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Desdmona's Erotic Story Contests
2004 Erotic Short Story Contest
Honorable Mention

Oral Mohel

“Well of course it hurts. What do you expect?”

“Then – ?”

“Look.” Alex wrapped his hands around the formerly frosted mug. “Goddamned stupid, if you ask me. Once you hit puberty, there’s all kinds of feelings and nerve endings in your dick. This is why they circumcise infants. But if you want to be a martyr ... ”

Jack sank against the bar, wishing he was drinking something stronger than beer.

“She ask you to do this?”

Jack sipped. “No. But she won’t marry me unless I do.”

Alex shrugged. “She means that much to you?”

Jack stared at his beer for the longest time. He loved Sarah. Yes. He loved her. That was true. But this? How far was he willing to go for her? So they’d have a fucking Christmas tree, right? Maybe a Santa and a Baby Jesus near the mantle. Was this a crime? She couldn’t marry a non-Jew?

But she couldn’t. She’d made that clear, Orthodox family, very religious, very strict. Her father’s approval meant everything to her.

Stupid bitch.

“You planning to answer?” Alex asked. “Or do I already have your answer?”

“I love her. I adore her. The sun rises and sets on her head. But this is my dick we’re talking about.”

Alex scribbled something on a napkin. “Call this number. My cousin Herschel, strict Orthodox. He knows this mohel, says this guy’s the best, hardly any pain at all.”

Jack palmed the napkin and tucked it into his pocket. The tension that had held him in a deadlock seemed to dissipate, vanished with Alex’s words. Maybe there was hope. God – there had to be hope. His dick throbbed with sympathy pain.

Sarah, for a Jewish chick, gave good head. Not as good as the Catholic girls, but the Jewish girls tended to be looser.

“I’m going to do it,” he said, his fingers entwined in her hair, forcing her mouth farther onto his cock. She struggled a bit but was used to it. He felt her throat relax, her gag reflex adjust. All it had taken was a few pukefests on his cock before she’d finally gotten the hang of it.

“Mmmph?” she muttered, her eyes jerking upward, trying to find his. He arched his back, his head rolling on his shoulders.

“Convert,” he gasped. “I’m going to ... ” He grunted before he could finish the sentence.

Moments later, when her mouth was again free, she squealed. “Oh, baby!” He could tell she was pleased – she’d swallowed.

“You sure?” she asked, scaling his torso, lying her head beneath his armpit. He cupped her breast and rolled the nipple between his fingers.

“Yeah. I’m doing this thing.”

“You realize what’s at stake here, right? I mean, what we talked about, you know, about – ”

God she was giving him a headache. “Yes,” he snapped. “I know what this means. Snip snip, chop chop, or whatever the fuck this boil does.”

“Mohel, sweetie.”

“Mohel, right.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Jack glanced down at her cunt. “Oh really? How would you know?”

Sarah and her sweet sextalk pissed him off. She and her talk of pain-free dick cutting. All dickless women held this bizarre belief that guys are kidding, or overstating the sensitivity in this precious area. So that pissed him off too. Her new haircut pissed him off, using jarred pasta sauce in her lasagna pissed him off, clipping her toenails in bed pissed him off.

Funny how none of these things bothered him before mention of a circumcision.

His family took the news of his conversion better than he expected. Aunt Millie, with a penchant for ending every sentence with the term of endearment “you son-of-a-bitch,” a woman who resembled Uncle Sal more and more with each passing day, threatened to go to the Pope to prevent her Johnny from ruining his life. And she’d do it, too – Pope John Paul was a distant relative. Jack was sure she really believed this.

Momma handled the news better. She quietly and without much fuss threatened suicide.

“They cut off your willy, you son-of-a-bitch,” Aunt Millie proclaimed, sopping up sauce with half a loaf of Italian bread. Jack made a mental note to get the recipe for Sarah.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, hunched over his plate. It was three in the afternoon and he was being forcefed mounds of pasta fazul and stuffed shells. Did they consider this lunch or dinner? This had never been made clear, not even when he was a kid. Judging from their ever-growing size, he figured they considered this a snack.

“Holy Mary Mother of God,” his mother said, making a sign of the cross. She threw her arms up toward the ceiling and glanced at the stucco. “What did I do wrong? How did I fail You? Please give me a sign, I’ll do anything to make this right!”

“You and Meryl Streep, Ma,” Jack said. “Tied for the award. Listen, Ma. I need a favor. Can you loan me two hundred bucks?”

To Millie his mother said, “Set up the candles. I’ll say a dozen novenas. Go downstairs to that Madame Golenka, the shyster gypsy fraud with the good candles and get me the biggest one she got.”

“Ma? Did you hear me?” He didn’t have the heart to tell her the money was for the mohel.

“Quiet, Johnny. I’m saving your soul.”

