Meet Ben and Sarah


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Written by Oxartes. Oxartes is a 50 year-old modern-orthodox Israeli who writes erotica as a hobby. ‘Writing is my escape, my therapy,’ he says. For more Jewrotica writing by Oxartes, check out Babylon Nights, Vashti and the Leprechaun, Samson Agonistes Redux, Reading the Signs, Doña Levy and the Day of the Dead, and The True Miracle of Chanukah.

Rated R

Urban Legend Kink

As usual, Dr. Oakley steered the conversation to her favorite topic, sex. She would get around to needling me sooner or later.

“And I even hear that some of Ben’s brethren do it through holes in the sheet.”

Everyone looked at me.

She was dragging up that old canard?

I rolled my eyes. “That’s urban legend bullshit,” I said, standing up. “Look it up on Snopes. Some idiot went through an ultra-orthodox neighborhood in New York or Israel, saw some of these,” I reached under my scrubs, pulled off my tallit katan and held it up, “hanging on a laundry line and got the warped idea that we do it through these holes. People will believe anything!”

I finished my coffee and went back upstairs to the emergency room.


“Hello Mr. Chen.”

“Ah, Dr. Silverstein! Here you go, all ready: Two white shirts, pressed; Mrs. Sarah’s dress, dry-cleaned; and oh, it really is a pleasure to work on fabric of such fine quality!”

I gave Mr. Chen my MasterCard and took my shirts, Sarah’s dress and our luxurious, hand-woven, imported Chinese charmeuse silk sheet, with strategically placed, embroidered holes of varying sizes.

Urban legend indeed.

Jingle Dreidels I

Ben sat up in bed.

“Wha…what is it?” mumbled Sarah.

“I thought I heard something…outside on the lawn.”

“It’s the storm. Go back to sleep.”

“Yeah.” He lay down and slipped his arm around Sarah. “Mmmm, you’re nice and…” He sat up again.

“What now?”

“I’m sure I heard something. I’m going downstairs.”

“Well just be quiet about it.” Sarah rolled over and yanked the quilt over her head.

Ben pulled on his sweatpants and crept silently downstairs. There was an old man in the living room.

“Oh, hi! I’m sorry about the noise. What a storm! I’ll just leave these and…uh,” the old man looked around the darkened room, “…where’s your tree?”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Ben sputtered, “We don’t have one! We’re Jewish!”

“But…but you have stockings hung by the chimney with care.”

“I put them there to dry.”

“There’s a plate of cookies!”

“Those are latkes!”

“And the Christmas candles in the window?”

“Did the trip from the North Pole freeze your brains? That’s a menorah! You know, for Chanukah?!”

“Ben,” Sarah said, rubbing her eyes as she shuffled into the room, “Who are you talking to…oh my God.”

Santa lifted his cap and bowed. “Ah, good evening ma’am. Wait, aren’t you the Silvestris?”

Ben slumped down in a chair. “I don’t believe this.”

“Um, they live on the next block,” Sarah said, “We’re the Silversteins.”

Santa turned even redder than his outfit. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I must’ve got confused in the storm. It’s really coming down out there. Well, I’ll be on my way. I’m really sorry about this. Here,” he reached into his bag and handed Sarah a small gift box, “This is for your trouble.”

Ben and Sarah saw Santa to the door and shut it behind him. Suddenly they heard his voice.

“Oh Rudolph…Donder! Bad reindeer, bad, naughty!”

Ben opened the door.

Santa looked up. “Oh, uh, the reindeer…we hit turbulence over Philadelphia. It, uh, must’ve put their stomachs off. I’ll send some elves by tomorrow to clean up the mess. Bye now!”

Ben and Sarah gaped in shock as Santa climbed into the sleigh and drove out of sight. “Happy Chanukah to all,” he cried, “and to all a good night!”

They closed the door, filed back upstairs and climbed into bed. Sarah opened the box. “Oh, how appropriate!”

“What is it?”


“For the menorah?”

“Not hardly.” She handed Ben the bottle.

“Strawberry-flavored body oil?”

Sarah pointed to the tiny hexagon-K on the label, pulled off her flannel nightie and laid back.

Ben smiled and rubbed some oil between his wife’s thighs. “Happy Chanukah,” he mumbled.


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