Her Neighbor's Pleasure

by Shosha Pearl

  "You've arranged them beautifully, thank you," Esther said, putting the bouquet on the counter so that she could take out her purse. Esther handed over money trying not to think about Michelle naked, about her husband's tongue between her thighs, about them knowing she was watching.

  "My pleasure! Have a great weekend – and a good Shabbos too, of course!" Michelle said, her smile already moving from Esther to the people queuing behind her.

  Esther held the flowers high as she walked back through the store. She felt dazed and a little disoriented after her encounter with Michelle. She needed to get out of the store and into her car.

  Tzipora's husband, Osher, was bending over a bucket of roses by the door. He wore black jeans and a dark grey shirt; a flat cap pulled tight on his head. As usual, he looked different from most people in the neighborhood. Esther stopped when he raised his head and smiled at her. They exchanged pleasantries: he was well, Tzipora was well, the baby was well, the children were well; she was well, Sholem was well, the children were well, her parents were well.

  Osher was a good-looking man - a little overweight now perhaps, but tall with clear blue eyes. No one talked about it, but for a while Osher had gone off the derech. His parents had tried to keep it quiet, but everyone knew he'd stopped keeping kosher and Shabbos; some people whispered that he was even dating non-Jewish girls. Then, as if out of nowhere, he was engaged to Tzipora. Esther didn't ask any questions, and certainly never raised the issue with her friend, but it had always seemed a little strange: one of the naughtiest boys in the community was marrying one of the frumest girls. It didn't make any sense – even now it didn't – but they seemed genuinely happy together.

  Talking to Osher, Esther wondered if marriage with a man who had seen a little more of the world meant that Tzipora knew things that she did not. Esther was filled with curiosity about whether Tzipora had learnt things – was learning things - that remained mysterious to Esther. Sholem's life experience was as limited as her own; outside of Torah, there wasn't much he could teach her. She wished Osher a good Shabbos and walked out of the store. There was a good chance that Osher had taught Tzipora a great deal and Esther would love to know what her friend had learnt.

  Shabbos in the summer came in late. During the long hours of daylight, families like Esther's and Sholem's brought Shabbos in early on a Friday night, so that the children ate at a reasonable hour. It was still light when Sholem stood with the boys and the few other men at camp in the mountains welcoming the Shabbos queen, just as the sun beat heavily through the windows as Esther lit candles at home with her children. As she stood before the two newly-lit flames, waving her hands before her eyes three times, she thought of him, her runaway husband, and mentally pulled him in towards the children and herself, so that in her mind he stood beside her as she recited the blessing that ushered in Shabbos.

  With only her children for company, Friday night dinner was quick and the family was in bed before darkness had fully descended outside. Lying in bed alone, Esther was aware of every inch of her body, the touch of sheets felt like caresses on her skin. Unhindered by witnesses, she wanted to spread her legs as wide as they would go and slide her fingers along her warmth. She could trace the lines of pleasure with her mind. But it felt wrong, somehow, to do this when Sholem was away. She had managed to go a full week without touching herself – despite constantly craving to do so. For days she had been able to think of little else besides sexual pleasure – hers, her husband's, her neighbors', even the pleasure of people in whom she had no particular interest. In the grocery store she thought about the woman with the large breasts who always sat behind the till and wondered what gave her pleasure. At the school pick up, she saw a father lead his child across the road, and she suddenly saw him naked, erect, his eyes filled with passion. Outside, she watched the man working in the garden and wondered whether he liked to please his wife – whether he enjoyed placing his face between her thighs. She was plagued by thoughts that both appalled and excited her.

  That Friday night she lay alone in the darkness, almost willing her little boy to call out so that she would not be alone with her thoughts. When his voice finally came to her, she rose and broke her rule not to lift him. Instead, she carried his plump body into the living room and held him as he drank from a lukewarm bottle of milk and snuggled against her. The apartment lights went off with the Shabbos timer while the two of them sat in the warm night's silence. Meir fell asleep quickly; Esther's eyes stayed open, fixed on the still, black apartment of her neighbors.