“Christ, Ma, can you loan me – ”

“Watch your language, you son-of-a-bitch. Don’t take the Lord’s name!”


Jack finally gathered enough nerve to call the mohel. Yeah, Sarah pissed him off. Every little thing she did grated his nerves like they were a hunk of parmigiano reggiano, but he knew this was just an excuse. Knew it, which made the guilt that much worse.

Someone female answered.

“Can I talk to the mohel?” How strange that sounded. Mohel.


“No. The mohel. The guy that does the, um.” He lowered his voice. “Circumcisions.”

She chucked. “Yes, speaking. I’m the mohel.”

He detected a hint of southern accent, a slight lilt to her voice. She didn’t sound particularly Jewish. “But – you’re a woman.”

“Yes.” Her lisp was slight, but he caught it. Images of this Mohel flashed in his brain, the delicate skin that surrounded that southern belle charm. He saw her with a mint julep in one hand and a scalpel in the other. That pretty much killed that fantasy.

“I wasn’t expecting a woman. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.”

“I understand.” Ah undahstained. “But I have to say, you’ll never find another mohel like me. Mohalet, atually. That’s what women mohels are called. But I digress. I’ve done this hundreds of times, and I’m the best there is. Precise. Quick. Almost painless.”


“Let’s be real,” she said, her voice a comforting sigh. “There’s bound to be a little pain. After all, we’re dealing with a man’s most sensitive area, right? The head of the cock is just chock full of wonderful nerves. I can respect that, and I take great care when I’m working on this most splendid area.”

“I see.” His dick throbbed again, pushed against his jeans, only this time he didn’t think it was sympathy pain. Her voice was hypnotic, comforting. She was a hell of a salesman.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“John Steppolini. Jack.”

“May ah ask why you’re being circumcised now?”

“I’m converting.”

“Ah see.”

“Are you sure you’re Jewish?”

She laughed. “Of course.”

“You sound ... southern.”

“Ah am. Raised in Georgia. Moved to New York six years ago. What’s the matter, Jack? You never heard of southern Jews?”

“Guess not.” A few seconds of awkward silence passed. “So. Mohel. Or mohalet. When can you do this thing? I’d like to get it over with.”

“Next Tuesday.”

That soon? Christ. Sweat tricked down his neck. Five days left to savor his precious foreskin.

Sarah was such a stupid bitch.

“You have to get that tattoo removed.”

“Are you, nuts? I’ve had it since I was fourteen.”

Sarah trailed her fingers over the tat, traced the outline of the name.

“No reason to be jealous. Maria and I were kids.”

“It’s not that. Jews can’t have tattoos. I’m not spending an eternity in Paradise without you. If you don’t get rid of it, I can’t even spend an eternity rotting in the ground with you.”

“Jesus, Sarah. I’m giving up a shitload for this marriage. What am I getting out of it?”


He pushed her head down on his cock and wouldn’t let her up for air. He told her about the ceremony next Tuesday.

After she swallowed she said, “Tuesday? How am I supposed to organize this by Tuesday?”

“Organize what?”

“The bris. The party.”


“This is a big deal, Jackie. All your friends and relatives – ”

“Whoa – no fucking way. You think I want a roomful of people watching me get my dick slashed?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You know what performance anxiety is? You know what happens to a dick when people are looking at it? Especially people with sharp instruments? It hides. Retreats like a goddamn turtle.”

“The mohel will know how to ... handle it.”

“Oh. That’s very cute.”

Sarah smiled, then cupped his balls while her tongue flicked his nipple. “Who’s this mohel, anyway?”

“Alex gave me the phone number, said she was the best.”


“She’s just some mohalet.”

“A woman? What made you decide to use a woman?”

“She’s supposed to be the best. Very little pain.”

“So what’s her name? Maybe I’ve heard of her.”


“You’re kidding.”

“No – why? You know her?”

“So she’s back in town.”

“So you do know her.”

“Not really. I’ve never met her.” Sarah grinned, shook her head.

“What? What? What’s funny?”

“You sure you want to use her?”

“Well ... yeah. I guess.”

“You know what people call her?”

“Now how the fuck would I know what people call her?”

“She’s called the Oral Mohel.”

Visions of this woman in action popped into his head. “Uh.” He licked his lips. “Huh. What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

Phone messages went unreturned. Jack tried everything to reach Mohalet Hadassah, without success.

Tuesday arrived and Jack told Sarah he wasn’t going through with it. “Especially not with her. Not how she does it.”

“It’ll be fine. She’s done this dozens of times.”

“Hundreds, actually.”

“See? Her method is just a little ... unorthodox.”

“Would you stop with the bad puns already?”

“Calm down, sweetheart. You’ll only make it worse. You don’t want your little turtle retreating.”

Calling his dick a little turtle wasn’t helping matters. “I’m not doing this. When Mohalet what’s-her-name shows up, get rid of her.”

