Jackie Goldschneider, during an episode of The Real Housewives of New Jersey, stated: "Jewish girls don't give blow jobs..." Then, during a reunion show, those same housewives in the show proudly declared whether they "spit or swallow." It was a titillating discussion for many viewers I am sure, but I watched expressionless and far from gobsmacked. The topic was low level and snore worthy.
Jackie's conclusion may or may not be true. I tend to think many Jewish girlfriends and wives do engage in fellatio and they have Jewish boyfriends and husbands who worship the goddesses to whom they are attached.
I am also sure those same women are excellent cooks. I always believed you needed two talents in life to find and keep a man: the ability to cook and suck, and I can tell my readers straight out I severely lack both skills. I have never engaged in that popular oral activity involving male genitalia and I will never indulge in what for many women either comes naturally and is enjoyable or maybe becomes an acquired taste and then is performed nightly to please a man as a prelude to lights out. Plus, I cannot even scramble an egg.
Maybe men's penises are like compasses with magnets and they are drawn to the women who they instinctively know will willingly and eagerly indulge in sucking with no encouragement... they gravitate to and find women who inherently love it. Yum yum. No doubt, the "deep throats" rise to the top of men's most desired and wanted lists. While those women got free rides, I took rides for fun on the Staten Island ferry.
There are some men who reply: "Well then don't expect it done to you." Who said I think I am part of some equal opportunity sexual smorgasbord? I level all playing fields and get the rules of the game. I am no dummy dick... not even a Dumb Dora.
I am happy I have my own money and dislike attachment so my shortcomings, fails, and limitations never determined my fate or made me a victim of my preferences. It was what it was and it is what it is... ver veyst.
I realize that in general, a woman's total value by men is measured by her willingness to sexually gratify and if she is reluctant on any level she is pushed into a corner and all other parts of her that may have worth just fall away.
No I am not a lesbian. I am a straight woman. But honestly, if Christopher Hitchens is right and "the G-spot and other fantasies have dissipated, (and) the iconic U.S. Prime blowjob is still on a throne" I suppose I sit high up alone in a peanut gallery called "the nosebleed section" where the air is thin and I need oxygen... so Jeeves, pass the smelling salts.
To this day, in old age, I still ponder if my solitude and single status was a lifestyle which I grew to love because of my choices or: if I was a cocksucker, would I still have chosen to be alone at the end of every day? This is a bizarre mystery in terms of correct personal historical sequencing and an individualized life map.
The weight of a man, though desired, has always been a long wait perhaps because of the fact that I have always been trapped by my obstacles. In a way, obstacles did determine my life. I am my obstacles.
It seems now set in stone somehow that I follow the pattern of living a quiet internal life. I understand perfectly why I chose so many roads less traveled and adjusted even more particularly and firmly into a lifestyle and then as the days grew shorter I settled into the same old same old: perhaps considered a red lighted life. These were not road blocks or boundaries I chose to set up, my intrinsic features defined me as clearly as any other personality characteristics but presented as barriers so now as I write this I do believe I accommodated my life to live in a comfort zone into which I was pushed. The life I carved out became the only way I could live because an unwilling indulgence in blowjobs determined my life's trajectory and course. Nothing else mattered or matters: not the ability to care, not loyalty or devotion within friendship, not emotional involvement, and not even love that could grow to deeper and more meaningful love. Nothing.
Anyway: along life's way, I collected "crushes" like Nicole Kidman collects coins. There was Bobby, Pete, Bob, Paul, Richie, Buddy, Paul number two, John, Andy, Jake, and Jack... the list goes on and on.
Richie was a severe crush at C.W.Post College... a guy who looked like Paul Newman but a guy who never gave me a side glance. I longed for him within the most intense limerence I ever experienced. I can still smell the Yardley perfume I wore to the Strathmore Bar in Manhasset where I knew he would be one cold snowy night in December.
Several years ago, I grew bold and tracked down Richie who was living in a suburb of San Diego. There was no specific purpose in my call, except perhaps to just let him know what I was too shy to tell him decades ago. It was sort of my present older self living within some bizarre time travel moment attempting to go back to the past to try to do a reveal and then in the present bring a memory to closure. So... we had a nice conversation on the phone in which I confessed my infatuation with him from decades ago and he seemed to enjoy the light banter. He told me he would soon be in New York City and added that he would call and we could meet. I looked forward to a nice night.
Roses are red and violets are blueish,
When will Marjorie stop being so foolish?
In any event, a few weeks later he arrived in New York City and called. After about ten minutes on the phone he said: "So how about if I come over and you cook me a nice meal and for dessert you can finally give me that blow job?"
