Written by Karalyn Dane. For more holiday fun, check out Karalyn’s 10 Commandments of Thanksgiving.
I brought Mike home for Thanksgiving. I figured, he had to meet my family at some point, and better Thanksgiving than Passover or Rosh Hashana. At least this way I could spare him all the embarrassing family melodies and crazy Jewish holiday shtick. Certain holidays, I think, should only be introduced to a partner in all their glory once you are already married and there’s no going back. Unless, of course, his family’s traditions are worse.
Mike was excited to see the house that I grew up in and meet my siblings, my parents, my aunts and uncles and cousins, all who he had heard about in varying degrees over our now 9-month-long relationship. Mike had only just moved in with me, a point I really didn’t want to bring up over Turkey and Stuffing. I was hoping we could keep that part under wraps.
I grew up in a New England suburb, just outside Boston. My family is by no means normal (I mean, whose is?) but I knew that the only way I would be able to get through the night was with alcohol by my side, and lots of it.
We rang the doorbell and were greeted by my dad, who shook Mike’s hand politely and then asked the inevitable, “so what do you do?”
As Mike started talking about his Phd in philosophy, I took a deep breath and excused myself. It was time for glass of wine number one, which I downed in its entirety in the kitchen. After planting a kiss on my mom’s cheek, I immediately poured myself a second glass, and one for Mike.
I returned back to the hallway where Mike and my father were still talking by the stairwell and handed Mike a glass. He grinned and winked at me. I blushed, and his wink took the hint, following the trail of alcohol in my bloodstream and planting itself firmly in my unmentionable zones. This of course meant I had to pinch his ass as inconspicuously as possible as I leaned over and whispered in his ear that I’d be helping out in the kitchen.
By the time we sat down for Turkey Dinner I was on my fourth glass of wine. I could see my face reflected in my wineglass, it was as flushed as the color of my hair: red. Mike actually seemed to be having fun. He was charming, funny, cute, and he reminded me all night why I was now living with him. But I have a naughty streak and I couldn’t help but try to trip him up.
At some point I dripped some cranberry sauce on my black sparkly sweater. When Mike noticed and told me in my ear, I quickly wiped it off and very seductively sucked on my finger, my eyes challenging his. He responded by sliding his hand under the table and up my thigh, causing my miniskirt to ride up and give him some interesting access.
I enjoyed the sensation of his warm hand climbing up my inner thigh, but before he could get too close I got up to help clear. I sashayed across the room in a way only a drunk person probably thinks is sexy, and made sure to bend over in all sorts of interesting ways as I cleared, catching his eyes and smiling every time.
After pumpkin pie and whipped cream, brandy soaked cherries and rum cake, birkat hamazon and a round of “what are you thankful for this year,” it was time for everyone to go home. I helped clean up and then passed out on the living room couch.
Celebrating 10 Years & Marking the End of An Amazing Project
Celebrating 10 Years & Marking the End of An Amazing Project
I’m Heshy Fried from Frum Satire and I am very, very frum. And I completely support Jewrotica – it’s doing a service to the frum community. We need some sort of kosher sexual education. Jewrotica even has a system that allows frum filters to filter out certain things to make it PG for us. It’s mamish Torah. It’s like The Little Midrash Says for sex.
Jewrotica was everything I had dreamed of and more: sexy attendees, tantalizing confessions, and well-written literature to boot! More importantly, it empowers us Jews to reach inside and own our sexy selves and heritage!
While many people fear the “sex talk,” Jewrotica offers an opportunity for writers and audiences to speak about sexuality in a open and safe space. When I attended a Jewrotica reading, I heard stories that reminded me that love takes many forms, and that expressing it is a vital part of who we are as a people.
Such an amazing experience! The Sarah Lawrence Jewrotica workshop was more than I could have ever expected – a comfortable, safe, sultry environment where participants clearly felt good about sharing or listening to each other’s intimate experiences and relating them to sexy stories from the Torah. From the moment the workshop began, Ayo had a sweet presence that was kinetic and spread around the room; her storytelling abilities had everyone enraptured and made the conversation topics relata… Read more
My opinion on Jewrotica is: It’s sexy. It’s awesome. It’s Judaism to the next level. It’s what we should all be getting into!
I’m so glad that Jewrotica is represented here at Jewlicious! It’s bringing voices that need to be heard in the Jewish discussion and Jewish climate environment.
Learning about sex and what’s right and wrong when it comes to sex from a Biblical standpoint was an eye opening experience. I completely enjoyed it and think something like this could be a very cool thing to bring to even high school aged Jewish youth groups.
The Jewrotica event “Evening of Jewrotica: Bedside Reading” was awesome. As Master of Confessions, I got to read the deepest, darkest secrets of people in the room out loud… It was scintillating, titillating, and – yes – even educational!
You may not tell your mom that you’re going to a live Jewrotica reading (or whatever clever name you will dub these events) but you will tell your friends. However, both would be jealous if they find out that they missed it. I think it will only be a matter of time before Jewrotica helps us reclaim the term “Dirty Jew” the way rap music has done for “The ‘N’ Word.” I know I am now proud to be a Dirty Jew!
Bedside Reading with Jewrotica was funny, sexy, and hot all at once. The readings were honest about all kinds of sexuality, but the highlight of the evening was definitely the confessions, written by audience participants. Nobody knew who wrote them, and most were tell-alls that would make your bubbe blush. Unless your bubbe was very, very cool. Then maybe she’d make YOU blush!
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