Lev and Laurenbykalodin©
Note: I suppose it's not good to do so, but I need to start with an apology to any Jewish readers if I have misused or abused the richly expressive Yiddish words and phrases that appear herein. So as not to distract I have included a brief list of Yiddish words and phrases at the end of the piece with their English meanings. Also I certainly hope I have not inadvertently insulted anyone by my attempt to frame this story in a Jewish context. Years ago I attended Navy Journalist School . In retrospect rather oddly (1963), there was a delicious and hot little Jewish girl from NYC in the class. Although she had a boyfriend (another gentile like me I think) we were increasingly attracted to each other and our relationship become very hot in the last days of the school. For what it's worth I dedicate this piece to her with fond memory.
Lauren thought he was a thug. Initially she mistook him for one of the day laborers hired to help unload the mover's truck. It appalled her when she realized that he was actually her new neighbor in the adjoining half of her duplex.
She thought he was homely, brutish looking. His nose looked like it had been broken (as it had been at least three times that he could remember). There was an old scar high on one cheek under his left eye. His gray hair was short, virtually a buzz cut that emphasized his oval face. The lines in his face said 60 or more years must have passed since his benighted mother pushed out this "ape" as Lauren thought of him. His eyes were dark , watchful and unwavering under eyebrows bushy and black with flecks of gray. They were bushy brows that would have humbled the United Mine Workers fiery former leader, John L. Lewis. His lips were full, almost feminine; she thought them oddly out of place in that face. His arms seemed to Lauren to be too long for his body; rather simian she thought icily. He was big boned and those long arms were muscled and sinewy. Although clean shaven he had a Nixon-like heavy beard; raspy by 2 p.m., even if he shaved in the morning. His chest and torso looked like a heavy barrel set upon two tree stumps. While he was nearly six feet tall he looked shorter because of the thickness of his body. Hairy too, she thought, shuddering inside at the black and gray hair that could be seen within his partially unbuttoned shirt. He wore shorts so she could see that his legs were quite hairy. He had to be Jewish to be moving into this seniors community where everybody was; not by compulsion but by weight of numbers and preference in the larger area where so many Jewish people lived . She speculated he came from peasant stock somewhere in Poland or Lithuania or who knows; anywhere in the Pale of Settlement that had stretched from the Baltic to the Black Sea.
Such a shvarts change, she thought. The previous owners, the Feldmans had been such wonderful, genteel neighbors; from respectable families, educated, witty, vivacious people with whom she and Mort had been close friends. She missed them greatly. They played duplicate bridge in the same club; took cruises together, Mort and Edgar golfed, and Alice and Lauren partnered in tennis and they all played mixed doubles. They dined out together; went to concerts and the theatre and casinos with the Feldmans. Edgar Feldman's company, gone now, had manufactured purses. Before his death, Lauren's late husband, Mort had operated a small chain of men's clothing stores and sold out to retire comfortably.
Edgar Feldman had been frisky sometimes and she had not begrudged him a feel of her breasts and bum, or inside her thighs when everyone had too much to drink and all were feeling raunchy. But he was easily controlled and it went no further. It turned out that Mort liked to feel up Alice too. She and Alice laughed together when they told each other about the other's spouse's shenanigans; they were sophisticated people, cultured and respectable. They never traded spouses in bed. Mort had been an attentive lover although her libido exceeded his and she could not cajole him into trying all the things she fantasized about. She had made up for the shortfall with sex toys and masturbation but never a lover. Now Mort and Edgar were in the ground and Rachel was lost somewhere, locked within the mists of Alzheimer's in a nursing home. Visiting her was sadly pointless. Save for solo masturbation, sex had gone out of Lauren's life as well long before she buried Mort some five years earlier. She had not met any gentlemen she judged to be of breeding and quality equal to her own.
Lauren's family, the Zweigs, had been German aristocrats for 200 years before barely escaping from Nazi Germany in 1938. They brought with them their infant daughter Sarah (Lauren's given name) on an unbelievably frightening flight through Eastern Europe to Greece and somehow to Morocco from whence, on a leaky hulk they miraculously reached New York. They paid their way with gold coins and diamonds that Lauren's mother carried in her body. Her mother and father never looked back and their little import/export business grew until they became at least as prosperous as the family had been with its land and factoring interests in Germany before Hitler and his henchmen had stolen it all and murdered most of her relatives.
