Hassidic Passion Read online

  When the house was perfectly still, Raizy switched off her own bedside lamp, pulled the sheet up to her neck, and reached beneath it with both hands.

  With one hand, she spread apart those damp lips she had only just discovered a few months before. She thrust that hand deep, deep inside, simulating a tongue, flicking inside and out. And with the other, she brought herself to the edge of pleasure… and then, with a gasp, she dived over to the other side.

  CHAPTER Eight

  Beryl

  On the other side of town, Beryl’s hands were also under the covers.

  Pull them out, he told himself. Before it’s too late.

  It was already too late. He tried thinking about God, watching over him, who’d surely be disappointed. But what kind of God would create him with these unholy desires?

  He knew he wasn’t the only one who did this, under the sheets.

  At night, sometimes, he could hear the beds creaking. Once, there had even been a boy who left his bed, to get in with another boy. They were both removed pretty quickly once the teachers caught on. But that, that was unnatural. This – a boy thinking about a girl – how unnatural could this be?

  Just one touch. Just one stroke.

  He gave himself a squeeze and shuddered. It would be so easy to finish things off here. He thought about Raizy. Even though that definitely didn’t help.

  Another squeeze, a tug. It was all he could do to stop himself from groaning out loud. A few times, before, he’d stuffed sheets in his mouth so he wouldn’t shout out as he came.

  Three months. Surely, even a pervert like him could wait three months.

  Soon, he’d be going to the holy rabbi for his chassan classes, the course designed to turn him from a gawky schoolboy into a manly bridegroom, prepared to conquer his quivering bride on their wedding night.

  Preparing him to stand beside her beneath the chuppah. It was a good thing every chassan wore a long, white robe over his clothes; another layer of discreet protection in case he should become hard.

  How likely was that, though? Before the wedding, they’d both be weak from fasting all day, and deathly nervous and afraid, with practically everybody they knew – their bubbies and zeidies – watching on from front row seats.

  Nobody could think about fucking at a time like that. Could they?

  He tried to picture it now, to calm himself, to reinstill the fear of the Lord. But first, he’d have to pull his hand out of his pajama bottoms, a feat that was proving hellishly hard to do. Why did it feel even more difficult to wait now that the wedding date was set?

  Beryl tried not to think about how the wedding date had been chosen. Raizy’s mother must have asked her about her monthly bleeding. That much he knew from things the boys whispered. His future mother-in-law must have talked to his kallah and set things up – he wasn’t exactly sure how – so that she wouldn’t be bleeding three months from now when they stood side by side beneath the chuppah.

  He knew his member wasn’t allowed to touch her blood down there. Ever. This was a sin punishable by kareis, being cut off from his people. Plus, any children they conceived while she was bleeding would be cursed with impurities he couldn’t possibly imagine.

  And yet, the thought of that blood, slippery and warm… it didn’t revolt him the way it was supposed to. Just like he wasn’t supposed to eat bacon, but couldn’t help taking a long, deep whiff of its smokey smell when he walked past the diners that served it. His mind returned to the thought of her blood, wet, slick, earthy-smelling and slightly rank, like the tampon of one of his sisters’ friends that he’d fished out of the trash one time.

  Raizy. He thought of how put-together she’d looked, each time he’d seen her. He couldn’t imagine what she might smell like, down there. He couldn’t imagine anything coming out of her… blood, or that slippery sap he’d read about, her own juices, that he hoped would make penetrating her easy and smooth and not, God forbid, painful.

  Penetrating? Really? His thoughts had to go there? His cock jumped to alertness once again, and with a sigh, he gave himself over to it, squeezing himself harder and rubbing a little with his warm flannel pajama bottoms.

  “Beryl?” Crap. It was Yossel. “Are you still awake?”

  “Not really,” he said, in what he hoped sounded like a sleepy mumble.

  “Are you excited about the wedding?”

  “Sure,” Beryl said.

