Read Online Cinnamon by Emily Danby - Free Book Online

over her once more, she was submerged in a new wave of sadness. She shut her eyes and wound her arms around her chest. Peering out of the window, Hanan spotted Aliyah – a black dot getting smaller and smaller. In that moment, Anwar’s image appeared before her, just as he was on her first night. Hanan’s heart skipped a beat and her skin crawled at the sight of Aliyah’s fingers wrapped around Anwar’s dangling penis. Sharp contractions shot through her abdomen and she ran to the bathroom, where she vomited until her stomach was empty. Lying on the bathroom floor, Hanan sensed the coolness of the porcelain tiles and felt a little calmer.
    Moment by moment, Hanan examined each of her feelings as they arose, catching herself in the act. Her longing for Aliyah consumed her completely; she still couldn’t quite believe the girl was truly gone. On the floor, Hanan studied her fingers. They were so ugly, she thought, so wrinkled and ugly now. Recalling the touch of Aliyah’s fingers against her cheek, her stomach started to contract once more.
    Â 
    Aliyah had played with her here on this same cold floor. Hanan could hear the girl’s voice floating over the foamy bath-water whilst her eyes followed what she said curiously:
    â€˜You know, I’ve never felt anything sweeter than the pleasure your fingers give me. There’s nothing that burns like your desire does... That’s what leads its fingers to the hiding places of your pain – the pain running through your blood, beneath your skin. When you reach a climax that makes you feel as though you’re suffocating suddenly Allah will provide you an opening from yourself. No, it will never come like this! You must mould it from your own clay, you alone.
    â€˜I turn into a crescent moon; I become a secret. Everything must be kept in secrecy; it’s our only life-line here.
    â€˜Don’t provoke others with the way you look at them. Smile and speak sweetly. You have to be happy with life, and happiness is to become a sealed glass snow globe, full of falling snowflakes – however others shake you, they can’t work out what’s inside. That is power: to be both origin and ending within yourself. Nobody will dare to even come close to you then. Step-by-step, you begin to bathe with your own soul; your fingers are your captain and your mind is the source of your senses; the place where your tremors are born.’
    Hanan looked away from her fingers, caressing her body as she whispered to herself almost silently:
    â€˜No man can give you pleasure like supple fingers can; their touch comes from your heart and not from a man’s body. Warm protrusions, opening up inside you, expanding, granting all that originated from you and all that is within you. By that you are mistress of your own self. In a shudder, your womanliness returns to you and you remain erect. Fingers are like alifs that resonate forever. They arise from the void and soar through the air and, as their trembling touch fondles the abyss, they generate an eternal bliss, which begins and ends in the same moment. There are all sorts of delicious fingers. Yours are slender and rough, but beautiful. Do you know mine? Sometimes they seize up – they freeze in the middle of things and then won’t follow through, not knowing how to move. They finish when my love of them is just beginning. Have you ever made love with your fingers? Fingers don’t end in humiliating flaccidity. Any time you ask them to, they’ll come to you. Mine love to roam your body. They don’t like my lips, or my eyes. I hate my fingers! They have the power to harm me whenever they get away. My fingers are made of sand. Don’t look at how white they are. They’re full of air, so with their very first touch they melt away. So soft. Your fingers are firm – nothing like a limp piece of crocodile flesh. When you grow up you’ll experience it for yourself. How