Sacred Touch

A155 confessmassage

Written by Nafshi Cholat. Nafshi, a first-time Jewrotica writer, is a 39-year-old male from New York, NY.

Rated PG-13[Pre-story NOTE from the author: Tantric ritual power is rooted in the divine feminine, or shakti. Similarly, in Kabbalah, ritual power and magic are derived from the divine feminine, the shechina. Both Tantra and Kabbalah share this orientation toward the universal erotic power of the female divinity. Tantra is a nexus and confluence where Judaism merges with sacred universal erotic forces.]

It wasn’t the first time I’d paid someone to touch my body. All the pangs of guilt had faded long before. I needed it like I needed oxygen – and I couldn’t deny myself this any longer. It wasn’t simply weakness: it was compulsion. And what was guilt in the face of such need?

I’m a Jew. A really Jewy Jew. You know when you see me. It’s not that I don’t have sex with my wife; I love her, and I don’t want to have sex with anyone else, not really. I value marriage and its tenets, responsibilities and yes, its joys. But honestly, our marital bed is not terribly thrilling – and never has been. But what I wanted more of was not exactly sex. What I craved was touching: the light, feather-touch massage, with fingertips reaching just under my legs, touching that one spot, then still reaching further…

There is something so erotic in the transgression, going outside of the strictures of marriage to fulfill my desire for the sacred touch. My wife, who is a good woman, if not somewhat traditional, would balk at any special request. While I know she isn’t inhibited about touch – we do not keep the laws of niddah/[glossary] (restricting touch during menstruation) particularly strictly – to tell her exactly what I want, to speak my desires out loud, would humiliate her, implying that her own sexual initiative falls short… I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had turned away, and was gone. My soul failed me… ([glossary]Song of Songs)

Having first explored the massage parlors just far enough away from home and work, I had begun checking out the higher-end body rubs listed online. Crissy looked amazing in her ad, and “Tantric” massage was so intriguing, so sacred-sounding… More expensive than the massage parlors, but I’ve always believed, perhaps in part due to the work ethic instilled in me by immigrant parents, that you get what you pay for. And I was convinced that the regular massage parlors were actually fronts for trafficking; I couldn’t go back to those and I couldn’t wait any longer for that erotic touch. I found that it usually took about two weeks before the craving set in again, and that’s when I would start to frantically search the listings.

So, Crissy, and her enticing Tantric massage, it was.

I arrived, called the number so that she could meet me at the door. Wearing a soft, silky robe, she welcomed me in and hugged me. I was hard already. I was so glad I had already been initiated into the world of erotic massages, so that I could just stand there with my throbbing Jewish cock pressing through my pants into a beautiful stranger’s leg, knowing this was kosher. It felt amazing. And it was only going to get better.

She brought me upstairs. I put the money on the little table, and she asked if there was any part of my body that I didn’t want to be touched. When I told her no, she responded “Good. I intend to touch every part of you.” Crissy, the divine feminine, was just the balm I needed: I almost blew my load right then.

I couldn’t tell if it was her hand, her leg, her breasts, or her tongue, running up and down my legs, my thighs, my back – but every sensation coursing through my body was almost too much for me to bear.

She placed my hands on her ass, holding me to her, encouraging me to pull her closer. But it wasn’t about sex – not exactly. I wouldn’t have had sex with her even if she had offered. What brought me to her – and what made me so hard – was the pure eroticism of her heat, her hands on my body exploring sensation, connection, the sacred incredible energy that her touch generated within my body.

This was a religious experience. I was ecstatic, outside of my body. Crissy’s expert hands as a conduit for Prana – the energy of the universe flowing from her fingertips, coursing through my entire body. The spirit moved within me. Oh, Crissy, thou art a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and flowing streams from Lebanon. (Song of Songs, again)

I can’t say that when I came, and then when she showed me where the shower was, that I didn’t want to kiss her and whisper passionate promises and sweet nothings in her ear. It really was that intense a session, that intuitive and erotic and sensual and dizzying and and and…

I know I’ll call Crissy again. Her touch liberated me. Purified me. Made me a better man – and a better husband My body and soul crave, no, thrive on the sweet exaltation of this ritual, the rapture of her sacred touch.

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  • Anonymous

    Well, I’m sold. Paying a stranger for a hand job makes you a better husband, okay.

  • Anonymous

    The more I think about this, the more this bothers me. The very fact that you call your wife a “good woman” and immediately say that she “would balk at any special request,” the fact that you connect those two ideas in your mind is probably the exact reason why she would balk, if it’s even true that she would. This perception that a woman who enjoys giving her husband pleasure is less “good.” As if sex is normal for men, but for women (nice, God-fearing women at least) it’s something to be ashamed of. This idea that being honest with your spouse about what you like in bed is just too awkward; better just visit prostitutes instead. How respectful!

    Furthermore, if your marriage bed isn’t “thrilling,” you’re at least half to blame. Would you be okay with it if she took her pleasure somewhere else as well? No intercourse, obviously; after all, she loves her husband. Oh, wait, I forgot, she’s a “good woman” and good women are asexual beings. Never mind!

    • Anonymous Also

      I agree with you. I’m a more silent reader – rarely comment, but you put my thoughts into words exactly. I wouldn’t want the Jewrotica team to censor too much or at all, but reading things like this is a bit off-putting. Then again, I haven’t been in a lifelong marriage, so maybe it does start feeling like a trap or same-old at some point. I hope that it doesn’t.

      • Original Anonymous

        I’m going on ten years married, which isn’t an eternity, but I think it’s long enough to have good judgment on this. And it doesn’t feel stale or like a trap at all, because my spouse and I are honest and open with each other about our desires. And yes, we’re Orthodox. Was talking out loud about what we wanted awkward the first few times? Hell yes. Is it worth it? Absolutely.

        I’m glad this was posted, if it’s a true story. I know it’s a long shot, but I’m holding out hope that the writer, who seems to be under the impression that he loves his wife, will read the responses, realize the error of his ways, ‘fess up to his wife about his actions and everything he’s been holding back, and then say “Whether or not you can ever forgive me, what can I do to make it right?” Or am I too much of an optimist?

  • Michael Nafshi

    I feel like I just read my own story, down to the details of my sacred marriage, how jewy a jew I am, and how sacred touch is something deeper than a craving for me, more like a spiritual hunger. I resonate with the author’s sense of moral wrongness in massage parlors I once visited and the moral possibilities of the sensual touch. My struggle is that, since I’m a relational person, the connectedness I also feel with a tantric provider doesn’t leave me once a session ends. I end up trying not to think about her (whoever the “her” is), not to look them up online, which makes what should be a “clean” boundary more muddy than I’d like. My deepest truth, one I simply cannot name publicly, is that my wife doesn’t fulfill me sexually. I will never have sex with a tantric provider, even if it were offered – as the author wrote. It’s not what I need, nor is it what (so far) tantric sessions have meant. My soul craves erotic touch, steady intimate gazing and sensual intimacy. I feel “known” thanks to this piece. Thank you from my heart.