Every five minutes an image was popping up in front of her. Once the image of one of the men standing in front of her on purpose, even though he never looked at her, and pointing at her with a clothed erection, like a pointing dog. But she noticed finally there was no hard-on, no attention to her.She felt a random horniness. Any woman with a decent body made her sensitive, and some of them had superb figures or parts of figures: fine faces, legs, hands, perfect bottoms, fine torpedoes. She was in one of those fits where she saw everybody's pubic hair in her mind's eye.Soon she was in the lavatory masturbating in a stall. Her head went to an intense image and stayed there so she could concentrate enough to bring herself over the edge. At one point two women were talking quietly in another part of the bathroom, and there was another lone woman next to her for a couple of minutes, she was sure at certain times that each of them could hear her playing with herself and were. ’ ‘Anna,’ I repeated, pronouncing each syllable as if I was tasting the name, ‘Anna.’ These midnight rendezvous with Anna went on for a while. Soon, she became accustomed to my presence. We would meet in my quarters and speak in a broken language, conversing about life, love, and one another. Time found me saving bread from my dinners to give her and not working her as hard as the others in my sections. I kept us as exclusive as possible, but after a few weeks, I found myself to be the subject of teasing from my peers, often being questioned in humor how my ‘Jew girl’ was. ‘Just one day closer to death,’ I’d answer them, saving my reputation. Of course, they’d laugh at the same truth that made my heart sink, and they’d pass of my relationship with Anna as being a mere joke. It didn’t bother me much, however, for as long as Anna was in my life, the grayness in their taunting was always washed blue in her eyes. In truth, Anna wasn’t my girl, nor was she my lover. I found out through our.
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