Every year during the traditional festival of
lights season, I travel in from my edgy apartment in the city and spend
time with my family at my childhood home in the comfortably predictable
I look forward to spending time with my eema and abba, otherwise known
as my mom and dad; my sisters, their husbands and my nieces and nephews.
I help my mother, Ruth, in the kitchen preparing the traditional
Hanukkah food for our family dinner, like potato, cheese, and apple
latkes. It’s our family custom that on the first day of Hanukkah, our
entire family gets together and lights the first candle of the menorah
at sunset; offering our thanks. Later, we all sit down for our customary
Jewish dinner. We talk and laugh together around my parent’s dining room
table; catching up on the events of one another’s lives while looking
over the myriad of platters filled with our favorite food amongst the
open bottles of sweet Manischewitz wine. It may not be a major Jewish
holiday but it’s definitely one of my favorites.
Going home for Hanukkah is a magical time for me; stirring up thoughts
of my rich, German-Jewish heritage surrounded by all the colorful people
I love and care about the most. Don’t get me wrong though, growing up in
a strict Jewish home wasn’t always easy or as sweet as sufganiya,
especially for me; a girl who learned fairly early on that she didn’t
fit into every last one of her family’s traditions and expectations.
It wasn’t until I went away to college that I finally broke free from
the world my parents struggled so hard to tie me to; a world that was
filled with their model for convention. Like most children growing up
under a roof governed by the strict rules of their parents, I later
learned to create new traditions for myself that better suited me as a
person, but still celebrate my Jewish heritage.
This year was no exception. I was starting a new custom by bringing my
friend and lover, Samantha, home to our family’s traditional Hanukkah
dinner celebration. My family knew that Samantha and I were a couple,
but to further help our non-conservative relationship bridge our
family’s ancestral traditions, I reminded my parents that Samantha’s
name was indeed Hebrew; derived from Samuel, meaning: His name is God.
I’m sure my parents were already versed in where the name Samuel was
adopted from, but I hoped this information would warm my parents first
time meeting with the important woman in my life.
“Hi, Eema. Yes, we’re coming. Sam and I.” I said into the phone earlier
in the week; confirming the visit.
“When are you leaving so I can be sure to be awake when you arrive?” Was
my mother’s response, which translates to: “When are you leaving so I
can worry myself sick until you get here?”
“We’re leaving right after work on Friday. We should be there sometime
late Friday night, depending on the weather and traffic, but please
don’t wait up for us, mom. I’ll see you then, okay? Love you. Bye.” I
said hurrying off the phone; my mom could talk your ear off.
The sky is grey with dark clouds. It smells like rain brewing as I lower
the car window inch by an inch while peering through the windshield over
the rental car steering wheel. I steal a glance over at Samantha who’s
sitting comfortably next to me as she softly hums a song on the radio.
It warms my heart and makes me smile. Samantha’s silky black tendrils of
hair look a little messy after being swooped up into the blond wig she
had on a few hours ago.
Samantha was inappropriately dressed for a visit to my parent’s house
when I came to pick her up earlier; wearing only black garters, sheer
black stockings and bright red lipstick. She completed the ensemble with
matching the red high heels and a blond wig that made her look like a
fairer version of Betty Page. I felt compelled to discipline her for her
choice in attire which delayed our trip by an hour. I was merciful with
each slap of the wooden spoon across Samantha’s bare ass though, because
I knew the wig she wore was for my enjoyment; she was indulging me and
my love of blondes.
My eyes shift back to the windshield. The old and familiar landmarks
that sit along the open stretch of highway as I head home begin to flood
my head with memories of growing up…
Shortly after graduating from college, I finally told my family I was a
lesbian. After my father, Harvey, had poured himself a stiff drink, he
said that both he and my eema loved me no matter what; which I’ve always
known and felt deeply to be true. I was nervous to share my
non-traditional news with them though, because even though I knew how
much they loved me, they were holding onto to the traditional hope that
I would someday marry a nice Jewish banker and take his last name,
similar to what both my sisters had done.
Since age thirteen, I knew my sexual orientation was different from most
of the girls I attended school with. When the girls at school swooned
over the latest male pop-rock superstar; pointing at his chiseled
jaw-line plastered on every cover of every adolescent and teenage
rag-mag found at the grocery stores, I never understood the appeal. I
was more interested in Bridgett Cohen. Bridgett sat in the desk one row
over and one seat ahead of mine in our homeroom class.