“No, Jackie.” Sarah put out a bowl of bean dip. “Alexander will be here soon.”

“What? Why? Why?”

“We need a witness.”

“A witness for what? My bloodbath?”

“You’re being silly.”

When Alex arrived, he slapped Jack on his back. “Mazel Tov! Welcome to the fold.” He leaned in when Sarah was out of earshot and nudged Jack’s ribs with his elbow. “So you called the Oral after all. Nice move. Very nice.”

“Yeah, well ... ”

“I wish I had mine to do over again. From what I hear, you’re in for a real good time, Jack.”


“She spends a long time down there. Really loosens you up. If you know what I mean.”

The doorbell rang and Jack’s skin suddenly retreated from his body. He didn’t care how long this woman was planning to spend on his cock, the end result was going to be the same. And he found it unnerving that the woman who was going to be performing this ceremony had a title that rhymed with toilet.

Oral Mohalet Hadassah arrived with all the grace of Hurricane Andrew but without the finesse. Andrew probably left less destruction in his wake. At least Andrew didn’t steal your precious foreskin, rip it from your body like some Jewish ghoul.

“Hello, Jack,” she said, taking his limp wrist and crushing it between her palms. “No need to be nervous.”

“Welcome, Mohalet Hadassah,” Sarah said. “We’re thrilled to have you here. Your reputation precedes you.”

“How kind.” Mohalet Hadassah smiled, tight-lipped. Jack admitted the woman was attractive, but there was also something unsettling about her. Something not particularly feminine. It could have been her height, her baseball-mitt hands, her enormous feet.

“You look disturbed,” Mohalet Hadassah said.

“It’s nothing.” Jack pulled his hand away.

“Tell me. What is it?” Her lisp was ever so slight. Finally she smiled, and what she revealed seemed more mouth, more gaping hole, than teeth.

Jack shook his head. You look like a drag queen, he wanted to blurt but thought better of it.

“Let’s get started then. So, Jack. What sort of cut would you like?”

“I have a choice? Something quick and painless.”

She laughed. “My personal favorite is the ‘beauty cut.’ Low and tight, though it causes the greatest loss of erogenous tissue.”

“Jesus! I’m rather opposed to doing anything that causes loss of erogenous tissue. What else have you got?”

“I’ll perform a ‘loose’ circumcision then.”

Jack’s lips were numb. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripped from his armpits. “This is all such a bad idea.”

“Not at all,” Mohalet Hadassah said, laying a rather large hand on Jack’s shoulder.

Jack was sorely tempted to squeeze her tits to see if they were real. Not that he cared whether or not she was really a she, but he didn’t want some shemale messing with his cock.

“I brought along a Circumstraint,” Mohalet Hadassah said, looking at Alex. “Do you think we’ll need it?”

“Wow. They make those for adults?”

“No, actually. Not really. This one is ... homemade.”

“What the hell’s a Circumstraint?” Jack asked.

“A device used during circumcisions. Normally used to hold down ... struggling babies,” the mohalet said.

“Oh God.” Jack collapsed on the sofa. “This is a bad idea. Very bad. Very very bad.”

Mohalet Hadassah straddled him, pressed her crotch against his, ground into him. He was relieved there wasn’t a dick pressing into him but was slightly alarmed when he started to get hard.

“Trust me,” she whispered into his ear, nibbling on the lobe.

Jack looked up at Sarah, who didn’t appear particularly bothered by what Mohalet Hadassah was doing.

“We won’t need the Circumstraint,” she said as she climbed off Jack and retrieved her handbag. “Let’s get started.”

Jack wiped his face with his palm a few times and swallowed back rising bile. Sarah owed him bigtime for this. She thought a blowjob was a big deal? Wait. He had wonderful plans in mind: whips, wax, whatever he wanted. And he was going to lay the guilt on her big time. He was becoming Jewish, after all.

“Most men are circumcised at birth, Jewish or not,” Alex said. “How come you weren’t?”

Jack shrugged. “My mother – ” He swallowed, waited for the nausea to pass. “She didn’t believe in it. None of my brothers were circumcised either.”

The mohalet led Jack to the carpet and pushed him onto the blanket she’d spread out. “Just relax,” she said.

Relax? Sure. His cock had retreated faster than if it’d been doused with icewater. She was going to have a hell of a time coaxing it out again.

She undid his jeans and pulled them down his hips and off his body.

“I need complete silence,” she told them all. “Save the questions for the end. I go into a sort of trance, and I can’t be interrupted. Do you all understand?”

They all nodded.

“I mean it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” they muttered.

Jack nodded. “Let’s get this done.”

The only item the mohalet retrieved from her bag was a bottle of lotion.

“No knife,” Alex said, nodding.

“I don’t need a knife.” Mohalet Hadassah knelt between Jack’s splayed legs.

