rumba were, Mina really came into her own
when we did swing, which she'd been studying much longer than
ballroom; dancing to hits like "Jump, Jive, and Wail" and "Zoot Suit
Riot," her energy and enthusiasm lit up the floor.  At one point
toward the end of the evening Marina and I sat out and watched while
Mina and Vlad danced lindyhop to "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof," Mina's small
size making it easy for her partner to lead the spectacular dips,
lifts, and aerials which are the hallmarks of advanced swing.

When it was time for the traditional good-night waltz, I sought Mina
out, and we floated around the floor to the ethereal strains of Secret
Garden's "Serenade to Spring."  As the music ended I led Mina out into
one last graceful turn, and bowed low over her hand.  "Thank you," I
said.  "That was a lovely waltz."

"Thank you," she replied.  "It's been a lovely evening all around.  I
missed this place over the summer.  So, will I see you at Du Shor next
Friday?"

"Indubitably.  By the way, the evening isn't over yet, at least for
me.  A bunch of us are walking up the street to the Cheesecake
Factory; we'll grab some dessert and hang out and chat for a while. 
Would you like to come?"

Mina looked crestfallen.  "I'd like to, but I'm supposed to get a ride
back with Vlad and Marina; I don't want to take the Metro this late at
night.  It's a long walk from the station back to my dorm."

"I wouldn't want you to have to do that.  Tell you what, if you want
to come to Cheesecake, I can drive you back to A.U. afterward; it's
only a few minutes out of my way."

She brightened.  "Oh, would you?  That would be great!  Let me just go
tell Marina I've found another ride and I'll be right back."  She
hurried away to where her friend sat, while I sat down to change my
shoes.

A few minutes later we headed out to Wisconsin Avenue together, both
wearing our street shoes now.  Outside the ballroom I paused.  "If you
don't mind, I'd like to put my backpack in the car before we go up to
the restaurant."

"Sure," she said.  "Is it back there?"  She gestured at the parking
lot behind the NationsBank, next to the building that housed the
ballroom.

"Yeah, it'll just take a moment."

Just then the last few stragglers emerged from the ballroom door;
among them was Julie Wallace, the president of the A.U. ballroom club.
 "Oh, Mina," she said, "I need to talk to you about the class schedule
for this semester...."

Mina glanced at me inquiringly.  "No trouble," I said.  "I'll be back
in a minute and we can go eat."

"Okay," Mina said.  "Would you mind taking my stuff, too?"

"No problem."  I took the bag with her dance shoes and headed around
the corner to the parking lot.  My car was parked at the opposite end,
and before I reached it I was buttonholed by Jerry Wu, a classmate
from my social ballroom class.  Jerry was enraptured with a girl he'd
met that evening, who I already knew from previous outings, and wanted
to know if I knew whether she had a boyfriend.  (I wasn't sure, but
thought that she did.)

By the time I'd said goodbye to the disappointed Jerry, put the bags
in the car, and  come back around to the front, Julie had gone. 
Strangely, Mina was no longer waiting by the ballroom.  Instead she
was halfway up the block, walking away.  With her was a young man I
didn't recognize.  He looked Indian, like her, and he had his left
hand on her upper arm.  Something very odd was going on.  I opened my
mouth to call to Mina, then thought better of it and simply quickened
my pace to catch up with her and her mysterious escort.

As I got closer, my sense of "something wrong here" grew.  The young
man's grip on Mina's arm appeared excessively strong, and her dragging
gait suggested she didn't want to go with him.  He had a light jacket
on, odd for such a warm September evening, and his right arm was held
across his chest.  *What the hell?*  I thought.  *Is he carrying...
oh, SHIT!*  Mina glanced back at me, just for an instant, and the
terror in her eyes told me more than I wanted to know.

As I came up next to the young man, I could see that his right hand
was hidden inside the jacket -- and I was all but certain that it held
a gun pointed at Mina.  Cursing silently, I tried to remember
everything I'd learned about dealing with guns in the few martial arts
lessons I'd taken.  Luckily, my instructor had been very focused on
practical self-defense, so we'd learned techniques for dealing with
armed opponents -- but I didn't like the odds one bit.  The first rule
of trying to take a gun away from an opponent was an emphatic "don't."
 After drumming that into our heads, he'd shown us some moves to try
if we didn't have a choice, but none of them had a great chance of
success.  But I couldn't just let Mina be abducted, could I...?

All of this flashed through my mind in an instant, as my left hand
fumbled for my pocket knife.  It was only a little Swiss Army knife,
more of a tool than a weapon, but it was better than nothing.  I
worked the blade open while it was still in my pocket, then got a good
grip on it, drew a deep breath, and addressed Mina's would-be
kidnapper: "Let her go, asshole."

The young man didn't answer; he merely threw me an irritated glance
and quickened his pace, dragging Mina with him.  I took in his
scraggly beard, and the loose-fitting white pants he wore below the
jacket, and something clicked in my head.  "I said let her go, you
stain of pig shit on the robe of the prophet."

This time he snarled something in a language I didn't recognize,
shoved Mina forward and away from him, and turned towards me, pulling
his hand out of the jacket.  That was what I was waiting for; the
moment the gun cleared his coat, before he could bring it to bear on
me, I grabbed it with my right hand, fingers closing over the top of
the slide,  thumb jammed under the hammer so that it couldn't fire. 
At the same time, my left hand came up and drove six centimeters of
Swiss steel into the back of my opponent's wrist.  The blade went
clean through, passing between the radius and ulna, severing tendons
and veins.  He shrieked, clutched at his arm with his other hand --
and let go of the gun.

I stepped back, putting some distance between myself and my opponent,
who had fallen to his knees; then I dropped the knife and got a proper
grip on my new weapon.  Right up to that moment I'd assumed I was
dealing with a simple stalker, perhaps a former boyfriend or even an
older brother angry with Mina's rejection of the "True Faith."  When a
sedan parked in the next block pulled out of its space and roared
toward us in reverse, it took me a precious second to realize what was
really going on.  As the car's passenger side window slid down, I
caught a glimpse of a submachine gun inside.

Had the gunman simply smashed the window, my reaction would have been
too late, and I have little doubt that Mina and I would both have died
on that sidewalk.  As it was, the slowness of the window mechanism
saved us.  I jerked my gun up from its low aim at the kidnapper,
gripping it with both hands and focusing on the front sight, and
snapped off two shots at the approaching car.  My aim was off: I
shattered the rear passenger's side window, then overcompensated for
the recoil and put my second round into the rear door.

The gunman ducked down below the level of the window and the car
braked hard, tires squealing, then shifted gears and sped away,
disappearing around the corner of Jenifer Street.  The entire incident
had lasted less than a minute.  The wounded man was on his knees,
hunched over and cradling his right arm, muttering what I suspected
were curses in his unfamiliar language.  Mina had stumbled when he
shoved her away, but had regained her balance and was glaring
furiously down at him.  She said something in what sounded like the
same language, and he directed a louder curse at her; her face
darkened, and she slapped him hard.

"Hey, take it easy," I said.  "He can't hurt you now."

"You don't know what he just called me," she retorted, then softened. 
"Thanks a lot, Nathan; I think you just saved my life."

I shrugged, embarrassed.  "You're welcome; it seemed like the right
thing to do.  Do you know this guy?"

"I never saw him before this evening, but I noticed him on the Metro
when I rode over here.  He kept staring at me, and I had the feeling
he might be following me; that's why I didn't want to take the train
home."

"Ah, I see.  Well, stalker boy here isn't going anywhere now; why
don't you go over to that pay phone and call the cops while I keep an
eye on him?"

"All right," she said.  She walked briskly to the phone by Paul's
Liquors.  I kept my attention on the erstwhile abductor.  After a
moment he looked up at me with a more contrite expression.  "Please,"
he said, "I'm bleeding...."

