The Kallah Package

Sometimes, I am a law student. Sometimes, I am a girlfriend. Sometimes, I am a writer -- and other times, I'm a detective. The fedora/trenchcoat/sunglasses combo used to go on when I was trying to hook up with a particular guy, or trying to beat out other students for a special academic position, or trying to weasel something out of my parents. Now, though, the occasions are far less exciting -- almost completely devoid of any intrigue, really. Now, it seems I only do serious digging when I'm trying to demystify weird Jewish things -- and even these are nothing more than glorified wordsearches. Having been raised in a completely non-Yiddish environment, I have to look up things like blech, balebusteh, chrain. What's nebbishe and why does everyone look like they're about to sneeze when they say it? How about a gartle -- wear it, burn it, eat it? And forget about the words in other languages: there's shit in English I don't understand, either. I mean, I've been doing this Jewish business for some time now and a week ago I still had to ask what a "kallah package" was.

Lucky for you, dear Readers, that I did ask. I can tell you now that it is scandalous lingerie -- although since most kallah packages are given and received in places like Crown Heights and Lakewood and Ramat Beit Shemesh, "scandelous lingerie" may not be the most accurate description. In fact, it's more likely that these packages are filled with Tasteless Ill-Fitting Tents that are just slightly more lace-embellished than these women's regular daytime Tasteless Ill-Fitting Tents. And before you get all shouty, yelling at me and flooding my email inbox with Jewish Women Make Tzuniut SEXY bumper stickers, let me tell you that the thought of such bogus, plain lingerie also makes me sad. It made me want to tell every Jewish woman I know about the complete sluttiness that hides under the burkahs in Lebanon, or the stuff my good Jewish boyfriends have bought me -- basically that they aren't the only religious girls having to endure this "kallah package" business.

Jews, what I'm about to say may shock you: for everything you have, Christians have an equivalent (relevant examples: mikvah = baptism, matzah = communion wafers, Pesach = Easter, The Rebbe = Jesus, etc.), and the kallah package is no different. The Christian version of this is called a "lingerie shower" and it is with great displeasure that I now reveal to you that I have been to at least a hundred of these. Here's the thought behind the ritual: you're about to be married, you're clearly a model of female virtue so you obviously don't own these things but you need them -- Oh my, do you need them! After all, you're about to be initiated into a very secret, very selective club (AKA: all the women in the world who are having sex) and you have nothing to wear to the party! And then it happens. Sure, sure, it all starts innocently, with all the important women in your life (read: any female you have ever met) sitting in a room, munching tea sandwiches and handing you gift boxes -- but things unravel fast from there. Results are as follows:

1. Women under 30 give: leopard-print Wonderbras, lace crotchless panties, cuban-heel thigh highs, bondage tape. You blush, they howl -- everyone knows you're going to wear them.
2. Women under 50 give: black satin teddies, swiss dot babydolls, maribou heels, sheer robes that barely cover all your best bits. You thank them, they smile knowingly -- everyone has a day where they need to camouflage something.
3. Women under 70 give: white cotton nightgown with ribbons at the throat, pink plush slippers, pastel monogrammed pajamas. You ignore these, they ignore the point -- everyone has a drawer of these nocturnal misfits somewhere.

Bottom line -- in any language, any culture, the bride is going to get lingerie from people who have no business dressing her for sex. Not only that, but kallah packages and lingerie showers usually happen in front of other people; they aren't secrets. Normally, the gift is lifted out of the box and shown around -- and I can tell you right now from personal experience that an old lady holding a bodystocking with the tits and pussy sliced out is always, always, always awkward and it doesn't make a bit of difference if she's sitting in someone's living room or the Ritz. If that doesn't make you shudder, maybe this will: how do you not put on said garment and think "Oh, this leather fishnet zip-off garter belt is so sexy! I'm so happy my first grade teacher thought to get me this!"? Is it just me or does that take some of the tingle out of your private parts?

So, I don't know about you, but after learning my conversion to Judaism wouldn't provide me with a much-sought-after escape from a lingerie shower, and in fact would just replace it with an even weirder kallah package, I made up my mind. I'm buying the sluttiest lingerie I can now -- and for myself. All those ladies can just get me pots and pans....

