This article was originally published anonymously on Jewrotica.
She unzipped his talis bag gingerly
– Mishpacha magazine story supplement, Succot 5775
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On the outside she may dress conservatively, in a heavy pleated dress and five shawls. But inside Feiga Yenta Issacson was slutty. Really slutty. Like a Kaneine whore. If her principal, Mrs. Mushkenboim had known what her true self were really like, she would never have got into Bnos Chaya Finishing School for God Fearing Young Ladies.
“Oh Berel,” she laughed shyly. “You make me feel so young and innocent, As pure as the powdered sugar on top of a jelly donut.”
“The donut might look that way on the surface, growled Berel. “But right below that sweet exterior is a hot. Oily. Sticky. Red. Hole.”
With every word, Berel Schwartz tore off one of her five shawls. She stood there, arms wrapped around herself, feeling very exposed in just her under three undershirts and one extra undershawl. But although the air was chilly and she was only half dressed, she felt herself grow warmer than a glass menorah box on the last day of Hanukkah.
“Second dates are like that,” smiled Berel, with an experienced look. He had made it to second date with many women before.
She still looked hesitant.
“Have you ever touched a boy’s Tefilin before?” He asked kindly.
“Never,” said Feige.
“Go ahead, try it,” encouraged Berel. She unzipped his Tefilin bag gingerly, feeling the two big bulges in their sack.
“I can’t believe how large they are,” she gasped.
Berel chuckled, “that’s what you get when you order Chabad.”
His face remained expressionless, but she detected a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that showed that he was pleased with her. Slowly, Feiga began unclipping her sheitel. Taking her time, she gazed seductively at Berel, until the tension became too great for him to bear and he ripped off his kappote in one long fluid motion and jumped directly into the mikvah.
“Oh,” said Feiga. “I’ve been a very bad girl! Two weeks ago I spoke Lashon Hor…”
“Shhh,” said Berel, placing a finger over her lips. He began unbuckling his belt with his other hand, and Feiga felt herself grow warmer than a fresh bowl of Cholent.
“Oh Berel,” she whimpered. “I’m scared.”
Berel reassured her. “With Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai as my witness, I would never hurt you.”
“No,” said Feiga, it’s more than I feel prepared for, and I’ll also probably be quite smelly by the end.
“It’s ok,” said Berel, patting her reassuringly on the arm. “Just take it one at a time, and it’ll be over before you know it. Besides, you can always cook during Rosh Hashanah for the Shabbat afterwards.”
“Harder,” He cried. “Harder! You’re almost there!”
She felt herself stretching, more than she ever thought possible – it was so big.
“That’s my girl,” whispered Berel, as she collapsed onto the bed, panting and sweating.
A soft cry filled the room as the midwife cried, “Mazal tov! It’s a boy!”