The Float

Written by Moe Browning. Moe is a first-time Jewrotica writer with a background in construction and a love of short stories, songs, poetry and drumming. “The Float” is Moe’s first published story.

It was a hot summer day this year at Pride. We gathered at 41st St, between Madison and 5th. I walked down the street looking for the flag. It took a while before I finally found one. As I walked up to what was at that time a very small gathering of four or five people, a tall man in a navy blue suit with a curly wire sticking out of his right ear, stepped in front of me and blocked me away from the others.

“What are you looking for?” he asked in a serious tone. I smiled and proudly stated, “The Israeli Delegation!” He nodded his head and allowed me to go through.

I was relieved to see security protect us in case someone in the crowd attacked, but also saddened that even here at New York City Pride Israel still has to defend itself. But, ‘What ah ya gonnah do?’ as we say in Mass. Or, ‘It is what it is.’ as said here in NYC.

After a long wait in the burning sun, one ice tea and two trips to the bathroom in the restaurant where I bought the one ice tea, our contingent was called out onto 5th Avenue. At one hundred people strong, we cheered and danced our way onto the street with the Gothem Girls roller derby crew skating right behind us. What fun!

Not two, possibly three minutes onto 5th Avenue, someone began screaming obscenities and name calling, specifically targeted at our delegation. Everyone ignored it, everyone but me. You can take the working class Catholic kid out of Boston but … we fight first – peaceful resolution, compromise, negotiation always an afterthought. My response was out of my mouth before she could text her peers to brag about her verbal assault. She looked at me and I at her: instant enemies without ever knowing one another. She yelled out one last insult as she ran away from us. Coward.

Another tall man in a dark suit and earpiece looked my way. It wasn’t an angry look. It seemed more like a ‘Please don’t make my job any harder today’ expression.

“I’m sorry.” I said with a smile. He watched me a moment longer, before seeming to conclude that I probably wasn’t crazy. He then turned back to watch the crowd on the sidewalk. ‘Note to self – Next meeting with the Rabbi, ask how to deal with anti-Semitism without swearing.’

And that was it: at least all that I could see of hatred spewing our way. And so we marched. And then we stopped. Marched and stopped, marched and stopped – the usual at any parade, I guess.

“Where’s the float?” I heard a woman call out. “Float?” I asked.

“Yeah!” she said. “We always have a float!” ‘Not today’ I thought. ‘Bummer.’

But then fifteen minutes into walking, waving and smiling, it happened. 
On a side street to our right, this big, bright, loud, amazing blue and white float appeared! Sparkling waves and Stars of David draped the sides with music blaring, Israeli flags waving and gorgeous women and men dancing on top. We cheered and marched in place, to allow it to drive in front of us. And then the party really began!

Is it a stereotype to say that Jews can dance? Because damn … so far I have not yet met one that couldn’t. My first black girlfriend told me I danced like a white guy. The brainiac that I am realized that wasn’t a compliment. It became difficult to dance without hearing her voice after that. But the drummer I am has a rhythm in me that is compelled to move whenever the bass goes through me. And the bass was pumping on that float, so this white guy was dancing.

I don’t remember if it was the second or third time the Tel Aviv song came on, but I know that that was playing when I saw you. The chorus in the song thumps and has everyone jumping in its pulse. The men were good looking, with toned, dark muscular bodies. But the women … G-d have mercy: beautiful, long Jewish faces, with olive skin, black and brown shiny eyes with dark curly to frizzy hair that can melt my heart at a mere glance.

I was recording the float with my not-so smart phone when I spotted you. Even with your hair tied back, your jet-black curls spilled over your shoulders, wild and waving in the slight breeze. Dark brown eyes with tiny specks of gold, circling around coal, black pupils, glimmered in the sun.

You wore a tight, blue tank top that showed off your slim waist and small breasts. You raised your arms high and your top slid up to reveal a few tiny curly hairs just below your belly button, and my mouth opened from want. Your cut off jeans were very worn and frayed at the bottom, half way up your knees. Your legs, so brown and long were shifting side to side, making your bubble butt bounce and making me just a little bit crazy. I zoomed in on you and thought this recording would be a hit with my butch and woman-loving trans buddies on Facebook.

