Sex and the Single Jew

By Marlena Joyce

51 year-old Maxine Dorfman's sex drive is dead; vibrators don't do it, frustrating fantasies don't do it, and having her husband Mel dump her for an older woman, certainly didn’t help. Hope arrives in the person of her best friend, Connie Piccini, who encourages Maxine to attend EARTH TREK, a singles "get a life" weeklong fitness retreat in the Catskill Mountains of New York. Romantic adventures, sex therapy, and a mysterious health crisis, all serve to unleash our heroine’s pent up reservoir of power and sexual passion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483509228

Book preview

9781483509228

Chapter 1

The Bombshell Drops

The night sweats are back and I’m lying in a pool of my own face cream. Why should this night be any different? The clock reads 3:40; then 3:41 and, for the umpteenth time, my mind travels back nine months to when Mel, (my excuse for a husband), walked out on me to be with his 65 year old lady friend. I know; it’s unbelievable. His explanation—a twenty minute speech on how our marriage had simply died, and how he felt alive for the first time. What do you call people who return from the dead? I’m not sure, but it ain’t honey.

I can still picture the whole ugly scene as if it just happened. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror waxing my upper lip when Mel appeared in the doorway. His forehead was beaded in sweat. His breath was deep and raspy. He cleared his throat.

What do you want, Mel? I asked as I leaned over the sink. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a waxing?

He rushed forward and waved at me in the mirror. What is his problem?

Maxine, sweetie, can I talk to you for a sec? I promise it won’t take very long.

Too busy now, can’t do it, maybe some other time, ok?

"Aw c’mon, honey, just give me a second. One measly second?"

Nope, too late. Not right now. Meeting Connie in 10 minutes.

But honey, sweetie, you’re not still mad about yesterday, are you?

Don’t know what you’re talking about.

You mean you didn’t see me in Central Park? Walking the dog. With a woman?

A woman? What woman? Which woman? Oh, that woman!

Um, nope. No dog, no woman, no clue. But I did have a clue and I knew where this conversation was headed. I did see him, or them, in the park holding hands and cuddling.

Really, Maxine? You didn’t see us?

Nope.

Really?

Nope.

Seriously?"

Nope.

He paused. You’re lying to me, aren’t you?

Nope

You promise?

He caught me. Okay, okay. Yes, I saw you yesterday. I just assumed she was somebody you were helping out. She was older. Probably some friend I hadn’t met.

She was a little bit older, he laughed. "I have to give you that. But more than a friend.

More than." He stopped.

What did he say? Not just a friend? Did I hear him right? And why were his looks growing more repulsive by the second. Not that he had much going for him in the first place. Especially not with the dyed, reddish-brown hair that he swept from the back to cover his bald dome. Or, the red, swollen face. Or, the 50 pounds of saturated fat stored in his belly.

Honey…honey? Why are you so quiet? Talk to me.

Oh, get lost Mel. Go away and let me be. I’ve got things to do.

But honey, I really need to talk, he said, moving closer. You really need to know."

Well, you should have made an appointment, cause I’m late. I want you out of this bathroom.

Max, don’t do this. C’mon, be reasonable. You need to know.

No, I don’t.

Yes, you do.

No…I don’t.

Yes…you do.

I turned around and sighed. Mel, you really think I don’t know what you’re up to? But I do, all right! I do and I just don’t want to hear about it right now.

But, you have to. You have to know.

He was right. I needed to know. Okay, what? What is it that I need to know?

Well, first, tell me what you think you know—about her.

I looked at him and shook my head. This guy was impossible. Why did I marry him? And how did it come down to this? This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. But, okay, I’ll talk to him. I’ll be honest with him, honest with him one last time.

 She seemed like a friend, Mel. She seemed like someone you were happy with. You looked like you were having a good time together. She seemed like someone in love with you.

Yea, Max. It’s true. How long were you watching.

The wax on my upper lip felt like hardening lead. But you know what else? She seemed liked someone you see on the street who used to be pretty. She seemed like someone you see on a bench, sitting alone, because her husband is gone and her kids don’t call anymore. She seemed like someone I could be in 20 years. Someone who’s by herself with nothing to do and no one to love. Cause that’s just how it is when you get old. That’s how things turn out, for some. I don’t know what you see in her, Mel. Why did you do it? But, it’s over, right? It was just a one-time thing, right? Cause I’ve always been faithful to you. I’ve always loved you. She looked really old, Mel. Really, really, old. I mean, really old. You know?

