The Oy of Sex

by Marcie Scheiner

  “You have two sets of everything.”

  “You’ve never been in a kosher kitchen?” I asked, incredulous; he had, after all, lived in Meyercurve. “The dairy utensils and pots are on the right, the meat things are on the left. But you just need a glass.”

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “Any. Who drinks meat?”

  Dirk got a soda from the refrigerator. He pressed the unopened can against my nipple, watching my reaction. This caught me off guard; I’d expected him to kiss me. Then he opened the can and pinched my other nipple until it too was hard. “You have great tits,” he said and drank some Pepsi.

  “I know.” My tits are full and not yet affected by gravity. I never wear a bra, because I love for men to stare at them. Sometimes, when a guy sucks them and plays with them for a long time, I come just from that. I’ve learned to keep quiet, because they’d think I was faking it. I tried to keep still as Dirk pinched them through my T-shirt. He set down the soda and ran his hand under my skirt and over my panties. “Want me to make you wetter?” he asked.

  The question was rhetorical. He pushed my shirt up over my tits and licked each nipple briskly as he massaged both my tits with his hands. He sucked my nipples until I had to brace myself against the kitchen sink. He ran his hand lightly over my panties again and said, “That’s better. I need you dripping. Tell me, do Jewish women take it up the ass?”

  “It’s been known to happen.” He placed me on top of the kitchen table and pulled off my skirt and underwear. He left my shirt pushed over my tits. He sat down slowly in a folding chair, spread open my labia, and licked my clit very gently. Every time I pressed my pelvis toward his mouth, he’d hold down my hips. Dirk kept me on the verge of climax for half an hour.

  He unzipped his fly, slid his cock into my pussy and moaned, but he didn’t repeat the thrust. Instead, he withdrew and sank his slippery cock into my asshole. I wanted it so bad by then that I didn’t tense up at all. I held up a tit with each hand and pinched my nipples. If he didn’t lose it, I might come from his cock up my ass and my agile fingers grasping my nipples.

  “That’s exquisite,” he said, as he deepened his thrusts. “Don’t stop playing with your tits.” I hadn’t intended to. “I’ll take care of your pussy.” I was hoping he would.

  He pounded against my ass a few more times, staring at my fingers on my tits. Then he slowed to an easy, relaxed motion and ran his fingers over my inner lips, then sank them into my pussy. I spread my legs farther apart and he found my G-spot. I groaned.

  “There it is,” he said. He massaged my clitoris. “Aren’t you worked up.”

  He fucked my ass and explored my pussy with one hand while he ran several fingers of his other hand over my clit. He teased, changing style, first gliding quickly over it and then flicking or massaging. I felt his cock twitch and grow even larger. I knew he was going to come soon when he asked, “What do you prefer?”

  Such timing. “Rub it, in circles.” He did, his fingers firm and steady, keeping exact time with his left hand and his hips. “Yeah.”

  “That’s good. Perfect. Come for me, Jennifer,” he implored. I find that a man talking to me in bed is either distracting or extremely sexy. Dirk’s attention made my pelvis lurch forward, and I pressed my clit even harder against his strong fingers. “That’s it,” he whispered, staying with my clit even as he began jabbing his fingers into my G-spot and increasing the speed of his fucking. My pussy contracted violently, and come poured onto his hands. “Again,” he insisted. After I’d come twice, Dirk freed his hands and said apologetically, “I can’t hold back any longer.” He braced one hand against the kitchen table while he held my thigh with the other.

  “No need for apologies,” I assured him. He grinned, caught being falsely modest, then started to fuck me. I realized that up until then he’d only been practicing. He left a souvenir: a ring of his fingerprints on my thigh.

  His fingerprints were still visible the next morning. I admired his handiwork, then brewed some coffee and settled onto the sofa with my vocabulary notes. As soon as I got comfortable, the phone rang. I didn’t answer it: that’s why I’d bought a machine.

  “Hi…? It’s Dirk. Uh, call me when you get—”

  “Just getting out of the shower,” I said reflexively as I turned off the machine.

  “I thought you were the call-screening type.”

  “Okay. I’m reviewing vocabulary. I mean, I’m about to.”