"Serves you right," I observed, "But here, take this."  I kept the gun
on him with my left hand, while undoing my belt with the right.  I
pulled it off and tossed it to him, avoiding getting close enough for
him to make a grab for the gun.  He managed to loop it around his arm
and pulled it tight, applying pressure to the wound.

"Thank you," he said, then lapsed into silence.

In a moment Mina returned.  "The police are on their way."

"Good," I said.  "The sooner I can get rid of this thing, the better. 
I don't care for guns."

"You did pretty well with it a moment ago," she observed.

"I like them even less when they're pointed at me.  The passenger in
that car had a submachine gun; we're damned lucky he decided to duck
instead of shooting back."

Mina shivered and drew close to me.  Without thinking about it, I
wrapped my free arm around her shoulders and hugged her.  She sighed
and laid her head against my shoulder;  our prisoner looked disgusted.

Moments later two police cars turned onto Wisconsin from Garrison
Street and pulled up to the curb in front of us.  "Put the gun down,"
the driver of the first one said through her loudspeaker.  I placed
the pistol on the sidewalk and kicked it away where neither I nor the
injured kidnapper could reach it; then I raised my hands.

The cars disgorged an ethnically diverse quartet of cops.  One of
them, a compact young man with a blond crew-cut, covered the kneeling
man with his pistol, while his Korean partner removed my belt from the
man's wrist and began wrapping it with an Ace bandage from his first
aid kit. The remaining two officers, both black, approached Mina and
me.

The few times I have had any kind of dealings with the police, I have
found African-American officers much pleasanter than Caucasian ones. 
It might be that they make a special effort to compensate for their
community's sadly well-founded mistrust of the police, or it might be
that the old boys' networks that still control many police departments
set higher standards for black recruits than white ones, or perhaps a
combination of the two.  I wasn't sure how well either factor would
stand up in a majority-black city with a majority-black police force,
but I still felt slightly reassured.  In any case, these two made an
interesting pair.  The woman, who appeared to be in charge of the
group, was in her mid-thirties, short, wiry, and light-skinned, with
hair teased straight and pulled back in a severe bun.  Her partner was
younger, about six-foot-three, and ebony dark, with broad shoulders
and arms that hinted at thousands of hours of weight training.  I
thought he might be a first-generation immigrant; given an assegai and
an oxhide shield he would have fit right in with Cetshwayo's regiments
at Rorke's Drift.

"Are you the one who made the call?" the female officer asked, looking
at Mina.  Her  imposing partner held a notebook and pencil ready to
record our answers.

"Yes, ma'am," she replied.  "This creep tried to kidnap me; Nathan
here stopped him, at considerable risk to himself.  I hope you're not
thinking of charging him with anything."

"There were at least two others, in a gold sedan," I added.  "A Toyota
Camry, I think.  The one on the passenger side had some kind of small
automatic weapon -- an Uzi or a TEC-9, something like that.  Luckily
for us, they decided discretion was the better part of valor after I
put a couple of rounds into the car.  It shouldn't be too hard to
find; the rear passenger side window is smashed, and there's a bullet
hole in the rear door, too.  I'm afraid I didn't get the license
number, though."

"I did," Mina said.  "It had Virginia plates: JMS 2261."

The female cop spoke into her radio, then returned her attention to
me.  "I'm Sergeant Dawes, and this is Sergeant LeCroix.  We need your
names and contact information, and then please tell us everything that
happened, starting when you first noticed the kidnapper," she
instructed.  I proceeded to relate the entire incident; then Mina did
the same, albeit in a slightly less detached fashion; her assessment
of my courage in defending her caused me to blush and shuffle my feet
in embarrassment.  As we were talking an ambulance pulled up, and the
injured man was driven off; one cop rode in the ambulance with him
while his partner followed in their patrol car.  Sergeant Dawes
explained that he would be taken to the emergency room to have his arm
stitched up, then to the lockup for booking.  Since the charge was
attempted kidnapping, the FBI would want to interview him, and us as
well, but that could wait until tomorrow.

Shortly after the ambulance left, a call came in on the police radio. 
After a short, terse conversation, LeCroix stepped a little away and
made a call on his cell phone, while  Dawes explained to us they'd
found the car abandoned a few blocks away.  Nobody had seen where the
suspects went.  "That's pretty much what I expected," she said.  "They
probably had another vehicle parked there.  We ran the plates, too;
they belong to a Jonathan Palmer, of Falls Church.  LeCroix is
checking up on it, but my guess is the car was stolen, and the plates
may have been switched as well.  We're running the car's serial number
now to see if it matches.  Oh, and there was blood on the passenger
seat.  Not enough to indicate a serious injury, but you must have
clipped the gunman with one of those shots."

"Really?  I wouldn't have believed it, from where I hit the car. 
Well, that explains why he ducked."

"Yeah.  We'll check with all the local emergency rooms, see if anybody
comes in with a gun-shot wound tonight.  Of course, in this town the
answer is yes more often than not, but they usually happen in
Southeast."  She sighed.  "I grew up in Anacostia; it's depressing to
see what's become of my old neighborhood...." Then she shook her head,
seemingly annoyed at herself.  "Sorry; you have troubles enough of
your own without having to listen to mine."

As she finished, LeCroix put away his phone and turned to us.

"Mrs. Palmer says her husband is off on a weekend business trip; his
car is in long-term parking at the airport.  Great place to steal
plates without it being noticed right away."  His mellifluous West
African accent confirmed my initial impression.

"These guys were clever," I observed.  "Any idea why they might have
wanted to kidnap you, Mina?"

"I think so," she said.  "The one you cut spoke Bengali, and he called
me a *murtad* -- an apostate.  I think this might be about my Aunt
Nisrina; she wrote a book that got the Muslim fanatics in Bangladesh
so pissed off she had to leave the country to avoid being hanged for
blasphemy."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," I said.  "You're *Nisrina Tasleem's*
niece?  Damn.  I heard her speak at a Humanist conference last year;
it was the most powerful indictment of religious fanaticism I've ever
heard."

"She is cool, isn't she?"  Mina said.  "I should have guessed you
would know who she was."

Sergeant Dawes cleared her throat.  "If we could just finish with your
story?"

"Oh, right.  Sorry.  As I was saying, my aunt's made a lot of enemies,
and I ran into one of them on campus recently.  The Muslim Students'
Association had a table set up in the student union to hand out their
literature, and there was this really obnoxious Wahhabi type hanging
around the table and heckling people about how the West is destroying
Islam.  I don't just mean the usual beefs about Israel and the
sanctions on Iraq; he was mad about U.S. troops being stationed in
Saudi Arabia -- that's Osama bin Laden's biggest pet peeve, too -- and
even about Western countries refusing to recognize the 'legitimate
government' of Afghanistan and harboring 'blasphemers' like Salman
Rushdie and Aunt Nisrina, and publishing their books.  My aunt's book
is called 'Sins of the Faithful;' it's about the so-called 'holy war'
that the Wahhabi crazies waged on Bangladesh's Hindu minority after
some Hindu crazies destroyed a couple of mosques in India, and all the
holy looting, holy kidnapping, holy rape, and holy murder that holy
wars entail.  This creep was calling it a pack of lies and saying that
Aunt Nisrina should be stoned to death -- he thought hanging was too
kind.  At that point I went off on him; I said it was backward
fanatics like him, not westerners, that were keeping the Muslim world
in poverty, and the real reason he hated my aunt's book was that it
was a mirror showing him the ugly truth about his religion, and if he
hated the West so much why didn't he go live in the Talibarbarians'
wonderful Islamic paradise.  He got so angry I think he would have hit
me if the MSA people hadn't intervened and asked us both to leave. 
They don't particularly like me -- I've argued with them before -- but
they didn't want this guy making a scene.  Apparently he wasn't even a
student at A.U., just an acquaintance of some of their members from a
local mosque who'd heard about the table they were running and decided
to come stick his two cents in."

"Sounds like a good lead," Dawes said.  "Can you give us his name?"

