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Mark M Lichterman

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BECOMING 72: Virgin
By Mark M Lichterman
Posted: Thursday, January 27, 2011
Last edited: Wednesday, August 22, 2012
This short story is rated "PG13" by the Author.

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With the right boy, oh, yes, Sally did enjoy petting, truly enjoyed petting. But she was determined not to go “all the way” with anyone but her future husband, and with an experienced boy such as Mitchell, she knew that she had to give something or he’d lose interest. Her bare-breasted boundaries were as far as she’d allow herself, or any boy, to go,


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___________________________________________________________________

The running motion causing Sally’s well-defined buttocks to shift from side to side beneath her skirt, “Yeah, later!” he called back, thinking, What a great tush! while doing the “male” thing: visualizing Sally naked. Then, realizing that he was about to be late, ran to his next class also.

Always having a hard time in school, the remainder of this day, scholastically, was an absolute, complete loss. Thinking, She didn’t want to let go of me any more than I wanted to let go of her. And she’s a farm girl, and she’s used to seeing things like, uh, cows and horses screwing. Visualizing the size of her breasts when she had touched her chest, God she’s got great tits! And she’s really pretty and, Oh, God!

Visualizing her swaying buttocks as she ran up the hallway… In his sixth period class he had an erection that would not go away and—remembering that day in grammar school when, his hand in his pocket, he had masturbated in class—Mitchell hoped he wouldn’t be asked a question and have to stand.

_______________________________________________________

Skokie, Illinois  

September 21, 1951

The windows were fogged… no one noticed.

Blurry images fluttered across the windshield… no one saw.

Words and music poured from the speaker… no one heard.

The air inside the car became fetid from heavy breathing and funky from the odor of overactive female moisture… Who needed fresh air? The odor of sex smelled just fine.

“Ohh, no,” whispered half-heartedly. “Bill, stop…”

“Oh, Joanie, but you feel sooo nice. Please!”

“Okay, but not under the blouse. Okay? Okay?”

Sprawled across the front seat of the big Buick, leaning towards her, almost atop Sally, only the very top of Mitchell’s head was visible to the couple in the back seat, whom, in nearly the same position, were engrossed with their own prurient desires and did not pay the slightest attention to the couple in the front seat.

Tongues wreathing, they kissed deeply.

Attempting to unfasten her brassiere, his left had was beneath the back of her sweater while his right hand, beneath the front of her sweater, was caressing a rayon-enshrouded breast.

Whispered, huskily, “Mitchie, please…”

“Umm.” Savoring the feel of the soft, round breast in one hand as he squeezed and released the clasp that held the two ends of elastic material between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand… Why won’t the damned thing open? he thought as he tried to dissect the demonic invention of the accursed brassiere clasp.

“Mitchie,” her lips against his ear, “put your hand under, baby, hold me under… please.” she whispered.

Put your hand under? Hold me under? “Please”! Oh, yeah! Like he had to be asked twice, and, of course, now, not knowing how or why, the tightening and loosening paid off and the one elastic strap became two elastic straps and the front of the brassiere loosened and Sally’s Oh, God, breasts fell free and lifting the brassiere up and his eyes down… In the splendor of fog-cast Technicolor, Mitchell once again gazed upon, as far as he was concerned, God’s greatest creation: tits, and, “Oh, God, Sally,” he whispered so softly the words may have been little more than a thought, “you’re so beautiful.” Touching her, caressing the so satiny bare flesh, lowering his face to the sweet-smelling valley he once again pressed the wondrous mounds against the sides of his face and, once again, felt the warmth of this, to him, holiest of sanctuaries. Becoming overwhelmed with passion, lifting his face, tasting the taste of Sally’s flesh, covering first one, then the other, oh, so sweet nipples with his lips… As, moving his hand onto the surprising soft flesh of her belly, knowing from past experience, not even attempting to pop the steel buttons from the holes in the fly of her Levi’s, stretching his hand beneath the elastic band of her high-cut panties, he felt the shallow impression made by the tight elastic, and the small, deep depression of her navel, and the slightest hint of Sally’s pubic hair… before she moved his hand up. Mitchell tried again, and again she moved his hand. Tempted to try again, but not willing to jeopardize what she was willing to give, giving up, at least for the time being, Mitchell moved his hand back to Sally’s breast, and his mouth to her mouth.