The bridge in the song turned Middle-Eastern and your hips began to swing from side to side, with your arms waving one over the other in front and then in a back-stroke. I could not believe that I was capturing this. I was loving the moment until you turned and looked my way. My skin jumped as I watched you catch me recording you. ‘Shit.’ I looked up with ‘oops, you caught me with my hand in the cookie jar’ eyes. I expected a glare. Instead I received a sensual smile. 
I actually turned around to see who else behind me you must have been looking at. When I looked back up, you were dancing your way toward the ladder to step down. Stunned and barely breathing, I watched you walk toward me.

“So you like to watch me dance?” you ask, in a not at all New York, or even this continent, accent. I cannot speak but nod like the kid who was asked if he wanted the cookie from the jar. You smile and say, “Then watch this.” Again you begin to move. I point a finger at the phone in my other hand with a hopeful look, and you nod yes.

I bob my head up and down from my phone, trying to keep focus to catch all of you and also seize the moment to just be there with you. And then … you start to shimmy. With arms stretched out at your sides and your breasts shaking rapidly, your dark eyes burn through the lens and right into mine. … I am hypnotized. I can do nothing but stare. I hear myself say 
“G-d bless your beautiful Jewish heart.” I am not even sure if I am saying it out loud.

You stretch one hand out toward me, palm up and slowly curl your fingers closed, pinky to pointer, directing me to come close. I press down quickly on the camera symbol and slip the phone into my front pocket. I walk through my fear and toward you. You see my uncertainty and kindly take my hands in yours to guide my movements. Your long brown fingers tickle over my palms, wrists and elbows, lifting my arms up, then down, and over and around in a slow, sensuous pattern. Your hips are swaying in time with the beat and this hot summer day just got a little warmer.

By G-d’s grace, your magic, or a little of both, I am able to let go of everything except for what is happening at this moment. Your confidence and sensual freedom have dissipated every demon inside of me. Why is there not a word or phrase for a feminine night in shining armor?
My heart begins to sink as I hear the song come to an end. Your hands slide down my arms slowly with the abrupt silence of the music. It is a now or never moment, and I blurt out,
“My name is Moe. Can I get your name and number?” You look at me, open your mouth and then closed it back again. We have to keep walking aside the float to keep up with the contingent. Another thirty seconds go by and it is not looking good for me. The moment between taking a chance and getting rejected is such a heart stopping, breath holding anxiety attack.

“I live in Israel.” you say in a ‘no way this can happen’, sweet, but definite tone.

“That won’t stop me.” I say before I can stop me. Your eyes open wide and I realize I sound like an international stalker. I have got to learn to create a filter between my brain and mouth. 
‘Note to self – Google How to think before you speak.’

We are still walking and hope begins to rise in me, as you begin to move with the next song that comes on, and not away from me. I am walking backward to keep an eye on you. I am hoping not to trip but feeling giddy enough not to worry too much if I do. Every second you don’t say ‘No’ feels better than the last.

“Take me home with you tonight,” you say loud enough for me to hear over the music and for the guy next to me to know that I just got lucky. You don’t ask. You just say it. I am smiling to cover up the shock that you just jolted into my body. I need a moment to let it pass so I can speak, certainly not a moment to think twice about it.

“Well?” you ask as you tilt your head and raise one eyebrow.

“Yes,” I say. “Absolutely. … May I know your name now?” You smile and shake your head no.

“Damn, seriously? … I can’t know your name?” I ask.

“No,” you say, this time without a smile. 
Dawn breaks over Marblehead. I realize this is code for one-night-stand. In less than a second I think of all the reasons this could be, starting with: ‘Who are you living with in Israel?’ I also realize I will probably feel regret, and that I don’t have to do this.

“Take the lessor of the pain,” my friend Cathy Prout once told me, when I had to decide whether or not to end a bad relationship. “Is it worse to stay with her, or to walk away?” I know there is no contest here. I would rather feel the longing I’m sure I will have for you after you leave my apartment than to always wonder what it would have felt like to have you in my arms. And of course the bigger question is – Why can’t I just be a normal guy and not give a shit?

