ARE ALL GOOD JEWISH BOYS OBSESSED WITH SEX?
What, we’re any different?
Raise your hand if you agree but, let’s face it, boasting (or whining) about one’s sex life not a “good look,” as they say. Let’s be real, though. If marriage is sacred to many Jewish men, prime sex is a mitzvah. The myth of Jewish neurosis is, in reality, no myth at all to many of us, while the opportunity for healthy physical fulfillment regardless of marital status and lack of foreskin frequently is. For those who aren’t members of the tribe, let’s say it’s a gift from God.
A “good deed,” technically, but why split hairs?
The question really is — and no, one does not have to be Jewish for this to resonate — “How can I remain a nice guy while satisfying my physical needs, all the while searching far and wide to find … the one?”
Or the two or the nine, based on your preference? The multiples of three …
And then dealing with the subsequent Jewish guilt, natch. We don’t partake in confession or Hail Marys like some of you do, save maybe for once a year during the high holidays, but I digress.
Why is it that all of my male Jewish friends obsess over sex, including yours truly? We’re all nice guys. Many of us are long-married. Some of us, like myself, are not religious at all but have principles.
What is the deal?
I’ve said it before: We all have our kinks. Mine are none of your business, and at once it’s not my place to judge yours. Whatever your sexual proclivities, the next question becomes: “Can a guy be still be considered nice if he’s perpetually “in the mood” (“hormonal” doesn’t quite fit) and on the lookout to satisfy those needs too?”
If he’s single, that is, or otherwise not engaged in an open marriage to keep a socially-acceptable grounding in these proceedings.
What if he patronizes a — let’s say “legal” to keep it kosher — prostitute, regardless of where your morality rests on the matter?
Can he still be considered a “nice Jewish boy” if he tips well and she either loves her job or is working the position — sorry — for what she believes to be legitimate empowering reasons?
How’s that for flirting with a stereotype and a double-entendre at once?
For the record, I am not calling prostitution “empowering.” However, as an aside, about 20 years ago I produced a documentary on the American adult entertainment industry which included interviews with porn performers who also worked as hookers. “Empowering” was the word used by several. For whatever it’s worth.
Speaking of said documentary, entitled Scopohilia, I’ll share a couple of stories from that project that I’ve shared before …
We met fellow Jew Ron Jeremy — yeah, that one — and his new protege, Jasmine St. Claire, at The Rainbow in Hollywood. Ron impressed me; the world knew him as “The Warthog,” but he was (and is) a singular talent. He writes limericks like nobody’s business, he plays piano like a pro, and he has a terrific sense of humor. Thing is, he was a former special education teacher from New York. Me too!
But that’s where our similarities ended …
We all liked him. My director and I, along with our editor at the time, were regaled by his stories of the business. As for Jasmine, well, she was there as Ron was producing her next film: what would be, to then, “the world’s largest gangbang” (look it up; for the purpose of this article Medium is a family-friendly outlet). She explained to us that she was a huge Disney fan and collector. Her favorite of all the company‘s films was the recently-released Pocahontas. An interesting dichotomy, there. She further informed us that the day before, she wrapped the porn version of her favorite Disney film, this one poetically entitled Poke-her-anus.
“I was afraid to tell my mom,” she said.
The gist of our documentary was to follow porn stars in their daily lives, to get to know the real people behind the personalities and their reasons for choosing their particular profession. Ron was one of our subjects, and he invited us wherever he went. We graciously turned down the gangbang, though. We were told we’d have to participate if we showed.
The next week, though, we followed Ron to a set in Pasadena, where a bondage film would be shot over two subsequent days. The women (later with whips and other accoutrements) were nice enough, and we interviewed several of them. To warm up, we played a game of basketball. Myself, John Wayne Bobbitt (yeah, that one too — fresh of off Ron’s directorial debut, “Frankenpenis” — and our director, Rich, on the one side, vs. a dominatrix trio. The women beat us 21 - 10.
We all went inside, and we prepped to shoot “behind-the-scenes” footage of the ensuing XXX product. However, one of the male actors didn’t show. Ron and the women badgered the only non-busy guy present, being me, to take his place. Rich was directing, our editor was taking notes … I was watching. And I was being given hell because they needed a third guy. “What exactly would I have to do?” I asked.
“Welcome to the business,” Ron said. He proceeded to explain the scene to me, and a mistress jumped in.
“Just sit with Ron and John on the couch,” the mistress offered, “and watch us. They’ll join us, then you take your clothes off and you jump in.”