  “Look up le nez,” he told me.

  “Noz,” I confirmed in Yiddish.

  Dirk laughed. “Then I don’t need to translate nase from German.”

  “Not unless you’re the type to look down your nose at the novice,” I replied. I was beginning to wonder if our relationship was to consist primarily of trading translations when suddenly Dirk said, “Wanna go out tonight?”

  I breathed a relieved “yes,” and then added dryly, Ja. Oui. Kein.”

  Israeli Personal Ads

  Actual personal ads which appeared in Israeli newspapers (taken from the Internet).

  Nice Jewish guy, 38. No skeletons. No baggage. No personality.

  Sincere rabbinical student, 27. Enjoys Yom Kippur, Tisha B’av, Taanis Esther, Tzom Gedaliah, Asarah B’Teves, Shiva Asar Tammuz. Seeks companion for living life in the “fast” lane.

  Jewish male, 34, very successful, smart, independent, self-made. Looking for girl whose father will hire me.

  Jewish businessman, 49, manufactures Sabbath candles. Chanukah candles, havdallah candles, Yahrzeit candles. Seeks nonsmoker.

  I’ve had it all: herpes, syphilis, gonorrhea, chlamydia, and four of the ten plagues. Now I’m ready to settle down. So where are all the nice Jewish men hiding?

  I get too hungry for Diva at 8. I love The Phantom and never come late. Won’t dish the dirt ’cause it’s housework I hate. That’s why the lady is a JAP.

  I am a sensitive Jewish prince whom you can open your heart to. Share your innermost thoughts and deepest secrets. Confide in me. I’ll understand your insecurities. No fatties, please.

  Eh, shalom aleichem. So maybe you want to meet me, although all right, you probably don’t. Nu, so if you change your mind, maybe epess you’ll write me, but if not, it’s okay, I understand.

  Divorced Jewish man, seeks partner to attend shul with, light Shabbos candles, celebrate holidays, build sukkah together, attend brisses, bar mitzvahs. Religion not important.

  Couch potato latke, in search of the right applesauce. Let’s try it for eight days. Who knows?

  Are you the girl I spoke with at the kiddush after shul last week? You excused yourself to get more horseradish for your gefilte fish, but you never returned. How can I contact you again? (I was the one with the cholent stain on my tie).

  80-year-old bubbe, no assets, seeks handsome, virile Jewish male, under 35. Object matrimony. I can dream, can’t I?

  Agnostic dyslexic insomniac male, seeks similar female to stay up all night to discuss whether or not there really is a Dog.

  All my friends are doing it, and quite frankly, I feel left out. Jewish woman, 37, never married. Seeks divorce.

  Attractive Jewish woman, 35, college graduate, seeks successful Jewish Prince Charming to get me out of my parents house.

  Boychik seeking girlchik.

  Tumtumchik seeking androgynuschik.

  Businessman, 51, manufactures Jewish novelty items: chai chairs, chai-fi stereos, chaiball glasses, chai jump equipment. Seeks woman with chai standards.

  Classy carrot seeking sugar daddy to make tzimmes together. Prunes need not apply.

  Conservative rabbi, 45, I count women for the minyan and call them up to the Torah. Seeking female to make aliyah.

  Desperately seeking shmoozingl Retired senior citizen desires female companion 70+ for kvetching, kvelling, krechtzing. Under 30 is also OK.

  Divorced? Looking for someone to play with? Sign on with us, the New York Gets. Games all season. Switch hitters welcome.

  I enjoy l
ong walks, candlelight dinners, sailing, travel to Europe, and I think this ad should be in New York Magazine instead. Sorry.

  If I were sour cream and you were a blintze, what kind of filling would you have? Single Jewish woman, loves to cook, wants to satisfy your appetite.

  If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the blech. Heimishe balabusta, 39, will cook you such a tzimmes. Hurry, it’s getting cold.

  Israeli professor, 41, with 18 years of teaching in my behind. Looking for American-born woman who speaks English very good.

  Israeli woman, 28, works behind falafel counter in pizza shop, looking for Jewish man with sense of humus.