“Do you accept this?” you ask with a serious look. “Yes,” I say, and I mean it. You seem to believe me and smile.

“But…” I say hesitantly. “I need to tell you… I’m not … well…” You step closer to me.

“I know what you are,” you whisper softly in my ear.

“You do?” I ask, feeling both relieved that you are okay about me, and bummed out that I didn’t pass at the same time. Although secretly, I know I still like being viewed as butch when I’m around hot lesbians. I then wonder for a moment how you label your sexual preference. The next moment I decide that I don’t care.

“Come on to the float.” you say. I nod my okay and we climb up the ladder, you first, and merge with a tight, rowdy dancing crowd. You grab my hand and we snake our way through to the front right corner.

I like this view of the march. We wave like Queen Elizabeth, dance a little, hold hands and smile at each other. The crowd on the sidewalk cheer us on as if we’re celebrities. What fun it is to have fun, knowing you’re going to have much more fun later!

We finally reach Christopher Street. Most people on the float don’t seem to realize this, and you are thrilled when I point it out to you. You wave both arms crossing one another and yell out something in Hebrew. I want to know what, but the tour guide in me is compelled to point out that The Stone Wall Inn is approaching. You cheer and thank me with a kiss on my cheek. ‘Score!’

We reach the corner where the float needs to turn right, while the marchers turn left and we both jump down the steps and onto the street. We stagger a moment while catching our balance, as we get use to walking again. We smile and wave goodbye to others from the delegation. I look back with affection as the float rolls away.

“Can we get a taxi?” you ask as you turn in all directions, looking a little lost.

“Not here, not now.” I answer. “We have to walk to the subway.” Getting to West 4th St Station is never easy after Pride. Streets are blocked off where we need to go. But, I have been to enough parades here, to maneuver us through the side streets and get us there.

You seem nervous walking down into the station. Tourists are warned not to go there and cabbies make out like bandits. I give you a wink and a smile to reassure you. I go to the machine, buy you a Metro card and use my own monthly pass to get us through the turns-style. The train is crowded and we have to stand close together. We face one another while hanging onto a pole. Most of the crowd is from the parade and this seems to calm you enough to begin flirting again.

The D isn’t running so we take the F to the L to the R. What has become monotonous to me seems like a little adventure for you. Your head turns in curiosity with every subway performer we pass by. You even clap and give a dollar to the Mariachi band at Union Square. You make me remember the magical side of New York and for a little while, I feel new to the city as well.
Finally, after all my years here watching couples kissing on the train, I do it with you. I feel so proud to be with such a lovely woman. Your kisses are warm and your lips taste sweet. I am grateful for the AC on the train, as my body’s heat begins to rise from the delicious, light sound of your lips smacking on mine. Announcements come and go, the doors open and close, the train starts and stops and I have lost track of where I am until I hear, “Brooklyn bound R train to 95th St: this is 45th St. Next stop is 59th St. Stand clear of the closing doors.”

I have to grab you quickly as the doors begin to shut! A kind stranger stops them from closing us in, and I know for certain that this day has been blessed. I thank him and he nods with a smile as we walk past.

Two streets over and one and a half avenues up, we walk holding hands as I give you a mini tour through Sunset Park, Brooklyn. With its amazing view of Manhattan and Lady Liberty, I score a few more tour guide points and kisses. My roommate is out; the lady and kids downstairs are away for the weekend and my only luxury problem is that my cat is not fond of strangers. … Ahhh well; he’ll get over it.

Sure enough, I open the door to see my fat tiger cat impatiently waiting. “Hi Levi!” I say. He looks up with his ‘I can’t believe you’ve been gone four hours, I’m starving and you only left me dry food’ pose. Moments later, he has turned into scaredy cat, ‘It’s time to run like hell under the bed’ kitty. Poor boy. That will not be the safest escape route for him this time.

“Don’t take it personally.” I say. “If he had any idea how good you were at running your fingers through his fur, he would have jumped up on your lap.” You smile, run your fingers through my hair and lightly graze my scalp with your nails. Although I am rather good at imitating the sound, I refrain from purring. Instead I return the gesture and we pull each other in for a kiss.