Tips and Tricks and Treats

Halloween is right around the corner and so it's only logical that this subject would come up, one that both frightens and delights:

"Does the average gentile chick spit or swallow?"

A very real question that a very real Little Jewish Boy asked me very recently, and I (once again) very nearly giggled in his face. How silly to think that a gentile girl would be that different than a Jewish girl here! Children, it's quite obvious that in this instance, a girl is a girl -- which clearly means every girl is different. Now it's likely that frummy Jewish girls may have given less head than their gentile age group equivalent, but still I know plenty of "observant" girls who are totally dirty when they think it won't get out.

Yet, after that initial chuckle, it occurred to me that there may be a great number of frumales ("frummy males" -- you like it? I'm trying it out...) who have pondered this same thing, and so here is the truth about girls: cum in your mouth is a weird thing. Why is it weird? Lots of people will tell you it's the taste, but that's really not it -- mostly because a girl doesn't even get as far as evaluating the taste. She knows immediately she doesn't like it because it's really the temperature that kills girls. It's the same temperature as your body! Do you know what that means? It's kind of like feeling a big ol' wad of someone else's thick, tepid saliva in your mouth. That being said, there are instances where a girl will (no questions asked) let you finish in their mouths. Those, for the record, are:

1. You are a lucky bastard: your girl is really hot and in the moment.
2. You are a lucky bastard: your girl is incredibly selfless and does it because of what it does for you.
3. You are a lucky bastard: your girl is that rare catch and actually likes it.

So, for all you boys reading -- that's what you should take away from this. If you have a girl who's giving you head and swallowing, consider yourself in the minority, pat yourself on the back, and go ahead and speculate in the comments section whatever it is you think I do in the privacy of my own home. For the rest of you, acknowledge this: there are women -- good Jewish women -- who have come to grips (ha!) with the fact that they are going to suck a dick or two during their lifetimes. And finally, to those of you who are Those Women: ladies, whether you're married and looking to keep it spicy or undercover tefillin dating and looking to keep it discreet, let's level --we all have the same concern and that honest concern is what the fuck do we do with all that cum? Well, you can thank my ballsy (ha!) Jewish guy friend for making me think of a few time-honored blowjob tips/tricks that they won't teach you on CalmKallahs, in order of adventurousness.

1. Finish him off with your hands: talk dirty, look him in the eye, take off your shirt and let him get an eyeful of tit -- basically, anything you can do to make him forget that he is not in your mouth and wants to be. That being said, if you're willing to cheat him out of an oral cumshot, you probably should also be willing to take that mess somewhere else -- so be a little generous with a pearl necklace, maybe?
2. Finish him off against your open tongue: notice I did not say on your open tongue -- that defeats the exercise here. Just open your mouth wide, make your tongue flat like you're saying "ahhhh" at the doctor (extra points here if your guy is actually a doctor), and press the underside of his cock against your tongue. Make sure the head of his dick is clearing your mouth -- you want it kind of resting against your upper lip -- and keep up the good handjob work. From his angle, this will look super hot and dirty, as well as feeling super hot and dirty (think tongue). When he starts to cum, just lean back a little and point his cock so he's shooting straight into the air...watch it in awesome wonderment, moan a little, say something complimentary and bravo, you've lived to fight another day.
3. Finish him off deep in the back of your throat: take a deep breath through your nose and keep swallowing until your nose touches his body -- whatever you do, resist the urge to react emotionally! If it helps you, remember that your mind is stronger than your gag reflex and that it will all be over soon. When you do this little move, your guy can feel himself pop into your throat and very quickly realizes two things: a) "Holy shit, I've got a deepthroater and I'm never going to let her go" and b) "Holy shit, I've got a deepthroater and I'm going to lose it in two seconds." At this point, all you have to do is hold on until c) he shoots down your throat -- a skill that at once precludes you from seeing/feeling/tasting cum and elevates you to a near godlike status to men.