Private schools and school uniforms were another part of my traditional
Jewish upbringing. During the cold winter months, girls were required to
wear navy skirts; just past our knees, long-sleeved, light blue oxford
shirts, long gray socks, or gray tights and black shoes but as the
weather began to warm up, you’d see more skin start to peek out between
the layers of the uniform. I prayed for summer for that reason alone.
In the spring and summer months, Bridgett wore her three-pleated navy
skirt, short- sleeved, light blue polo shirt and white, lacy; turned
downed socks with her black loafers; exposing her long, tanned legs. As
the homeroom light would blaze through the glass windows, it would catch
the glistening of the soft blond hair on her coltish shins, rounded
knees and shapely thighs. Bridgett was so different looking compared to
most of the girls at school, including myself. My rich black, curly hair;
olive skin; dark brown eyes and aquiline but regally arched nose were
more typical-looking for the Jewish girls at my school.
Bridgett looked like an angel to me: She had a small, oval-shaped face,
full, naturally red lips, green almond-shaped eyes and her dimpled
cheeks were naturally flushed with a rosy glow; which always made me
wonder what she was thinking about…lustful thoughts, I hoped….She had
long, thick blond hair that she wore high up on her head in a ponytail,
and it would swish back and forth in time with her hips; a perfect beat
as she walked to and from her classes.
I would follow closely behind Bridgett as she would leave our homeroom
class and head to her locker, which was fortunately located close to
mine. I held my books close to my chest; trying to suffocate my pounding
heart while the stirring between my thighs grew stronger. She would turn
her sweet, cherubic face to one side; smiling and laughing in
conversation with whomever she was walking with.
Later, when I reached the age of eighteen, all the girls in my class
looked up to Hannah Fisher, because her perfect-sized breasts, small
waist and the curve to her hips made me think she must have flunked at
least three grades to possess a body like that. Other girls looked up to
Hannah because she was going steady with the football jock, Joshua
Edelman. Hannah used to give explicit details in the girl’s gym locker
room after our physical fitness hour was up. Her and Joshua’s back seat
car gropings that would ultimately result in what she described as
“fever and spasms between her legs” whenever Joshua was lucky enough to
get his hands down the front of her pants.
Every Monday, the other girls sat like crows on a fence, balancing on
the edge of the gym locker benches, listening intently to Hannah’s
reenactment of her and Joshua’s past weekend rendezvous, dreaming of
what lay within Joshua’s snug jeans. But unlike the others, I wondered
what it might be like to jump into the back seat with Hannah and take
her for a spin around the block.
I hadn’t experienced any type of intimacy or exploration with another
person at this point in my life; other than the sex I’d had with our
shower nozzle at home. This involved putting the head of the hand-held
shower spray between my legs and letting the warm pulsating spray of
water bring me to what Hannah described as the “fever and spasms” of
orgasm, I could still relate to what she was describing and it made me
want to trade places with Joshua Edelman, if only for one hot,
passionate weekend, just to be with Hannah.
I never acted on any of my sexual feelings for other girls until I
entered college, mostly because I was uncertain if my sexual feelings
would be reciprocated and if they had been, I was scared to death of
anything getting back to my parents. Having sexual attraction for girls
would not be on the list of my parent’s traditions. Needless to say,
college was liberating for me. I attended a university that wasn’t
private or Jewish for the first time in my life. My mind was suddenly
turned on to other cultures besides the only one I’d ever known. I was
also less exposed to the watchful eyes of my both my parents and my
rather conservative home town; giving me free reign to delve into my
Ever since Bridgett Cohen, I have been a sucker for blonds. I met Kim,
my first lesbian lover while she was working as a barmaid and attending
the same university I was. I met Kim in early December; coincidentally
on the weekend prior to heading home to spend Hanukkah with my family.
You could say she lit my candles a little early. Kim had platinum hair
that she pinned up on her head. Wisps of long silk stuck out around the
sides of her face and at the nape of her neck. Small, silver peace sign
earrings dangled from each of her delicate ears.
She was poured into an old, white, wife-beater tee-shirt which clung to
her long torso; you could see the lace trim of her black bra through her
white tee-shirt. The black bra strap slipped down and grazed the top of
her right arm; making her look disheveled and sexy—little miss urban
chic. Her breasts were barely A-cup in size, and they fit her petite
frame. She was wearing a pair of dark blue, industrial workmen’s pants,
slung low on her small hips. They were the kind of pants you’d see a
serviceman wear while he worked on your car, or filled it with gas.