“Something to drink?” I whisper between light nibbles on your neck. “Water? Seltzer? Juice?” You simply shake your head and begin sucking gently on my right earlobe, sending a tingling trail down through my neck, to my nipples, and finally reaching my clitoris and making it throb. I let out a moan and whisper “We have to lay down, or I’m going to fall over.” Your lips release my sensitive skin to let out a gentle laugh. It tickles my ear and we smile into one another’s neck. I kiss your cheek and say, “Come on.” I take your hand and walk you into my room.

I smile, as I see I had remembered to make my bed and tidy up, before running out the door to be on time for the march. You look toward my bay window and my collection of mid century radios on top on each sill. White mini blinds allow just enough light through for us to see but not be seen. A few paintings of trees and stormy skies by my favorite artist, who also happens to be a personal friend, Sherrie Theriault, cover my walls. One large poster of Martina Navratilova hangs next to my bed above my nightstand. You say nothing but point at it and smile. I look down at my double bed. It’s covered with a plain dark blue spread, over white sheets and four matching white pillows. You notice my menorah on my dresser and say,

“Why do you have this? I know you’re not Jewish.”

“Converting.” I say with a smile. “Still just a Jewwannabe.”

“Ahhh but, why would Jew wannabe?” you ask.

“Very clever.” I say, pretending I hadn’t heard that from born Jews, a few times already.

Keeping your wide grin, you let go of my hand, kick off your sandals, grab the bottom of your tank top, slide it up over your head and let it drop where you stand. I step up to you and run my fingers up your arms, over your shoulders and trace the straps of your bra, before covering both my hands on your lovely, supple breasts. You close your eyes and sigh. I feel your nipples harden through the silk onto the palm of my hands and I moan as well.

“Now, I’m going to fall over,” you say as you open your eyes. We smile at each other and I guide you onto my bed. I place one hand on the back of your shoulder, one hand in front: both pushing you back and catching your fall as you lay down. Without letting you go, I kick off my own sandals with my feet and lay next to you. We begin to kiss once more when the thought arises, and I stop. Your eyes open wide and I say “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.” I then jump up, take three steps to my dresser, open the second drawer down and brush through my collection, before grabbing a 12” long, 2” thick, natural looking cock.

“Strap on, or strap off?” I ask, waving my right hand holding the cock in a semi circle motion clockwise; then waving my left hand, palm open, semi circle counter. You stare in confusion.

“Did you not see Karate Kid?” I ask. You shake your head, not looking too amused. ‘Note to self – Shut the fuck up!’

“Okay, sorry.” I say while toning down the enthusiasm. “Yes or no?” I ask, ready to drop the cock back into the drawer.

“What do you want?” you ask with a smile. I breath a sigh of relief to see you smiling again.

“Actually.” I say. “I like it either or; so, ladies choice.”

“Me too,” you answer, then purse your lips and hum “Hmmm…. maybe yes, if it was not so big.”

I smile and drop it in the draw and grab my 10”. You shake your head again, but keep the smile. I quickly grab my 8” then 6” then…

“Wait!” you yell. “Go back one,” you say more softly. I pick back up my 8” X 1” and hold it up without the wave and you nod and smile wide. I dig back into the drawer with my other hand and grab my black leather harness, custom made at The Leather Man, and race off to the bathroom. “Be back in a flash!” I yell. “Does that mean quickly?” you holler back. “Yes!” I answer.

Levi slips in before I can close the bathroom door and glares up at me. I blast the hot water, soap and rinse the cock, then take a towel down off the rack and pat dry. I whip off my boxers and bend the cup at the base of the balls to squeeze it into the large, silver, metal cock ring. I give a quick over look at the side straps and buckles. ‘Jesus,’ I think. ‘It’s been so long, I have to think about what goes where.’

“I know Levi.” I say out loud. “Pathetic, right?!” He sits down, raises his back paw high, bends his head down and licks his ass.

“Nice.” I say with a smile. “No kisses for you tonight.” I pull up the harness, which gives me a quick and sudden rush as the base rubs against my lower lips and clit.