So there you have it -- feel free to take this home and try it -- but what kind of lawyer would I be if I left out the disclaimer? Here it is: there are always things that can derail even the best laid blowjob plans. I mean, you could end up with an erratic shooter (cum lands in your mouth unexpectedly) or a paradigm-shifting bucket cummer (cum floods the room unexpectedly) so I feel the need to disclose that I truly believe there's something to be said for just sucking it up (ha!) and swallowing, but you know -- to each his own and at least the information is out there...and...knowledge is power, right? Good luck, kids, and tell me how it goes!

Yom Kippur (or: "Cue the Dirge")

I know it's the holiest day of the year. I know it is THE holiday that defines Jewish people. I know even the crappiest Jews feel a small measure of societal solidarity on this day.

But I also know that Yom Kippur is the ultimate kiss of death for questionable relationships.

So I've come to a very simple conclusion: unless both you are your boyfriend are above all reproach, unless each of you is at the pinnacle of your religious observance, unless you and he satisfy each others' every religious need, unless you are some reincarnation of God Himself, the only sane thing for you two do is break up right before Yom Kippur and then get back together right before Sukkot. (You know, like dumping a girl before Christmas to avoid gift-giving and then begging forgiveness and asking her out again after her birthday or Valentine's Day -- whichever is later?)

The point is, any shortcomings or guilt or doubts about right things/wrong things/things that feel right but are wrong/things that feel wrong but are right/wrongs that need righting/needs that have been wronged/rights that need wringing/reeds that have been righted/wrongs that are readed --

(this could go on forever)

Anyway, all those things worm their way into your brain while you're al chet-ing the day before and then hammer themselves deeper into your mind with every clopclop against your chest until Neilah. Whether you're thinking about how bad you are or how bad the other person is, it's festering for a whole day. Pretty soon, your torment must be shared -- I mean, you might not have eaten, but your guilt has been gnawing endlessly -- and inevitably, you will break.

Sometimes this goes well, with a talk:

Boy: Honey, you know I love you. I just have been thinking lately...do you mind if we change the dynamic of our relationship? I don't think it's a good idea to have sex anymore.
Girl: What brought this on?
Boy: Yom Kippur and how I think I'm a terrible Jew.
(Cue the respectful discussion and mutual resolution.)

Sometimes, it does not go well:

Boy: I've been thinking lately...I need someone more religious. I'm sorry, but I don't want this anymore.
Girl: Why have you done this to me?!?
Boy: Yom Kippur and how I think you're a terrible Jew.
(Cue the movers and late-night sobbing.)

Now, full disclosure -- I've been on the other end of both. Option No. 1 is uncomfortable because it's a very undisguised critique of a few failed points of observance. However, there is ultimately a redemptive factor here because the boy (or girl, whatever) who is bringing up the problem is claiming an equal responsibility. Option No. 2 sucks fucking balls because the boy (or girl, whatever) who is bringing up the problem is essentially saying "I'd be a perfect Jew if it weren't for your negative influence in my life." It's a simple problem of projection.

It's not just me; this kind of post-High Holiday fallout has happened to many people I've known -- three within the last season, even. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for introspection. Don't get me wrong, I agree with a yearly religious-observance checkyourselfbeforeyouwreckyourself thing. Don't get me wrong, but it seems to me that people people really misunderstand the opportunity provided by the High Holidays. Do you really want the first acts of your new year to be so completely douchey? Sure, becoming more disciplined in September might mean you have to stop doing some of the things you were doing in July, but it definitely shouldn't mean that you abandon everything you were responsible for in August. Longterm boyfriends, live-in fiances, wives, friends have all become casualties of tshuvah -- can that be right?

And so while this obviously doesn't work 100% of the time, I really don't think that the answer to your questionable relationship is a complete drop-and-run. After all, if screwing up was something you two did together, maybe fixing stuff should be, too.

A good pilegesh is (evidently) hard to find

So it's true that I haven't blogged in a while -- we all know this. What you might not know (and what I was shocked to discover) is that people were still reading my blog. Like, 5 of them, sure -- but there they were nonetheless. And they had questions. The creepy ones ("How big are your boobs?"), the harmless ones ("Do you have siblings?"), the advice-y ones ("How can I deepthroat my boyfriend?"), and one that seems to pop up more than the others: "Can you help me find a pilegesh?"

