Hassidic Passion (4 page)

Raizy

Amazing how three months could pass so quickly.  Now, Raizy thought she might faint under the
chuppah
.  Partly from fasting, partly from eager anticipation.

When he’d come to put on her veil, Beryl
had been pale, nervous-looking, like every chassan.  But not bad.  Not Hollywood, but not bad at all – considering.  His shoulders were broad and strong under his white
kittel
, and he didn’t look half as nervous as she was. She just hoped she wouldn’t throw up.

When he came near with the veil, h
is body felt warm, close to hers; closer than they’d ever been before. 

He didn’t touch her, of course, but she could feel his skin beside hers as he pulled
it nervously down over her face and was led away by the troupe of men and boys, singing and playing raucous klezmer music, as if to entice him to forget the reason he was here in the first place.

Now, resolute
and blindfolded behind her opaque satin veil, Raizy circled Beryl, once, twice, seven times altogether, led by her mother and mother-in-law.  They were already legally married; they’d signed the papers separately in the rabbi’s study.  But this was the ceremony that mattered –
kiddushin
, sanctification.

Without sanctification, they couldn’t be together. 

Be
together, thought Raizy.  Screw.  Fuck.  Hump.  She almost giggled at the stream of inappropriate words that came to her at a time when she was about to enter into a higher spiritual state, join with her
bashert
, her predestined one. 

Fulfilling the very purpose of her existence… and all she could think about was spreading her legs.

Raizy gripped her Tehillim, the white leather book of Psalms her older sister had given her, and focused her attention on murmuring prayers.  The veil worked both ways, and she knew her mother and mother-in-law couldn’t see what she was doing under there, or read her thoughts.

Better start praying.  I
f she was to start this thing on the right foot, she was going to need all the help she could get.

Beryl

Beryl’s body buzzed, feeling her body so close to him.  He waited under the
chuppah
for the rabbis to do their thing, which they dutifully did. 

Of course.  Everybody in this community always did what they were supposed to.  If you were broken, as Beryl was sure he was, you had to hide it or risk ostracism.

You had to hide in the world of the yeshiva when after sixteen years of studies, you were dying to break free, find work, earn money and support yourself instead of taking handouts.

And y
ou had to hide the way your body quivered, arms and legs buzzed with electricity.  Electricity that was nothing compared to what Beryl was feeling in a certain
fifth
limb.  A “limb” that was trying desperately to make itself known

In the end, he’d wrapped it with
the bandage he’d used for his ankle, so now, even though he was supposed to be praying, or at the very least, paying attention, all he could think about was his balls.  Bound so tightly, would his sack heat up too much? 

He’d heard that if you heated things up down there – more than the natural heat that he always felt – it might kill his seed and he
wouldn’t have children.

Was that true?  A
nd if it was true, would the change be permanent?

Of course, to see the pregnant w
omen moaning around the neighborhood, you wouldn’t think being pregnant was such a blessing.  Maybe not being able to have babies would be a different kind of blessing – the ability to
do it
as much as you wanted without worrying about diapering and feeding the consequences.  To fuck with abandon.

Pay attention, Beryl thought to himself.

But when he was paying attention, things were even worse.  Because there she was beside him.  Despite the seamstresses’ best effort to conceal her body beneath heavy white satin, he could just make out her body’s shape.  Not, God forbid, the crease of her ass or a nipple – that would send him over the edge, and doubtless burst the bandages holding him tight. 

But he could make out a few nice curves.  Breasts, in front. 
Don’t think about it.
  But how could he not?  And her ass in back, just a little hump sticking out.  Nice and tight.  Each cheek just exactly the size of his palm.

Would it be better to wipe the sweat off his forehead, or stand stock still as he’d been instructed and just let the droplet fall?  He opted for the second choice, holding his sentry-box position as the blessings droned on.

Suddenly, the rabbi was handing him a ring.  His mother had bought it for him, a plain gold band, as simple as possible  It would show the world that Raizy was his wife.

He slipped it on her right middle finger.  The fuck finger, one of the boys had told him it was called (that boy
was gone two weeks later; too worldly).  You shouldn’t hold it up, point it at strangers, but here was hers, curiously intimate.  He didn’t touch her skin, not yet, just slid the ring carefully over her outstretched finger.

The rabbi held up the
ketubah
, the marriage contract.  Feminists might say that marriage in their community was a purchase, Beryl thought, but that didn’t mean he got off scott-free.  He had responsibilities now. 

As the rabbi had explained in his
chassan
classes, the
ketubah
spelled out Beryl’s obligations to Raizy:  feeding her, clothing her, and providing marital pleasure.

Oy.  How did they expect him to do that?

In
chassan
classes, the rabbi had hinted that there was a special button you pressed to make your wife happy.  But Beryl hadn’t quite been able to make out whether he was saying that as a metaphor or whether the button was something real that he would have to know about, in the bedroom.

And t
here was no way on earth that he was going to stop the rabbi to ask him
that
question.

Beryl

And now, at last, they were alone together.  In the
yichud
room.

There was a plate of cookies
on a small round table, along with some wedding gifts that their parents had stashed in there.

“Do you want to open
some of these presents?” Raizy asked politely, after she’d made the right blessing and was munching on a cookie.

