Hassidic Passion (7 page)

Beryl

Does it usually take this long? 

Beryl
hated himself for being so impatient.  Before marriage, he imagined himself somehow transforming into the perfect gentleman, considerate and thoughtful of his wife’s every needs.

N
ow?  Now, all he could think of was convincing her to suck on his cock.

He’d always thought
he would never ask a nice Jewish girl to do
that
.  You had to draw the line somewhere.  Yet something he thought he’d seen in Raizy… well, maybe he was just imagining it.

Maybe that wasn’t the line after all.  He thought of her bright-red lipsticked mouth in the
yichud
room… pressing against him not just on his lips, but everywhere, all over his body.

Would he
ever have the courage to ask her?  Too bad, because what he really wanted was to take hold of the back of her head and thrust himself into her warm, wet mouth.

Why was he such a pervert?  Why couldn’t he just be co
ntent?  Here he was, they had only had sex once and already he was dissatisfied at the thought of doing it the regular way? 

The phone rang.  Beryl snatched it up, turned it on.

“Hello?”

“Hello, may I speak to Mr… Beryl?”

“Speaking.”

“This is
Gary Edelman, from Edelman’s Bookstore.  You came for an interview with Meryl last week?”

“Yes, I did.”  Beryl’s heart began to race.

“She spoke very highly of you.”

“Thank you.”

“But there was something we weren’t sure about.”

“What is it?”

“She mentioned that you are… Orthodox.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, I don’t know if you realized it, but our store… well, it caters to a diverse clientele.  We sell Jewish books, but we ourselves are not observant.  We carry books of other faiths as well.  And we believe in tolerance for Jews of all kinds.”

“I see,” said Beryl. 
Like Jews who wore purple hippie blouses down to their nipples.  Would he stand out there too much with his black coat and
peyos
?

“We would like to make sure you would be comfortable working in our environment.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Beryl.  He hoped there was no hesitation in his voice.  He wanted this job, he realized, more than almost anything he’d wanted in his life.

“We have men and women working here.  Men and women who come in as customers.”  Mr. Edelman was spelling it out, as if he was in kindergarten. 
Obviously, he wasn’t convinced.  “The men don’t all wear kippahs.  The women don’t all wear skirts.”

“I see,” said Beryl.  Something else was needed here.  How could he
reassure him?

“Listen, Mr. Edelman,” he began, as politely as he could.  “I had a chance to look around the store, browse through the books and magazines.  I love it.  I really do.  I admit, my bac
kground is a bit different.  But since you say you’re interested in tolerance, I’d like to ask you to accept me, even if my background is a little bit – different.”

“I can see why
Meryl was impressed,” said Mr. Edelman.  “And you’re right.  I can tell you’re a different sort of young man.”

“Thank you,” said Beryl, even if he wasn’t
entirely sure that was intended as a compliment.

“Could you start…” he heard Mr. Edelman flipping through pages at the other end.  “At ten?”

“Tomorrow?” Beryl asked.

“Right, tomorrow.”

“Absolutely.  Thank you so much, sir.”  Oy.  Too much groveling.  Yet he really was that grateful.

“See you tomorrow.”

“I really appreciate this opportunity.”  He slapped his forehead as he put the phone down.  Okay, starting tomorrow, no more groveling.  He was a man.  He had a wife… and he had a job.

And eventually, the rosh yeshiva would notice Beryl wasn’t showing up anymore.  No, no, no.  That was not the way a man did things.

He picked up the phone again.  Made the call he thought he’d never make.

“I’ve decided to take a job.”

There was an intake of breath.  A patient sigh.  And then, the sound of resignation in the rosh yeshiva’s voice.  “I think this is a good choice for you, Beryl.”

Really?  That was it?  No lecture about how he was throwing away a lifetime of Torah study.

“Thank you so much,” he found himself saying again.

“I think you’ll be very happy working,” said the rosh yesh
iva.  “I’m proud of you – mazel tov on the new job.”

Beryl thanked him again, said goodbye, and hung up.

And that was it. 

In two phone calls, he had cut off his ties to childhood.  How could so much change in not even two weeks?

He looked at the screen of his phone – and saw the message from Raizy.  She was on her way home from the
mikveh
. 

