Jewish Sex. Lesson Learned.

Written by Janna Rachel. Janna is a single mother and jack of many trades. Born in Boston, she has lived in and visited many places all over the US, Europe, Israel and the Caribbean. She currently spends a lot of her time in Memphis. Janna is passionate about her daughter, writing, modeling and traveling. Well versed in many complex matters of life, love, sex and more, Janna states, “Crazy is the new black and I wear it far too well.” Her website is jannarachel.com and her twitter is jannagesq

Just like my parents always wanted. A nice educated Jewish man. So he was a groomsman for my older brother at his wedding. So I got plastered and hooked up with him drunk as could be. So everyone was talking about it the next day at the brunch when we walked in together, hung-over. So my brother was pissed and we weren’t close to begin with. So Mark and I were labeled as sluts. The point was, he was the type of guy I was supposed to be with.

He lived in New York City and was dysfunctional and fucked up like me. He spoke without thinking, acted like there were no consequences, had fun regardless of obligation and lived on his own terms even if it meant disapproval. Seemed like a perfect fit in my mind. So I schlepped my young daughter up to New York, at all hours of the night, to his tiny, sweltering apartment for several weekends filled with Lion King on Broadway, breakfast in the Meat Market, dinner with his parents, and lots and lots of sex. Sometimes she was asleep; sometimes I managed to leave her in Boston. But every time, we fucked like animals.

He was unlike any Jewish man I had known. He was an irresponsible; ADD, drunk, sex-crazed maniac but was still a college graduate with a good family, well paying job, and great apartment. He was sweaty and hairy, which I could have lived without, but he wanted me – all the time – which I loved. We fucked in the shower, on the couch, in the bed, on the floor, on the balcony, in his brother’s room. Anywhere and everywhere. His appetite for me was never ending and while it felt trashy and reckless at times, the long cool summer walks hand in hand, the meals with his family and their questions for me, his acceptance of the presence of my daughter, the calls and texts when we were apart, the drinking and smoking and laughing and the controversial and awkward position it put him in with my brother, made his odor and back hair and wet, sloppy kisses worth it.

He came up to Boston and stayed with me. My younger brother came to see “us” and expressed how freaked out he was that we were a “couple”. After all, it was Mark and me, and Mark was our brother’s friend. My parents, who should have been overjoyed, were instead weary and concerned. My older brother was just not speaking to me altogether.

Not until I was somewhat invested did it come crashing down all around me. Did I really think he was serious about me? Knowing I had a child, knowing I lived in Boston, knowing he was friends with my brother. Did I really think this was going to go somewhere? Well that was awesome. I was good enough to fuck, over and over for weeks on end, but that was it. Never mind that I jeopardized my relationship with my family, royally upset my brother, neglected my studies, subjected my child to him and the baggage that came with him and his geographical distance. Never mind that I felt stupid and hurt. Of course, my parents were disappointed in me, my brother stayed furious at me and stayed friends with Mark, my time was wasted, my body was used and my ego was deflated.

All that and while the sex was exciting and wet and mostly satisfying, it wasn’t out of this world. He wasn’t Mr. Stud, full of tantalizing moves and giving pleasures. He didn’t have a ripped body or an adorable face. He didn’t have tons of money or tons of charm. He was the Jewish boy I was trained to think was the end all be all and he fucked me and then fucked me over.

The most irritating part of the whole charade was that this dude, who was not ready to settle down, and was unable to commit to anything, the same dude who sweat profusely, smelled like old socks, had a receding hairline, more hair on his back than his head and a funny walk, was married within a year, and with children of his own within two years. I can’t say I want to be her, or be with him, for who knows what she is subjected to in bed or what he does behind her back, but it doesn’t mean it can’t sting. What is the lesson here? Who cares who you are “supposed” to be with. No one is an angel, not even the “perfect catch.” So until you find the “one,” fuck who you want and enjoy it!