“Maybe,” said Beryl.  Even though they’d spoken before, they’d never been alone, and this felt like their very first co
nversation. 

It almost felt like his first conversation, ever, he was so nervous.  He took a cookie as well.  “What do you want to do?”

There was no chance that they could do what he
really
wanted.  Their parents and all the rabbis, friends, relatives; they could all come bursting back in at any moment.  Nobody ever did anything in the
yichud
room.

But if there was ever a time for boldness it was now
.  Right away, before anyone got the idea of interrupting the young couple’s privacy.

Beryl cleared his throat and jumped off the cliff.  “Maybe I could kiss you?”

What would she think of him now?

She smiled.  Under the layer of makeup, she really was
pretty.  And that lipstick – oy.

“Okay,” she said.

He slid his chair just a little closer to Raizy’s and rigidly leaned towards her.  Why wasn’t she moving at all?  It was like she was a grandfather clock or something, sitting stiffly upright in her chair.  Then, something in her softened. 

She
leaned towards him, just a little.  Spread those soft, red lips, just a little.  Touched his lips with hers.  So moist.  So warm.

F
or the millionth time that day, he was grateful, ever so grateful, for the bindings that held his cock and balls tightly in check.  Maybe it would make him sterile.  But he was kissing a girl, for the very first time, and nothing would ruin this moment.

Her lips touched his gently, nothing at all like the urgency he felt.  Maybe girls weren’t like boys.  Maybe she didn’t feel the
deep, pressing need quite so badly.

What that need was, he still didn’t know.  Perhaps there
really would be a button between her legs that would spread pleasure through her whole body.  As long as she kept those lips pressed against him, he promised in his heart to hunt forever for that magical button.

But then – he gasped.  There was her tongue. 
She spread her lips even farther and her tongue darted out to meet his.  Her tongue was inside his mouth and even though, a second ago, he would have sworn there was nothing in the world better than having her lips against his, now he knew there was. 

Her little tongue pushed its way, first timidly and then more boldly
, between his lips.  He pressed himself closer to let her in.

He’d had no idea. 

He tasted her, pushed himself forward against her mouth.  Suddenly, he wanted more.  Much more.

He wanted to take her
whole body and swallow her up, to push himself inside her.  It didn’t matter which, really, as long as they were together, shoving up against each other, losing themselves in this pleasure.

Suddenly, the doorknob clicked. 

Their parents were back.

Raizy

Too much noise, too much drinking.  Raizy felt mostly dizzy and sick by the end of the night, but she knew there was one more job still to do.

Ugh.  Her head ached.  She shouldn’t have had that wine.

After years of dying, just dying to find out what happened between a man and his wife, she was actually dreading finding out tonight.  Just like every nervous good little Bais Yaakov girl she’d ever imagined. 

Not because she didn’t want to know. 

Not because her body hadn’t been throbbing as she kissed him with her tongue in the
yichud
room.  It had; she did want to know. 

T
he only reason she dreaded what was to come was the thought of any more movement.  She just wanted to lie very, very still and not jostle her head any more than it had been abused that evening.

Not enough to eat; a few desperate, thirsty sips of wine.  That was all it took to put an end to years of curiosity
and masturbating in dark movie theaters.

Still – it had to be done
.  He would expect it and she was dying to know.

And so,
after they’d said goodnight to friends and family at last, at the door of their hotel room, Raizy and Beryl had gone inside, shutting out the world. 

The door clicked shut behind them, and they were alone t
ogether at last.

She half expected her family to come back and knock, di
sturb them over some forgotten detail:  some gift left behind, some neglected wedding-day custom that they hadn’t gotten to on the endless checklist of dances, songs, rituals.

They both stared at the door, dumbly.

Finally, Beryl said, “Are you hungry?  I think there are some cookies over here on the table.”  Their families had left them an assortment of treats, for tonight and for the morning, but Raizy couldn’t bear to look at them.

No, if this was going to happen, it was better to just let it happen right away.

“I’m pretty tired,” she said.  “I think I’ll get changed.”  Against her will, she blushed.  She hadn’t wanted to be
this
girl – this literally-dizzy new bride, simpering and wilting when it came time to do the deed.

“You can use the bathroom first,” Beryl said politely.  She noticed he was also blushing.

Raizy took the nightgown she’d bought specially for this occasion into the bathroom with her.  But it didn’t take long to realize that she was trapped in the wedding dress.  Her mother and sister had zipped her in; now, she couldn’t possibly get out without help – and the only one here to help… was Beryl.

Had they planned it that way?  Had they zipped her up knowing that the next fingers on the zipper would be her hu
sband’s?

She
emerged from the bathroom timidly, her head aching, suddenly feeling unbearably confined by the .dress.  She could barely breathe; she needed to get out – and fast. 

“Could you help with the zipper?” she asked.  Her spinning head made her bolder
with urgency.  She hoped she wouldn’t throw up here, in front of her new husband.

She turned around, and he pulled the zipper down without comment.  She wondered what he was thinking.  But she didn’t have much time to wonder as her stomach suddenly rebelled – and she ran back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, to hurl what was left of her wedding supper into the shiny
clean hotel toilet.