Pure & Dirty

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Graphic by Emmarogenous.

Written by The Cunning Linguist. The Cunning Linguist is a first-time Jewrotica writer.

Rated R

As most changes, it wasn’t meant to be, and as most changes I didn’t know it was needed. It started (as stories often do) with an unanswered question. “Are you pure?” she asked. This is a strange question on all accounts, especially from a stranger. I don’t consider myself religious at all and I never led a particularly Jewish life except for high holidays and the occasional family Friday night dinner, so when my childhood friend asked me to come to her “alternative” bachelorette party I said yes hesitantly. We grew up together, but as I moved further away from religion she got closer. Her alternative bachelorette party, aside from gifts and drinks (religious or not, we still all like a good cocktail) included a woman from a study group she attends that came to talk to us about marriage in Jewish tradition. I was skeptical to say the least. I would have gone with a hunky stripper to give us lap dances. I wasn’t really listening to what she was saying but when she asked that question I sprang back to consciousness.

“Are you pure?” Who the hell is she to ask me that?! Why would she ask us this question. I thought of something sarcastic to answer her, but I didn’t actually know what the answer was. Was I pure? I thought to myself. “What do you mean by ‘pure’?” I asked her. She started explaining about family purity, about the monthly cycle and sex. What a load of crap, I thought, yet I was listening now more intently then I had been. For weeks I couldn’t shake this question from my head. I didn’t believe in these laws, and in the fact that God cares about my sex life, but to me, in my own eyes – was I pure?

This question led to others. Was I ever pure? Did my self-doubt mean that I wasn’t? Did my sex life make me happy at all? Is sex only “pure” when it’s with your husband? Does having sex with your husband even make it pure?

I’ve known my husband for almost ten years now. We met at a party in college where we were introduced by a mutual friend. We went back to his place that night and had pretty good drunk sex. We continued having sex when we felt like it and we were both single for the next year or so until we went out for a movie we both wanted to see and ended up having a good time. After dating for a year, we finished college and moved in together. The sex was good and the friendship grew with time. The sex had its high points and its low ones. Right after college we were happy and wild and took our sex life wherever we wanted: we had sex in the ocean in midday with people around us not knowing he was inside me underwater, I sucked him off while driving on long drives, he tied me up and blindfolded me and went down on me with such intensity I would leave our sheets and his face soaking wet. We would suck and fuck with raw desire and we made love with passion. Other times we were stressed out–about life, about work, about health. During those times we would have sex more as an obligation to one another and not as a pleasure we both could partake in.

Now we’ve reached a plateau—we have sex on the weekend, it’s pretty good, we give each other head on birthdays and anniversaries and every once in a while I give him a hand job for good measure. When I don’t orgasm I use a little vibrator I bought online when he’s out to make me cum and I pleasure myself with the shower head when I get in the mood from a particularly sexy book. All in all I can’t complain.

The question was bugging me the more I thought about it. Was I pure? If I didn’t know that I was, did that make me impure? Does letting my husband touch me throughout the entire month make me a bad person? Of course not, I told myself.

As the story of the alchemist who was told he could not think of yellow elephants in order to turn lead into gold, I could not think of anything else but that woman’s talk while we were having sex that weekend after my period was over. The next month I avoided sex during the weekend and gave him a hand job instead but still couldn’t help but think of her words. I told myself the only way I could get her out of my head was to prove her wrong.

The next month I made sure to go to sleep after my husband every night. I would have my hands full when he came home so he couldn’t hug me and I would only kiss him on the cheek, very gently, when I left for work in the morning. Two weeks of this were one of the hardest things I ever tried to do. I wasn’t feeling horny and I wasn’t feeling pure. I was relaxed though—no need to worry about when we would have time or what I should put off for sex; would he be offended if we finished fast so I can get to sleep early or hurrying home so I can play with myself before he got home. I was calm. After two weeks of this, the time I set was over and I could resume my normal routine again.

That evening my husband came home and I made him dinner, we each showered, had a glass of wine and lay together on the couch watching television. We were spooning on the couch with his arms wrapped around me when his hand found its way under my t-shirt and rested on my stomach. His hand felt good on my skin and I tucked myself a little deeper into his body as a relaxed smile spread on my face. His hand started moving on my skin—my stomach and my waist, my shoulder and the back of my neck. Gently sliding against my skin. Until this moment I didn’t realize how much my body craved his touch. His hand’s motion on my body sent a beautiful chill through me.I could feel my body giving in to his hand, to his every motion. My body wanted him. I stretched myself and pushed back into his body behind me and his hand started pushing down gently and putting a little more pressure with every stroke. His hand traveled my body from my hips to my back. Going around my breasts but not touching them I could feel my nipples get harder with every motion his hand made on my body. My entire being was screaming for him to grab my breasts already and put me out of this insane feeling of wanting.

His hand finally went up my hip and passed my waist and all at once grabbed my breast and squeezed. Without warning I could feel myself getting extremely wet. He kissed the back of my neck while massaging my breasts, his hands sliding over my hard nipples. I pressed my ass against his crotch and felt him through his pants. He was hard. Could he be larger than I remember?! I want to feel him now! I put my hand behind my back and slid it down to get in to his pants and hold his hard cock in my hand.

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