January 5, 1952
The front door closed, the foyer and outer doors next, then, within seconds, there was one, then the second, solid thunk of the driver’s door of the Friedman’s 1951 white Cadillac.
Three days short of a month since they’d first met, baby-sitting for Butchie, this night was their first opportunity to be alone in a home, on a sofa.
They’d “schnoogled,” oh, yeah, usually for a short time in the stairwell between the lobby and first-floor landing of Susan’s building, and on two occasions when it wasn’t too cold in the front seat of the Buick. Though he hadn’t attempted to touch Susan’s breasts, or anything else, their long, no-longer-chaste kisses had caused Mitchell to have erections that became, in his opinion, casebook examples of “blue balls,” and Susan a flood of fluid that, by the time they’d say goodnight, left the crotch of her panties drenched.
Having made no such vow to God as Mitchell, Susan occasionally—after each such session—“relieved” herself.
As difficult as it was, although he was, oh, so sorely tempted to do so, Mitchell, though, true to his word—outside of one nocturnal emission that he rationalized as something he had no control over so didn’t feel guilty about, and truly enjoyed, and, you bet, hoped for again—never did.
Now, on this night, reclining on the sofa, Mitchell was leaning against the padded armrest. On her left side, facing him, lying across his chest, Susan’s upper torso was cradled in his left arm, while his right hand, twining her hair between his fingers, was supporting her head.
Enjoying the feel, taste and thrill of each other’s mouths and tongues, unaware of time, depending on where they were, they would often kiss, sometimes without coming up for air for five or ten minutes at a time. With closed eyes, breathing each other’s air, replacing his usual Old Spice, she smelled the fragrance of the after shave lotion Mister and Mrs. Friedman gave Mitchell for Christmas while he smelled Susan’s own unique scents.
Their prolonged, passionate kissing always caused an erection that, if they were standing, Susan would feel pressing against her thigh, or—usually by her design—her pubis, which, of course, she pretended not to notice, which, of course, she did nothing to encourage, other than, of course, giving him, and permitting—actually, encouraging—full mouthed kisses, and, of course, allowing her thigh and, most especially, her pubis to be pressed, and sometimes rubbed against, which, because she loved him and, as they were not using their hands, she felt was okay because they were not going beyond her—changing—accepted protocol… But secretly Susan was always thrilled, and, oh, yeah, loved the feel of Mitchell’s erected penis pressing against her thigh, and especially her pubis…
Kissing deeply, the kiss lengthened…
Lying against and across Mitchell, the position of her left arm becoming somewhat uncomfortable, Susan, “innocently” and “unknowingly,” rested her elbow in… and onto his crotch.
Oh, God! Feeling Susan touch him, there, even if the touch was innocent, even if the touch was unknowingly, even if it was only her elbow, Oh, God! He moaned softly… And, within a few seconds, moving his hand from behind her head, cradling her chin in the palm of his hand, of course, having no place to put his crooked elbow, he, just as “innocently,” just as “unknowingly” put it on, and into her crotch.
Oh, yeah, Mitchell was acutely aware of where Susan had her elbow, and where he had his elbow…
And if Susan did realize where her elbow was and where his elbow was she did nothing to move either hers or his.
She may or may not have been aware that within minutes both he and she were slowly, minutely moving their elbows…
But if she was she did nothing to stop the, Mmmmm! erotic motion of either his, or her elbow….
Susan may or may not have been aware that she had arched her hips upward and opened her thighs wider and that Mitchell was asserting more pressure onto and into the rapidly dampening fissure beneath the crotch of her tan colored slacks… nor that she was rubbing her elbow harder, asserting more pressure, and friction onto the long, hard protrusion alongside the seam of his jeans…
What did register with Susan, however, was that she now felt a combination of sensations that she had never felt before. “Ummmm!” Never!
The writhing from over and beneath his jeans having caused it to poke through and wiggle its way out from under the elastic leg-band of his Jockey shorts, Mitchell’s penis was now pressed between his thigh and the material of his jeans and the sensual pressure of the now rhythmic motion of Susan’s elbow.