  Jewish man, watches TV on Friday night with time clock, eats fish at nonkosher restaurants, doesn’t wear yarmulke at work. Modern Orthodox.

  Jewish Princess, 28, seeks successful businessman of any major Jewish denomination: hundreds, fifties, twenties.

  Looking for a great husband? “Mr. Dependable,” always there for you. A faithful companion at all times. Your salvation in any emergency. No Saturday or holiday calls, please.

  Mama’s boy from Brooklyn, seeks wife willing to suffer abuse from my mommy.

  Matzo supplier, 53, seeks cloth bag manufacturer. Let’s play “Hide the Afikomen.”

  Orthodox woman with get, seeks man who got get, or can get get. Get it? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

  Professional Jewish athlete, winner of Davis Cup, America Cup, Stanley Cup. Seeking non-Jewish woman. Goyishe Cup.

  Single, attractive, successful, self-absorbed woman, 34, seeks to save money by spending yours.

  Staunch Jewish feminist, wears tzitzis, seeking male who will accept my independence, although you probably will not. Oh, just forget it.

  Successful orthodox diamond cutter. Both Shea and Yankee Stadium. No Shabbos games. Will not mow lawn during s’firah. Seeking wife.

  What’s a menorah without its shammes? Available Jewish woman, 37, seeks man to light her fire.

  Worried about in-law meddling? I’m an orphan! Write.

  Yeshiva bochur, Torah scholar, long beard, payos. Seeks same in woman.

  Yeshiva graduate, 38, handsum, earring, sinsere. Wood make gud huzband. Seeks frum girl with publick schul background to help me with my speling.

  Your place or mine? Divorced man, 42, with fleishig dishes only. Seeking woman with nice milchig set. Object macaroni.

  From He, She and It

  Marge Piercy

  He came so quietly she did not hear him until he was in the room. He stood by the window. “Shira?”

  She felt closer to fright than to desire. Her heart was pounding, but in her mind was the idea that it was time to treat him as a person, fully, because he was nothing less; she knew, too, that she was choosing to try sex with him because when she was with him, she did not think of Gadi. He seemed able to fill all available mental space. In the intervening years, only her child had done that, her lost child. She sat up in bed. “Come.”

  He paused with his hand on the bedside table. “You wish it to stay dark?”

  “Yes. Not because I find you ugly, but because I don’t want Malkah to wake and see the light. She often has insomnia.”

  “Shira, why did you change your mind? Is it because I cleared the Base of danger? For Malkah?”

  “Don’t ask silly questions. I’m doing it because I want to. He tore off his few garments, letting them fall, and slid between the sheets. She wondered exactly what one did with a cyborg. She had waded through gigabytes of material on his hardware, but she was still confused. Could one kiss a cyborg? Would not his mouth be dry as a can opener? It was not. His lips were soft on hers. His tongue was a little smoother than a human tongue but moist. Everything was smoother, more regular, more nearly perfect. The skin of his back was not like the skin of other men she had been with, for always there were abrasions, pimples, scars, irregularities. His skin was sleek as a woman’s but drier to the touch, without the pillow of subcutaneous fat that made it fun to hug Malkah, for instance.

  “Shira, I can feel that you’re tense,” he said very softly.

  “I’m not tremendously sophisticated or experienced. Even if you were human, I’d be nervous. To lie down with a man always feels risky.”

  “But I can’t give you a disease or make you pregnant. I would never hurt you.” Lightly, gently he stroked her back.

  “You’re strong enough to do so inadvertently, the way a person can hurt a baby or a bird.”

  “I control my movements far more exactly than any human does. I’m machined and programmed to demanding specifications. I would never hurt you, I could never hurt you. Believe that.”

  She smiled against his shoulder. “That would make you different indeed from any man I’ve known.”

  “Then know me, Shira. Let me know you. It’s all we can do together. We can’t get married or have children or run off together. All I can bring you are brain and body during the times I am not required elsewhere in acts of what I’m told is necessary violence.” He tugged gently at the fine cloth of her nightgown. “Can we take this off?”