Lauren was acutely aware of and proud of her aristocratic origins despite what Germany had done to her family and her people. Her view of her place in the world, culled from study and the snatches of overheard conversations of her parents, had been reinforced by a pampered youth and quality education in very exclusive and private schools for daughters of wealthy families; nominally non-sectarian the students were mostly Jewish.
It was a shame that Lauren's sex life had largely been buried with Mort. She was a handsome, buxom woman in her 67th year. She was proud of her full breasts but they did sag some, as to be expected now when unfettered; still the nipples were yet as sensitive as they had ever been. An open channel of delicious sensory passage from her nipples to her crotch seemed undiminished by the years. She could still bring herself to orgasm by assiduous nipple play without touching her pussy. Her prominent and matronly broad bum had not sagged yet and her well turned legs and thighs were still quite fetching; she considered them to be her best asset. She also thought and rightly so that her vulva was quite attractive, as compared to others she had seen, although, but for her gynecologist and one or two other women incidental to changing in a club or spa locker room, only Mort had seen hers incidental to penetrating her and kissing her nether lips on a few rare occasions when he had done so reluctantly and only after petulant and finally stern cajoling.
Comfortable lifestyle had thickened her waist and the two children she had given Mort had left her with a matronly pillow tummy. Old lechers at the community club ogled her in her bathing suit (she had a prominent mound) and tried to befriend her; not infrequently with unabashed "time is running out" candor. But she rejected them all and became known as the ice queen or even more coarsely as "that cold bitch."
She did not think of her face as beautiful. She felt her nose was too long and prominent and that her eyes were too closely set in her long face. Still she kept her hair strawberry blond; its original natural color as confirmed by her telltale pubic hair. In repose the inner lips of her labia peeked out between the plump pistolettes of her major labia. The entrance to her vagina lay beneath a prominent fleshy and tufted hillock. When stimulated her "jack in the pulpit" swelled and grew glistening and pulsing out from under its hood.
Now as she watched from her front window, not deigning to step out and greet him, the new neighbor turned deliberately and stared at her as though he knew she was watching. A small smile formed on his ugly face and he ducked as though peeking back at her and waved. Lauren quickly jerked away from the window and her face burned with embarrassment and anger. The first thing the asshole had done was catch her peeking and humorously chided her in an unspoken but offensive way. She made up her mind to ignore him. She damned sure was not going to be extending this mamzer any welcome, wagon or otherwise.
The baby grand piano surprised Lauren when it emerged from the moving van. His large hands with thick fingers could not be those of a pianist. Perhaps there had been a wife or daughter who played and he had never gotten rid of it. If there had been a wife and children they were not living with him in this place. He moved in alone. She certainly could not conceive of this oaf being cultured in any way. Why did they let people like this live in this exclusive community even if they happened to be Jewish?
He drove a Corvette. Lauren thought to herself; an aging Romeo as well. Hardly surprising. It was all of a piece wasn't it; that a troll like this should drive a "pussy magnet." She'd heard Mort and Edgar calling the sports car that coarse name. The sorry bastard probably needed all the help he could get in order to get shtuped. Maybe some pitiful fat old broad would be hard up enough to let him crawl on top of her.
The thought of allowing him to make love to her; to put his hands on her, to enter her most private and intimate place; well it disgusted her and it made her shudder. So it chagrined her greatly but privately when some days later she awoke in the night, hot, sweating and drooling from her slack pussy. She found herself roused from a lust soaked dream by a wracking orgasm. In the dream this Neanderthal new neighbor had somehow gained entry and came into her boudoir in all his hairy nakedness with his thick erection preceding him. Rather than being repulsed she eagerly licked it and sucked it. She freely allowed him to put his mouth on her tits and her vulva, his fingers up inside her and his tongue as well ; hands caressing everywhere, pinching and pulling and finally taking the brute's thick hot meat up inside her. Then she fucked and fucked him gloriously until she awoke in an orgasmic storm.