Now. Let us start here.

Yes, I can say things like "cumdumpster" without blushing. Yes, I can dirtytalk as well as any Candi from any 900 number. Yes, I may or may not know how to teach you how to do this clenching thing with your cunt that will make your guy lose it immediately but believe it or not, I do not know every loose woman from here to Jerusalem.

Shocking, I know. For a group of religious men who have interactions with singularly sweet women, girls like me -- girls who can express themselves freely in such a questionable arena -- must be skanks. For the record, I am not a skank. To be one, I think you have to pass some kind of Initiation Test where a group of likeminded women scour your residence for a vinyl skirt or a pair of day-glo stilettos or a dozen boxes of Monistat under your sink. At any rate, that's not me, that's not my friends and so the question is begged: why in the world would a good Jewish law student raised in a wildly religious home know where to find you a woman indiscriminate enough to enter a pilegesh relationship with a man on the Internet?

With the exception of one, all the men who have contacted me with this question are delusional beyond understanding. The idea that a good looking, young, sexually willing, frum-enough Jewish girl would listen patiently as you explain to her that you (a man usually old enough to be her father) would like to use her as a no-strings-attached distraction from your wife and kids is oneBILLION percent laughable. Now before you go getting all riled up, let me just explain to you that the following are actual reasons provided by men who are pursuing this: they think it will be fun, a short-term solution, a means of escape, a way to reclaim a secular youth they never though was possible, blah, blah, blah. Those men I will not help. If you don't like how things are going with your wife, talk to her, take her to therapy, be what she needs so she can be what you need. If that doesn't work, maybe you two are better off with other people, but under no circumstances should you stay in a marriage just for convenience and then proceed to give all your intimate moments to a pilegesh. I mean, that's just disgusting.

Or so I thought.

Turns out, there may be one man on the planet with a good reason for pursuing a pilegesh -- the last guy to email me. After I basically broke down and projected onto him a year of built-up frustration regarding icky concubine-seeking husbands, he very thoroughly explained that his wife has a fairly common but difficult to treat medical condition that prevents sex. He very kindly explained his patience and proactiveness as the two of them sought/are seeking a positive conclusion. He very adeptly conveyed how frustrating and hurtful this is for him and in doing so, he very quickly made me feel horrible.

So, I guess there are a few valid reasons for thinking a pilegesh is the perfect answer to one's problems but that doesn't make it any easier for me to endorse what I still think is cheating. Or to indirectly advocate the dissolution of a marriage. Or to violate what I consider to be a pertinent rabbinical decree. And I think that leaves me and this guy in the same place -- stuck.

Alright, alright

I admit it, I've been gone a while. In my defense, there's been a lot going on -- most of which I'm going to tell all of you about in due time -- and it's been my experience that a blog is like the female libido: don't do it for long enough and sooner or later you find out you don't miss it.

But in keeping with that theme, no sex is obviously a Bad Idea. That being said, one shouldn't jump back into amourous activities so suddenly, you know -- impromptu anal isn't good for anyone, after all! I'd recommend a nice, slow evening in the tub with your showerhead ,or a gentle bout of oral delivered by a caring partner. In the blogging world, I'd consider this kind of almost-but-not-really-sexcapade to be a MeMe. And so here it is: a MeMe from Jacob da Jew (via Material Maidel), with the promise that I will never disappear for months again. (Although I'm sure some of you were hoping that was the case. Prudes.)

Superpower MeMe

1: Write one superpower you would like to have and what you would do with it.

2: Write why you chose that super power over everything else.

3: Tag and link lots of people, and write why you think they will have an interesting meme.

The first part was so beyond easy that I don't even know what to say about it. It's my understanding (and also my brother's, as we both watched a frightening amount of X-Men cartoons at our grandparents' house) that Jean Grey is the most awesome girl superpower-possessor of all time. Why? It's a no brainer:

a) She has limitless telekinetic powers: this girl had the ability to be a major mindfuck. It's astoundingly attractive to me.
b) She can't die! She's a motherfucking Phoenix -- she controls death, doesn't age, stays sexy and destructive forever...Catwoman, who?