"I'm afraid not," Mina replied, "But Faisal Aziz could; he was one of
the MSA representatives at the table that day.  You can get his number
from the campus switchboard."

"We'll talk to him," she promised.  "I think that's about all we need
from you for now; call me if you think of anything else."  She gave us
each her card.  "I'll be in touch tomorrow.  I need to get back to the
station now so I can be there when they book the guy you caught." 
LeCroix was walking around to the driver's side of their squad car,
while she opened the passenger door.

"Thank you very much, Sergeant Dawes," said Mina.

"Thanks a lot," I echoed.

"Just doing my job," she replied, climbing into the car.  "Good
night."  Dawes and LeCroix pulled away from the curb, made a U-turn,
and headed back down into the city.

"Well," I said, "I for one have lost my appetite for dessert; shall we
get going?"

"I think that's a good idea," Mina replied.  "We're probably going to
be spending a lot of time talking to the cops and the feds tomorrow,
so we'd best get some rest.  Besides, it's past midnight; I don't
think we could get into the Cheesecake Factory now."

"Probably not," I agreed.

"You know," Mina said thoughtfully, as we walked around the corner to
the parking lot, "If those people followed me here, they've probably
been watching me for a while.  My dorm isn't the most secure place to
stay, either; people are always going in and out on a Saturday night,
and it's easy for someone who doesn't have a key card to get in by
following someone who does.  My room is on the ground floor, too; the
window has a grille, but you could still shoot through it."

"That's a nasty thought," I said.  "Maybe you should stay somewhere
else tonight."

"That's what I was thinking, but I'm not sure where.  I do have
friends I could stay with, but someone who'd been watching me for a
few days might well know where any or all of them lived.  Maybe I'd
better check into a motel for the night."

"Even that's not ideal if somebody is really determined to find you,"
I said.  "Unless you check in under an assumed name.  I'll tell you
what, though: if you like, you could stay at my place tonight. 
There's only one bed, but I don't mind sleeping on the floor; I have a
good air mattress for when I have overnight guests.  No matter how
long these creeps may have been watching you, they won't know me from
Adam -- and my apartment is on the fourteenth floor of a high rise,
with a doorman who won't let anyone in without a resident vouching for
them."

"That sounds perfect!  Thanks again, Nathan."

"No problem."

As we approached my car, Mina grinned at the three stickers.  "I
really have to get a copy of this one," she said, pointing to the
"Dark Ages" sticker.  "Where my family comes from, the Dark Ages are
still going on."

"I sometimes feel like it's hard being an unbeliever in America," I
observed, unlocking the car and climbing into the driver's seat.  "But
compared to most of the world, especially the Muslim countries, we
have it pretty good here.  Not as good as in Holland or Scandinavia,
of course, but at least the government doesn't persecute us here."  I
started the car, and we rolled out of the parking lot, turning north
on Wisconsin.

"That's part of the reason my parents moved here," Mina said.  "They
initially came here for school and met through the South Asian Culture
Club at UCLA, but they stayed because it would have been dangerous for
them to go home.  See, my Mom's from Bangladesh, and her family were
originally Muslims, but my Dad grew up in a Hindu family in New Delhi.
 Neither society is very tolerant of mixed couples, especially when
they reject the religion they were raised in.  They both did that;
they joined the International Humanist and Ethical Union, and had a
Humanist wedding ceremony."

"Really?  I've met the Executive Director of IHEU; he comes to WASH
meetings when he's in town."

Mina looked impressed.  "You know Babu Gogineni, too?  Cool.  He did a
lot to organize international support for Aunt Nisrina when she was
under house arrest in Bangladesh.  Is WASH the local Humanist group?"

"That's right, the Washington Area Secular Humanists.  They're a good
group; if you're interested, I can take you to our next meeting and
introduce you around.  Most of them are older, retired people with
time on their hands, but there are also several NASA scientists, a
couple of professors, and a few other younger professionals and grad
students, like me."

"Sounds interesting.  My Dad mentioned there was a Humanist
organization in DC, but I've been busy with school and never got
around to looking them up."

"I know how that is," I agreed.  "It took me a while after I found out
about the organization to actually make the time to go to a meeting,
but I'm really glad I did."

We continued to chat about WASH and the Humanist movement in general
as we drove up Wisconsin toward the Beltway.  On previous occasions I
hadn't spent a great deal of time talking to Mina; talking while I
dance throws off my rhythm, the time I drove her and her friends home
she'd been very tired and quiet as a result.  Now, however, I found
her as delightful a conversationalist as she was a dance partner.  Her
animated gestures and the way her bright smile and dark eyes sparkled
in the transient light of the street lamps made it an effort for me to
keep my eyes on the road.  The conversation wandered over a wide range
of subjects, but by unspoken agreement we didn't speak of the violence
that had disrupted our otherwise pleasant evening.  Around the time we
turned off the Beltway, our discussion turned to books.  I learned
that Mina was a great fan of fantasy literature; she had recently
reread "The Lord of the Rings," in anticipation of the upcoming
movies, and then decided to tackle "The Silmarillion."  "That one
isn't really a novel at all," she observed.  "It's more like reading
the Bible or the Qur'an -- though Tolkien's mythology is more
interesting."

"I think he based the style on the Elder Edda and the Kalevala," I
said.  "He wanted to build a mythology for England like the ones the
old skalds created for the Scandinavian countries."

"Well, it's certainly a dark mythology, with all those defeats and
betrayals and twisted oaths.  The story of Beren and Luthien was
beautiful, though."

"I always liked that one," I said.  "I've never read the whole book,
just parts of it, but I must have read that five or six times.  It was
Tolkien's favorite, too, you know."

"I'd heard that.  It was about him and his wife, right?"

"Partly.  He was sixteen when they met, a Catholic orphan who'd been
raised by a priest.  She was three years older, and a Protestant. 
When his guardian found out about the relationship he made Tolkien
break it off, but in the end they got back together and married, and
she converted to Catholicism."

"Which was the minority religion in England," Mina added.  "They
weren't being persecuted any more, but the Anglicans still considered
them socially inferior, right?  So it was kind of like Luthien giving
up her Elvish heritage to marry a mere human."

"That's the gist of it," I concluded.  We had reached the driveway of
my building.  I rolled down the window and ran my key card through the
reader, and the garage door slid ponderously up its tracks, then
closed again behind us as we rolled up the ramp to the second level
and my designated parking space.  "Well," I said, shutting off the
engine, "Here we are."

"It must be nice not having to look for a parking space," Mina
commented, as we exited the car and walked toward the elevators.

"We pay for the privilege," I said, "But we'd have to do that anyway;
there's no such thing as free parking in downtown Silver Spring.  And
it is nice to have it out of the weather and away from the eyes of
casual thieves -- not that anyone's too likely to steal a plum-colored
Saturn wagon.  It isn't exactly a sexy car."

"Hey, I think it's a very nice car," Mina admonished.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm very fond of that car; I wouldn't trade it
for the kind that car thieves favor.  From what I've read, they mainly
go for SUVs these days -- nasty great gas-guzzling beasts.  My little
Saturn is a lot more practical for a student living alone."  Reaching
the elevator, I pressed the up button; the doors to the left car slid
open almost immediately.  "That's nice," I commented.  "Usually I have
to wait forever for these things."  We stepped inside, and I hit
fourteen.

"Hey, what happened to thirteen?" Mina asked, noting how the numbers
jumped from twelve to fourteen.

"Superstition," I replied.  "You see that in a lot of old buildings,
and even some newer ones.  People don't want to live on the thirteenth
floor because they think it's unlucky.  Of course, the floor where I
live really is the thirteenth; calling it fourteen doesn't make it so.
 I haven't noticed any bad luck so far, though."

The elevator stopped, and we stepped out into the corridor.  "So which
one is yours?" Mina asked.