How could she think such a thing even in her subconscious? At her age she should be having such sordid sex dreams? She did her best to suppress the image of coupling with him; of pulling his face into the redolent oasis between her legs; of sinking her hot wet sheath down onto his distended rigid cock; at least his cock as she imagined it in her wanton dream state. But it lurked in her subconscious and she found herself with a long dormant and increasingly insistent sexual craving. Castigating herself only seemed to sharpen her un-whetted appetite. Masturbation brought temporary relief but at the same time reinforced the unwanted mental imagery.
She made it a point never to be outside when he was arriving or departing his home. He seemed to be content to accept her cold shoulder and did not try to introduce himself or "come on" to her. But after several months Lauren attended a community party at the club. She was enjoying herself when Miriam Walzer tapped on her shoulder and asked Lauren to introduce her new neighbor. Lauren explained that she hadn't met him herself. Before she realized what Miriam was doing she had taken her by the arm, and walked the two of them through the crowd and there he was chatting with the Abe and Edie Kaplan.
"Please introduce us to Lauren's new neighbor," Miriam said.
"Oh, you haven't met your new neighbor yet Lauren?" This from Edie. "Lauren Hoffman and Miriam Walzer this is Lev Reznik. Lev, this is Lauren and Miriam. Lauren is a widow and Miriam wishes she was too."
"Edie, I'll get you for that," Miriam laughed. "Edie lives vicariously. She gets off fantasizing about my sex life." Everyone smiled but Miriam's suggestive remark brought color to Lauren's cheeks. Everyone was used to Miriam's suggestive talk. Ordinarily it would not have provoked any sort of reaction from Lauren. But here she was being introduced to this crude man she had avoided and for once Miriam's humor annoyed her.
"Mrs. Walzer and Mrs. Hoffman, it is a privilege to meet you," Lev said. " Mrs. Hoffman and I; well we are so busy with our lives that we've not even seen each other to say hello. I must apologize, madam for not previously introducing myself as the newcomer next door." HIs voice was a pussy vibrator; a rich base, modulated and cultured. He sounded like a radio announcer; she thought of the mellifluous Abba Eban, once Israeli U.N. Ambassador, cultured English without accent. The tones of his words flowed over Lauren and warmed her stomach and groin as though she had tossed back a shot of cognac. She was irked by the way her body betrayed her. The thug, he knew it too; she felt certain.
He uttered this little formality with an amused and steady gaze at Lauren until she broke eye contact; furious with herself for doing so. The bastard! She knew he deliberately provoked her. She remained expressionless but looked over Lev's shoulder and spotted the Zuckermans.
She said. "I see the Zuckermans and I've been meaning to speak to Rachel. I need to take this opportunity. Edie, Miriam, Abe will you excuse me?" She swept away without waiting for an answer having pointedly and rudely refused to acknowledge Lev or his greeting. (At home later that evening she confirmed by observation the dampness of coital secretion that had wet her underwear. Damn!)
Lev drained his drink and remarked, "My glass is suddenly empty. I'm going to get another drink. May I get anything for any of you?" They all mumbled negative thanks and he walked away smiling to himself. A real Jewish princess he thought; family roots in Germany; aristocracy sadly stripped of their position, power and wealth. He had quietly checked her on the old boy network. Lev knew people in obscure jobs in Israel who knew and kept information about a lot of people. He knew with his usual quick insight that she had seen him as a peasant; although not immediately correct about Lev himself, it was true of his parents, who had made their way to Palestine from a shtetl in the Pale before he was born.
Lev himself was a Sabra; born in Israel. HIs father had been a member of the secret Haganah . Lev's own background and how he came to be living here rather than Israel was an enigma to those of the community who had met him. They suspected an affiliation with the Mossad but no one mentioned that.
Later in the evening, after Lauren snubbed him so coldly, the president of the community association asked for quiet and introduced a special occasion; a new resident of the community had been discovered to have a musical talent. Reluctantly but graciously he allowed himself to be cajoled into playing for the group. The winner of the All Israel Upper Grades piano competition in 1955. Lauren was flabbergasted when he then asked everyone to welcome Lev Reznik.