I know, honey, I know. Oh, Max. I wish you hadn’t seen us. I don’t know how to say this.

 Say what? Mel? But I knew what he was going to say.

You know she’s more than a friend. She’s just…she’s just… you know...she just has this way about her. She’s so affectionate and warm. Oh for God’s sake Maxine, face it our marriage is dead. And this woman, this incredible, wonderful woman has got me all charged up again. It’s like I came back to life, you know? And I never want to go back. I want to move on.

My hands started to shake. My husband was no longer my husband. Get out, I cried, cracking the lip wax apart. Get out. And he did.

I marched into his 4 x 6 compulsively neat closet. I grabbed a pile of the schmuck’s $1,500 designer suits and threw them in the bathtub. I turned on the faucet marked H for History, and let the suits drown beneath the scalding water. I grabbed a bottle of laundry bleach and with a dainty flick of my wrist, poured the bleach over the suits dissolving them into a stream of nothingness just like he dissolved our marriage.

It’s almost 4:00 o’clock in the morning. When the hell am I going to get some sleep? I press #42 on my remote control. It’s the American Movie Classics channel. A very serious-looking narrator is talking about the film, From Here to Eternity.

"This movie produced many ‘firsts’, but its greatest claim to fame has been it’s ground-breaking impact on all kinds of taboos in the realm of raw sexual expression back in the 40s.

It also featured one of Hollywood’s leading icons of the day Burt Lancaster, whose portrayal of a tough, but gentle lover thrilled audiences all over the country."

The narrator continues, but I don’t hear him. Images of Burt Lancaster swim through my mind and my eyelids begin to grow heavy. I feel myself float into a seat in an empty darkened movie theater. The credits to "From Here to Eternity," roll on the screen, and there’s Burt playing the sexy sergeant lying on the beach wearing a thong bathing suit. He’s making slow circular motions around that actress, Deborah what’s her face’s breasts. Her chest heaves up and down and so does mine as the two of them clench and grope one another on a secluded, sandy beach.

He says to her, Oh, how soft, how perfectly shaped. Let me feast my eyes on them.

She says, Oh, darling, darling. I’ve never, never, ever, felt this way before…

A warm, craving sensation runs through me. As each wave hits the beach, the feeling in me grows more intense, and now I’m there, right there with Burt and Deborah. A black bikini instantly appears on my firm, perfect body.

Hello Deborah, I say, What’s up?

Her expression looks perturbed.

I smile and say, Sorry, you’ve had your chance.. You can go now. It’s my turn.

Burt looks at me; his tongue licks his wet lips. He walks toward me and pushes Deborah out of the way. Scram babe, it’s Maxine’s turn.

 Her eyebrows raise and she shoots me a dirty look. How dare you?

I give her an indifferent wave, and grab Burt’s arm and say, This man’s mine. Hands off.

But, Deborah isn’t finished. She stomps up to Burt and smacks his face. You bastard! You’re nothing but trash, you…. you…I despise you. He laughs. She turns to me and says, Here, take him, he’s all yours.

Was it something I said? Oh Deborah, just go. Leave us alone.

She’s gone. Burt pulls me down onto the hot sand and stretches out on top of me. I am pinned. I am perfect. His muscles ripple with a powerful force and he gives me a devilish grin. Who knew his body was so perfect? I could stay here forever. He stretches my arms as far as they can go, and begins to penetrate me. He says, Relax, sweetheart. Let me give you my entire big pink love torpedo.

He extracts his manhood and enters me. My body shutters. I dissolve into sheer bliss. Suddenly, out of nowhere, an ice-cold wave breaks over the lower half of our bodies and instantly numbs my desire. The turquoise water changes to a murky white. The whole ocean is white. Burt’s wicked grin is replaced by a pair of terror-filled eyes. His steel body and hard-on go limp.

The ocean swells into tidal waves and begins to crash violently on the shore. Excitement turns to confusion and then terror as my gorgeous Burt is sucked under a giant white wave and disappears out to the sea. No, this can’t be happening. Then another huge white wave rises up and moves in my direction.