“Woah,” I whisper. “Forgot about that.” I take a look in my full-length mirror as I buckle up the last strap, feeling it pinch just tight enough to keep everything in place. I just got my hair cut the day before. It’s not my usual; it looks a little like a wavy boy’s cut from the 50s, but I kind of like it. My mustache and goatee are trimmed down close to a five o’clock shadow. Everything seems ok until I look down.

‘Well.’ I think. ‘She already knows my legs are hairy, but should I do a quick trim here? It’s been a while and, isn’t everybody shaved nowadays? … Fuck that. Just keep the boxers on.’ Then I take my tank top off and stare at my scares just a few inches below my nipples. They’re much lighter now, but still noticeable. A lot of guys have hairy chests and it covers them. I barely have peach fuzz. I shake my head and put my shirt back on. ‘Well… glad I at least worked out this morning: arms and legs are nicely toned, abs are slightly cut and slim… Not perfect, but not bad… Okay, stop being a girl and get the fuck out of the bathroom!’ I reach down, give Levi a quick pat on the head and say,

“Okay … Gottah go!” I pull my underwear back on and the pressure comes back up. This time I’m prepared for it and smile as I tuck the cock inside my boxers. I open the door and shut off the living room light as I walk back into the bedroom.

‘Candles.’ I think. ‘Shit. Is it sac-religious to use Shabbos candles on a Sunday?’ But as I walk into the room I see you lying there naked and I forget about candles, Levi, what day it is, or even who is waiting for you back in Israel.

The small patches of light skin on your breasts and around your vagina (unshaven, thankfully) are darker than my slightly tanned arms and legs. Those few tiny curls below your belly button lead down to a bigger patch of shiny black curls on your mound. I am so tempted to put my face right there, right now, but I take a hold of my senses and libido.

I slowly crawl onto the bed and over you. I steady my hands brushing each side of your shoulders and part your legs with my knees. I hover over you close, letting our breath mingle a moment before pressing my lips gently onto yours.

Light, muffled moans escape my throat and I need to breath heavy through my nose. The warmth and tenderness of your kiss spread through all of me, and an overwhelming need surges right to the core of my heart. I must close my eyes to hide this from you. But when I hear you echo my moan, I open them to find you longing for me as well.

Needing more, I slide my tongue through your lips, and you welcome me by tenderly sucking on the tip. I slide in deeper and you open wide, dropping your tongue and allowing me to penetrate as deep and as wide as I please. I tilt my head, slide in as far as I can and groan louder. Your sighs are barely audible but the pitch is high and just as intense. As our tongues begin to circle one another, you place one hand on the back of my neck and scratch lightly. I slowly pull back from your lips and kiss your cheek and under your chin to get to your neck. I hear your quick breaths and moaning as I cover a large circle of tender skin, just below your left ear. I open my mouth wide and suck gently. After a few moments I suck a little harder.

You cry out and grab my hair with both hands. I suck harder. You may be gone tomorrow, but I am marking you as my own today. I stop a moment and look to see the newly formed red, purple patch. I smile at my artwork before I lick across to the other side and suck again. You tug on my hair.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble?” you ask between quick breaths. 
“You’re already in trouble babe.” I answer.

I kiss and lick down to your right breast. All over and around, I tease with my tongue. I stop at the base and lap that sweet soft globe before tickling the tip of your nipple. Your patience has run out and you squeeze the back of my neck and whisper “Do it. Please.” I cover your nipple with my lips and suckle gently: slow and easy. You release my neck and slide your hand down into my shirt and scratch between my shoulder blades.

There is nothing more nurturing than sucking on a woman’s breast. The space in and around us softens and I realize just how much I have missed this. I am hungry and need to nibble. So, I nibble and suck as you feed me. I open my eyes and watch your little breast rise and fall. I listen to you whisper words I don’t understand into the air above me, and I am loving it. I stop and kiss your nipple softly before nibbling my way to your other breast. I am no longer worried about my emotions. I remember now that I am stronger for needing a woman: not weaker.
I look up into your eyes and smile before taking in your left nipple. I feel you looking down at me curiously. I know you’re unaware of the gift you’re giving me but I am determined to reward you for it just the same. With great care, I gently tug with my teeth and then cover your nipple again and suck and lick and tease. You run your fingers through my hair, then your hand pushes my head down. I smile at your not so subtle signal. I plant a few more kisses on your breast and start licking down.