Suddenly, his news flew out the window.

A job?  Quitting yeshiva?  That was nothing.

He was, for the second time in his life, about to get laid.  To fuck.  To screw.

Suddenly, he was not only resigned, he was downright thrilled at the prospect of plain regular sex with Raizy.  Plain!  Just a couple of weeks ago, he would have been thrilled with just that, for the rest of his life.

But
maybe getting married was a bit like being a tourist, newly-arrived in an exciting foreign land. 

When you were a tourist, you were thrilled to arrive at the airport, but you
didn’t just want to stay there.  You had to leave the airport, visit local museums, cultural spots, one or two famous landmarks. 

And i
f you found out you’d be staying in the airport the whole time, you might be just a tiny bit disappointed.

Regular sex was maybe like staying in the airport, for his whole life.  But he didn’t want to sound ungrateful. 
I will be happy with anything, Beryl decided.  With whatever she’s prepared to give me.

There was Raizy’s key in the door. 
Quick!
  What should he do? 

Actually, there wasn’t much left to do. 
Before the phone call from Mr. Edelman, he’d already washed the dishes, swept, and made the bed, putting away the cot he’d been sleeping in for the last seven days.

He’d wanted to make sure nothing would catch her eye b
etween the front door and the bedroom.

She came into the apartment and put her key on the shelf by the door.  Then, stood in front of him awkwardly.  This was the moment
his rebbe had taught him about; surely, her rebbitzen had taught her what to say as well?

“I have been to the
mikveh
,” she said.  He exhaled at last.  Those were the words.  The
niddah
-pin, a delicate golden rose that she’d worn for the last week as a reminder, was gone now.  She was okay to touch.

To grab.  To fuck.

Slowly, Beryl, he told himself.  First, he had to coax her into the bedroom.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked.  “Do you want some tea?”

“I should be asking you,” she said.

“No, no, I can get it.”

“All right, thanks.”

Beryl ran to the kitchen and filled the kettle, then stood waiting for it to boil.

When the tea was ready, he carried it out to their new dining-room table.  Even though they’d been married more than a week, even though they’d even made love already, it was more awkward here than in the hotel room.

Sometimes, he wished he really was an animal.  He’d been out in the country to visit his cousins’ farm:  imagine a bull waiting for the right moment to come up behind a cow, or a rooster serving tea to a chicken before he could fertilize her eggs.  Beryl smiled.

“What is it?” Raizy asked.

“Just thinking of something – a memory.”

“Tell me,” she said.

“Just – my cousins’ farm.  A happy memory.”

“Looked like more of a
funny
memory than a happy one,” she said.  She stared deeply into his eyes, bolder than she had ever been in all their seven days of marriage.

Was she suspicious?  Could she somehow have read his thoughts, or seen something on his face that revealed what he was thinking of.

“Well, we always had a good time there.”

That was all he would say.  And anyway, this was about so much more than fertilization.  And he was so much more than a chicken.

Although, at the moment, he felt more cock than man.

Eventually, the tea was finished.

Eventually, he reached out for her, though where the courage to do that had come from, he had no idea.

“I think there’s something we ought to do,” he said. 

Did it sound suave, like something from a movie, or just stupid?  Beryl had never really been to a movie, though he’d caught a few minutes here and there on TV in friends’ houses.

He
took her hand.  Miraculously, Raizy relaxed and let him lead her into the bedroom.  She smiled to see that he’d tidied her rumpled sheets, and even left a rose on her pillowcase, just like there had been at the hotel, their first night.

She was fully dressed.  Would she expect him to take her clothes off for her?  Should he take his own clothes off first?  He felt suddenly trapped, like a deer facing an oncoming coll
ision.

“Let’s both turn around,” she said.  She must have had the same fear.  “I’ll take off my clothes, you take off yours.”  Her face was bright red.  It couldn’t have been easy, for a Bais Ya
akov girl to say those words to a man.

“
Sounds good,” he agreed.

So they both turned around. 
Problem was, she hadn’t said anything about turning back towards each other once their clothes were off.

“Can I turn back?” he asked.

“I already have,” she said.

What?  He turned to see her staring at him… and this time, her green eyes didn’t meet his – no, she was staring straight at his male region.

