We Must Write What We Can Only Whisper

I imagine things from her perspective:

I met him in yoga in early January. He came in late. He looked a mess. He wore sweats. He had a beard and a yarmulke and tzitzit hanging out.

He was looking for a spot in the crowded room and the only one was next to me.

He looked goyish yet he was wearing the outfit of an Orthodox Jew.

What was an Orthodox Jew doing in a kundalini class?

Underneath that Jewish crap, he was handsome. He looked smart. He looked my type.

He reminded me of my ex-fiance, a relationship that lasted eight years, the longest relationship of my life.

"Do you have enough room?" I whispered.

The Guru was lecturing.

He nodded and made a place for himself by the wall.

A few minutes later, an earthquake rolled through.

"Earthquake?" he said.

I nodded.

We’d connected.

The Guru kept teaching.

I felt him checking me out. He was looking me over and liking what he saw. He liked how flexible I was and how hard my body was. He could tell that I live to ****.

He vibrated this strong sexual energy.

I was intrigued.

He was checking out every hot chick in the room.

After class, I couldn’t wait to talk to him. He was equally eager to get into me.

I invited him to sit with me outside and drink tea. I gave him my email address. Then I offered him a ride home.

I was driving a fast rental car. I love fast cars. I love sex. I love chocolate.

On the way to his place, he suggested we keep going south on La Cienega Blvd and we were off on an adventure.

He directed me to drive on to the 10 West and we whizzed through Santa Monica beside the beach and headed north towards Malibu.

He said he was an author. His latest project was on American-Jewish literature. He said he was a convert to Judaism. He said he was a bad boy.

An adult had to take charge so I finally pulled off beside the ocean and we walked on the beach and then clambered out on the rocks jutting into the Pacific.

As we clambered, he had no problem touching me and helping me over slippery places.

I had an increasingly slippery surface inside of me.

I confessed I’d just had a very painful birthday. He thought I meant 30. I was 40. He was 43.

I stood with him on the rocks facing into the ocean and my heart raced. This was crazy.

This guy bothered me. I couldn’t get over the Orthodox thing, but I thought he might be a good ****.

I led us back to the car. As we sat there facing the ocean, I waited for him to kiss me.

I looked at him. He looked back. He was afraid.

"This feels like a scene from a movie," I said.

He agreed, but when he made no move to kiss me, I started the car and drove him home.

What a wimp!

When I got to work the next morning, there was an email from him. He was eager for a piece of me.

I let him sweat for a few hours, then just before I left work, I emailed him my phone number and told him to call me.

He was an eager beaver. He called right away and invited me to the Happy Minyan that night. Fat chance! I haven’t been to shul in decades. I hate shul. It gives me panic attacks.

We agreed to go to an Israeli movie Saturday night.

He had me drive my car. He said he had a serial-killer van. Great. At least I was not dating him for his money.

He didn’t touch me during the movie.

Afterwards, we talked on top of the parking structure. He loomed above me. He’s 6’1". I’m 5’2". He surrounded me by the ledge and put his hands on either side of me and loomed in. I felt claustrophobic.

He wanted to go for a drive so we cruised Mulholland Drive and then found a quiet side street off Ventura Blvd in Sherman Oaks.

"Do you like the view?" I said.

He was hot for me. I had him rub my feet until I was feeling good. Then I clambered on top of him, facing the windshield, and his hands went right under my top and on to my breasts in two seconds.


We sat like that for five minutes. I got a good mauling before I finally turned around and kissed him.

I dropped him off at his horrible van a little after 1 a.m. He was expecting me to invite him in. No way buster!

My last relationship was with a woman, Vicki*. He’d read on my Facebook profile that I was looking for women.

I’d hooked up with a college guy two months before, but it had been years since I’d had a relationship with a guy. They hit on me all the time but I diss them.

I’m contemptuous of men. It has to do with my feelings about my father.

You could say I’m a ballbuster.

When it comes to relationships, let me be clear — I’m a taker!

I don’t believe in relationships. I don’t believe in marriage. I don’t believe in anything but dogs and chocolate and sex.

Later on Sunday, he invited me to an event called "LimmudLA." He didn’t get that I don’t do lame Jewish stuff. I sent him packing and then I felt bad, that I had dumped on his enthusiasms.

The next day, we started emailing. I confessed I had a crush on him.

Our next meet was Thursday night in yoga. He was excited to see me but all I felt was shame. What if people thought we were a couple? That was clearly what he wanted. He wanted to get all cuddly at yoga. That was my turf. I had been coming for years. He was a newcomer!

I can’t stand to be close to Orthodox Jews. They’re dirty and hairy and smelly. His kipa and tzitzit freaked me out.

