Sex-Writers Anonymous

Why is it easier writing about sex anonymously?

Why did Nikki Gemmell (of Bride Stripped Bare fame) publish AN ENTIRE NOVEL under an unoriginal pseudonym that's used for every obscure mythical poem ever spoken?

Why do I feel more free writing whatever the hell I want without the worry that it might get traced back to my 'true' self? Is it even relevant? Shouldn't people know everything about a writer? And besides, most people that might tumble across this blog and recognise some similar writing styles of some girl they might know, with a history of relationships that sound eerily similar to another girl they might know, well then, what's the point at all?

It's easy. It's safe. No. It's safe-er.

Why should we be ashamed/embarrassed/private about our sex lives? And when we do tell our lover/potential partner our history, it could be read as 'right' or 'wrong'. A chequered past encourages instant judgement. With guys it's seen as a conquest, an impressive attribute, he's a 'ladies man'. But when it's girls simply expressing their sexual apetite and exercising their libido, they are labelled as sluts, perhaps even 'damaged goods', and nobody wants a part of THAT pie.

Today I was asked if I'm happy being single. When I answered an honest no, my friend was shocked. 'No? Not even a little bit?' he asked. I'm not entirely happy if I feel that there's no point even looking for someone here in Melbourne. What's the point?

I've been told that I'm intimidating, I'm a smart arse, I am too edgy and too 'in-yer-face' for the demure (scared of anything different) jewish boys of melbourne. But I dont want to believe that. Actually, I want some guy to disprove this negative response I'm being reminded of. I want a guy to tell me - "no, not ALL jewish boys are wimps, they're not all too self-conscious to flirt, too thick to see the charm in the abundant gorgeous jewish girls in melbourne" - these girls are smart, they are sexy, they are cultured, they are well read, they are attractive, they are funny, they love having a great time, they have ideas about being jewish, about the world, about being connected to other ideas and other people.

But are these girls waiting? Am I waiting? I'm not sure anymore. Can someone prove our jaded bitterness of Melbourne Jewish boys wrong?

Definition of Betrayal

Betrayal is a curious matter. It manifests itself in so many shapes and sounds; it can come in the form of a lie, or an absence of truth, out of of carelessness or maliciousness. But it sure is a head fuck.

It shades the way we see things, colours the people we thought we once knew, and makes room for a stone of uncertainty to forever lie at the pit of our stomachs.

In these cases, ignorance can be pure bliss. I often wish I could meddle with those in charge of time and rewind a couple years.

Cheaters

I don't pride myself on being an upright moral person, but I often wonder about the emotional makeup of those who cheat in relationships. As you've learnt by now, it's pretty difficult sourcing a Jewish boy - and it hasn't been made any easier when boys that DO show some effort are in relationships.

The concept of cheating within a relationship had never come across my mind until recently - I've realised that more people cheat (or want to cheat?) than I had ever expected. This poses a multitude of problems - within the relationship, as well as the consequences/responses of both parties (or three?) that follow.

But it's still a hush-hush topic - betrayal is never an attractive discussion topic. People feel uncomfortable admitting it in public, people still feel guilt pangs for 'those times when', but does that make them think about it less? Does it stop people from acting/behaving/flirting with those who their partners might deem 'inappopropriate'? I don't think so.

It's a Small World... at least this within this jew crew

Supposedly I've reached the marrying age. At least that's what I'm being told (not outrightly, however) by the people around me. And isn't it time to pair RJ off with a handsome Jewish bachelor - it's as if my community is urging me to mate and breed for the sake of Melbourne Jewish continuation. But no pressure, RJ, no pressure.

Set up #1:
My family is invited to friends for Shabbat lunch. Even before I arrive there (I arrive seperately to my mother and sister - I, the shabbes goy, have had prior engagements in the other side of the city) I have heard about my friend's 'actor friend'. This friend, B____, has had a thing for me for a while. Our parents are friends, and he took me out on a couple dates in both Israel and Melbourne. However, (I'm not sure if I should be insulted or flattered) my intelligence intimidated him. I never heard back from him for at least three years. B____ is a lovely religious but open-minded boy who isn't afraid to give things a go. He is my ultimate motivator, and we have bonded this year (once he realised that I wasn't interested in him anymore) over art exhibitions and crazy outings across Melbourne. He finds me 'un-ordinary', a title I feel I have to live up to. Actually, his perception of me is a complete NON-Jap, but that goes against this blog altogether.

