A Cup of Coffee

He pressed all the weight of his body onto mine, climbing onto me in the passenger seat. His head touched the beige interior of the car, as I put my feet up around him on the dash. It was warmer than usual, but still an unbelievably cold December night. The windows were fogging around us and the car had an eerie orange glow from the streetlight above.

A rush of tangled memories streamed through my mind.

When he first asked me out I was ecstatic with disbelief. I always assumed I could only meet someone through my frum friends or at shul. I mean, no shadchan wants to deal with post-OTD girls, right? It wasn’t my fault that drinking and smoking seemed like a good idea at 17. The transparent barrier of my frum childhood had dissolved too easily.

Lesson learned: In the frum world your indiscretions are written on your forehead.

But he didn’t seem to care. One evening he asked me out, on a ride home from campus. We had met at school, two of the few frum kids at City College. It was innocuous enough that I had to accept, hardly influenced by his form-fitting polo and dazzling smile. I was impressed that he wore his tzitzis, even if he left them tucked in and only wore a baseball cap on campus.

The first date was nothing like the few shidduch dates I had been on or my dates in Israel.

After we had coffee, we strolled around the city and talked about all our common interests and similar pasts.

We were two screwed up peas in a pod.

We had both ended up miserable at our chosen schools in Israel. We had made friends and come home outwardly ‘flipped out’ and internally unchanged. He told me about the issues with his overbearing parents. The disaster, that was his high school yeshiva experience, rivaled my own. I just couldn’t believe that while I had been suffering in Bais Yaakov, there was someone so near, feeling the same way.

At the end of our first date, I was weak in the knees. The cold winter air didn’t bother me as I stood next to his trim figure in the streetlight outside the hip coffee shop. I was captivated by his suave attitude and tight body; I had never met a frum guy like this before.

When we got close to the car, he swooped in to open the door for me. I essentially collapsed into the passengers seat, delirious with happiness.

A frum gentleman!

As we approached my street, he swerved into a spot at the end of the block. Looking over at me from the driver’s seat, he began to open up about all his issues, the theological problems that bothered him and his professional dreams. He told me about how he had chosen the wrong major and hated doing math all day. He explained that his parents had unrealistic expectations of him, forcing him into a career that would never bring him happiness.

Just as I began to empathize, trying to think of ways to comfort him, he leaned over the armrest separating us.

I slid over, bumping into the freezing cold window.

“What do you think you’re doing? I’m shomer negiah!”

“REALLY?” Suddenly, I was amazed at how shocked he looked at my retort. He stared into my eyes, like he was going to find some sort of key to open my lock.

“Yeah, I don’t touch the guys I date. I haven’t for years.”

I contemplated being truthful, telling him that no bochur I had ever shidduch dated had made a move on me, but I felt like it would make me look unappealing.

“Well, would you reconsider?” And with that, he leaned over again.

“Listen to me! No way!” I tried to sound forceful, but he smelled like Hugo Boss and sweat. The pheromones were stronger than my resolve.

I shifted away toward the window again, this time putting an elbow between us. As he straightened up, he looked disgruntled for a moment, but then flashed a grin.

“No problem, I’ll drop you off at the door. This was really fun.”

As I slid out of the car I regretted my decision, momentarily feeling like a teenager again.

Before I shut the door, I ducked back in. Leaning over the armrest I gave him a kiss on the cheek. His face lit up, as I straightened up and my breast brushed his chest. I wiggled my way back out of the ’98 Taurus, noticing its peeling paint and dented door.

“I love you!” he yelled, before I shut the door.

I was conflicted as I walked up the steps, confused at his exclamation and my own actions.

~ ~ ~

I can remember that night so clearly, I thought to myself now, as he shifted his weight.

He kissed me hard on the mouth, nothing like our first few months of easy lip-locking in dark corners on campus and during movies. He sucked on my lips and pinched one of my breasts hard, using it like a stress ball for his muscular hand. After almost ten months of confused bliss and perplexed agony, I couldn’t tell anymore whether I had always been this way.

Harder, faster. I whispered in his ear, licking the lobe and sucking gently on his neck.

I couldn’t even hide these late night events from my friends anymore. They knew why I always wore a turtleneck, some had even noticed the bruises when we were trying on Shabbos outfits in a dressing room.

I quietly whispered to these ex-Bais Yaakov girls, telling them all about how great he was. All my closest friends knew about his muscular arms, his broad smile and our hot nights. They didn’t realize we were mostly in his car, listening to Enrique Iglesias, because he thought it turned me on. I couldn’t remember if I had liked everything so rough in high school or even during my wilder nights in Israel.

I had still kept one standard, no intercourse.

I had to make it a mantra, reciting it mentally as things started to get too hot every night.

No intercourse.

No intercourse.

No intercourse.

Even drunk, I could always remember that one rule. Not that it was any great accomplishment.

He continued stroking my chest as he leaned to the left and loosened his designer belt buckle. Using his usual move, he pulled me closer and wrapped an arm around my waist, to the small of my back. I pulled his jeans down a few inches and slid my hand in his boxer briefs. I wrapped my legs around him, leaving just enough room for my arm between us.