"The next to last door on the right, number 1411," I replied.  We
walked down the hall, opened the door, and stepped inside.  "Welcome
to my humble abode," I said, flipping on the hall light and locking
the door behind us.  "What do you think?"

Mina surveyed the apartment appreciatively.  "This is nice," She said.
 "Very cozy."  My apartment is an efficiency, but a fair-sized one. 
The front hall is about ten feet long, with the kitchen on one side
and a small linen closet that you walk through to reach the bathroom
on the other.  It opens out into a main room roughly twenty feet
square.  On the left side of the room as you enter it I have a
computer desk, a couple of book cases, my TV, and a tall halogen lamp.
 On the right are the main closet, my dresser, a double-bed-sized
futon flanked by a pair of night stands, and a CD tower in the corner.
 The entire wall opposite the door, from two feet above the floor to
one below the ceiling, is a window looking north over the heart of
Silver Spring; in front of it is a small rectangular dining table.  At
the moment, the vertical-slat blinds were shut; I stepped up to the
window and opened them.

"Oh, wow!"  Mina said as she joined me at the window.  "What a view."

"It was the view, more than anything else, that sold me on this
place," I said.  "That and the convenience.  The Silver Spring Metro
is only three blocks away, the mall is two, and I have a Safeway right
across the street; I hardly ever need to drive."

"Sounds like a great place to live."  She gazed out the window for a
long moment, then turned to look up at me.  "Is it okay if I use your
shower before bed?  I got pretty sweaty doing swing tonight."

"Go right ahead," I told her.  "I could use a quick rinse myself, but
you can go first; I'm going to check my e-mail."

"Thanks," she said.  "Oh, could I borrow a robe or something?"

"Sure."  I opened the closet.  "Take your pick," I said, pointing to
the two bathrobes hanging near the end of the bar.

"Ooh, I like this one," she said, removing my heavy black terrycloth
robe from its hanger.

I got Mina a towel out of the smaller closet in the hall, and she shut
the bathroom door behind her.  I went to my desk, fired up my iMac,
and began downloading my mail.  I had the usual mixed bag of spam and
mailing list material, as well as a "How's it going?" message from my
brother in Berkeley.  After clearing out the junk, I wrote a reply
detailing the evening's bizarre events, sending it off just as Mina
emerged from the bathroom.  The black robe ended only an inch or so
above the floor, her hands were completely hidden inside the sleeves,
and she'd pulled the hood up, obscuring her face.  I grinned.  "You
look a bit like a Jawa," I observed.

She giggled and pulled back the hood.  "No glowing red eyes, though."

"Just as well; I've had enough scares this evening.  Are you done in
there?  Do you need a comb or a toothbrush or anything?"

"No, thanks.  I keep a toiletries kit and change of clothes in my bag,
in case I decide to crash at a friend's apartment after the dance;
it's been known to happen before."

"Good thinking."  I went to the closet and fetched the light cotton
robe that I usually used when the weather was warm.  "I'll just be a
few minutes, Mina. You can use the Mac; I have NiftyTelnet installed
if you want to check your mail."

"Thanks, I should do that," she said, sitting in the black leather
swivel chair I had just vacated.

I showered quickly, then brushed my teeth and combed my hair.  I ran a
finger along the part of my cheek that I keep clean-shaven, and
decided it was smooth enough; I'd trimmed my beard and shaved that
morning.  When I came out of the bathroom, Mina was sitting
cross-legged on the foot of the futon, her elbows resting on her knees
and her chin on her clasped hands.  She'd turned off the halogen lamp
and the hall light, leaving only the small, green-shaded reading lamp
on the night stand to provide a soft illumination.  "You know," she
said, looking up at me through long, black eyelashes and smiling
coquettishly, "You don't have to sleep on the floor; this bed's plenty
big enough for both of us."

I gazed back at her thoughtfully, trying to gauge how serious her
intentions were.  *Mina,* I thought, *If you knew how much I want you
right now, you might not be quite so ready to sleep next to me.  Or
would you...?*  I shrugged.  "True dat.  I don't mind sharing if you
don't."

"Not at all."  She stood up, a graceful motion that made me think of a
cat uncurling after a nap, and moved slowly toward me until we stood
less than a foot apart.  Then she whispered, "I don't mind sharing
anything you want to share...."

I took Mina's small hands in my own and studied her face intently. 
"You don't have to do this, you know," I said.  "Don't get me wrong, I
want to make love with you, more than anything -- but not if you're
going to regret it.  My desire isn't worth hurting you for."

Mina smiled and shook her head.  "You do know how to make a girl want
you even more, don't you?  Seriously, you don't have to worry about
me.  I like you a lot, Nathan.  Not just because you saved my life;
you're smart and you're kind and you have a good sense of humor, and
you seem to have the same values and beliefs I do -- that isn't easy
to find.  And you're a good dancer, and not bad-looking, either.  I
didn't plan this, and I wouldn't be here with you tonight if it hadn't
been for the crazy thing that happened to us.  But I did plan to kiss
you good night and ask you to call me during the week.  I hoped you
would ask me out next weekend, and I might well have ended up spending
the night with you then.  The kidnapping simply sped things up a bit."

"Sweet Mina...." I murmured, lifting her hand to my lips.  "Do you
know what I thought, that first time I saw you at Du Shor last year? 
'I must be dreaming, that girl is too beautiful to be real.'  I felt
like... like Beren seeing Luthien for the first time, dancing in the
moonlight.  Then I got to know you a little, enough to see that you
had every good quality you've just ascribed to me, and more besides. 
And now it seems I'm dreaming again, because I never hoped to hear
such words as I have just heard from your lips."

Mina blushed and lowered her eyes in embarrassment.  "I had no idea,"
she said.  "I mean, I knew you liked dancing with me and were friendly
and everything, but you didn't act any differently with me than you
did with Julie or Marian or Lissa.  Why didn't you let me know?  I
mean, tonight, yeah, I was pretty sure that you were as interested in
me as I was in you.  But last year you never gave me a hint."

"I had a girlfriend then, Mina.  She wasn't as beautiful as you are,
but I loved her very much, and I would never have cheated on her or
left her for another girl, no matter how lovely she might be.  But
that's over now.  We're still good friends, but I don't think we'll
ever be lovers again."

"Why did it end?  If you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all.  Allison and I had a lot in common in terms of interests
and values, but our personalities and our long-term goals weren't very
compatible.  It didn't help that it was a long-distance relationship,
either; she's a student at Stanford.  We met last summer, while she
was interning at NASA -- met on the dance floor at Chevy Chase, as a
matter of fact.  This summer she took another internship on the North
Slope of Alaska, and after getting her Master's next June she's going
into the Peace Corps; there just wasn't room in her life for a
boyfriend right now."

"I see.  Well, you don't need to worry about that kind of thing with
me, Nathan; I care about my career, but I'll always make time for my
friends... and especially for my lover."  She brought her hands up
over my shoulders and stood on tip-toe, eyes closed, as I stepped
closer, wrapped her in my arms, and lowered my head to kiss her.

That first brush of our lips was electric.  Mina moaned deep in her
throat, and I felt the tip of her tongue probing at my lips.  I
invited her in, and our tongues danced an energetic waltz, then
duelled tip-to-tip for a moment before she withdrew.  I followed,
never breaking the contact, and explored her mouth in turn, gliding
past dark, full lips and even white teeth to pursue her sweet tongue
to its lair.

As the kiss continued, I slid my hands down her back and cupped her
firm little bottom through the thick fabric of her robe.  Mina moaned
louder, tightening her grip behind my neck.  I bent my knees a little
and lifted her up.  Taking her cue, she brought her legs up and
wrapped them around me.  The robe opened up to her waist, and I could
feel the heat of her sex pressing against my body.  My cock, already
stirred by the kiss, began to rise, straining against the tightly
wrapped robe.