Your brown belly is warm and soft. I lightly bite and kiss around your belly button and the four or five little black curls. I stick my tongue in and your skin wiggles from a giggle you let out. I feel a devilish temptation to bring my fingers over for a little tickle, and I give in to it. You laugh out loud and slap my hand away. My next kiss is just slightly above your mound and when your scent reaches my nostrils I inhale deeply before letting out a sigh.

Most women smell good to me: a few, not so much; but you smell better then any wine this recovering dipsomaniac has ever engulfed. I close my eyes and bury my face in your soft, black, curly hair, nuzzling my nose in and kissing the sensitive flesh at your roots. I kiss you as tenderly as I had first kissed your mouth. When I reach the top of your slit, I see dark, pink and light, purple lips glistening, and decide it is time to dive in and get wet.

I glide my hands down from your belly to your hips and then circle in to thumb your curls aside and expose your inner lips and sweet little clit. Your scent, stronger now, rises; and I inhale again deeply. My fingers dig in lightly on each side of your belly button and your skin jumps again.

My first kiss presses gently on your clit. Juice clear but thick as cream gloss my lips. Your hips rise and your hands press down on my head and make my face plunge in. My hands reach for yours and you grab them tight and begin to ride up harder on my face. 
My tongue is now lapping up every drop in every fold of your lips. When I want more I bow down and dip my tongue in your hole to draw it out. You oohh and ahhh and whisper things I can only imagine the meaning of.

I am starving and I need to eat. I open my mouth and graze your clit lightly with my teeth. I open wider and begin sucking in your hot juice and swallowing. You are soaking wet and I am able to take in two big gulps. “Your cunt is delicious” I whisper into your inner lips, and then nibble some more. My nose bumps up against your clit and you say “Yes!” I bump up again and again you say “Yes!” I bump up and down and lap in and out of your hole and the tension is growing tight. You are bucking up hard and fast and I shake my head and growl like an animal, my lips pressing firmly, back and forth across your clit, that has become fat and juicy, and then … you cum.

You scream so loud you scare me. I hold on and keep my head shaking while your whole body jerks and quivers. You close your thighs in on my ears and I hear the sound of the ocean, as if I’m listening into a large seashell. Your skin is warm against my cheeks and you are still bucking. You scream again, but your thighs muffle the volume. I am amazed at how long you can orgasm for. I stop shaking my head and stick my tongue back into your hole and feel the throbbing as you open and close on it. Then slowly … you open your thighs, release my hands and reach down and cup my chin up and off of your mound.

My face is dripping wet. You try and wipe at it, but it only makes your hand wet. I kiss your palm and smile up at you. You lay your head back on the pillow, look up at the ceiling and say, “Toda lecha Elohim” (thank you, G-d). I smile wide. I am so happy to recognize the phrase that I don’t even mind G-d getting all the credit for my work.

“Come here,” you say. I smile and give your clit a kiss goodbye. “Mmmm,” I hear you moan. I am surprised that you are excited again so quickly after that explosion. So, I kiss again and give a little lick. Your hips rise up and I see that you are indeed ready for more.

I climb up on my knees and you look down at the big bulge I have between my legs. Your eyes widen and glimmer with lust as I part your legs wider with my thighs and reach into the slit on my boxers and pull out my cock.

I grab it firmly with one hand and brush the fat head along the sides of your inner lips. You gasp and I tap it on your clit. I circle around it and then tap it again a few more times. Our eyes are burning into each other’s as I dip it down into your wet hole. I slide in only an inch and then pull back out. Your mouth opens wider and your eyes begin to plead with mine. I slide back in two inches this time, and you bite down on your bottom lip.

I lay my elbows down carefully, brushing each of your arms and place my hands on your shoulders. I then lower my chest on your breasts and the weight of my body down on top of you. My cock slides in easily and I push until my balls slap against your ass. You cry out and it takes all of my strength not to fuck you fast and hard.