”Christ,” I muttered. I thought of my grandmother; I have no idea why. What if my innocent devout grandmother, who waved her hands over candles every Friday night on Shabbat, happened to catch either this doc, or the film itself? What then?
Not that my grandmother had ever seen a porn film, but nevertheless …
I refused to give in to the peer pressure. Ron and John were on their own. The scene was rewritten on the fly, and none of the three of us were needed in the end. Disaster averted.
The next week, I met Nina Hartley, known and widely respected as the Godmother of Porn. I had scheduled to interview Nina at a strip club where she was that week’s featured dancer.
Nina was changing into her stripper gear backstage when I entered the room, and she asked me to close the door.
I was single. This was Nina Hartley, who was also incidentally a licensed nurse and noted public speaker, who spoke at colleges around the country as to the importance of “safe sex.”
Make your own judgement, there.
“So,” I asked weakly, “What are you working on?”
She had a gorgeous smile. “Well, Joel, I’m putting out these video guides with my name on them.“
”Oh, cool,“ I said. “Like what?” I was beginning to sweat, and before you ask, none of this is exaggerated.
“We have Nina Hartley’s Guide to Anal Sex, coming soon on VHS.” I was beginning to pour, and seriously attempted to be discreet while wiping the sweat with my sleeve. She seemed to enjoy pushing my buttons, and so she went on. “Nina Knows Best is the series we’re working on. We have chapters, Joel, like Everything Oral, which includes Better Fellatio, Better Cunnilingus and Advanced Oral Sex …”
You get the picture. I looked at my watch and told her I had to meet my director outside. I closed that door as quickly as I could. “See you soon,” I heard from the other side.
The doc was released in Holland and Portugal. The final edited product, however, featured more of a study on prostitution’s relation to the business than we had anticipated.
But the real revelation came slowly (I’m done now). I was surprised how many on both sides of that fence, that we interviewed, were Jewish. Have “nice Jewish boys” visited brothels before? Or massage parlors?
You need to ask them but I’d say it’s a safe assumption. They’re no different than anyone who patronizes sex workers.
Ever have a one-night stand? I grew up in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn. Meaning: A decent cross-section of us attended the same Shabbat services on Friday night. We knew each other.
We discussed our general lack of sex after challah and wine.
So what’s the point of this piece? Is it just to drop a few puns and hope for a laugh. No, I’m not that insecure. I’m just in a free-associating frame of mind where I wanted to write about sex. Sex being not just a Jewish obsession, of course, but this morning I was thinking about the woman who helped me through puberty, to whom I owe a great debt … the late great Italian actress Laura Antonelli during the early days of lat-night cable TV.
Onward.
You know the old adage, “You need to kiss a lot of frogs to get to where you want to be, or meet the person(s) you want to meet?” It doesn’t translate into sleeping around, but I’ve always taken it to heart as an ode to determine compatibility.
When I turned 36 I was convinced I’d never meet a woman with whom I could spend the rest of my life. That was my goal. She didn’t have to be Jewish. Breathing would have been a start.
But I did meet my woman, my wife, on my 36th birthday. And she was Jewish! Will tell you how we met in a minute.
En route to the big event, though, I will disclose here that my nerves were frayed. If I was fortunate to meet someone, I thought, Could I ever be honest with her about my ex-girlfriends and sexual experiences (which were not that numerous but that evades the point)?
Putting the cart before the horse a bit, but welcome to my world.
The answer, though, was easy: Why not? The same would go for a woman. I’ve written and posted articles here about sex and also sexual harassment, and have been called many names by many guys on Reddit as I frequently take the woman’s side in the event of a problem. Some of those names, by the way, that incidentally I’ll always treasure, include “pussy boy,” “pussy whipped bastard,” “low-T pussy” (a personal favorite), “low-T cuck” (another), “feminist turd man,” and “fucker without a nut sack.”
Usually the words are from some insecure keyboard alpha who believes it to be uncool to publicly display certain sensitivities, usually about consent. Fuck ‘em. It’s always about consent.
And God forbid they knew I was a Jew! Well they will now! If my last name of Eisenberg doesn’t give it away, and they didn’t attend my bris as proof …
But I’ve been smiling for years now. It’s all good.
Thankfully, I was put out of my misery when I met my wife … at a Jewish singles event, of all things. I swore to all that’s holy time and again I would never stoop that low. Jewish singles events, after all, are where losers who can’t meet anyone meet other losers.
Right?
I’ve never been so wrong. I got real, real lucky. It’s been nearly 20 years now. My priorities have long changed. What I expect of sex today, you’ll never know.
I will tell you, though, that this “low-T pussy” is a considerably happier, and much relieved, older mensch these days …
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