After an endless moment, I broke the kiss, set Mina back on her feet,
and pulled on the sash of her robe.  The neat bow she'd tied came
loose in an instant, and the robe fell open; there was nothing
underneath but Mina.  She shrugged, and the robe slipped off her
shoulders to pool on the floor at her feet.  I marveled at the
evenness of her complexion: skin the warm, rich shade of cafe mocha
spiced with cinnamon, with not the slightest hint of a tan line
anywhere.  She had small, high breasts, crowned by proud little
nipples and quarter-sized areolae the color of the darkest bittersweet
chocolate.  Below them, her taut belly made a broad, flat plain
between the low escarpments of her ribcage and hips, punctuated by the
little teardrop-shaped oasis of her navel, drawing my eyes inexorably
down to her mons, which was shaved smooth as the day she was born. 
The top of her cleft was clearly visible, pointing the way to the
treasure concealed between her slender thighs.  "Luthien...."  I
whispered, as I took her in my arms again.

"Don't," she whispered back.  "Don't put me on a pedestal.  I'm not
some unattainable ideal, Nathan.  I'm real.  I'm here, in the flesh."

"Of course you are -- and beautiful flesh it is.  But you are still
Luthien to me, as Edith was to Tolkien.  I'll tell you what, though:
I'll make it a very short pedestal -- just high enough to let me kiss
you without ducking."

"I have a better idea," she said, dropping to her knees and undoing
the double-knotted sash of my robe.  My cock, freed from the
constraining fabric, sprang to attention, tenting out my blue silk
boxers.  Mina's little hands deftly freed it from that last
entanglement, letting it stand straight out through the open fly.  She
curled her fingers around the shaft and caressed it lightly, then
leaned forward to gently kiss the tip.  Her little pink tongue,
surprisingly pale against her dusky skin and wine-red lips, flicked
out to tickle the sensitive skin below the head; then her lips parted
to engulf the entire head, as her hand began a more vigorous stroking
of the shaft.  I stood still, reveling in velvet softness of her lips
and tongue.  After a moment, though, I pulled away from her, took her
hands and lifted her back to her feet.  She looked at me quizzically. 
"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Mina; it felt fantastic.  It's just that I've never cared for
that position.  It's too one-sided; it feels like something bought or
forced."

"I never thought of it quite that way," she said, "But maybe you're
right.  My last boyfriend, Sean, really liked that, but he was a
domineering sort of guy generally.  I think he got a kick out of
seeing me on my knees.  Not that he was abusive or anything; I
wouldn't have put up with that, but I guess I do have kind of a
submissive streak.  Maybe that's why I follow well on the dance
floor."

"Why did you break up?  If you don't mind my asking, of course."

"I don't mind; I asked you first, after all."  She grimaced.  "I
caught him cheating on me last fall, so I dumped him.  I should have
seen it coming; Sean never made any secret of his preference for tall,
busty blondes.  He started going out with me because I kind of threw
myself at him.  He's still going with Jessica, which in a way makes me
feel better about the whole thing; at least he wasn't just fooling
around on the side."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be," she replied.  "I'm not.  If I was still dating Sean, I
wouldn't be here with you, and I *like* being here with you.  I think
you care more for me than Sean ever did."

"Well, I can certainly promise I'll never cheat on you," I said. 
"Especially not with some big-breasted blonde.  I know that's the
ideal of beauty the media in this country sells, but I'm not buying;
you're as close to my personal ideal as I could ever hope to find."

"You're not so bad yourself," she said, with a lopsided smile.  Then
she threw her arms around my neck and pulled me into another long,
passionate kiss.  Her nipples poked me in the chest, and my cock stood
straight up, pressed between our bodies.

When at length we came up for air, I said, "You know, we don't really
need that very short pedestal; there's a much simpler solution."  I
pulled back the covers, then sat on the edge of the bed and motioned
for Mina join me.  "There," I said, as she settled into my lap,
sitting sideways so that she could look at me eye to eye.  "Now we're
the same height."  As we kissed again, I brought my left hand up to
her cheek, feeling the soft wisps of hair at her temples that
shortened to a fine, nearly invisible downy fuzz along the line of her
jaw.  From there I let my fingers trail down from her cheek to her
breast, making lazy circles around her nipple before spiralling in to
tweak it lightly.  She moaned softly, her own fingers entwining with
my hair, her mouth still hungrily locked to mine.

I covered her breast with my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, then
stroked down over her belly until my hand rested on the top of her
thigh.  Her legs parted, inviting me in.  My fingertips brushed
lightly over the silken skin of her shaved mound, drifting lower to
explore the exquisite softness of her outer lips, finding the moist
petals that peeked out between them just above the entrance to her
cunt.  Mina broke off the kiss and arched her back, pushing her
breasts toward my eager mouth.  My tongue followed the trail of my
fingers, spiralling around her nipple, then flicking it teasingly
before my lips engulfed it, making her gasp with pleasure.  At the
same time, I carefully parted her inner lips and stroked my middle
finger up the center of her cleft, spreading her moisture up to her
hooded clitoris.  I sucked hard on her nipple while my fingers teased
that tiny, sensitive nub, and she moaned louder than before, her
breath growing faster as her arousal built toward climax.  Rubbing her
clit with the pad of my thumb, I pressed gently at her entrance with
my index finger.  The first two joints slid in effortlessly, and I
felt the softly scalloped flesh that marked the most sensitive part of
her vagina.  At the same moment I let her nipple slide between my
teeth.  The combination of sensations sent her over the edge; she
stiffened, head thrown back, her moans rising to a high-pitched
keening as the pent-up energy crackled along her nerves.  When it was
over she went limp, every muscle loose and relaxed, and I cradled her
in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder, until her breathing
returned to normal.

"Oh, wow," she said.  "That was... wow.  I don't think anyone has ever
made me come that quickly.  Thank you, Nathan."

"No need to thank me; I enjoyed it.  And we're just getting started;
let's get a bit more comfortable, shall we?"  I slid back on the futon
and out from under Mina, then stretched out on my side, propped up on
one elbow with my back to the wall, with Mina on her back in front of
me.  I leaned in and kissed her again, slow and deep, my hand
wandering over her breasts and belly.  Moving my lips from hers, I
kissed her cheeks and eyelids, the line of her jaw and the seashell
curve of her ear, then slowly worked my way down over her delicate
neck and collarbone to suckle again at those lovely little tits.

While tasting Mina's left breast, I massaged her right with one hand,
and brought the other up to caress her cheek.  She turned her head and
caught my thumb in her mouth; I pushed it slowly past her lips and she
sucked eagerly, the symbolism further increasing my arousal.  When I
switched breasts, I brought that hand down to the one I was
abandoning, and moved the other down and under her to squeeze her
small, firm buttocks.  She stroked my hair, murmering encouragement as
I licked and nibbled and sucked at the exquisitely sensitive little
bud of her nipple.

After a few minutes of this, I shifted my position so that I was lying
between her thighs, then kissed my way down her belly.  I paused above
her sex, tantalizing her with feather-light kisses on her mons and
inner thighs, then nuzzling her hairless outer lips.  Mina bent her
knees and opened her thighs wide, placing her heels on my shoulders. 
Her engorged inner lips, even darker than her nipples, pushed out from
her slit.  I sucked at them for a moment, then gently parted them with
my fingers and licked slowly up the center of her cleft, enjoying the
gradations of flavor from the acidic tang of her vagina to the
salty-sweet musk around her clit.  Overlaying it all was a vaguely
familiar, spicy scent.  I looked up.  "Did you have curry for dinner?"

Mina raised her head and looked back at me.  "Chicken vindaloo.  Why,
can you taste it?"

"Just a bit."

"Weird.  I've heard of spices coming out in your sweat before, but it
never occurred to me that they might show up in... um... other
secretions."