Her breath coming harder faster, twitching her pelvis in orchestration with the rhythmic, circular motion of Mitchell’s elbow…
His breath coming harder, faster, draping his free arm over her shoulder, Mitchell tentatively touched Susan’s breast over her sweater. And touching Susan’s breast without Susan moving his hand caused his heart and, minimally, one other component to jump. Gaining instantaneous courage, stretching his arm even lower, touching the cross seams of her brassiere, thinking it an excited nipple, his passion leapt even higher, and his mouth, on her mouth, opened even wider… causing his jaw to pop with a noise that, in his head, sounded like the shot of a pistol. But if Susan heard his jaw pop she said nothing as…
Being allowed to hold Susan’s breast, along with her “excited nipple,” the purposeful movement of both their elbows giving him even more assurance, giving him even more courage, as he passionately rolled the seams of her brassier between his thumb and forefinger, Mitchell moved his elbow even harder, even faster, and even deeper into and against the fissure between Susan’s thighs.
Said into her mouth, “I love you, Sue!”
Moving her elbow even harder, even faster, “I love you, Mitchie!” she said into his mouth, as…
“Oh, God! Mitchell!”
Oh, no! Having built “a head of steam” because of too much—as if for him there ever could be too much—shnoogling, and—but for one nocturnal emission—no release, powerless to stop it… Oh, no!
Mitchell’s passion ran out of space and had no place to go but… “Uh-oh!”
In the throes of her own long-lasting, unbelievably pleasurable orgasm, Mitchell’s “Uh-oh!” did not register with Susan.
Okay, so he came prematurely in a pitch-black room with Gina and in a dark car with Ina, and, yeah, as he had jumped into Lake Michigan when he was with Sally. But never while he was dressed… Well, not counting that day in 1945 during a geography lesson, and that wasn’t exactly what one would call premature because, after all—his penis poking through the hole in his pocket—he’d brought it about with his own hand.
But now, this, this was different! Outside of the possibility of having sex… of “screwing” Gina or Ina, he could not have cared less about Gina or Ina, and, yeah, he truly did like Sally… But this was Susan, and Susan was his life. Susan was his world… and he was dressed, so… “Uh-oh!”
She realized that something was wrong because he’d stopped all movement. Also, suddenly the underside of her forearm felt wet and a bit sticky. “What’s wrong?” Lifting her arm, she saw a widening wet spot inches under and to the left of the fly of his well-worn, faded Levi’s, and immediately thought that she was, maybe, pushing her elbow a little too hard, and that, maybe, she broke something that was causing him to bleed, and…
Susan Friedman knew the facts of life. Well, Susan sort of knew the basic facts of life, but she knew nothing of penile ejaculation, nor that it sometimes, no, often, came—no pun intended—when it was not intended, or, if you will, prematurely—especially with inexperienced, extremely hard-up young men—and Susan did not equate the sticky stuff on the underside of her forearm, or the darkening of his jeans, with the male fluid component necessary for the formation of human life, so…
“Mitchie,” she asked in near panic, “what happened? That’s not blood, is it?”
Jesus, what the hell do I say? “No, Sue,” he said, that’s not blood, almost wishing it were.
“Excuse me.” Annoyed at himself and momentarily Susan, he attempted to stand, but as she was still lying across his lap he couldn’t. “Sue, will you please let me up!”
Bewildered by his somewhat unfriendly attitude, and also the, whatever it was that was staining his jeans, asking again, “What’s wrong?” sitting up, she moved aside.
Hurrying into the bathroom, really, having no idea of what to say, “I’ll tell you when I get out.”
Still sensing the heat of her orgasm, shaken by how hot she was… still was, Susan was also surprised by the amount of secretion that was soaking the crotch of her old lady, double-crotched underpants that she’d secretly purchased after their first long shnoogling session in the Buick, and planned on burying in the garbage so as not to be found by her mother.
Also, she thought of what she had been doing with her elbow, and what he had been doing with his elbow…
Also, He was touching my breast! No boy had ever been permitted to do anywhere near any of the things that Mitchell had been permitted to do. And also—most of all also—Not only was I letting him do it—forgetting that it was she that had invented and instigated the “elbow job”—but I was doing it back!
And what happened? Did he get sick? Did I—once again thinking the thought—break something by pushing too hard? Is he, God forbid, hemorrhaging in there? Going to the bathroom door, “Mitchie,” knocking softly, “is everything okay?”