The sound of the crashing surf is replaced by the sound of my heart beating and I bolt upright. Oh my God, what a bummer, what a major bummer. Never in my life! What a drag! And I was having so much fun, and oh, oh; my right hand feels ice cold again. Instinctively, my left hand reaches out and clasps it in an attempt to warm it up. I can’t believe, after all these years, it’s still happening.

Chapter 2

Tote That Fat, Lift Those Jowls

Better get into a hot bath. I get out of bed. I feel weak. Where the hell is my energy? Somehow I manage to shuffle my way into my baby-blue imported marble tile bathroom. Last year I spent an entire month fantasizing about how wonderful it would be to have a bathroom like this and now it looks so blah! Even my new Jacuzzi doesn’t cut it. But, then again, I really haven’t tried out the ‘four water jet’ feature at the bottom half of the tub. Oh, what the heck.

Perched up on a shelf overlooking the Jacuzzi are three vibrators of various shapes and sizes. I tried, I really tried; Connie, my best friends keeps yelling, Max, you’ve got to try it! I fantasized, I lubricated, I drank three glasses of wine; and nothing; zero; nada.

 I pour a special blend of mineral salts and herbal oils into the Jacuzzi and carefully step in, sinking slowly into the churning warmth. Why am I doing this? I’ve been using these products for over a year and nothing -- no rejuvenation – nothing.

The rumble and roar of the bubbling water pleasantly soothes and massages me. That’s so much better. I grab an issue of," Vacation Paradise - 4 Star International Hotels," which is perched on the side ledge. Perfect, just what I need to focus on. The glossy pages are filled with breathtaking aerial views of huge luxury hotels with tennis courts, golf courses, lagoons, and beaches. Wouldn’t it be fabulous to stay at one of these places?

 Imagine me a guest at the Princess Hotel in Acapulco and I’m floating in a pool on a red raft in the shape of a rose petal, wearing a black strapless bathing suit cut down to my navel. On the other side of the pool I spot the man of my dreams. He looks like a cross between Sean Connery and Ronald Kertler, my dentist. He’s floating on an inflatable chaise lounge shaped like a gold throne. His royal blue bikini bathing suit shows off a sizeable ‘package’ between his legs. With a martini in one hand and a cell phone in the other he says, Yeah, offer him two million up front and buy the darn mall.

 Back in my Jacuzzi, the beat of the water against my body begins to produce a titillating surge of desire. I see myself dive into the water with perfect Olympic style form and swim over to my dream man. I lean on his raft, pull him under water, wrap my legs around him and…

 The icy feeling returns to my hand. Not again. I can’t even have a decent fantasy. I don’t for the life of me know why, but I seem to have this very odd condition. On and off throughout my life, whenever I get excited, my right hand mysteriously becomes extremely cold.

 The big blob of fat floating on the top of the water that used to be called my belly draws my attention. If I keep stuffing my face I’ll wind up with a stomach like Mel’s, God forbid! As one of the original members of the Yo-Yo Syndrome Club, I’ve gained and lost the same 15 lbs. for the last 30 something years and, of course, I relapsed again right after my divorce.

My friend Connie and I went to Zabars gourmet food market on the Upper West Side and they had all these samples of cheeses, smoked fishes and fresh breads. The two of us made sure we took a sample of everything. I mean, I’m talking 30 different varieties. We stopped in one of the aisles, took out napkins, and ate every morsel.

 By the time I passed through the checkout counter, I had blown $500, and now my body has swelled up like a pregnant whale. Look, what’s that on my thigh? Damn, it’s a lump of cellulite fat and here’s another lump on my elbow. Oh no, I don’t want chubby elbows and before you know it, I’ll have fat knuckles like my mother. I’ve got to do lose weight!

 I’m going to make myself crazy with this weight thing. I need a distraction. Yes, it’s time to try out the new facial exercise program I ordered from that television infomercial. In fact, I’ve been thinking about getting a surgical facelift, but it seems so drastic, I mean, risking that over-stapled look and all. I step out of the Jacuzzi, wrap myself in a Ralph Richards terry cloth towel and approach the bedroom mirror. I