Well, now that B____ can't have me, why not palm me off to his friends? B____'s mother has been whispering promises to my own mother about the new guest to Shabbat lunch, trying to encourage me to ditch my cross-city commitments and grace the table with my presence. I go, wanting to catch up with B____ and score some good points with my mum as well. My sister, the previous Friday night, told me tales of this new guest, this 'actor friend', nudging and winking all the while. as soon as I enter the house, B____'s mother asks me if I want to meet 'actor friend'. 'Of course,' I say, smiling, while gritting my teeth on the inside. Yes, of course we can all be friends, but I felt these people had a different agenda.

'Actor friend' was indeed as lovely as I was told. Sweet, simple (not in intelligence, rather his outlook to life) and a highly qualified actor. He had a soft voice, and he was very polite, but something struck me as a little bit - gay. Now, I'm no expert, but I also suspected 2 (that ex of mine) to also dabble in the homosexual side of life. 2 was mightily offended, but I still believe I am right. Only time will tell.

Needless to say, 'actor friend' will remain just that. A friend. Just like B____. I seem to accrue a generous number of guys who are 'just friends'. Are platonic friendships even possible nowadays? Or, if ever?

Set up #2:
My mother comes back from her weekly catch up with a friend not entirely in her community, and hears of a wonderful bachelor, perfect for me. The description is completely out of my mother's character.
'He's tall, a lovely guy, RJ. He's 32, yes, a little old, but he's Israeli.'
Israeli? My mum would HATE if I ended up with an Israeli.
'No, but he lives here, in Melbourne. And he owns a cafe in St Kilda - so he won't be marrying you for a visa!'
And now it makes the most perfect sense. Israelis without the visa baggage. Hrm.

So I go to his cafe with some friends for a sunny Sunday breakfast. I bump into my cousin's girlfriend who's waitressing there (and who's I've met for the second time in my life. They have been going out for years, and yet I only knew her by name). The only other Israelis in the joint are the older married couple in the kitchen and a guy who seems to be hanging round the place with nowehere else to go. I suppose this was Mr. Perfect. Except Mr Perfect was sporting a longer-than-attractive Israeli backpacker unwashed hairdo and some serious stubble. Hrm. Now, if he was in his 20s and a little more attractive, then perhaps. But visa or no visa, I left the cafe feeling a little bit cheated. Never get your hopes up, especially if it's the Jewish Mother Conspiracy.


So now what? This tiny community is incestuous, everyone knows everyone else - so casual flings seem out of the picture. I've been single for seven months now, the longest drought in a while. And apparently everyone else is feeling the heat as well. With enough shit in my life to keep me occupied for the moment, boys should be the last thing on my mind.

Shame that's not how my mind works.

Pressure Suit

Can't get this song off repeat:

Pressure Suit by Aqualung

Two spinning spheres, they spin together
I'm gon' spin alone
I don't know how I can do this
I don't know how to get through
It's alright, It's alright
I can't stop loving you

It's alright, It's alright

I'll be your respirator
I'll be your pressure suit
It's alright, It's alright
I'll be your four leaf clover
I'll be your pressure suit
I'll be your angel wings
I'll be your parachute
I'll be your running reason
I'll be your only reason
Ohhhh, ohhhhhh
I can't stop loving you



Now go and analyse THAT.

Seven

One of my closest male friends, Ll___, asked me for a film concept based on the theme 'Seven'. We were sitting outside in the winter sunshine on a Saturday afternoon, casually enjoying a joint, and my mind instantly turned to sex. I lie - the thought preceding sex was an idea based on the seven days of Creation - but that it so done.

Back to Seven and sex. I spoke of a film that follows the first seven men a woman had slept with - how she changed throughout the process, how the men changed her, how her approach to life and men and relationships had shifted and strengthened through these intimate relations. I'm not sure if it sounds so good now that I'm writing about it - but when you're stoned, ideas like these are pretty fucking clever.

I started thinking of the first seven men I had slept with - who they were, where they were from, where we were at the time, how long I had known them. As I counted them finger by finger, I had nearly forgotten about 2 - my ex-boy of three years. Now, what does this say about our sexual relationship? Not much. Not that memorable. Maybe I'm being unkind here, but when I credit the man who made me sexually confident, it's not him. No, 2's the boy who, while still being called his 'supermodel', made me doubt myself and my attractive qualities. I was his prize, perched high on pedestal, the virgin jewess who occasionally played naughty in the bedroom. His excuses became my excuses, and soon weeks lapsed into months of nothingness. I loved him, and I probably will continue loving him. Even though I fell out of love with 2 a long time ago, he'll always have a small piece of me - you can't live three years of your life for nothing.