He closed his eyes and started to make little noises, like tiny stifled moans. I licked his ears and kissed his neck, trying to think of something new and interesting to do. He startled me by opening his eyes and pushing my jean skirt all the way up to my waist.

“Come on…” He stroked my chest and reached downward for me. I was surprised he had thought of me before finishing himself.

Suddenly the alcohol haze dissipated and I realized this wasn’t his usual protocol. He wasn’t just planning to return the favor.

With both hands he gripped the sides of my thighs, effectively pinning me in the passenger’s seat. He started to pull down my underwear with his left, massaging my ass cheek with his right hand.

“You’re so hot. I love you. You have the sexiest tits.” he spoke in my ear, almost at full volume.

“I don’t think… I just really want to…” I murmured some vague protestations, but everything felt so good.

I felt sick to my stomach.

This is not you. You don’t want to do this. You are better than this. He didn’t even take you out tonight.

Some voice of reason screamed at me to stop him. He looked ridiculous trying to slide his boxer briefs down lower and continue stroking my stomach, ass and breasts. He was good, but he didn’t have five hands.

“Seriously, we are not doing this in the car.” I looked blankly into his eyes, trying to make myself clear.

“But it could be so good, we’re so in sync…” He looked at me with rounded eyes, pleading and continuing his seduction.

I was drunk, but not drunk enough for this.

“Seriously, I want you so bad right now, you have no idea.” I laced my fingers through his. “You’re so hard, I promise you are the best. This just isn’t me…”

He didn’t stop.

“I want you, but if we do this… You’re raping me.” I cleared my throat. Even I wasn’t convinced.

He shifted all of his weight backward, onto his right leg. The look that crossed his face was mangled anger, disappointment and shock.

“What? You just said you want me.”

“No. Not this, not like this.” I felt so weak, powerless and afraid he wouldn’t accept my terms. All of my fears, coupled with the intense attraction to his cut body and his boyish grin, the conflicting feelings made it unbearable.

He rolled over into the driver’s seat, momentarily honking the horn with his left leg.

“Fine.” He tried to keep cool, but he was clearly angry with me. I guess he thought the Tequila shots would’ve put me over the edge.

“Then blow me at least?”

I knew he thought he deserved some sort of reward for honoring my wishes and I leaned over to the glove compartment for a condom.

“Nah, there aren’t any more, I need to take more from the nurse’s office at school. Come on, we didn’t have one last time…”

I thought about our last rendezvous, in my aunt’s basement on Shabbos. I gave in when he impressed them all singing Zemiros.

“Fine. I guess.” I leaned over and pressed my body against his. I hoped this would be good enough for a little while longer. I kissed him and he briskly cupped my neck, squeezing all the tension out of it, if only for a moment. As I traced my fingers down his chest, feeling the ridges of his wife beater, I admired his soft curly chest hair. He hated it, but I wished he wouldn’t try to wax it away.

As I looked up at him he smiled, but it seemed forced. Moments later, he rolled his head back onto the headrest and his genuine smile started to creep across his face. After a minute or two my neck started to ache again, as I tried to reposition myself without pushing the pedals or honking the horn with any of our tangled body parts. As he started moaning loudly, I looked up at him.

“You don’t have to, you know. Just, whatever you want to do.” I whispered, to quiet his senseless act of gratitude.

He is just being theatrical for my benefit.

The noises quieted and he settled back into the stifled moans I was used to.

When he finished he kissed my forehead, pretending he was trying to be cute. “I love you.”

You just don’t want to kiss me on the mouth until I drink something. I thought, as he reached for the bottle of girly lemon flavored vodka he kept under the passenger seat.

I took a sip and we resumed kissing, the usual post-cum protocol. He knew he owed me, but he didn’t want to piss me off again. I opened my eyes as we kissed, looking at his eyelids for a moment. I pulled him close as we rolled over onto the passenger’s seat again. His weight felt like the warmest blanket. For a moment, the voice of reason in my mind quieted.

I tried to engage him in conversation, “How was your day? Did you finish the project…?”

“No, I didn’t even get a chance to open my laptop. Actually, I better get home and start working, if I want to finish by Friday morning.”

“No, no, no… That’s not what I meant. I mean, lets watch a movie or something? We can watch an action movie…”

I quickly realized he was now intent on going home. He started to pull his jeans up and reached for the length of belt hanging awkwardly off of the loop it had snaked through. I felt like crying.

We had been so close, just a few minutes before.

Don’t cry. I thought. Another of my mantras.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

My eyes were moist, but I restrained myself.

“I’ll pick you up for school at 8:30? Okay?” He asked nonchalantly.

“Sure, I’ll be waiting at the door. Just text me.” I tried to sound cheerful.

“You want a coffee? I’ll get you a Starbucks, if you want.”

“Sure, sounds good. I love you.” I started to get out of the car.

He cleared his throat. “Where you going so fast?”

As I leaned over to kiss him goodnight, he squeezed my ass.

“I love you too.”

I knew that he didn’t as I slammed the front door shut and I heard him fly down the street.

I’m worth more than a cup of coffee. I thought.

I could smell his sweat, mingled with Hugo Boss, on my sweater.

I lay down on the couch and pressed my face hard into the pillows, trying to stifle the sounds of my crying.