Anyway, I get far too excited talking about X-Men (not to mention I l-o-v-e humming the theme song) so I'm going to move on.

Tagged:

FrumPunk: Just dorky enough to maybe get into this MeMe, and from his current picture, kinda hot, too :)

Cheerio: Obviously, the best dressed superhero in the history of powers. Plus, I really want her to update.

LE7 and TRS: Are they a singular entity, like when all the Power Rangers come together?

Nemo: What does a Lubbie lawyer superhero look like? I'm hoping something like Clark Kent. But that's just me being selfish.

Frum Cynic: He will never, ever do this MeMe -- unless he is that bored and unwilling to study. I peg him as a cranky, temperamental superhero -- although I fear entrusting him with any ability to destroy Brooklyn is a huuuuuugggeeee mistake.

There. Did it.

I'm BACK bitches!!!

Have you met Good Luck Chaim?

Over the last year, I have dated many, many men. Usually concurrently.

It wasn't really the best phase of my life.

However, it has yielded rewards: professional, financial, even personal. See, I dated a whole slew of archetypes (the Married Flatbusher, the Israeli Macho Man, the Yeshiva Pimp, the BT Fanatic, the Self-Hating Jew), but one of my favorites wasn't one of these purebreds -- he was part of an elusive subspecies. With my friends, with my sister, with my editor, I called him "Good Luck Chaim." Good Luck Chaim is the Jewish take on a half-rate Dane Cook movie character: a just-cute-enough/just-fun-enough boy whose girlfriends always find their soulmates after the Chaim in question has broken up with them.

It's really not the best premise for a film.

But it exists! And I dated it! I'll even admit that I almost fell for it (my "no, please, let's keep trying to make this work" speech was especially good that time) but I'm so glad now to be rid of it. This kid was obsessed with finding That Girl and settling down and at first, this was very endearing; I mean, I'm still a girl (granted it's deep, deep down) and sometimes we just can't help ourselves. When a boy starts to talk that way, we start to think about neverending sunsets, long dinners with chilled Sauvignon Blancs, cute pregnancy pigtails and someone to get us water in the middle of the night. We're simply wired this way and so it's very easy to get swallowed up in all of this and swallowed up I was -- so much so that I ignored a few Big Red Flags.

1. The Confession: onlysimchas.com was his homepage.
2. The Admission: six of his last girlfriends married the boy they dated right after him.

At first, I didn't understand. After all, he was cutish, funny, very cool and relatively normal while trying to be frummier; why didn't anyone want him? And then, all of a sudden I realized.

I was dating a Faker! A Class-A, big time, professional Master Faker of the Highest Order.

He talked the talk, he looked the look, he shuled the shul, he davened the daven, he but after a few months it became clear: he didn't want to commit -- he needed to be committed. For all his outward projection, he wasn't just fooling girls but he was actually and fascinatingly fooling himself. The main draw of a Faker is their overwhelming confidence, but inside my Good Luck Chaim was small and scared and shallow and completely inept. Inept at finding a mate, inept at finishing school, inept at choosing a career, inept at the hookups he claimed were his Yeshiva pimp specialty, and most of all, inept at being a Jew with any true integrity.

And that's what really makes a Good Luck Chaim, that's what forced his girlfriends to leave him while reaffirming for us what was actually most dear in our respective husband searches: truthfulness of intent. Honestly, Good Luck Chaim is to this day my biggest regret, but I can't say it was all bad. Truth be told, he's part of the reason I decided to come clean and admit that I pay for school by writing about icky Jewish men. And in true Good Luck Chaim fashion, he's all of the reason I'm with my current guy, the one I can see marrying and who wants to marry me.

So while it's sad to think that there is a guy out there that may be the embodiment of everything a girl never wants, it's a little hopeful, too -- it makes it easier to identify what us girls really want, and enables us to be more confident in going for it.

(P.S. For any of you still in shidduchim, I have his number yet.)

This blog

Exists because Orthodox Jews do ridiculous things and then I write them down.

What you do then: laugh or don't.

What you shouldn't do: scold me and tell me I'm not Jewish.

This is just a reminder of how shit works around here.