Rachel, her husband, and her bull (a Jewish wife hooks up with a young black bull)

Rachel, her husband, and her bull (a Jewish wife hooks up with a young black bull)

A conversation in therapy becomes reality. A Jewish wife realises her sexual fantasy: being with a young, black bull. Surprisingly her husband cleans up at the end like a good cuckold.

So, I told him everything, just like you advised me to. Rachel’s voice sounded excited over the phone.

Everything? her therapist asked, a note of excitement also colouring her tone.

Yes. It was after we had yet another conversation, trying to figure out what I wanted — sexually, I mean. I was playing it cool, you know. We were both having a glass of wine in the kitchen. He kept asking me to tell him. So, I did.

You did?

Yes. I said: “Well, I’m afraid that what I’m going to tell you will sound weird. I was afraid that if I’d told you before, you would have thought differently about me. Erm… OK… Well… Anyway, here it goes: I… want… to be… blindfolded.

What did he say? her therapist asked.

He said: “Is that it?”

What did you reply?

“No, I want to be blindfolded and play a little game.” He asked: “A little game?” “Yes,” I answered. “I want to be blindfolded and roleplay a bit.” He crossed his beefy arms, ran his hand through his hair, looked me straight in the eyes and asked: “Yes, but, if your eyes are covered, who will you be thinking about?”

Oh, Rachel! The therapist was beside herself. Please, tell me more. That all sounds so… fascinating.

Rachel was also beside herself. And turned on. Remembering her first, pre-UK-lockdown, husband-approved, extramarital sexual experience was making her feel aroused. On the large sofa, the centre piece in the lounge of her opulent house in Golders Green, North London, she leant back and let her short summer dress roll down her thighs. She had no knickers on.

I told him… that… the person… I’d probably be thinking about… would be… Clinton.

Clinton! The therapist’s voice rose a few decibels at the mention of a name she was very familiar with through Rachel’s long-running, weekly sessions.

As soon as I said it, I felt terrible. Rachel’s voice on the phone sounded anything but terrible. She had begun touching herself as soon as Clinton’s name had slipped out of her mouth. I am human, a woman, though, and I have needs and urges. Sexual urges.

Oh, Rachel, at least, I’m happy you were honest.

To tell you the truth, I could see that he looked a bit shaken up by my revelation. However, a few days later he turned up with the blindfold. I strongly believe that my confession brought us closer together. As in, he knew now that he could trust me.

So, what happened? The therapist’s voice had gone back to her usual huskiness.