Black Doc Marten steel-toed shoes; the kind with laces, covered her
“What can I getcha’?” She asked the first time we met; her voice raspy,
with smoky hues and she didn’t look at me. Nearly every one of her
fingers displayed a silver ring as they busily worked the beer taps
running parallel with the bar, making her look bohemian-like.
Long pause. “Beer. Uhhh…pitchers of beer. Uhhhh…two pitchers of beer.” I
finally got the words out. I was stirred by her presence; intrigued by
her looks. She looked like she could be the lead guitarist in a rock
band, while cramming for chemistry exams on the side.
“Yeah? What kind of beer ya’ want?” She asked, this time looking at me.
Her large, round inquiring eyes were dark blue, lined in heavy black
liner; making them appear iridescent. She had a small straight nose, and
her high cheekbones were flushed naturally in pink. She wore no lipstick
on her pouty insolent lips.
Nervously, I pushed defiant black curls behind my left ear and my dark
brown eyes studied her; blinking. “Is there something you prefer?” Or
what’s the least expensive?” I asked.
She glanced at me briefly while scratching at the clip that held her
glorious blond hair up. “Unfortunately, my preference isn’t the least
expensive.” She answered, hinting at a smile.
“Oh. Well, I want two pitchers of your preference, regardless of price.”
I responded to her somewhat boldly; wanting to impress her.
She looked straight at me this time she smiled devilishly.
She grabbed two pitchers and placed one under a beer tap; pulling the
handle toward her and filling up the pitcher.
“You taking a study break from exams?” She inquired, while appraising me
with her smoky eyes.
“Yeah. We’ve been studying in the library for hours. I’m starved,
thirsty and my brain is fried.” I responded, managing a smile.
“I think I’ve seen you on campus. Are you in the Engineering Department?”
I suddenly felt my arm pits dampen; my heart was thumping against my
chest. “Yeah. I am. You too?”
“Nah. An old friend is though. I’m in the Business Administration
building. She answered as she finished with one pitcher and started to
fill the other; the rings on her fingers clinked and clunked against the
“An old friend, hmmm….I wonder if that’s a code name for an old lover…?”
I thought to myself. “Is your old friend, an ex?” I asked her, wishing I
hadn’t; fearing I was getting ahead of myself.
She didn’t answer, but she looked at me thoughtfully as she brought both
pitchers over to where I was standing. “That’ll be $15.00, please.” She
said putting both of them onto the bar in front of me.
I quickly pulled the money from my purse and gave her $20.00. “Please,
keep the change.” I said with a smile full of apology for asking such a
bold question about her love life.
“Thanks. How many glasses do you need?” She asked; the naughty blue in
her eyes flickered.
“Um…there’s eight of us. Eight glasses,” I answered having difficulty
formulating the words.
She counted out eight cups, grabbed one of the pitchers and unexpectedly
walked around the bar toward me. She was shorter than she had looked
standing behind the bar; she was maybe 5’0”. I felt like I towered over
her at my petite height of 5’4”. She sauntered behind me to our table
with the pint glasses in one hand, and one of the pitchers of beer in
the other. I hoped she was checking out my ass. Once we reached our
table, she started pouring the beer and passing it around the table to
I smiled at her coyly and she smiled impishly back. We were flirting.
She stood next to me; her fingers looped around the empty pitcher’s
handle, and both hands rested on her hips. She looked up at me and said
quietly, “The friend in the Engineering Department… she was my lover,
and we’re not together anymore.”
My belly was turning cartwheels at the knowledge that this sexy lesbian
was single and I calmly reached for the remaining empty glass on the
table and poured beer into it. “Oh. Well, that’s too bad. You okay?” I
inquired, taking a sip from the cup; trying to mask my excitement.
“Yeah. It’s been a couple months now since things officially ended.” She
responded, looking straight ahead, but following me with her eyes before
turning to say, “Hey, listen, my name is Kim.”
“Thanks Kim. I’m sorry about your breakup. That sucks.” I responded,
looking at her.
She shrugged and then smiled before saying, “I should get back to the
“Oh. Of course. It’s Rachel. My name’s Rachel.” I said, calling out to
her as she walked away.
She stopped, turned and said, “Great meeting you, Rachel,” and then
turned and kept walking back to the bar and this time I checked out her
tight little ass.