  Esther was not ready for sleep when she closed her son's bedroom door, having returned him to his bed. She shuffled through the warmth of the apartment, running her hands along the dark wall. In the kitchen, steam waved through the lamp that shone all Shabbos as she poured urn water from one mug into another to make herself a chamomile tea to calm her nerves and help her sleep. She wondered if there was anything that would in fact be able to calm her at that moment - every nerve in her body felt tense, every joint slightly out of place.

  Kitchens were not for lonely late-night exiles like Esther. As she wandered back towards the unlit living room, the first thing she noticed was the light shining from her neighbors' apartment. It was not the blazing golden glow of overhead lights that usually poured out of their window. It was a new, muted light. She saw the faint outline of furniture, the shadow of shelves and tables. After a while shapes began to grow solid. Behind the veil of curtains, she guessed there was a lamp just out of view. She sat without thinking – curious and expectant.

  On the sofa, to the left of her view, she saw Jason sprawling against the cushions, his legs spread before him. Across from him, the outline of a woman's legs reached out playfully towards him. Esther closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in. The little bit of calm that the tea had brought her was now gone. Putting it aside, Esther crossed her legs beneath her on the sofa, easing back to watch the shapes before her, while her hand moved slowly under her nightgown. The skin on her thighs felt warm; her fingers ran across their smoothness, through the pillow of hair and into her wet heat. She had wanted the next fingers to find their way inside her to be Sholem's, but to wait now would be impossible.

  Across the divide, she watched the small movements of her neighbors. She did not feel she had the strength to watch them again, but she did not have the strength to turn away. Michelle's legs turned and teased - each angle more provocative than the other. Somehow, through the haze of fabric and the dimness of lights, she saw Jason undo his trousers and release himself. Esther strained to see exactly what was happening. Despite the distance that separated their apartments, she managed to make out Jason wrapping his hand around the base of his erection, opening his thighs to his wife.

  Esther's eyes were fixed on his hardness; she was mesmerized by the wantonness with which Jason held it out to his wife. Esther could not be sure, but it looked long and pale, thinner perhaps than her husband's. She stared in fascination until those long legs strode the short distance to him, stopping between his outspread knees.

  Michelle swayed her hips, blocking Esther's view of Jason. The deprivation she felt when she could no longer see him caused indefinable sensations in her chest; they were not pain, they were not excitement – they were more to do with need. She needed to see more; she needed to feel more. Esther began to touch herself while through the window Michelle lowered herself to her knees. Esther knew instinctively that her neighbor had her husband's erection in her hand, feeling its smooth stiffness between her fingers. When Michelle lowered her face towards his crotch, her spying neighbor knew that Jason’s beautiful penis had now found its way between the warmth of his wife's lips.

  Esther’s fingers circled her clitoris with increasing momentum. She moaned, pressing harder as she watched Michelle's silhouetted head move back and forth. Esther imagined that long shaft going in and out of her neighbor's welcoming mouth, her lips pink with the rouge of pressure. A groundswell of burning desire charged down Esther's back
; she felt pleasure fusing through her, the walls of her vagina contracting. Eyes closed, she knew nothing but the sensation of those surging pulses. Head bent, her breaths shallow, Esther stayed very still for moments that became minutes. Never in her life had she arrived at an orgasm so quickly.

  Esther was spent. When she finally opened her eyes, the light behind those curtains was out; she saw no movement in the darkness.

  Esther noticed Sholem's stillness when she brought the children home on Sunday afternoon. He'd come home after lunch, as he said he would, but Esther had stayed out with the children at her parents' house, until close to dinnertime. When they arrived home, the children racing through the door, Esther following behind, carrying Meir in one arm and a bag in the other, his slow smile seemed tense, but there was something about his expression that appeared less panicked than during the days before. Esther breathed in relief, moving into the kitchen to get dinner ready.