We had agreed to go back to his place afterwards. I couldn’t get out of it. As soon as we started making out, his beard got in the way and I felt like I was French-kissing my zede (grandfather).

(I was raised Orthodox, and graduated from Orthodox day schools. I left it as soon as I could.)

I cleared out of the hovel fast, pleading I had to get work early.

Friday morning, I started an IUD, to which I had an immediate bad reaction. I stayed in bed for the next two days. He wanted to come over Saturday night, but only if he could spend the night. I said no. I don’t like my freedom cramped, particularly not by Orthodox Jews.

Instead, we talked on the phone for three hours.

I dissed him on Sunday and didn’t call him. I spent time with my favorite dog, the only male I need.

I picked up Monday afternoon when he called. I wasn’t into him at first, but then he started talking cheeky.

I was on my way to the doctor in intense vaginal pain and his dirty talking was making me wet. I couldn’t believe it.

We talked about meeting up at yoga that night. I’d let him know.

I didn’t. I’d had enough of his right-wing Orthodox patriarchal nonsense. I had a better offer. I wanted Vicki licking me, not my zede.

After a week, I finally left him a message. "Luke, sorry I haven’t been in touch. Someone has come back into my life. I hope we can still be friends."

He didn’t respond so I emailed him the next day. Twice.

He finally responded. I asked him if he hated me. He said no, but when he did not respond to my further emails, I realized he didn’t want to be friends.

I ignored him in yoga for the next two months. Once he sat right next to me talking to his friend about all the chicks he’d been chasing.

Right, like some mixed-up Orthodox Jewish wanna-be with no money was gonna get any chicks.

I hated him. I couldn’t believe he didn’t want to be friends.

As the weeks went by, I felt a void opening up inside of me.

After two months,  he emailed me and we started seeing each other again.

I’d had some health problems. We thought I had terminal cancer. His mom died of cancer. His best friend Cathy Seipp died of cancer. I figured my cancer intrigued him.

He’s a sick ****!

He hated that I remain close to my exes, particularly my ex-fiance, but I let him know that no man was going to tell me what to do.

I cheated on him right and left. I told him I was going to Cancun for a long weekend, and then my passport wasn’t up to date, so I took a hotel in Santa Monica. When I went over to his place Monday evening, I told him I’d been alone all weekend.


On July 3rd, I bought dinner at Pizza Station — vegetarian tostadas, his favorite! — and drove over to the hovel.

I couldn’t wait to fight. I was ready to end things.

I snapped at him over dinner, so he gave me a turn of Alexander Technique. This calmed me down to the point where I could finally tell him what I was feeling:  "As I was driving over here, I was thinking how much I don’t like you. You don’t care about your appearance. Your life is a mess in many way. And worst of all, you’re religious."

We had sex. I spent the night. I called him just before Shabbat like everything was normal, but I had cheating on my mind.

Vicki* came over that night. I figured that was the best way to get rid of him. If it wasn’t cock inside of me, he couldn’t be too hurt, right?

It took me six days to build up the courage to tell him. I finally said, "Luke, there’s something I need to tell you. Vicki came over Friday night and we hooked up. How do you feel about that? I was her late-night booty call."

He said, "Wow. Wow. Wow."

Then he said, "So how’s your family?"

At that point, my dad called. I got off the phone with Luke, talked to my dad for five minutes, then called Luke back. He didn’t answer. I left a message.

We had radio silence for two weeks.  Then I saw an email from him. I skimmed to the last line where he said he never wanted to see me again.

I deleted his email before reading any more.

One Sunday morning, I found a bag with my clothes on my doorstep. It was all the stuff I’d left at his place.

It’s a mitzvah to return lost property.

And that was it until he emailed me six weeks later wanting to see me again.

No matter what I do, he always crawls back to me.

God, no wonder I have such contempt for men!

He said he had just finished his Orthodox conversion.

"I thought you had finished that years ago," I said. "With the RCC."

Men! They’re such liars! Posers! Hypocrites!

"I don’t care what you do or who you fool," I told him. "You will never be Jewish."

There comes a time in every girl’s life when she realizes that the man she’s with won’t cut it. I knew Luke was not marriage-material from the time I saw him. He’s a mess. He’s a mess financially. He’s a mess with his health. He’s a mess socially. He’s at war with his Jewish community. He’s at war with the world. He’s at war with himself. It’s all very interesting, but who needs the tsures?

About Luke Ford

I've written five books (see Amazon.com). My work has been covered in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, and on 60 Minutes. I teach Alexander Technique in Beverly Hills (Alexander90210.com).
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