I was saying my goodbyes to everyone, when two more pitchers of beer
showed up at the table. “You leaving?” Someone asked.
“Yeah. I’ve got more studying to do tonight.” I responded.
“Well, the girl at the bar, Kim, she wanted me to give you this,” and he
handed me a note; folded over twice.
“Oh. Thanks.” I said unwrapping the secret note. I felt like a giddy
school girl as I gingerly folded back the creases of a love note passed
to me from someone in class.
The note was plain, simple and to the point, it read: “Rachel. Call me
if you want to get together. Kim.” She left her telephone number.
I glanced over to the bar, but Kim was really busy and I couldn’t get
her attention. I drove the short distance home, and once I was inside my
apartment, I didn’t wait too long before punching Kim’s digits into my
cellular phone; leaving her a message:
“Hi, Kim. This is Rachel. I’d love to get together. I’m going to be up
studying for awhile. Call me and we’ll figure it out.” I left my number.
I must have dozed off at the kitchen table while studying, because the
shrill sound of my cellular phone suddenly woke me up and I lifted my
head up from my open book and reached for the phone mid-shrill, “Rrrr-g.”
“Hello?” I said somberly into the phone.
“Yes. It’s me. It’s Rachel.” I managed to get the words out; I was more
asleep than awake.
Long pause. “It’s Kim. I think I woke you, and I’m sorry. I just got off
from my shift and listened to your message. I was excited that you
called and…well, can you get together now?” She inquired.
“Uh, uh, uh…yes. Do you want to come here?” I said, somewhat groggy, but
excited to see her.
“Yes.” She said in her raspy, sexy voice that sent chills over my body.
I gave her the directions to my apartment and snapped my cell phone shut.
I quickly washed my face, brushed my teeth and changed my clothes while
running around straightening things up around my messy apartment. Kim
must have hustled getting to my house, because within a few minutes, I
heard the buzzer go off downstairs. She was here.
I buzzed her into the building and once again, only a few minutes passed
before there was a knock at my front door. I reached to open the door
and Kim stood there smiling from ear to ear; holding a six pack of beer
in one hand; her other hand shoved into the front pocket of her pants.
My pussy suddenly began to throb inside my panties. I opened the door
wider; welcoming her inside. She stepped in and looked around before
unzipping her leather jacket and placing it and the beer on the coffee
table. I don’t remember all the small talk particulars, but I do
remember how strong the physical attraction was between us, because
before too long I could feel Kim’s decorated silver fingers as they
slipped into the back loop holes of my jeans as she pulled and spun me
toward her open lips.
Our lips pressed together, ferociously; sending off a display of
fireworks inside my head and stomach before settling to a sizzle between
my legs. Kim tasted of beer, cigarettes and cherry lip gloss.
She pushed me onto the couch and lay on top of my wanton but still
virginal body; grinding her crotch into my swelling cunt. My head rested
upon one of the earth-toned toss pillows my mom had bought to help
spruce up the worn-out look of couch that was given to me by my
grandmother. The same couch I used sit on when I was a little girl and
eat my grandmother’s homemade lentil soup; washed down with an ice cold
Little did I know that someday I’d be imprisoned, writhing, beneath a
very hot woman on the same tired sofa. Kim grabbed both my hands and
pinned them above my head with one hand as her other lifted my tee-shirt
up and over my head; exposing my bare stomach and my breasts. She was
like Magellan and my body was her unchartered territory; her lips began
plotting a course across my lust-racked body.
Her lips sucked and nipped at my hardened nipples; sending more
electrical currents into my cunt. Between my fits of heavy panting and
moaning pleasure, I would look up at the top of her blond head as she
kissed and sucked every inch of my torso. She inched her body down and
over mine, until her beautiful face hovered over my crotch. My cunt was
pulsating; I was sopping wet and knew I smelled like sex: Sweet and
salty, musky and needy. I felt a little embarrassed, because I was so
wet and I wanted this more than anything I could possibly imagine. It
felt deliciously good.
Kim looked up at me with her devilish smile, like the Cheshire cat as
she began unfastening the buttons on my jeans and pulled them down to my
hips; the wet cotton crotch of my multi-colored panties welcomed her. I
lifted my hips and she pulled my jeans and panties off with what seemed
like one swoop. My full, black and curly pubic hair was glistening from
my juices and I could feel the warm wet spot on my grandmother’s couch
“You’re so wet, Rachel.” She whispered to me and my so obviously aroused
I laughed nervously. How could I argue? I was guilty as charged.