  “Do you think I’ll be next?”

  Yossel had been out on a few dates, but kept messing it up, acting too forward with the girls, asking too many questions for a first date. Sometimes, overcompensating, he was too quiet.

  Beryl had heard through his mother that one of the girls had reported that sitting in the restaurant with Yossel would have been more lively if it had been just her, talking to an empty chair.

  “Could be, Yossel, it could be.”

  “How will I know what to do,” Yossel asked. “You know, when the time comes?”

  “You’ll know,” Beryl said.

  “I heard that some guys don’t, and they mess it up, even hurt the girl.”

  “The rebbe sits down with you, teaches you what to do, what to say to relax the girl.”

  “It’s not her I’m worried about,” Yossel said.

  “Well, you don’t want to be too relaxed, right? Afterwards, you can relax.”

  “You sound so calm,” said Yossel.

  “Sure,” said Beryl. “Nothing to panic about. It’s very natural.”

  If only Yossel knew.

  “Wow,” said Yossel. “I hope I can be as calm as you – when my time comes.”

  “You will be.”

  “Okay, goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” said Beryl.

  When Beryl had first come to yeshiva, it had been awkward, going to bed in the same room as the other boys, lying together, whispering to each other under the cover of darkness, falling asleep together.

  Now, the awkwardness was gone, and despite the inconvenience – his balls throbbed, but he knew that with Yossel lying awake nearby, he couldn’t beat off now – it just felt natural to have these other boys around him as he drifted off.

  How could he possibly ever get that comfortable… with a girl?

  CHAPTER Nine

  Raizy

  Amazing how three months could pass so quickly. Now, Raizy thought she might faint under the chuppah. Partly from fasting, partly from eager anticipation.

  When he’d come to put on her veil, Beryl had been pale, nervous-looking, like every chassan. But not bad. Not Hollywood, but not bad at all – considering. His shoulders were broad and strong under his white kittel, and he didn’t look half as nervous as she was. She just hoped she wouldn’t throw up.

  When he came near with the veil, his body felt warm, close to hers; closer than they’d ever been before.

  He didn’t touch her, of course, but she could feel his skin beside hers as he pulled it nervously down over her face and was led away by the troupe of men and boys, singing and playing raucous klezmer music, as if to entice him to forget the reason he was here in the first place.

  Now, resolute and blindfolded behind her opaque satin veil, Raizy circled Beryl, once, twice, seven times altogether, led by her mother and mother-in-law. They were already legally married; they’d signed the papers separately in the rabbi’s study. But this was the ceremony that mattered – kiddushin, sanctification.

  Without sanctification, they couldn’t be together.

  Be together, thought Raizy. Screw. Fuck. Hump. She almost giggled at the stream of inappropriate words that came to her at a time when she was about to enter into a higher spiritual state, join with her bashert, her predestined one.

  Fulfilling the very purpose of her existence… and all she could think about was spreading her legs.

  Raizy gripped her Tehillim, the white leather book of Psalms her older sister had given her, and focused her attention on murmuring prayers. The veil worked both ways, and she knew her mother and moth
er-in-law couldn’t see what she was doing under there, or read her thoughts.

  Better start praying. If she was to start this thing on the right foot, she was going to need all the help she could get.

  CHAPTER Ten

  Beryl

  Beryl’s body buzzed, feeling her body so close to him. He waited under the chuppah for the rabbis to do their thing, which they dutifully did.

  Of course. Everybody in this community always did what they were supposed to. If you were broken, as Beryl was sure he was, you had to hide it or risk ostracism.

  You had to hide in the world of the yeshiva when after sixteen years of studies, you were dying to break free, find work, earn money and support yourself instead of taking handouts.

  And you had to hide the way your body quivered, arms and legs buzzed with electricity. Electricity that was nothing compared to what Beryl was feeling in a certain fifth limb. A “limb” that was trying desperately to make itself known

  In the end, he’d wrapped it with the bandage he’d used for his ankle, so now, even though he was supposed to be praying, or at the very least, paying attention, all he could think about was his balls. Bound so tightly, would his sack heat up too much?