Praying that his jeans would dry, having taken them off, he was holding them, wet side up, towards the air vent near the ceiling. Still embarrassed, “Yes!” Realizing he’d spoken curtly, “Sue, honey,” he said, changing the tone of his voice, “everything’s okay. I’ll explain,”—What the hell am I going to say—“when I come out. Okay?”
“Okay.” Going to her bedroom, Susan closed the door. Easily able to see by the light of the streetlamp that was directly opposite her window, walking to her dresser she removed a pair of panties. Glancing at the door to be sure she’d closed it, pulling both down, she stepped out of her slacks and the old lady underpants, dabbed at her still-wet crotch with the old lady underpants and redressed.
Knowing that, Unless I hide in here for an hour it ain’t going to work. Further thinking, May as well get it over with. Pulling his jeans back on, coming out of the bathroom, he saw that Susan was not in the living room and that the door to her bedroom was shut. Taking his jacket from the hall closet, well aware that it was not long enough to hide the still noticeable wet spot, he sat on the sofa with the jacket across his lap.
“Mitchie,” coming from her room, seeing him sitting on the far end of the sofa with his jacket across his lap, “you’re not leaving now, are you?”
“Sue, honey, sit there,” pointing, “will you.”
“Sure.” Confused, and slightly hurt because he didn’t want her on the sofa, next to him, she sat on the closest wing chair.
“Look, honey, I, uh, sort of had an accident.”
Looking at him blankly, “Accident?”
“Yeah. We were, uh, very hot there, you and me.”
“Yes,” nodding her head, “we sure were.”
“Sue, when a guy gets too hot, sometimes something happens… I… You’ve heard the word”—the word ejaculation not, as of yet, in his mental dictionary—“come?”
“Yes, sure. Of course!”
Of course she has! But in this context? Mitchell could not imagine that a girl as innocent as he believed Susan to be could possibly know what he was referring to. “I mean like when a man and woman are, uh, together… You know, like… sexually, and he’s got his, uh,” pointing to his lap, “thing in her, and he… comes?”
“Yes,” nodding her head, “sure I know.”
“You know what I’m talking about? Looking at her closely. “You’re sure?”
“Yes!” She said with annoyance in her voice. “When men and women make love… have sex.”
Remembering when Walter had attempted to tell him the facts of life, “Yeah. Well, before, being with you like we were, I got so hot that that’s what happened. Only my… ‘it’ wasn’t in you.”
Realizing, “You, uh…” thinking of the way she had felt just minutes ago, and how embarrassed she’d be if he knew just how wet her underpants had been. “That’s what happened to you?”
Maybe she does know. “Yes. I’m sorry, but I can only hold it off for so long then… Jesus, Sue, you made me so hot it just happened and I couldn’t hold it back!”
“And what I saw,” touching her elbow, “that was…”
“Yeah, that’s what it was.”
Amazed that he was able to conjure the stuff up, mentally snapping her fingers, Just like that! Blushing, “Know what, Mitchie? she said, “I’m kind of glad it happened.”
“You’re glad! Why? I find it damned embarrassing.”
“Because I love you. And because I’m glad that you love me enough to do it, uh, the way you did, and not, you know… So we didn’t do anything that both of us would be sorry for.”
Oh, yeah. Like I planned it.
“Maybe it would be best if we promise to never let it go that far again.”
On the other hand, thinking of where she’d been touching him and where he’d been touching her reactivated the itch in her vagina. And now, also, empowered with the power to… If I can get him to come, snapping her mental fingers again, just like that, and so long as he doesn’t touch me there… at least with his hand, and so long as I don’t touch him there… at least with my hand… Although, really…
“No, Susan,” well knowing that would be a promise he’d never be able to keep, “we don’t have to take such a drastic step as to say never! And besides, believe me, I do not want to go any further than just now. And I would never go even one inch further than you’d want me to, even if I thought that you wanted me to do it, because”—a thought of Sally flitted through his mind—“I know that you’d be mad at me later, and I don’t want you to ever be mad at me, ever! I love you too much for that, Sue, and…” Though they had never really discussed it, both knew that marriage, a distant, far-in-the-future marriage, was a very viable consideration, and… “I’m willing to wait for… it, uh, that.”
That night, Mitchell, and his semen-stained Levi’s, were long gone by the time Mister and Mrs. Friedman returned home.
(A "Becoming" Excerpt)