"I like it," I told her, and emphasized the point by swirling the tip
of my tongue around her clit.  Mina let her head fall back to the
pillow and arched her back, gasping in ecstasy.  I moved my hands up
to her breasts, gently kneading the soft flesh and rubbing my thumbs
over her nipples while I continued to lap at her cleft.  I alternated
between licking her clit, sucking her labia, and pushing my tongue as
far as it would go into her cunt.  The constantly shifting sensations
drove her arousal upward without allowing her to come; her moans grew
louder and higher until she was nearly screaming, begging incoherently
for that elusive release.  Her hands, which had been  clutching at the
sheet beneath her, flew to her breasts, pushing my own hands away and
squeezing harder than I would have dared.  I stroked down her sides
and around her ass, squeezing the muscular little cheeks for a moment
before bringing my hands up to spread her lips wider.  My left thumb
slipped inside her vagina and as my tongue slid over her clit she
exploded, wailing like a banshee and clamping her thighs over my ears.
 The spasm lasted perhaps thirty seconds before she collapsed onto the
mattress.

I moved back up the bed and grabbed a couple of tissues from the night
stand to wipe most of her juices out of my beard, then softly kissed
her lips.  She smiled languidly and opened her eyes.  "Mmmm," she
purred.  "The first time was good; that one was incredible.  Thank you
again, Nathan."

"My pleasure," I assured her.

She sat up and stretched.  "Actually, I think that's yet to come." 
She placed one delicate hand in the middle of my chest.  "Lie back,
Nathan; it's my turn to do some of the work."

I complied, and Mina draped herself over my chest for a long kiss. 
Then, following the same pattern I had with her, she kissed her way
down to my nipples.  I was keenly aware of her own hard little buds
digging into my stomach while she licked and nibbled and sucked mine
into stiff, pebbly points, sending chills down my spine.  After a
couple of minutes she again moved southward, dropping butterfly kisses
on the flat planes of my abdomen, and then along the upper surface of
my cock until she reached the head.  Curling her fingers around the
shaft, she took as much of my length as she could manage into her
mouth and sucked hard, pulling in her cheeks so that I could feel
their silken softness around the sides of my erect member, while her
tongue lapped it from below and pushed it against her palate.  I
groaned, fighting back the urge to thrust; any further and I was
afraid she would choke.

Mina began to bob her head slowly up and down, while her hand stroked
the lower half of my cock in the same rhythm.  I reached down to brush
aside the curtain of hair that had fallen over her beautiful eyes, and
she gazed up at me seductively. She gradually increased her pace; I
caressed her cheek, careful not to push her.  I could feel the
pressure building in my groin.  "Wait," I said.  Mina paused, and I
took a moment to pull myself back from the brink.  "This isn't really
how I want to come," I explained.  "It takes me quite a while to get
ready again, and much as I would like to stay up all night making love
with you, we really *do* need to get *some* sleep tonight."

She let my cock fall from her lips.  "Fair enough," she said.  "I do
want to taste you, but that can wait for another time; I want you
inside me tonight."

"And I want to be there, believe me.  Just one little thing we need
first."  I turned onto my side and reached for the top drawer of my
night stand.

"Um, Nathan?"  She sounded tentative, as though she wanted to say
something but wasn't sure she should.

I paused.  "What is it, Mina?"

"We don't really need that, unless you want to.  I'm on the pill, and
I know for certain that I don't have any diseases; I got tested after
I found out about Sean cheating.  I trust you."

"You shouldn't take chances with that kind of thing," I said.  "But as
it happens, I've also been tested recently; I was a study subject a
couple of months ago, and they screened for HIV and a bunch of other
stuff.  So if you prefer to do it bareback...."

"I do.  I want to feel *you,* not some piece of rubber.  Here, lie
back."

I rolled onto my back again.  Mina straddled my hips, then, ever so
slowly, lowered herself onto my cock.  I was still slick with her
saliva, and she was still sopping wet from her second orgasm; I slid
into her without the least resistance.  She gasped as she hit bottom,
her hypersensitive clitoris bumping against my pubic bone.  I savored
the snug embrace of her vagina, that feeling of liquid heat that
defies all comparison.

After taking a moment to get used to the sensation of my cock filling
her, Mina began to move, rising slowly until only the tip was inside
her, then dropping back down.  I held still, letting her find her own
rhythm.  "Oh... oh!" she exclaimed, grinding her hips into mine at the
end of a stroke.  "Oh, that's good.  Can you do this for a while?"

"In this position?  I can last as long as you need, sweetheart.  Take
your time."

"Good."  She leaned forward, supporting herself with her hands on my
chest, and shortened her strokes, so that her clit rubbed back and
forth over my tangled pubic thatch.   Her breasts hung down in front
of my face; I brought my hands up to massage them, teasing her nipples
with my thumbs.  Beads of sweat glistened on her brown skin, and her
breathing quickened as she rode the wave of yet another orgasm toward
its crest.

The crest seemed elusive, though; her movement faltered, and she
moaned in frustration.  "Mina?" I asked, concern overwhelming my
arousal for a moment.

"My legs... too tired...." she gasped out.  "I can't... go... fast
enough.  Can't... make it... oh!"  Tears appeared at the corners of
her eyes as she tried to break through that intangible barrier.

"Let me help." I slipped two fingers between us and rubbed her clit. 
Smiling gratefully, she humped back and forth against them for a
moment, and came -- not as loudly or as vigorously as the first two
times, but unmistakable nonetheless.  The rippling spasms in her cunt
almost sent me over the edge with her, but I held back, wanting to
prolong this experience just a bit more.  When the tremors ceased, she
rested her head on my chest, my cock still deep inside her.

"Thanks again, Nathan," she murmured.  "That's usually my favorite
position, but after all that dancing, and those first two times, I was
just exhausted."

"Too exhausted to keep going?"  I asked.  "We can stop now if you
want."

"That wouldn't be fair, would it?  You've given me three, and I you
haven't even had one yet.  I can't do it like this, though...."

"I wouldn't ask you to.  Just hold on; if we do this carefully, I
think we can turn over without having to disengage."

Mina obediently wrapped her arms and legs around me as I carefully
rolled onto my side, levered myself up with my left arm, and lowered
us back to the bed so that she was on her back with me above her in
the classic missionary position.  I supported most of my weight on my
knees and elbows, giving her room to breathe.

"How's that?" I asked, as I began stroking slowly in and out of her.

"Mmm, feels nice," she replied.  "Keep going."  I sped up a bit,
thrusting harder and deeper.  Mina wrapped her thighs more tightly
around my waist, her heels digging into the small of my back, urging
me onward, pulling her hips up to meet each thrust.  Her arms,
however, relaxed their grip around my torso and dropped to the bed
above her head.  Remembering her comment about having a submissive
streak, I ran my hands from her breasts up her arms to her wrists,
pinning them against the mattress.  Her reaction confirmed that I had
guessed right.  "Yes, Nathan...." she moaned, her breath quickening
again, "Hold me... take me... fuck me... thrust in me... come in
me....  I want to... feel you... come....  I want to... squeeze...
every... last... drop... out of that... gorgeous... big... prick!"

Her wanton talk increased my arousal more than I would have believed
possible; none of my previous girlfriends had ever talked that way.  I
growled deep in my throat.  Feeling my long-delayed climax building, I
released her wrists and cradled her head in my hands.  Her height made
it impossible for me to kiss her mouth as I would have liked, so
settled for pressing my lips against her forehead as she wrapped her
arms around me again and tucked her face into the hollow of my
shoulder.  My final thrust set her off again; she hugged me
convulsively and began that familiar, high-pitched keening, her
vaginal muscles clenching rhythmically around my cock.  This time I
couldn't have restrained my own orgasm if I had wanted to.  I erupted
into her, pulse after pulse of my essence filling her sweet cunt while
a tingling heat blazed up my spine and out to my fingers and toes like
fire racing over an oil slick.  When it was over we held each other in
silence for a long time, still joined, listening to each other's
breathing and heartbeats as they slowed back down to normal.

