Josh emails: I met Jane* at UCLA in the fall of 1988. She was a compact, busty Christian from Asia. She played tennis. She was the sweetest girl. She had this shy retiring smile that would send her eyes way to the side. I often felt that she wanted to reveal more of herself to me, but as she sensibly pointed out when I started flirting with her, “You have a girlfriend.”
Many times when I was having sex with my girlfriend, I imagined I was with Jane.
I feared it would never happen, but a man can dream, can’t he? Those full breasts. That snug bum. That backhand. That innocence. That Christianity. I wanted in.
When Chronic Fatigue Syndrome forced me to leave school, I moved back home with my Christian parents, embraced Judaism, grew a beard, answered their phone “Shalom” and fantasized about Jane.
I wrote her a couple of times a year and on average she wrote me back once a year.
I became really religious. I abstained from tying my kangaroo down for 14 months straight. I refused to shake hands with women. I was going to be the real Jewish deal.
Then I met a Jewish girl with E-cup breasts. My resolve faded.
I plooked her constantly until I met someone hotter and then I plooked her until she gave me the boot and then I bedded a half dozen more women until partially recovering my health and moving to Los Angeles in March 1994.
One day in April, Jane came to visit me. I had a friend’s place in Westwood all to myself. I felt as triumphant as Douglas MacArthur returning to the Philippines. I had proven it was not all psychological. I was a warrior and I had returned home for my prize.
Jane wasn’t as hot as she used to be but she was still my fantasy.
We sat outside on the deck. The sun shone upon us. As was my tendency, I turned the conversation towards sex. Jane looked at me, leaned over and kissed me.
I kissed her back. Then I gathered her in my arms and walked her towards the bedroom. I took off her clothes. Everything was possible, I thought. I can resume a grand life, an even better life than I had before illness. I finally had those breasts in my hands. I was all over her.
She had hinted that she was a virgin, which only made her all the more exciting to me.
She opened up to me. Then it came time for the ultimate deed and it was awful. It was the worst sex of my life. “This is what I’ve been fantasizing about for all these years?” I thought. "I'm sure there's a religious lesson here."
After several failures, I told her, “You’ll have other lovers and it will be better for you as you go along.”
Our communication was excellent. I told her I’d been fantasizing about her since the day we met. She was confused. How could I feel that way when I had a girlfriend?
I told her that the heart has reasons of its own that the mind will never understand.
She shared her fantasies. She had never seen a guy *** and was dying to. I promised her I would show her, but somehow I never got around to it.
One night my former girlfriend from UCLA came over with a bag of potatoes. It didn’t take much effort to get her into bed. The *** was very good. She knew what to do. She knew how to maximize my pleasure.
Afterwards, she asked me, “How many women have you been with since me?”
“About ten,” I said. “How many guys have you been with?”
“One,” she said. “Those other girls, they taught you well. You used to be really awkward.”
The next day Jane came over and we spent the night. In the morning while I was shaving, I looked at the ****** and thought about how easily I could fulfill her fantasy. All I had to do was to take a ****.
Then Jane asked me, “What are we?”
“We’re daytime friends and nighttime lovers,” I said.
“Have there been other lovers?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
The next time she came over, she said she couldn’t see me any more. She said I was bad for her.
I never saw her again.
Ten years passed and I Googled her name and emailed her. She made a short reply, mystified about why I would contact her. I wrote back. She did not reply.
A few more years passed and I emailed her again. She did not reply.
According to Google, she has not married.
I wonder if she’s ever seen a guy ***.
Feedback: I want to know how her being Christian was also an aphrodisiac.
I want to know if the sex helped him recover his health. Did he feel like he was getting away with something? Did he feel like he was a different person when he was having sex? Did he feel ashamed? Was it OK?
What would the Torah say? Did that contribute to the bad experience?
Why did she bring the potatoes? Did one or both of you find that sexy? Was she some Russian farmer's daughter?
Why didn't he *** for her? What was his fascination with her? We never found out after the fantasy. What did she represent to him?
I want to know his reaction when his ex-girlfriend told him, you used to be really awkward.
Was there ever love? Is there union between his religious devotion and sex? Does he have to compartmentalize?
I'm an ignorant Jew and I don't know what Orthodox Judaism has to say about sex outside of marriage. I'm guessing he's breaking the rules. Does that add to the excitement? Does he feel guilt or shame? Does he think his religion is unrealistic? I want to get the context. The narrarator is obviously very devout and has made lots of sacrifices. How does he navigate all of this and what is he really looking for? I want to know what's in his mind and what's in his heart moment to moment. How is he able to captivate these women? (I should list off why all the different women I've known have decided to sleep with me. How did I get them into bed?) Does he understand women? Do they scare him? Are they triumphs for him? I want to know where he puts all this. Has he given up looking for a wife?
Religion and his parents and the path he took and why. How much introspection has he done about that, about his choices.
She was a Christian girl.
"Yes, I became really Orthodox when I moved back home to my Christian parents." I'd love to know his motivation.
Have any memories come up while you were listening to this? Any images come up?
Yeah, she was the attainment of all the hot girls I never got to ****. The girls in high school and the girls in church and the girls in college and the girls on TV and in movies and magazines and pornos. Now I was finally doing it to the beauty denied me all my life. After a lifetime of girls saying no to me, starting with my mother croaking on me at age four, here was the real deal.
I'd love to know more about that and what she meant to you and the reality of that and the disappointment. What was he still hoping to find and to recover by continuing to contact her? Maybe we'd both gotten better at sex and we could have a joyful and pleasurable reunion and salve our pains through sex.
Was there any emotional connection?
And if he was that obsessed with her, didn't he want to show her her fantasy as a way of hooking her in? Does he regret that?
Did she live in a cave? Did she never see her father when she was little? What is that innocence? Was it almost a biology lesson?
Your strength as a writer is that you don't sugarcoat things. You're telling what is instead of what you think is acceptable for women to hear. That's what makes your writing riveting. We're getting to eavesdrop and hear the truth.
What was the meaning of the E-cup breasts? What do they mean? What do breasts mean? The ultimate fantasy of bigger than big? Machoness? Conquering? This is the best thing since Angel Food Cake?
How did you learn to improve as a lover? I took my time. I lavished attention on her body. I stroked her. I got her ready. I didn't rush to intercourse. All those years I yearned for sex, now it was here and I was learning to take my time and to enjoy it and to share my joy.
How does he understand that? How does it affect his identity?
How did I feel when she did not respond back? I am used to women saying no. It is women saying yes that is noteworthy.
We never heard love.
What made the sex so lousy?
