I remembered when we first met.
I was looking for somewhere to hang out after I became bored at the Simchas Beis celebrations on Kingston. I messaged a friend, and she gave me the address of your Sukkah. I entered and sat down. A few ladies were scattered on the floor, lounging with blankets tucked between each warm body. You passed around your brownies, infused with a special substance. It was late at night. Whatever gathering that happened there seem to have dwindled out, though several people lingered briefly. We engaged in conversation and then everyone left for their respective living spaces.
A few days later, we ran into each other on Kingston. Must’ve been a Sunday. I walked right past you. You looked familiar, but I had forgotten your name.
At some point afterward, you friended me on Facebook. And then you messaged me.
And then I came over. And then we ate sushi.
And then you gave me a grand tour of your apartment. The last stop was your bedroom.
You showed me your view. Your small porch overlooking south Brooklyn.
And then we sat on your bed.
And then, we had sex. Mind-blowing sex. The best sex I have ever had in my life. You treated me to high pleasure: licking and sucking and spanking all the right places. Your lips, your penis: perfect. You accepted my body. I wasn’t a virgin. In fact, losing my virginity was quite possibly the sole reason why I had become religious in the first place. You would never guess a girl who dressed and acted the way that I did would participate in such an activity, with you.
And then, for the next year, at least 1-2 times per month, we would have sex. I would come home with hickies all over my neck, bruises all over my ass [hidden behind makeup, scarves, tights, and skirts]. A big smile. A good mood. A feeling of satisfaction.
You told me, once, that your neighbors had complained about the noise coming from your apartment.
I dream about it, til this day. No one has ever come close in comparison to you.
I felt guilty having (AMAZING, INCREDIBLE) pre-martial sex with someone who I wasn’t planning on marrying, while also Shidduch dating. The cognitive dissonance troubled me.
The following year, I was unemployed. I went berserk. Alcohol, drugs, food, shopping, sex… Everything. I drunk dialed you. I showed up at your place drunk and uninvited. We had an unintentional threesome, once. Another time, I sat on your bathroom floor, drunk, and urinated. I was out of control.
You wouldn’t respond to my messages. You wouldn’t, in your right mind, let me come over if I asked. I became desperate.
And then I cooled off, slowed down.
Recently, you got engaged and now you’re married. I’m happy for you. I’m glad you’re moving on with your life and settled with a good woman. I think she’s what you had in mind, anyway.
I thank you for opening me up, sexually, to experiences and feelings that I never knew I had or wanted. I learned a lot about myself, and what I enjoy.
I thank you for giving me deep pleasure and satisfaction.
I thank you for showing me acceptance.