Her lips hovered over my vibrating pussy before breathing me in deeply
and then slowly blowing her hot, breath onto my enlarged and quivering
clit. My hips bucked toward her teasing mouth; wanting more. Kim spread
my legs wide before taking her first taste of my essence; enveloping her
whole mouth around my pussy and then pointing and licking her tongue
into my wet cleft. Kim flicked her tongue up and down against my clit,
like a light switch. I felt the pulsations surging throughout my body.
My back strained and arched. Kim ate and sucked me hungrily.
She pushed her hands underneath the cheeks of my ass; squeezing them
firmly, while pulling me closer to her mouth. Kim was skillful as she
teased my indignant cunt and finally after what felt like torture mixed
with pleasure, I begged her to let me come.
She pulled her mouth away from my pussy as she squeezed my ass cheeks
harder; teasing me with pain before giving me the pleasure I so needed.
I knew my pussy must have looked red and swollen and it ached for
“Do you want to come?” Let me hear you beg, Rachel…” The breath of her
sultry, raspy voice lightly blew against my needy cunt.
“Yes. Please. I’m begging you…” I whispered as my hips bucked higher
trying to meet her pleasing mouth; aching to feel her tongue plunge into
Kim squeezed my ass cheeks very hard one last time and I winced in pain.
I knew Kim’s hand marks would still be evident on my ass days later. Kim
released the grip her hands had on my ass before she methodically and
meticulously began licking my clit back and forth and back and forth
with just the tip of her tongue. My fists clenched at the couch and I
tossed my head from side to side; panting and moaning in pleasure. My
clit felt hot with fever, the way I remember Hannah Fisher describing
her orgasms so many years ago. Then I felt each impulsive tsunami wave
of orgasm washing over me with shivering, teeth-grinding pleasure. I
opened my eyes and lifted my head as I watched Kim suck and drink the
juices that escaped from my trembling cunt until I had to pull away from
Kim and I dated for over a year before she moved away to graduate school.
I really owe my ability to freely express my sexuality to her. I had
other lovers between Kim and Samantha, but Kim was my first and you
always remember your first fuck.
…I felt the rumble of the tires as they jack hammered against the
highway line dividers; collapsing the thoughts of my non-traditional
path as I got closer and closer to the conservative world I grew up in.
I could see the final exit sign now; it was less than two miles away.
Samantha’s beautiful, soft, olive-colored face lay against my shoulder;
she had fallen asleep in my reminiscent silence, the evening sky and the
lulling beat of the windshield wipers brushing away the rain as it hit
against the car.
“Sam…? Samantha, baby, wake up. We’re almost there.” I said, gently
Samantha’s eyes slowly blinked open and she moaned a little, before
nuzzling her lips against my neck. Samantha always seemed to wake up
feeling horny and this car trip was no exception.
“What time is it?” She asked in her groggy state.
“It’s late, babe. It’s after midnight.” I said quietly.
“Mmmm…I’m hungry.” Samantha whispered in her naughty voice.
“I know. I could eat too.” I answered knowing the reference for food was
our code for let’s get naked and get dirty, but I felt we should press
on. My mom would be worried. It was late.
“Tell me again about all the fragrant, smooth oils used in preparing
your family’s Hanukkah meals.” Samantha asked teasing me with her
reference for food and now oil.
I felt the familiar surge rising between my legs and I looked at her
smirking. She smirked saucily back.
“You know, we’re already going to be late.” Samantha said, winking and
smiling up at me; baiting the hook.
I had to admit, there was something definitely erotic about pulling off
to the side of a dark road, just minutes away from my parent’s home that
shimmered inside me, like the headlights of the oncoming cars.
“Hmmm…are you suggesting that we christen the rental car’s back seat?” I
mused to Sam, already growing aroused.
“Well, I know how much you like creating new traditions, Rachel. Maybe
stopping for a quickie on the way to family gatherings could be part of
a new tradition we start together.” Samantha said, reeling me in.
“Okay. You win. I’m pulling over, but I’m holding you to this new
tradition going forward.” I said smiling. I thought about my mom
proclaiming in Yiddish, “mann macht und Gott lacht.” Make plans and God
laughs. Yes, eema, and there’s more than one way to spin a dreidel!”