  He’d heard that if you heated things up down there – more than the natural heat that he always felt – it might kill his seed and he wouldn’t have children.

  Was that true? And if it was true, would the change be permanent?

  Of course, to see the pregnant women moaning around the neighborhood, you wouldn’t think being pregnant was such a blessing. Maybe not being able to have babies would be a different kind of blessing – the ability to do it as much as you wanted without worrying about diapering and feeding the consequences. To fuck with abandon.

  Pay attention, Beryl thought to himself.

  But when he was paying attention, things were even worse. Because there she was beside him. Despite the seamstresses’ best effort to conceal her body beneath heavy white satin, he could just make out her body’s shape. Not, God forbid, the crease of her ass or a nipple – that would send him over the edge, and doubtless burst the bandages holding him tight.

  But he could make out a few nice curves. Breasts, in front. Don’t think about it. But how could he not? And her ass in back, just a little hump sticking out. Nice and tight. Each cheek just exactly the size of his palm.

  Would it be better to wipe the sweat off his forehead, or stand stock still as he’d been instructed and just let the droplet fall? He opted for the second choice, holding his sentry-box position as the blessings droned on.

  Suddenly, the rabbi was handing him a ring. His mother had bought it for him, a plain gold band, as simple as possible It would show the world that Raizy was his wife.

  He slipped it on her right middle finger. The fuck finger, one of the boys had told him it was called (that boy was gone two weeks later; too worldly). You shouldn’t hold it up, point it at strangers, but here was hers, curiously intimate. He didn’t touch her skin, not yet, just slid the ring carefully over her outstretched finger.

  The rabbi held up the ketubah, the marriage contract. Feminists might say that marriage in their community was a purchase, Beryl thought, but that didn’t mean he got off scott-free. He had responsibilities now.

  As the rabbi had explained in his chassan classes, the ketubah spelled out Beryl’s obligations to Raizy: feeding her, clothing her, and providing marital pleasure.

  Oy. How did they expect him to do that?

  In chassan classes, the rabbi had hinted that there was a special button you pressed to make your wife happy. But Beryl hadn’t quite been able to make out whether he was saying that as a metaphor or whether the button was something real that he would have to know about, in the bedroom.

  And there was no way on earth that he was going to stop the rabbi to ask him that question.

  CHAPTER Eleven

  Beryl

  And now, at last, they were alone together. In the yichud room.

  There was a plate of cookies on a small round table, along with some wedding gifts that their parents had stashed in there.

  “Do you want to open some of these presents?” Raizy asked politely, after she’d made the right blessing and was munching on a cookie.

  “Maybe,” said Beryl. Even though they’d spoken before, they’d never been alone, and this felt like their very first conversation.

  It almost felt like his first conversation, ever, he was so nervous. He took a cookie as well. “What do you want to do?”

  There was no chance that they could do what he really wanted. Their parents and all the rabbis, friends, relatives; they could all come bursting back in at any moment. Nobody ever did anything in the yichud room.

  But if there was ever a time for boldness it was now. Right away, before anyone got the idea of interrupting the young couple’s privacy.

  Beryl cleared his throat and jumped off the cliff. “Maybe I could kiss you?”

  What would she think of him now?

  She smiled. Under the layer of makeup, she really was pretty. And that lipstick – oy.

  “Okay,” she said.

  He slid his chair just a little closer to Raizy’s and rigidly leaned towards her. Why wasn’t she moving at all? It was like she was a grandfather clock or something, sitting stiffly upright in her chair. Then, something in her softened.

  She leaned towards him, just a little. Spread those soft, red lips, just a little. Touched his lips with hers. So moist. So warm.