‘Take control of yourself,’ I think. ‘Take control of your cock.’ I kiss you and watch your eyes close. I raise my hips and slide almost all the way out of you, then hump down and slide back in until my balls slap again and the base bumps up against me. I do this again and again. I fuck you slow and steady for a long, long time.

I shift a little to keep the base from rubbing too much on my clit. I am able to concentrate and hold back my climax. I am so proud to be fucking you so good.

You open your eyes again and start whispering to me in Hebrew. You give out a little laugh and speak louder. You have the freedom of saying any filthy thing you desire without me understanding a word of it. I am burning inside to know. Your voice is soft but confident. It sounds so good.

I am beginning to lose control. I suddenly become aware that I am starting to pump harder … a little faster. I try again to take hold but again you speak. You kiss my lips and then talk some more. Every time I try and catch a word or phrase I may recognize, you kiss me, or nibble on my neck and then speak again. English could never be this good, sound this sensual. I want so badly to speak your native tongue with you.

“You are so beautiful,” I hear myself say. You answer in Hebrew.

“This is good with you. I want to fuck you all night.” I tell you. You repeat the same phrase.

“I want you to remember me. I don’t want you to forget this.” I say. 
You repeat the phrase again and I try and listen carefully, so I can find out later, what it means.

“Say it again!” I say. But you wrap your arms and legs around me tighter and start crying out. 
I realize I am pounding you so hard and fast that you only have strength to hold on. 
The friction from the cup rubbing against my clit is making it swell bigger with every bump.

I can’t stop it anymore. I can’t slow down. I thrust inside of you so hard I am afraid I may hurt you. And then you scream, again. I am so close I could burst. You keep yelling as I close in on you.

“I’m gonnah cum.” I whisper low and rough into your ear.

“I’m gonnah cum inside your hot little pussy and you’re going to love it.”

And I do. And you do.

Lighting strikes up inside me. My clit bursts and I force it back into you with my cock, hard.
“Take it!” I yell. “Take it now!” You keep holding on as my body quakes and spasms and bucks. I lose myself in my own release. The burning ripples through me and into you as the rush reaches its peak. The shock consumes me and holds me there.

I realize I am thrusting slower again, until the burning scorches me too much … And I stop.
We are both breathing as if we have just finished running a marathon. I loosen my grip on you but I don’t let you go. I rest my head on your shoulder and listen to your heart pounding loud and fast. My own heart is pounding much too fast for me to move. … I stay there a minute and finally it slows enough, along with my breath for me to look up at you. Your mouth is open while catching your own breath but you manage to smile and say, “Toda Moshe.”

I look into your eyes. I don’t say it out loud, but if telepathy does exist, you know that this is without a doubt, one of the best moments of my life. You smile up at me and ask,
“What are you thinking?” I smile and say, “I’m thinking I have to pull out.”

There is an art to pulling out and I am hoping I am still a master of my craft. Keeping eye contact is important to be able to judge your sensations. Hard silicone does not go limp. I know you are sensitive and sore inside, and that one wrong move on my part, could hurt you.

“Easy,” I whisper, as if you had a role in this. I prop my elbows up gently by your shoulders. I push into the mattress with my knees and lift my chest up with my elbows and off of your breasts. I squeeze in my abs and I push my ass back, slowly sliding my cock up with it. I see the quick fear in your eyes as the walls in your hole pucker and a shiver runs through you.

“Easy,” I repeat, keeping your eyes on mine as I push up on one hand and then the other. My abs tighten again and my knees raise up, as my toes take over, pushing down on the mattress. I hover over you a moment longer, then tighten my torso and back my ass up. Your mouth is open and ready to gasp. But, the tip pops out, leaving only a little tickle in its wake.

We both sigh in relief and then laugh. I back up, putting one knee down and then the other, while pushing off with my hands and sit back on my heels. I am soaked with our sweat and juices. My hands automatically reach for the tank top straps on my shoulders to lift it off, but then I quickly remember my scars. I pause a moment. ‘I have beaten down a lot of fear today.’ I think. ‘Why stop now?’ Besides, I want to see who you really are: how you will react. So, I pull the shirt up, over and off of me, before tossing it aside onto the floor.

