Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

44 Kerry Greenwood
‘The Bulletin in the nineties hated everyone,’ objected Phryne.
‘Along with Ikey Mo there was Johnnie Chinaman and Jacky-Jacky
the aborigine and Paddy the drunken Irishman; and they weren’t
keen on women, either, looking on my own sex, as I understand,
as the root of all evil. But what’s the solution? If your own people
want to restrict immigration, what is to be done?’
‘A homeland,’ said Simon, and his face shone with a pure
light of dedication.
‘Where?’ asked Phryne, putting the tray on her bedside table.
‘Palestine…’
He looked so beautiful, his long lashes lowered over the bright
eyes, that Phryne reached out and caressed the curly hair and
the smooth cheek. Simon Abrahams nestled into the touch and
kissed her palm, and Phryne gasped. Her hand dropped to the
broadcloth lap, and Simon made the same noise. She undid his
tie, shucked his coat, took the studs from his sleeves. ‘Come and
lie down with me,’ she whispered.
He took the rose from his coat and shed the petals over
Phryne. They slid down her shiny black hair and were scattered
over her pillow and her breast.
From then on, it was simple. She lay and watched him
undress, shedding broadcloth and linen, young enough to pull
impatiently at the shirt where the buttons would not release their
grip. The slim body emerged like a flower from a calyx: long legs,
slim hands and feet, a wiry body used to some hard labour. He
was entirely naked when he slid down alongside Phryne in her
silken bed, and the cream nightdress was already cast aside.
Cool morning light made an icon, strangely religious, of
the young man with the Middle Eastern face. Phryne felt him
shiver as their bodies touched at a thousand points, and she
ran both hands down his smooth back, her fingers curling over
the muscular buttocks and sliding inward to cup the denuded
genitalia in a gratifying state of excitement.
Jews, Phryne had been told, did not enjoy sex as much as
gentiles because of circumcision. As she sank into a bath of