After a while my softening cock slipped out of Mina's cunt.  I moved
over to lie on my side next to her, admiring her beatific smile and
the sheen of sweat on her soft brown skin.  Her dark complexion didn't
hide the crimson flush that on her face and breasts.  I chuckled
softly; Mina opened one eye.  "What's funny?"  She asked lazily.

"I was thinking earlier that your skin is the color of a good mocha;
all flushed like this, it's like mocha with raspberry syrup."

"Mmm, yummy."  She yawned.  "I could probably use one of those
tomorrow; we'll need to be awake when we talk to the police."

Her yawn proved contagious; it was a moment before I could answer her.
 "Too true.  We really had better get to sleep pretty quick; it's
after three."

She looked at the clock at the foot of the bed.  "So it is.  Funny, it
didn't seem like that long...."

"No... time flies when you're having fun.  I'm going to get a glass of
water before turning in; do you want one?"

"Yes, please," she replied.  "And a damp washcloth, if you don't
mind."

"Of course."  I went to the bathroom and got the washclosh, gave it to
Mina, then went into the kitchen and filled two glasses.  When Mina
had finished cleaning herself, I took the cloth and wiped most of the
residue of our lovemaking from my own body, then tossed it in the
laundry basket.  We gulped down our water, and I put the glasses in
the sink.  Returning to bed, I cuddled up to Mina in a comfortable
spoon, with her head tucked under my chin, my left arm wrapped around
her just below her breasts, and my now quiescent cock nestled between
her firm little buttocks.

"Good night, Mina," I whispered.  "And thank you; I think this has
been the most wonderful night of my life."

"You're welcome, Nathan... and thank *you,* for everything.  I don't
think I've had a better night, either.  Even the kidnapping only made
it better; without that, none of this would have happened.  Looking
back on it, it was even kind of exciting...."

"I think there's a saying about that... 'There's nothing so
exhilarating as being shot at and missed,' or something along those
lines."

"Yeah...."  She yawned.  "I think I've heard that somewhere.  Well,
anyway, good night."

"Good night, sweetheart."  I reached up and turned out the bedside
light.

I was almost asleep when the phone rang.  I reached up and grabbed it
off the night stand before it could ring again; Mina stirred and
mumbled something.  "This had better be very, very important," I
hissed into the receiver.

"Nathan?  This is Sergeant Dawes."

"What is that's worth calling at four in the morning?"

"Two men broke into Mina's dorm room.  They apparently pried the
grille off the window with crowbars and forced it open.  The campus
police spotted them, but they got away, after shooting out the tires
on a couple of police cars.  The campus police don't think they had
Mina with them, but she isn't there; I was hoping you would know where
she is."

"You can relax, Sergeant; she's right here."  She had, in fact, rolled
over to face me, and was now looking at me questioningly.

The policewoman let out a long sigh.  "Thank God.  I should have had
someone watch her room, in case they tried again."

"She thought of that right after you left," I replied.  "We decided it
would be safer if she came here for the night.  Looks like we were
right."

"What happened?" Mina asked.

"Two guys broke into your room; sounds like they were looking for
you."  Her eyes widened at the realization of her narrow escape.  "Is
there anything else, Sergeant Dawes?"

"Yes, actually.   The guy you caught is talking to us."

"Really?  How'd you manage that?"

"We, um, left some reading material in his holding cell... a couple of
pamphlets from the Coalition Against Prison Rape.  A bit of reading
about what could happen to him in the pen made him positively anxious
to cooperate.  Anyway, the plot started at a little Islamic Center in
Takoma Park.  Mina was right; the idea was to use her to get to her
aunt.  The ringleader is a guy named Khalid Jaffa."

I felt a chill as the blood drained from my face.  "Oh, fuck...." I
murmured.  "Khalid Jaffa?  You're certain of that?"

"Yeah, why?"

"What's wrong?" asked Mina at the same time.

"I know that creep.  More to the point, he knows me.  A.U. isn't the
only place where he goes to heckle people; he showed up at the
Maryland Activities Fair too, and the Muslim Students had their table
right next to the one I was running for the Campus Freethinkers.  We
had one hell of an argument before security asked him to leave.  He
knows my name, and if he was in that car earlier tonight, he might
very well have recognized me.  I'm in the phone book, damn it; he and
his buddies could be on their way here right now."

Mina paled at that -- mocha to cappucino, I thought absently, then
shook my head, amazed that a part of my mind was calm enough to
produce aesthetic analogies at such a moment.  "We need to get out of
here," I said.  "Can you send someone to pick us up, Sergeant?  I
think protective custody might be a good idea right now."

"Definitely," Dawes affirmed.  "I'll send a car to get you."

"We'll meet them in the parking lot by the Silver Spring Metro; I
don't want to stay here a minute longer than I have to. "

"Good thinking.  You have my card, right Nathan?  Call me if you need
me; otherwise I'll see you when you get to the station."

"Thanks, Sergeant."  I hung up.  Mina had already gotten out of bed
and started dressing in the shorts and t-shirt she had in her bag.  I
pulled on the jeans I'd worn before the dance and a clean shirt, sock
and sneakers, then grabbed my wallet and keys from the dresser.  "Come
on, let's get out of here," I said, hurrying to the front hall.  I
cracked the door open just a bit and peeked out into the corridor to
make sure the coast was clear.

It wasn't; a man in black clothes and a ski mask, carrying a small
submachine gun, had just stepped out of the elevator.

"Oh, fuck!" I cursed, for the second time in five minutes. I slammed
the door shut, locked it, and shot the bolt.  "Hit star-sixty-nine and
get Sergeant Dawes back on the line," I called to Mina.  "Tell her
they're here already, and we need all the cops she can get, as fast as
she can get them here."  As I spoke I ran to the hall closet. 
Ballroom dancing was only one of my hobbies.  In the corner behind the
door I kept the necessary equipment for the other: a thirty pound
recurve bow and a quiver of arrows.  I hurriedly strung the bow and
nocked an arrow.

"What are you doing?" Mina asked, as she hung up the phone; the call
had taken less than a minute.

"Evening the odds as much as I can.  Damn, I wish I had a gun... what
are *you* doing?"  As I took up position inside the closet, where I
could shoot down the short hallway and then duck back out of the way,
Mina had hurried past me into the kitchen.  She reappeared in the
doorway, holding a foot-long carving knife.  "I'm not going to hide
behind you, Nathan," she said, ducking back out of sight.  "Between us
we might be able to turn the tables."

I had no time to argue, as at the moment the man in the hall began
pounding on the door.  I wondered whether he'd be able to break it
down; the doors in my building are heavy and solid, and even a machine
gun burst might leave the deadbolt intact.  Then I heard a key in the
lock; he must have forced the doorman to give it to him.  *Great, just
fucking great,* I thought, drawing back the bowstring and sighting
along the arrow.  I took some comfort in that: thirty inches of hollow
fiberglass shaft, straight as a plumb line, tipped with a needle-sharp
conical point.  It wasn't as lethal as a flanged hunting point, but at
least it would penetrate flesh; a blunt field point might not be
effective with my lightweight bow.

After a moment of fumbling, the invader figured out which key went
with which lock, and which way they turned; the deadbolt clicked back,
the knob turned, and the door was thrown open.  I loosed my shaft at
the silhouette in the doorway and was rewarded with a "thunk" and a
cry of shock and pain as the arrow found its mark.  I dodged back into
the closet; a burst of gunfire ripped down the hall and shattered the
plate glass opposite the door.  I cursed as the gunman rushed into the
hall; my only shot had failed to bring him down.

In a moment I was face to masked face with my enemy.  He had pulled
the arrow out; I could see blood trickling from a puncture wound just
under his left collarbone.  His left arm hung uselessly, but his right
aimed the gun at my chest.  "Where is she?"  He demanded.  I shook my
head.  "I have twenty-seven bullets left," he snarled.  "Only the last
one has to kill you.  Now where is the little bitch?"

