The View From My Balcony
Jul 20 '01
The Bottom Line These waterproof binoculars are a wonderful way for adults and children alike to learn about the world around us.
If you live anywhere within a six block radius of my apartment, you have most likely been awakened at one time or another by the Goldfarb's lovemaking noises. They often play Itzhak Perlman's instrumental adaptation of "Muskrat Love" in an attempt to drown out the thrashing, the thumping, the knocking, the loud slurping exchanges of fluid, but to no avail. You can even hear them tearing off their "Make Love, Not War" t-shirts. (Didn't those go out of style after the Yom Kippur War?)
"Oh God, I haven't been fụcked like this since the Six-Day War," I once heard Renata Goldfarb screaming, to which her husband Avi shouted, "What about the time Rabbi Lowenstein gave it to you up the ạss?"
"That was…...unnh…..…pretty……fứcking good……unnnh, ooooohhhh," Renata rejoined frantically, "but remember the time the Rabbi was giving it to me from behind, you were giving it to the Rabbi, and Dr. Zeidman walked in on us? I thought you were going to shoot your wad right then. But he stepped right up to the plate and found an opening, like the talented otolaryngologist he is."
I heard glass breaking and what sounded like a few shelves of Sidney Sheldon novels hitting the floor, then Avi Goldfarb shrieked, "Oh sweet Moses, no one's touched me there since that Mossad agent in the Golan Heights."
An hour later, all was quiet. Exhausted, they had fallen asleep. That's when I heard their 17-year old daughter Karen slip in the apartment with her boyfriend Jacob. I put down my John Cheever anthology and got out my extra-durable Pentax PIF 10 x 50 Porro-Prism binoculars with nitrogen-filled, fully waterproofed body. I made sure that the full-body rubber housing and field flattener lenses were still operational by expertly flicking them with my middle finger, then removed the lens protection covers and wiped the lenses with a lint free cloth. I had discovered that if I stood in the far corner of my balcony and leaned precariously around the heating and air conditioning ducts, I could just barely see into Karen's bedroom. It was broad daylight, though, so I would need a disguise. I hastily rummaged through my closet and pulled out my Moshe Dayan Halloween costume from 1983, complete with eyepatch.
The first few times I had watched Karen and Jacob, their gentle adolescent fumblings were reminiscent of the kind of tender caresses you used to see between Golda Meir and escaped circus bears. If you had been scripting them, they usually went along the lines of,
"Oh…..you're on my hair!"
"Sorry, did I scratch you with my Lee Press-On Nail?"
"Are you supposed to have a patch of fur there?"
"That's not fur, that's my pre-cancerous mole!"
"I thought you said your parents had just stocked up on Ding-Dongs!"
"Hurry up, it's almost time for Saved By the Bell!"
"Do you ever take these 300 Beanie Babies out of your bed?"
Karen had the large, soft, pendulous breasts of a girl who matures early and never starts a good exercise program, and reclining on her bed, her heavy white flesh, tumescent belly and sturdy thighs brought to mind an Ingres odalisque. In contrast, Jacob seemed to have been assembled from popsicle sticks, with just barely enough epidermis to cover his long knobby bones. His concave belly nicely accomodated Karen's bulging abdomen. His private parts were almost ridiculously elongated; the first time I caught a glimpse of his Jolly Roger I thought it was a stray femur, and you could have played lawn croquet with his non-planetary orbs.
This time it only took Jacob six minutes to roll the Trojan on, down from his usual eleven. Usually Karen helped him, but today she was starting without him, rubbing rhythmically, her eyes fixed on the vintage Bibi Netanyahu poster on the back of her door. "Are you ready for me yet?" Jacob asked. He was sitting back on his knees on the bed, swinging his manhood back and forth like a tank gunner. Karen's eyes were closed now, she had elevated her hips with the Collected Stories of Isaac Bashevis Singer, and she was rubbing faster. "Actually, there's a bottle of Manischewitz in the cupboard above the toaster oven…can you run and get it?"
I watched as Jacob, with the clumsy, flailing movements of a kibbutz scarecrow, scurried to the bedroom door and disappeared. Obviously Karen, like Barbara Walters, Barbra Streisand, Sandra Bernhardt and Eleanor Roosevelt before her, was now requiring larger and larger objects to satisfy herself. What was next, David Ben-Gurion's wooden leg?
The super-multi-coating optical elements raged inside the binoculars, or something. Suddenly, as if Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, I saw Renata Goldfarb emerge from her bedroom door in the altogether as Jacob, as yet unseen, trundled down the hallway toward the kitchen. My pulse quickened as the two approached each other…..
TO BE CONTINUED.
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Member: Distressa Bologna-Cohen
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