At his stiff, erect dick.  And his hot, bulging balls tucked not so discreetly beneath.

Raizy

Where was this brazenness coming from?  Raizy had no idea, but she wasn’t going to let the moment get away from her.  She was a woman, and this was her man.  And she was going to suck him off, tasting all his juices before she asked him to do the same for her.

Sure, a lifetime of marriage stretched out ahead – but why wait?  This was what she’d imagined all these years
and now she had it, at last.

A
fter a goody-goody life of doing what was expected, in exactly the right order, Raizy wanted to eat dessert before the soup, before the salad, before the appetizer even.

And Beryl’s
stiff male member was the dessert.

Seeing how
hard he was when he turned to face her, Raizy dropped to her knees in front of him. 

He gasped.  She didn’t look up.  Would he be horrified to see her like this?  To realize the demure little girl he thought he’d married had been
fake, a façade for this horniness?

Seizing the moment, she seized his shaft and pulled his p
enis towards her.  With a startled jerk, he came forward like a dog on a leash. 

He was still wearing his socks, but never mind.

There was a bead of clear liquid on his cock, and Raizy licked it like a lollipop.  A salty lollipop.  The taste wasn’t bad; salty and sweet together, with something else… an earthy taste lingering just beneath the surface.

She kissed him, up, up, up his shaft towards the head.  It was every bit as delicious as he had dreamed it would be when he stood fantasizing over that magazine, months ago.

Opening wide, she plunged her mouth over his entire head.  She’d have to breathe through her nose to do this properly, and instinctively, she pulled her teeth back out of the way, too.

But
holding him in her mouth, though he was moaning now like nothing she’d ever heard before, just wasn’t enough.  She wanted him inside,
all of him
, inside her.

He seemed to want the same thing
.  He started thrusting.  As he had on their first night together, he pushed gently at first, groaning as he went deeper and deeper.  Pushing harder, and harder, and then…

“Aaugh!” Raizy retched, pulling off him just in time to get a hand over her mouth.  She ran to the master bathroom – thank
God there was one right in their room – and knelt in front of the toilet, heaving.

“I’m sorry!” Beryl
called.  After a second, he pulled on a t-shirt and came after her into the bathroom. 

She hadn’t had time to shut the door,
and certainly no time to be embarrassed, as another wave of puke came gushing out of her.  It was their disastrous wedding night all over again, except this time, he could see the whole thing in gorgeous vivid Technicolor.

He patted her back, stroked her hair. 

Actually, he did everything right, she thought, amazed.  Everything a lover should do to comfort her.  And now that he wasn’t fucking her epiglottis, the waves of nausea subsided quickly.

If only she had known,
she found herself thinking, for the hundredth time that week.  If only someone had told her what to expect, what to do when she was finally alone with him… instead of just telling her it would be okay, it would work out.

“I’m sorry,” Beryl said again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.  “At least – you couldn’t help it.”

“Well, I should have – I mean, we should have –”

Raizy wanted him to stop before he said what she was dreading hearing him say:  that they shouldn’t have been doing what they were doing. 

That it was unholy, unclean.  That this was solid proof that they should stick to making babies lying down on the bed
as their parents and grandparents had, all the way back to Mount Sinai.

But instead, what he said was, “Next time, I won’t push so hard.  I’ll let you control it.”

Next time.

Raizy’s stomach lurched
just thinking about filling her mouth with anything right now.

But
now she knew there
would
be a next time.  That thought made her heart soar.  Or rather, it made her pussy twitch.  And, just a little, ache for his thrusts, deep inside.

For tonight, she’d settle happily for vanilla – just knowing there would be a next time.

“Let me brush my teeth,” she said.  “Maybe we can do something else… for now.”

“We don’t have to,” he said.

“I want to.  I want –”  She made herself stop.  If she hadn’t, she would have listed all the things she wanted… all the unholy, unclean, inappropriate ways she desperately wanted to touch him and be touched.

I want to go down on you.  I want to suck you off.  I want you to lick me, screw me, fill me up
in all my holes and fuck me until I shout.  Until I scream.

“
I’m okay now,” said Raizy, swallowing hard.  “I’ll be out in a minute.” That was all she’d let herself say out loud – for now.