  The children ate early, finishing off the food from Shabbos. Esther watched Sholem pick at olives on the table. Saying he wasn't ready to eat, he wandered into the kitchen to put on the kettle. The water boiled quickly. He poured it into his large, black mug, nursing the coffee between his hands and allowing the smell to rise around him. Esther was helping Meir with his meal, her eyes wandering between Sholem and their smallest child. When Meir asked for water, Sholem moved quickly towards the tap, making her suspect that he did not want her coming in to the kitchen to be so close to him. But in his haste, Sholem’s cup of steaming coffee flew into the air, showering boiling liquid down on his hands and thighs.

  Esther had never heard Sholem cry out before. It caught her by surprise. Hearing him, Meir cried too. Everyone raced to the kitchen to see if Sholem was all right, while he stood still in shock, his face white, his breathing shallow.

  "You need to take off your clothes," Esther said. He didn't move. "Sholem! Are you listening? Go into the bathroom and take off your clothes. I’ll be there in a minute."

  He went slower than she would have liked, like a man sleepwalking. "Abba! Abba!" Meir wailed, calling after his father. Chaim and Aviva stood beside their baby brother, shocked and uncertain about what to do.

  "Will he be OK?" Chaim asked his mother.

  Esther was at the linen cupboard. "He'll be fine," she replied without thinking. She grabbed two towels and raced into the kitchen, turning the cold tap on high. The fabric took longer than she expected to absorb the water. It felt like minutes before they were heavy with liquid. Esther turned to her daughter and said, "Keep the baby here. I'll be back soon."

  The bathroom door was closed. She didn't knock; the cold, heavy towels in her hands were dripping water all over the floor and she just wanted to get them in the bathroom and on her husband. When she pushed the door open, the first thing she saw was that Sholem was almost naked. Despite everything, she couldn't help herself; she sucked in her breath as she took in his image. Only then did she register his red hands and thighs. She could see from his face that he was in pain. He looked afraid as she approached him.

  "You should be running cold water over your hands. Come," she said, turning the cold tap on high. "Put your hands under the water." He did as he was told.

  Esther stood beside him. "Let me look at your legs," she said gently. She didn't want to see his eyes as she squatted down before his bare thighs, the only thing between her and his nakedness was a blue pair of underpants.

  “Will you have a cold shower?" Esther asked, but Sholem shook his head. "Then you need to sit on the edge of the bath with these wet towels on your thighs and I will bring you a bucket of cold water for your hands." She turned the tap off and gestured for Sholem to sit on the side of the bath.

  As soon as he did, she placed the towels over his legs, careful not to touch his skin with her own. In the kitchen, she filled a large bucket with cold water, racing past her distressed children and placing it beside her husband.

  "Abba will be OK," she called over her shoulder. "Just wait there for now."

  Esther placed the water between his legs. "Let's try it like this," she said. Sholem sat, his hands in the bucket of cold water that sat between his legs, watching his wife kneel between them to examine him.

  "How does it feel?" she asked.

  "It hurts," he said. He managed a small smile.

  "Are the towels helping?" The cloth was heavy and already warm from the heat of his burns. She lifted them to take a look; the skin was turning from red to pink.

  He shrugged. "Maybe, I don't know."

  "It looks better," she observed, looking up at him.

  "Thank you," Sholem replied.

  Esther stayed a moment, kneeling on the floor, watching his face. The color was returning to his cheeks, his eyes seemed more focused. It was relief that made her suddenly conscious of the bareness of his chest, of the shape of his arms, of the fact that she was kneeling between his open legs just as she had watched her neighbor do a few hours earlier.

  Esther felt herself blush. "I'd better go check on the children," she said, rising quickly and closing the door without looking behind.

  The children went to sleep quickly. The day had been long and tiring, even without the excitement of Sholem's accident. Esther lay in bed in the darkness alone, counting each minute until Sholem opened the door. He slipped into the room and then into his bed without making a sound. After a while, in the quiet room, Esther said, "I wanted to hug you today – to make it better."

