Written by Shosha Pearl. Shosha, a first-time Jewrotica writer, is a writer and reader of erotic fiction who believes there is much potential, as yet largely untapped, for Jewish erotic fiction. She hopes both to cover and uncover some of this potential.
[Editor’s Note: Per the author’s request, this story is written using British English spelling – as opposed to American English.]It was exactly as I had left it, folded neatly and wrapped in white tissue paper, stored at the top of a plastic crate in my basement.
I had not seen it since clearing out the upstairs cupboard to make way for the baby clothes that my daughter had grown too large to wear. The passage of time inevitably led to its subterranean exile, left to grow moldy in silent abandonment.
The tissue paper was thin; it felt cold on my fingers. The browning tape held fast so that the paper tore, despite the care I used to pull it apart. A light musty smell wafted up, but I barely noticed as my skin touched the faintly aging fabric; the long, thin, knotted threads, which fell limp across my open palm, were as yellow as the fingernails of ancient smokers.
Without self-consciousness, I raised it to my face and breathed in the remnant of his smell, still so familiar after all this time.
Gavi Halperin came to stay with us in the dying days of the summer break before my second year at university. He wore the same velvet kippot as all the Lakewood boys brought out annually to give a little gravitas to our community’s youth program. But very few of them had his clear olive skin, sparkling grey eyes or smooth, muscular arms.
As his former chavruta, my brother Yonatan insisted – both to my parents and to the rabbi – that rather than be housed with one of the usual families, Gavi would stay with us. From the moment he arrived I silently and gratefully thanked my brother for his assertiveness; I have never loved Yonatan so dearly as I did during those days.
Growing up in a frum family, guests were always camped in our basement, but I don’t recall any of their stays with the clarity I remember Gavi’s. Not that anything happened. He was frum and I was frum. And my family was frum. These are not easy conditions for steamy relationships.
But I watched him. And thought about him. And dreamed about him – and not just when I lay in bed at night, the humming of my young mind accompanied by my sisters’ breathing in the darkness, but all of the time.
We didn’t talk much – hardly ever, in fact. He was respectful and I was smitten. Sometimes I caught him watching me, almost unwittingly. As soon as our eyes met he turned away while I blushed and fidgeted in ecstatic agony. And so the weeks passed with nothing more than the naïve fantasies of a former seminary girl and the mounting tension of her unmapped sexuality. I do not know if he, too, felt the tension.
My mother went away for a week not long before Gavi left. As the oldest daughter many of her household chores fell to me, including the laundry. This increased familial responsibility was a source of great hardship and resentment for my youthful soul. Not that I complained: I had learnt long before not to express my discontent for fear of unleashing my parents’ monologues on the weight of their responsibilities.
As I begrudgingly unpacked the strewn washing basket, sorting whites from colours, I came across an unfamiliar pair of socks. It took me a surprisingly long time to realise that this pair of slightly frayed, black socks were in fact items of tremendous loveliness: they were Gavi’s.
My sifting hands uncovered more: shirts, t-shirts, trousers, and, to my consternation, underpants. The discovery of the latter was so confronting that I turned my eyes away as I tentatively picked up these extraordinary items between my forefinger and thumb to toss them into the colour pile. Underpants were too sensational for me; socks, even the beautiful Gavi’s socks, were too stinky; but everything else was gold.
Closing the laundry door I lifted his shirts to my breast and held them close, swaying in a dance of euphoric revelry that would rival the movements of any dybbuk – possessed soul.
The madness started quite innocently. I forgot to return one of his t-shirts to the washing pile and it missed its turn with the colour cycle. So I stashed it away in my bedroom with a pile of unwashed clothes. It was only that night, as I undressed for bed and saw the t-shirt again, that it somehow made its way under my nightdress, pressed against my beating heart.
And then I wore it all the next day.
Celebrating 10 Years & Marking the End of An Amazing Project
Celebrating 10 Years & Marking the End of An Amazing Project
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.
The people behind Jewrotica are quite quality! I have confidence that any project these folks take on will be equally quality.
I attended and participated in last month’s Jewrotica event. The engaging performers and Ayo, our inviting host, inspired the audience to feel like one big community. What a great way to inspire our community to embrace sex as a beautiful thing that can be fun, exciting, sacred, sensual, ridiculous, scary and everything in between!
Jewrotica is something that the community has needed for a long time so that people can actually learn, express and share and have good relationships without having to stumble through life. Check out the site and learn something. Have fun!
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!
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.
I’m into Jewrotica. I went in for my second circumcision.
I stepped out of my comfort zone to be a part of this. I was glad to open up the topic of sexuality in my community. We are trying to build a safe space to talk about sex. The result I am most happy about coming from this event is that hopefully now my friends know they can come and talk to me, that I can be their ‘safe space’.
Jewrotica is awesome. It expands the mind and for people who were raised with narrow views on sexuality. Whether you are Jewish or not, or in different sects of Judaism like Orthodox, Conservative or Reform, no matter what your background or where you’re from, Jewrotica gets you to see Judaism and how it relates to sexuality in new ways. I really appreciate Ayo being here and helping us learn different ways to connect with our sexuality.
Jewrotica is inspiring Jews and erotica with holiness and coolness, and is the pride of progressive Judaism. Jewrotica – awesome!
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