They say that Jews fool around with non-Jews, they 'practice' til perfect, but when it comes down to it, most of them will end up with a Jew. I fit into this charming label. When sex doesn't equal relationship - and both parties MUST acknowledge this - then practice all you want. You can only get better. Well, I'm finding I do.

But Jews and non-Jews like, I'm discovering the patterns in my attraction, and how they differ to my Australian Jewish girlfriends. Most of us come from Eastern European backgrounds, our grandparents immigrated to Australia over fifty years ago. Most of us went to Jewish primary and secondary schools, and most of our friends are Jewish. Insulated? For sure. Exclusive? Not intended. Racist? Don't ever call us that.

So our Jewish dating pool is considerably smaller than those of other communities - as my boss at work has recently exclaimed to me and a Greek girl, "I'm so glad I don't belong to any ethnic group. You guys have so many hassles!" I tried to explain to my boss that it's these hassles that make us precious, but sometimes I dabble in pondering the value of it all.

But I have a problem - I'm not so attracted to the Australian Jewish boys. Namely, those boys who come from the same background as me - we listen to our mothers too much, we grew up in the Australian sun and laidback culture, and by golly, we're Ashkenazi.

Ashkenazi - European Jews, historically Yiddish-speaking, who settled in central and northern Europe. We're the Fiddlers on the Roof, the Klezmer tooting bandicoots, the Shtetllers, we lived within the Pale, we eat gefilte fish and herring.

We are also more susceptible to genetic diseases. Fun.

And, to date, I have never had a relationship with a Ashkenazi/European man. They're Portugese, Persian, African, Italian, Israeli, African-American, Indian, Moroccan, Yemenite, Venezualan - man, it's a small world after all!

But what does this say about me? Or the difficulty of finding a Jewish date on a Saturday night? Do we have to go outside our comfort zones, our communities, our own countries to find a guy? Why does it have to be so complicated? It's easier ordering takeout from my local felafel shop than holding down an Israeli.

So, back to Lucky Number Seven. He knows who he is, he reminds me of sunshine and subtlety. He's always up for a good time, easy to get along with, passionate about writing and music and culture of all sorts. He calls me darling and gorgeous and doesn't wear any underwear. I met him in one of my favourite countries, he lives in my favourite city, and it was one of the favourites.

He's not Jewish.

Under my Skin

As Ella Fitzgerald croons the Cole Porter song, "I've got you under my skin...", I've got someone under my skin.

And I don't like it.

It's quite funny, really, because I want to write so much about all the thoughts I've had this week, but no words are flowing to my fingers - my hands are too stiff to type.

Caught me off guard - I was expecting some sleazy 'man crumpet' of an Israeli to indulge in a winter fling - yet I was pleasantly surprised when the boy in question turned out to be a decent, intelligent, polite, GORGEOUS person. Or so I thought.
Never heard back. To this day I wonder why...

Gotta get over this Israeli addiction - is it poisonous? Hrmm, well, perhaps not the most healthiest habit.

Israeli Boys

I have a weakness for Israeli boys - I suppose most Diaspora girls go through that phase during their lives. Nothing new.

We meet an attractive and fearless boy that has survived a certain hell on earth, and the local pussies fade in comparison. Israel is a kind of hell - it sucks you in, the madness and urgency that boils in that country seeps through every aspect of its culture. I love it. The music, the pursuit of a good time, the community that travelling bands of Israelis form overseas. You can't see it happening with Jewish Australians, somehow. Yes, we're from the same town, perhaps even the same suburb - but that doesn't equate to any closeness or shared understanding. Often it only aggrevates. Perhaps our community is just too small, too insulated, too self-conscious.

Maybe that's why I love Israeli men. They command attention, not respect; they require moderation, not nurturing; they're not the mummies' boys that we seem to find in Melbourne. They grow their hair long, they are loud, they are up for a laugh and a party any time. They fuck - not 'make love'.

And that's what I need right now. As my good friend D____ said, "RJ, you're just living on the wrong continent." D____ is a Russian Israeli who's been living here since being discharged from the army at the end of last year - a blue-eyed blondini who is fervent follower of hiphop and all things black. A little how I used to be when I lived in America.

D___ couldn't understand how I've been single for five months - "You wouldn't go for more than two weeks in Israel," he told me. Which is quite true when considering the number of relationships I had when travelling last year. I suppose I appeal to the Israeli man because
a) I understand and speak Hebrew - not as fluent as I used to, but the awkwardness associated with foreign communication is somewhat distilled.
b) I'm different to Israeli girls in that I have an acute sense of social responsibility; I am softly spoken and come across as a 'nice' girl.
c)I also speak my opinion and try not to take shit - I am nobody's doormat.

Perhaps I'm just me.