You look curiously at my chest a moment as you prop up on your elbows and bring your face a little closer. Your expression seems neutral and I cannot guess your emotion. “I did not know,” you finally say. I am surprised and confused. “Didn’t know I was a transguy?” I ask.

“But you said …”

“No,” you interrupt. “This I knew. I did not know you had surgery. I assumed you just had tiny breasts.” You then shift and raise yourself up onto your knees to come closer. You begin tracing my scares with your fingertips. I hold my breath a moment as my bravery has reached its limit. You lightly graze my nipples with your nails. ‘Damn that feels good,’ I think, feeling grateful that they are still sensitive. You trace your nails up to my neck, then you cup my chin and ask, “What color are your eyes?” “My eyes?” I ask. “Hazel.” You seem confused.

“They turn from brown to green, depending on my mood.” I explain.

“Really?” you ask.

“Yes, really. I bet they’re more green right now.”
“Yes!” you say with a surprised smile. “How did you know?”

“Because I have been excited. “When I am more calm, they will turn brown.” “Really?” you ask again, looking deeper into them.

“Swear to G-d.” I answer. You nod, smile sweetly and say, “Come lay with me.”

I grin to myself as I step down and walk around to the side you are now laying down on. At the edge of the bed you reach up and tug on the waistband of my boxers.

“Off.” you simply say. “I want to feel all of our skin touching together.” My mouth drops open. “Is there another surprise down there also?” you ask with a smile. I laugh.

“No.” I answer. “I’m just a little shy.” 
“Life is too short to be shy.” you say. ‘Tell me about it!’ I think.

So, I chutzpah up: pull down my boxers, unbuckle my harness holding my cock, let them all fall to the floor, step over them and climb into bed with you.

Life is good. At least this moment is. We cuddle, kiss and whisper sweet nothings: in English. Although I miss hearing your Hebrew, it’s nice to understand you.

We stroke each other’s arms and legs. I spend time exploring your wonderful hair: so black and shiny, so full, so thick, so curly. I run my fingers through your hair from your forehead to your shoulder, slowing down and easing out, whenever I hit a tangle. You either don’t mind or just put up with my fussing. You busy yourself touching everywhere that had been covered before: sending twinges of tickles and tiny shockwaves throughout me body. I enjoy our tender, playful afterglow.

There is very little light left in the room now, but our eyes have adjusted to the moonlight that slices in through the blinds in one of the windows. One yawn turns into another as we pass them on to each other. Our touching slows and we become quiet.

“What are you thinking?” you ask. I hesitate a moment and then confess,

“I am guessing your name.”

“Oh really.” you say with a mischievous smile. “Tell me what you have guessed.”

“Sarah, Rebecca, Rachael, Leah or Ruth,” I answer. You roll to my side and laugh.

“Did you learn these names in Sunday school?” you ask. I smile and say, 
“C.C.D. class you mean. I know gentiles look alike but Protestant I ain’t. Besides … the only woman the nuns ever taught us about was Mary. You know, that nice Jewish girl that got pregnant without having sex?”

“Yes,” you say with a big grin. “I have heard of her. But if she didn’t want sex, then Jewish she ain’t.” We smile into each other’s eyes and then into another long, warm, luxurious kiss.
Without warning, the inevitable sadness creeps into my soul, right to my belly and then up through my heart. Any second, it will rise up in my neck and then onto my face and show. I gently break free from your lips and kiss your forehead to avoid eye contact. I breath heavy and tell myself, 
‘It is what it is. Let go Moe.’ So I wait and keep holding you there until your breathing slows down and your eyelids close shut.

I don’t know what time you will go; but I am a light sleeper and know I will awake when you stir.

‘Be grateful for this day with her.’ I tell myself: then close my own eyes and let go. 
As I begin to drift off to sleep, you say “Moshe?”

“Hmmm?” I answer. 
You kiss my cheek and whisper, what sounds like,

“Hashem Shehlee Shlomit.” I smile: take my best guess and say,

“Good night to you too sweetheart.”