  The nightgown went flying across the room and settled with a little sigh of its own on the floorboards. Moonshine lit the room faintly. His hands drifted over her lightly, lightly in wide and then narrowing circles, on her back, her breasts, her belly. He touched her as if he had all the time in the world. Of course he did not experience bodily fatigue; his desire was not based in any physical pressure; he did not sleep. He caressed her as if he could do so all night, and probably he could. She still felt watchful, wary, but her flesh woke independently of her brain, stretched, came to life, brushed into electrical response. Her back arched to his palm, her breast slipped forward into his hand. He obviously liked to be touched, to be caressed, but she did not sense that any particular part seemed more sensitive than any other, although she was too shy to touch his genitals yet. Her breath came quickly, but his did not. Yet he concentrated on her with a total intensity that in itself was absolutely exciting. It was not passion as she had known it in men: it was a passionately intense attention, sharpened bv extraordinary skill in the use of his hands and mouth. Raw silk, she thought, warm in the sun. Sinuous as a cat, as the wind. She writhed against him.

  Time resumed when his hand slipped between her thighs. She realized she had not had a conscious thought in…She had been outside time. And she was the one who had moved his hand downward. She had been kissing him, writhing against him, her mind doused like the havdalah candle that was put out in sweet sacramental wine, the candle braided as their bodies were intertwined. Who would have expected him to be so…graceful, precise, catlike in bed? Never had she lost self-consciousness like that with Josh, never, not with the lover she had tried after him or with anyone at all since Gadi.

  He touched her, and then he parted her thighs and went down on her. She had always felt a little self-conscious that way. Josh had been clumsy, and she had felt shy, as if she were asking for more than she ought to. Gadi had learned from the stimmies, but they had used it for excitement only. For a moment she felt her old awkwardness, and then she thought she need not be embarrassed with him. He did not grow fatigued. He would simply continue until stopped. She gave herself over to the sensations of being lapped until the urgency and the sense of tipping over grew so strong she was coming.

  “I never came that way before,” she said honestly, when she had hold of herself again. “Can you feel pleasure?”

  “I experience a small discharge of my fluids from friction. It has no function other than to mimic what human males produce. The pleasure is entirely in my brain.”

  She smiled. “Do I rub your temples, then?”

  “I can come by any kind of friction. I am not programmed to require penetration.”

  “But would you like to do it that way?”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you?”

  “Let’s try it.”

  He positioned himself on her with extreme care, keeping his weight on his arms. She wo
ndered if he had done this before. He seemed less practiced. She was still wet, and he slid in without difficulty. She was pleased to feel that he had been made a reasonable size. She had feared a giant penis on him, and was relieved Avram had not been carried away. It would be nice to make love with him in ordinary light, she thought, as she was now extremely curious about his body.

  He moved very slowly at first, until she found herself driving up at him. He probed more quickly. She forgot to think. Her nails were digging in his back. Her pelvis was drumming against him. She had never made love quite this way. She had never been as excited except with Gadi, and then she had been too young to thrust hard. She could hear herself making noises, soft growls and groans. A path opened in her, a path into her womb. She did not worry she was taking too long, she did not even think until the last moment that she could not possibly be coming again, but she could, she was, she did.

  She lay beside him in the roll of messed-up covers and pulled-loose sheets. She kept touching his cheek, his forearms, his buttocks. He felt to her at once like a person and a large fine toy. She could not believe what she had just experienced. Since Gadi, her sexual response had been measured at best, defective, sputtering. She had considered herself rather cold. Gadi had been the exception, and that was so long ago, her sexuality so incandescently diffuse, she felt she could have come with Gadi simply by touching thumbs or kissing.

  “Oh,” she said suddenly, jolted. “I fell asleep for a moment.” I wondered if that was sleep.” He stroked the hair back from her face. “I should go to the lab. In the morning tell Malkah I’ve cleared the Base and we must reprogram. All other work must cease until we’ve created new labyrinths. Now Malkah is free to build and ride and play in the Base again.”

  After he had left her, she wanted to think about everything that had happened, but the long day, the tension she had been carrying wound through her guts, the soft, gummy feeling of her body after two orgasms, all sucked her down into sleep heavy as a sinking sofa. What have I done? she thought, waiting for alarm to hit, but then she was floating in darkness, disembodied.