Back to Israeli boys. Or men. These are guys who have fought in one of the most dangerous regions in the world, boys who have to grow up and be men much earlier than the common Australian. They are rugged, they are resourceful, they are invincible. They are arrogant. They can be insensitive pricks, self-centred users and suspicious characters.

They are a Diaspora Girl's wet dream - the complete opposite of the boys waiting for them at home.

But we do come from different homes - us Diaspora Girls and our Israeli Boys. We grew up in very different situations, families, expectations. Yes, we're both Jewish - but how far does that connection stretch? In some of my relationships, the sheer culture clash creates the wedge in the relationship; distance also plays a significant part. Are you Ashkenazi? Sephardi? How does that make us so different? We all know what Shabbat is. We know a little bit about the Tanach. We know where the Chabad centres in developing countries are to get a good free meal. Is that all?

Perhaps this is just a passing phase - and I, like so many other Diaspora Girls will slowly get over it. That is certainly possible. But since there are no prospects here in Australia, my mind wanders to the what ifs. Then again, I'm no fortune teller.

Meanwhile, I'll just enjoy the attraction.

Background

During a conversation with Z****, while under the influence, I relayed to her my desire, when I'm an established author, to one day write a book called 'The Lovers of My Life'. The novel would be a reflection on what I've learnt from all my relationships over the years - casual, serious, flirtations, frustrations - you get it. I know that it's been done many times over, but I've experienced a series of strange and amusing situations that could appeal to those women out there who feel like a good hunk of chicklit.

I suppose this is what this blog is designed to communicate: my reflections on growing up and living in the Australian Jewish community - the pain, the satisfaction, the frustration, the glorious, the belonging and the alienation that encircles us all.

So, a little bit of background:

I am a reluctant JAP - a Jewish Australian Princess hesitant to accept the 'privileged' label attached to my background and upbringing.

My best friend is Z****, a woman of valour in all seriousness, a self-assured and inspiring individual who never ceases to amaze and amuse me.

My younger sister is A****, a shy and awkward girl finding her place in the world.

My longest term boyfriend is 2. He, I assume, will pop into posts as exes have a habit of doing. Without permission.

All women in this blog will be referred to by their initials followed by ****. All men are the initials followed by ____.

Enjoy.

The Man of Many Firsts...

There's always that one guy that you encounter many 'firsts' with:
first kiss
first fondle
first fuck
first fuck that didn't mean anything
first fuck that made you feel alive
that first time you wanted to rip the clothes right off his body
that first time time disappeared and you stayed in bed all day with not a care in the world
that first time you realised that you are sexy just the way you are

Well, I encountered many firsts while travelling the globe, however many of my firsts were with an Israeli man I dated right here in Melbourne.
He was the first guy who made me feel like sex on legs - in MELBOURNE. Now, I'm a firm believer that home has an enormous impact on the way we feel and interact with eachother - and with this man I felt so completely comfortable with who I was and what I was doing.
He was the first guy that cooked me lunch with no expectations of anything to follow.
He was the first guy to convince me that I was able to get away with car sex.
I did.
He was the first guy to really take a fantasy to the point of no return - nothing was too difficult for him.

But my voracious apetite for different flavours got the better of both of us - he moved interstate and I moved on. Besides, I knew I was his rebound girl. He was still in love with his Israeli sweetheart who drove him crazy.

"We can be friends for a long time," he said to me. I hoped that his words would ring true, and I tried so hard to believe him. I nodded and thought about how alike we were - there is still nbody (except for my best friend) who gets me like he did. But he wasn't for me - nor I for him. He was too cocky, a self-assurance that convered a deep void of self-esteem. And I wasn't in the mood for that. Besides, I knew his girlfriend would disapprove of our friendship/relationship once she came back into the scene.

So I dropped him and got on with my life. If it was his diary, he would probably say that I go through men like Kleenex. That's how I wanted him to feel: I didn't need him, and I was a strong independent woman. Missed phonecalls lapsed into months of non-communication.

Then I get one last missed call on my phone during work. And a voicemail message -
"Hi, this is M_____, the Israeli from a month ago... I've been in Melbourne for a week and today is my last day. We said we'd stay in contact, so here's my email address. I wish you the best in everything."

What a surprise! I was just thinking of him - how I missed his hand caressing my neck as we walked along the beach promenade, how he tried to kiss me in the cinema on our first date, how his fingers tapped my thigh to the music as I drove long drives during that summer.

I called him back. He was so odd on the phone - so wooden and restrained. I figured the girlfriend came back to rescue her fallen prince - it turned out I was right.

But, nevertheless, he will always remain my Man of Many Firsts...