  "You did make it better," he whispered. "It almost feels like it never happened now."

  Esther had her back to him. They lay still, listening to each other's breathing. Darkness had become the canvas for her thoughts – thoughts that were driving her crazy. It was palpable, the way the tension was building inside her. Her hands clenched and unclenched under the sheets; her breathing was growing shallower, faster. She heard it first as if from a distance. A ragged sigh slipped from her. Opening her eyes in horror, Esther waited through the silence.

  "What is it my Esty?" Sholem asked. His speech was slow. He sounded tired. There was nothing for her to say. How could she tell him what she was feeling? The space between them felt like an eternity. "Esther?"

  "I feel as though I'm going mad," she said. The words came out without permission.

  "Tell me what you are feeling."

  "I can't. I'm ashamed," she said.

  "Tell me," he urged.

  "It's difficult to put into words," she said. "It's like I have a fire inside me that burns and burns and won't die."

  "Talk to me about it," he persisted

  "I cannot stop thinking about you, about us," she said.

  "There's nothing wrong with that."

  "You don't understand – I can't stop! I keep picturing you... I crave you endlessly... to touch you... to be pleasured by you," she said.

  "Isn't tomorrow night mikveh night?" They both knew he knew it was. "Just one more night," he said. "It's hard for me too."

  "My body is burning," she said. "I think..."

  "I’m holding you now," he interrupted her. The words came out in a flurry, like he couldn't hold them in any longer. They startled Esther as much as she suspected they did him. And then more tumbled out. "Just imagine my arms are around you." Esther closed her eyes and waited to feel his imaginary touch.

  "Can you feel them?" he asked.

  "I can," she answered. "I wish..."

  His voice was deep and clear in the darkness. To Esther, it felt soft, as caressing as velvet. "Turn on your back, turn your eyes to the ceiling," he said. "Do not look at me."

  Esther was surprised at the command in his tone. It aroused and comforted her. She did as he asked as he too rolled on his back. "Now take your hand and place it under the fabric. Leave it on your breast for a moment. Take its fullness in your hand and tell me how it feels. Tell me how it feels to touch yourself."

  "It feels good," Esther whispered.

  "Tell me more," Sholem said. Esther could hear the unevenness of Sholem's voi
ce.

  "My breasts feel soft, full. My nipples are hard. They’re scratching lightly against the palm of my hand. They're aching to be squeezed." The last words came as a rasp.

  "Squeeze them between your fingers," he said. His voice was low, strained.

  Esther sucked in her breath as she pressed the tips of her fingers harder against each side of her erect flesh.

  "Rub your nipples between your fingers – rub the tips. Tell me what it's like – tell me how this makes you feel," he said.

  "They're warm. They feel so small, like they have clenched up as tight and hard as they can get. When I press them between my fingers I feel bursts of pleasure from my stomach – through my. . . warmth, and down into my legs. When I rub the ends of my nipples, the pleasure shoots right inside me – deep inside me." She paused before whispering, "I want to cup my breasts in my hands."

  "Do it," he hissed.

  "I want to roll them around in my palms and squeeze them together. I want to imagine it's your hands that are touching me," she said.

  "Do it," he said.

  When she moaned, she heard him breathing. "I want to touch myself down there," she said.

  "I want that too," he admitted.

  "I want to imagine it's you touching me," she said.

  "I am touching you," he said. Esther moved her hands underneath the fabric. "Tell me what you feel," he said.

  "It's warm here on the outside. My hand is resting on my hair. It is waiting to go further. Shall I open my legs?"

  "Open them. I'm waiting to touch you there." He was so quiet now but she heard every word. The rustle of linen against flesh signaled that she had raised and parted her knees. She moaned as her fingers entered her wetness. "Tell me," he said.

  "I’m so very, very wet. I’m sliding my finger further inside. It feels so good," she paused. "How far do you want me to go?"