  For the millionth time that day, he was grateful, ever so grateful, for the bindings that held his cock and balls tightly in check. Maybe it would make him sterile. But he was kissing a girl, for the very first time, and nothing would ruin this moment.

  Her lips touched his gently, nothing at all like the urgency he felt. Maybe girls weren’t like boys. Maybe she didn’t feel the deep, pressing need quite so badly.

  What that need was, he still didn’t know. Perhaps there really would be a button between her legs that would spread pleasure through her whole body. As long as she kept those lips pressed against him, he promised in his heart to hunt forever for that magical button.

  But then – he gasped. There was her tongue. She spread her lips even farther and her tongue darted out to meet his. Her tongue was inside his mouth and even though, a second ago, he would have sworn there was nothing in the world better than having her lips against his, now he knew there was.

  Her little tongue pushed its way, first timidly and then more boldly, between his lips. He pressed himself closer to let her in.

  He’d had no idea.

  He tasted her, pushed himself forward against her mouth. Suddenly, he wanted more. Much more.

  He wanted to take her whole body and swallow her up, to push himself inside her. It didn’t matter which, really, as long as they were together, shoving up against each other, losing themselves in this pleasure.

  Suddenly, the doorknob clicked.

  Their parents were back.

  CHAPTER Twelve

  Raizy

  Too much noise, too much drinking. Raizy felt mostly dizzy and sick by the end of the night, but she knew there was one more job still to do.

  Ugh. Her head ached. She shouldn’t have had that wine.

  After years of dying, just dying to find out what happened between a man and his wife, she was actually dreading finding out tonight. Just like every nervous good little Bais Yaakov girl she’d ever imagined.

  Not because she didn’t want to know.

  Not because her body hadn’t been throbbing as she kissed him with her tongue in the yichud room. It had; she did want to know.

  The only reason she dreaded what was to come was the thought of any more movement. She just wanted to lie very, very still and not jostle her head any more than it had been abused that evening.

  Not enough to eat; a few desperate, thirsty sips of wine. That was all it took to put an end to years of curiosity and masturbating in dark movie theaters.
/>   Still – it had to be done. He would expect it and she was dying to know.

  And so, after they’d said goodnight to friends and family at last, at the door of their hotel room, Raizy and Beryl had gone inside, shutting out the world.

  The door clicked shut behind them, and they were alone together at last.

  She half expected her family to come back and knock, disturb them over some forgotten detail: some gift left behind, some neglected wedding-day custom that they hadn’t gotten to on the endless checklist of dances, songs, rituals.

  They both stared at the door, dumbly.

  Finally, Beryl said, “Are you hungry? I think there are some cookies over here on the table.” Their families had left them an assortment of treats, for tonight and for the morning, but Raizy couldn’t bear to look at them.

  No, if this was going to happen, it was better to just let it happen right away.

  “I’m pretty tired,” she said. “I think I’ll get changed.” Against her will, she blushed. She hadn’t wanted to be this girl – this literally-dizzy new bride, simpering and wilting when it came time to do the deed.

  “You can use the bathroom first,” Beryl said politely. She noticed he was also blushing.

  Raizy took the nightgown she’d bought specially for this occasion into the bathroom with her. But it didn’t take long to realize that she was trapped in the wedding dress. Her mother and sister had zipped her in; now, she couldn’t possibly get out without help – and the only one here to help… was Beryl.

  Had they planned it that way? Had they zipped her up knowing that the next fingers on the zipper would be her husband’s?

  She emerged from the bathroom timidly, her head aching, suddenly feeling unbearably confined by the .dress. She could barely breathe; she needed to get out – and fast.

  “Could you help with the zipper?” she asked. Her spinning head made her bolder with urgency. She hoped she wouldn’t throw up here, in front of her new husband.

  She turned around, and he pulled the zipper down without comment. She wondered what he was thinking. But she didn’t have much time to wonder as her stomach suddenly rebelled – and she ran back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, to hurl what was left of her wedding supper into the shiny clean hotel toilet.