“Is it true what they say about you, Mohalet?” Sarah asked.

“No more questions,” the mohalet said. She placed her hands on Jack’s knees and slowly trailed them up his thighs.

Jack’s stomach clenched and his balls withered.

“You have to relax,” Mohalet Hadassah said.

“Relax? Are you kidding?”

She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly tugged them off. His shriveled little cock tried to flee the scene of the crime. “Do they have to be here?” he asked, cringing, looking from Sarah to Alex.

“Yes they do. Witnesses. No more talking,” she snapped. “Do you understand? Not one more word.”

Jack nodded, closed his eyes to avoid having to see Alex and Sarah. And the mohalet.

Relax. Okay, sure, relax. Ready and – now! That didn’t work. He couldn’t yell at it, force it to relax. It was wholly unnatural to be so unkind to his cock.

He opened his eyes. Mohalet Hadassah squirted lotion onto her palms and rubbed them briskly together. She took his desiccated cock between her fingers, slowly petting the almost nonexistent shaft. She lowered her head and flicked her tongue on his balls, licked him from his ballsack and up the shaft, settling on his glans.

He didn’t realize until he exhaled that he’d been holding his breath. Okay, this felt good ... and if Sarah didn’t seem to mind, why should he? Just another blowjob, right? What did it matter whose head was bobbing on his cock? If he closed his eyes again, he could even pretend that it was Sarah. Except Sarah never gave head as good as this. This mohalet chick had just started and already blew Sarah out of the water.

Mohalet Hadassah’s breath was hot, her tongue probing, finding all the right spots. His cock responded eagerly. Her lotioned hands squeezed and pulled on the shaft. The tip of her tongue coaxed back the foreskin, exposed the glans. As she took him into her throat, he felt a groove in her mouth, on her bottom teeth. His dick slid neatly into this groove, surrounded by just a hint of the sharpened teeth, tugging oh-so-gently on random pubic hairs.

It felt dangerous in there, surrounded by those carved teeth, but so goddamned erotic. Just the slightest nibbles ... a light burning sensation around the head of his cock as it slid in and out of her throat, her mouth. He remembered why the mohalet was here in the first place and decided he didn’t give a shit. Fluid dribbled from his cock. Blood probably. Too soon to cum. Very little pain, but what pain there was had mixed with a feeling of ecstasy.

The best fucking blowjob he’d ever had. He didn’t want it to end. He’d allow her to shred the skin off his balls if it meant not letting this end.

He wondered if he’d be able to see her again, after this was over. He imagined himself in a threesome with Mohalet Hadassah and Sarah, and surprisingly his cock got even harder. His fingers clutched the blanket and he threw back his head, jerked his hips, desperate to fuck her mouth.

Mohalet Hadassah deep-throat him, sliding the base of his dick along those teeth, dangerously close to his balls. He doubted his sack would fit in her mouth but she seemed to be able to work magic.

She pulled away from his pulsing, throbbing dick, and when the air hit it, he knew he’d been cut. His eyes flew open and he gasped. A puddle of blood spilled from between her full lips, but before he could say anything she went down on him again.

Her mouth was focused on the head of his cock, tongue flicking and licking the underside of the glans, fingers kneading his balls. She then began moving her head in a slow arc, his dick making contact with every inch of her amazing mouth. She went deep again, pulled him into her throat, bobbed up and down on the shaft.

“Oh, God,” Jack groaned, unable to help himself, caught up in the frenzy of her actions.

“Shhh!” Alex hissed.

But Jack liked to talk during sex. Liked to moan and yell, liked to express himself. Besides – what the fuck did she care? His words were compliments, expressions of joy and lust. She should be flattered.

“Fucking amazing!” He gasped, catching his breath, stars exploding before his eyes. Reached for the mohalet’s mass of blond hair.

“No! Don’t talk,” Alex said through gritted teeth, his face draining of color. “Don’t talk while she’s working!”

Mohalet Hadassah jerked her head sharply, clearly startled by their voices. Her face filled with rage as she looked at Alex. Blood suddenly gushed down her chin. Something hung suspended from her mouth. Something Jack tried to ignore.

“Oh, Christ,” Jack said, right before he began to scream.

Monica O’Rourke is the publisher of Catalyst Books ( Her debut novel, a nasty erotic romp called Suffer the Flesh, was published by Prime Books. Her stories have appeared in more than sixty magazines and anthologies, including Gothic.Net, Nasty Piece of Work, Fangoria, The Fear Within, Full Circle Journal, Twilight Showcase, Flesh and Blood, Darkness Rising, Dark Muse, Writer Online, and Redsine. Upcoming publications include the Fresh Blood and Tooth & Claw anthologies. She is an active member of the Horror Writers Association.

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Desdmona's Erotic Story Contests
2004 Erotic Short Story Contest
Honorable Mention