She watched from a distance as this beastly man, with those thick stubby looking fingers, brought forth from the piano the strains of Rachmaninoff's arrangement of Mendelssohn's Scherzo from "A Midsummer Night's Dream." The music washed over everyone and the enthralled assembly fell completely silent. When he concluded the audience erupted in applause and insisted on another piece. He played "Hava Nagila" as an encore and soon had the crowd dancing enthusiastically. She overheard someone say later that for an amateur he played that scherzo very well; that it was a devilish piece for the piano.
He was in and out, sometimes gone for several days, sometimes for a week or more. Often when he traveled a big black SUV with dark windows picked him up. A very muscular young man would alight from the vehicle; always looking and checking about carefully before approaching Reznik's door to wait for him; then hustle him into the SUV which would speed away. A couple of times she saw a different, scholarly young man, then a young woman, as both entered the absent Reznik's residence; not only having keys but also both of them obviously knew the code to disarm the alarm system she knew to be installed there.
When he was at home he joined in community activities, proving to be a good tennis player, quicker than one would have thought for his age and build, with a hard serve. She and Jack Morgan had been defeated by Reznik and Anita Morgan in a mixed doubles tournament, before they too were eliminated by the tennis elite of the community center. When they shook hands pro-forma after the match the touch of his hand sent a pulse of sexual buzz to her groin; it both frustrated her and again dampened her panties. His hands were not callused but very firm and she could sense the power in them. Yet he held her hand with a light touch. And there was that damned knowing smile; that was the way she saw it. Sure he was charming and seemed open and friendly but something in his dark eyes under those awful eyebrows; there it was and he seemed to her to convey that he knew how her body was responding in complete disobedience to her will. How on earth could she be repulsed by him emotionally yet also endure the erotic craving her body insistently communicated?
He also played duplicate bridge at the "Master" level and quickly earned respect for his strong game. Men and women sought to partner with him whenever he was not away, at the afternoon or evening gatherings of the duplicate aficionados.
None of this culture and sociability made any difference to the visceral dislike Lauren (so she told herself) held for the man. Moreover he appeared at the pool one day in a small spandex bathing suit, thick, solid and hairy with his gear making a prominent bulge in front. Those long arms were well muscled; not grotesque but clearly he worked at staying in shape. There were many glances and a hum of horny old broad remarks as he swam, then stretched out on a chaise to take some sun. Miriam, the tart, offered to apply sunscreen lotion to his back. He accepted and Lauren could only imagine that the nafka had an orgasm or went home and fucked Saul, her husband, to spurting exhaustion, or both. She went home. But the image of that bulge stayed with her.
She had the erotic dream again. Again, somehow he got in her house. Again he appeared at her bedroom door. Although it was dark somehow in her dream she could see him quite well. Again, as before, he was naked and his cock stood out in front of him inflamed and thick and hard erect. Her pussy felt hot and wet. Her mouth dried. She watched as he advanced on her with that damned confident smile. When he reached her bed he said, "I've brought what you want, Lauren my princess." Then he leaned over and kissed her on the lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth. The SOB had his nasty tongue in her mouth but instead of making her ill it aroused her intensely. Then she realized the tongue had transformed to become his cock and she sucked and licked it eagerly.
"That's it my princess. Ahhh, yes, yes. You are such a good cocksucker. You are a cock sucking princess."
As the dream went on she felt hands on her breasts and nipples, caressing, fondling, pulling and twisting them; setting off flashes of exquisite pleasure. A hand at her pussy massaged her clit faster and faster until she awoke in a shattering orgasm and a stuttering series of secondary climaxes; spasms bolted through her so that she involuntarily and repeatedly clamped and opened and clamped her thighs tightly on the hand, her own hand that so sweetly tortured her sex. She awoke and despite herself continued to vigorously masturbate; furiously massaging her clitoris until she was satiated after half a dozen more orgasms. When she calmed down she was once more at a loss to understand the fixation that had settled like hot, wet -- make you squirm -- sackcloth enveloping her body.
Yet another couple of months passed and Lauren was at lunch with Miriam.