"Right here!" Mina shouted, bursting from the kitchen.  Before the
gunman could even begin to turn around, she drove the carving knife
into his back, gripping the hilt with both hands.  The tip, stained
crimson, emerged from his chest about eight inches below the arrow
wound.

The gun fell from the man's nerveless fingers, and he clutched at his
chest, staring down in astonishment at the the bloody knife.  "Allahu
ak-- uhhh."  His last words trailed off into a sigh, and he crumpled
to the floor.

Mina stood over the corpse, staring in horror at the knife protruding
from his back.  She began to shake uncontrollably, her eyes filling
with tears.  I quickly stepped over the body and wrapped her in my
arms, stroking her hair as she sobbed against my shoulder.  "Oh,
god..." she choked out.  "I didn't want... but he was going to kill
you...."

"It's all right, Mina," I whispered.  "It's not your fault.  You only
did what you had to do... what he forced you to do.  Now come on, we
need to get moving before his buddy shows up to see what's keeping
him."

She nodded, stepped back and wiped her eyes.  "I'll be all right,
Nathan.  You're right; we should get out of here... but where do we
go?"

"Mmm.  I don't know any of my neighbors well enough to knock on their
doors at this hour of the morning, especially with a strange girl and
a gun... okay, here's what we do."  I bent to pick up the machine gun
as I spoke.  "We'll go down a couple of floors, in case he searches up
here, and we'll hide in the laundry room; there's one on every level."

Just then, I heard cars squealing around the corner and pulling up in
front of the building, followed by police officers shouting for
someone to surrender.  "Sounds like he's still in the front lobby," I
observed.  "Maybe we should just wait here for the cops.  Better shut
the door, though, just in case."  I did so, removing the spare keys
from the locks.  Thirteen stories below, I could hear the cops
entering the lobby; presumably, the gunman there had surrendered.  A
moment later, the phone rang.

I ran to pick it up.  "This is Tyrone at the front desk," the doorman
announced.  "The police are here.  If you're the guy that stole the
keys to 1411, you'd better give yourself up; there's no way out of the
building now."

"I'm the guy that lives in 1411," I replied.  "The guy that stole the
keys won't be causing any problems for anyone; he has a carving knife
stuck through his heart.  I'd appreciate it if you could send the cops
up to collect what's left of him.  I take it they already have his
friend?"

"Yeah, he went quietly," Tyrone confirmed.  "I'm glad you're all
right, Nathan; I'm really sorry about giving them the keys, but...."

"But getting your nuts shot off is not in your job description," I
finished for him.  "Don't worry about it; it turned out okay...
mostly."  I had sat down on the end of the bed, and Mina was clinging
to my side, averting her eyes from the dead man in the hallway.  I
wrapped my free arm around her trembling shoulders.  "Tell them to
hurry, all right?  There might be another bad guy in the building
somewhere."

"Will do; they should be up there in three minutes, tops."

"Good.  Talk to you later, Tyrone."

"Later, man."

We hung up, and I turned to pull Mina into my arms.  Though she was
silent now and her face was hidden against my chest, I could feel hot
tears soaking through my t-shirt.  I held her and stroked her hair;
after a moment she looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes.  "You must
think I'm pretty silly, Nathan," she sniffled.  "I mean, you're so
calm and collected, and look at me... I'm a wreck."

I shook my head gently.  "Not at all, love.  I think you're a lot
tougher and braver than you realize.  What you did took a lot of guts
-- the more so because you have a kind heart.  I wish I could have
spared you this; if I could have stopped that bastard myself, I would
have -- even though if I'd killed him I think I'd be having a nervous
breakdown right about now.  It's a hard thing to do, Mina, and a hard
thing to live with, even when it's a case of 'he's dead and I'm alive
and that's better than the alternative.'  But you *can* live with it. 
You say I saved your life tonight?  That may be so, but there's no
question at all that you saved mine.  I'll help you to deal with the
consequences any way I can."

"Thank you, Nathan.  I love you too... and I think maybe that's all I
need."

Before I could reply, the police began knocking on the door.  It took
us an hour or so of explaining all that had happened before they were
finally satisfied to remove the body and let us go back to bed.  By
that time we were both loopy with exhaustion; Mina fell asleep within
moments of achieving a comfortable spoon, and I quickly followed.

In the morning Mina seemed better, though still subdued.  As expected,
we spent most of Sunday talking with the Montgomery County Police, the
D.C. police, and the F.B.I.  They now had three conspirators in
custody: Ahmed Mustafa, who'd tried to abduct Mina outside the Chevy
Chase Ballroom; Mohammed Khoury, who the police had arrested in the
lobby of my building; and Khalid Jaffa, who I had wounded in the
shoulder when I fired at the kidnappers' car.  The police had found
Jaffa at the group's apartment in Takoma Park, where they had planned
to hold Mina hostage until her aunt returned to Bangladesh and gave
herself up -- not to the government, but to the mullahs and their
lynch mob.  Then, according to Mustafa, they would have executed Mina
anyway, as in their eyes she was clearly guilty of blasphemy and
apostasy in her own right.  Learning this made Mina feel considerably
better about her role in killing the fourth conspirator, Omar Yaseen;
he, along with Jaffa, was responsible for hatching the scheme in the
first place, and he was the one who had obtained the guns.

Satisfied that the entire group was in custody, Mina returned to her
dorm that night.  Monday was a busy day for both of us, but she did
find time to call me right before going to bed.  We planned to have
dinner together the next night.  As it turned out, she called me again
in the morning and told me to turn on my TV; the Al-Qaeda hijackers
had just hit the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.  In those first
confusing hours there were also reports of bombings at the White House
and State Department, and rumors of as many as six additional hijacked
planes.  Throwing caution to the winds, I drove down to American U.
and brought Mina back to my place, where we watched that tense,
terrible day unfold, grateful for each other's company during the
tragedy.

We learned later that Khalid Jaffa had been beaten to death in the
D.C. lock-up that morning, having made the mistake of cheering when he
first heard about the attacks.  The guards were able to rescue Mustafa
and Khoury and move them to solitary confinement, but not before they
both suffered severe beatings as well from their fellow prisoners. 
Given what they had intended for my new lover, I had a hard time
finding any sympathy for any of them.

It's been quite a few months now.  The two surviving kidnappers both
pled guilty; in the wake of the attacks their lawyers feared it would
be impossible for a couple of Muslim fanatics to receive a fair trial.
 Compared to bin Laden's butchers, Mustafa and Khoury were rank
amateurs, but they were cut from the same filthy cloth, and it would
be hard to find a juror who wouldn't draw that connection.  They both
drew long prison sentences, segregated from the general prison
population for their own safety; once they get out they'll be deported
and permanently barred from entering the U.S.

Mina and I are still together.  She's as enthusiastic a lover as ever,
and when we're not in bed together we spend a lot of time exploring
Washington's various museums and monuments, watching movies, cooking
together, and -- of course -- dancing.

-----
Author's Note: I started writing this last summer, in that distant,
half-forgotten time before the Twin Towers fell.  After September 11 I
put it aside for several months, unsure whether to finish it; I did
not wish to be seen as jumping on some anti-Islamic bandwagon. 
However, the story wouldn't let go of my imagination, so eventually I
started writing again.  Apart from a few minor details, this is the
same story I began to write back in July; it is set three days before
the 9-11 terrorist attacks, so those events are not mentioned except
in the epilogue.

While the characters in the story are fictional, some of them do bear
some resemblance to myself and people I know.  In particular, "Nisrina
Tasleem" is based on the real-life physician, poet, novelist, and
fatwa victim Taslima Nasrin.  Dr. Nasrin actually was hounded out of
her native Bangladesh for writing the novel "Shame," which helped
publicize atrocities committed by Muslim mobs against that country's
Hindu minority, and for other writings criticizing conservative
Islam's systematic repression of women and stifling of free inquiry. 
Visit http://www.humanists.net/nasrin/ for more information about Dr.
Nasrin and her work.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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