The windows became even foggier.

The air became even thicker.

With the right boy, oh, yes, Sally did enjoy petting, truly enjoyed petting. But she was determined not to go “all the way” with anyone but her future husband, and with an experienced boy such as Mitchell, she knew that she had to give something or he’d lose interest. Her bare-breasted boundaries were as far as she’d allow herself, or any boy, to go, and that was only if she liked the boy well enough. Touching Mitchell’s tongue with her tongue, feeling the hardness of his constrained penis probing against her straining vulva… Well, actually, the bulge of his penis was pushing against the crotch of her Levi’s and the thick seam within the crotch of her Levi’s was rubbing against her straining vulva… Well, actually, against her hypertrophied clitoris and, oh, yeah, she was having a good time—a real good time—and she knew that, though maybe not all that he wanted, Mitchell was having a real good time, too… without going further than she wanted. And with Mitchell, Sally was very much afraid of going one bit further because she liked him more than she’d ever liked any boy, and knew that if he did go that one bit further, it would be her as much as he that would be straining to go all the way.

Sex, to Mitchell, certainly did not always mean love, but love always meant sex, and Sally was the first girl that he’d wanted sexually… Well, outside of Big Rosalind Feigenbaum and a few others, he’d wanted most girls sexually, but Sally was the first girl that he wanted that he really liked that had allowed as much as she’d allowed. Rather than disappointment for what she had not permitted, he felt gratitude for the beauty and passion she had permitted, and his gratitude, along with the dam of his passion that was about to explode, transposed to something akin to love. And so he hugged Sally, and felt the softness of her, Oh, God, 36D breasts pressing against his chest and, whispering, “Sal, I’m crazy about you!” Mitchell brought his mouth back to her mouth in a hard, passionate kiss, till…

Sounding above the harsh breathing and the background sounds that emanated from the drive-in speaker hanging from the closed window…

Crack!

“Jesus!” Sitting up, Mitchell grabbed his jaw.

Sitting up also, “Mitchie,” pulling her sweater down, “what’s wrong?”

Bill’s head popping up, “What the hell was that?” followed by Joan’s, who was stuffing her blouse into the waist of her slacks.

Testing, gingerly opening and closing his mouth, “Something that happened about, uh, a year and a half ago, when I was in the National Guard.”

“You were in the National Guard?” Bill asked skeptically. “When?”

“Before Korea. I got discharged then ’cause I was too young.”

“And this is like a, uh, war wound or something?”

War wound? From peeling potatoes? Looking at Sally, “Well, yeah, guess you could say that. Guess kissing like we were kissing,” he smiled, “kind’a made me pop.”

“You okay?” Joan asked. “Better see a doctor.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Nah, it only hurts, uh,” still looking at Sally, “for a couple’a seconds.”

“Hey, what the hell movie is this anyway?” Reaching to the speaker, Bill turned the volume up.

On the movie screen there was an overhead view of two dozen girls in multi-colored bathing suits swimming on their backs, forming an aquatic flower in rippling, crystal-clear water. Esther Williams, in the exact center, was treading water; stretching upward, her undulating arms giving the overall effect of a flower blowing in the breeze.

“Million Dollar Mermaid,” Joan said.

Opening the windows, as fresh air streamed in, the odor of sex streamed out.

                                                                               **** 

“See those trees? Park there, will you, and turn the motor off, please.”

They had dropped Joan and Bill off at Joan’s home, now, on rural road 9A, Sally and Mitchell were alone for the first time.

“Yeah, sure.” Thinking, hoping Sally just wanted to be alone before they “went any further,” pulling under the stand of trees, turning the lights and motor off, Mitchell reached to her, but…

Putting her hands against his chest, holding him back, “Mitchie, no! I want to talk to you.”

She’d been thinking about what he’d said: “Sal, I’m crazy about you!” And even if the words were said in the heat of passion—which they were, though, truly, he was crazy about her—Sally, also, had been thinking about how she felt then, and how she felt now, and not quite sure why, feeling a need to explain herself, she was quiet for the minute it took for her to formulate her thoughts.

But for the noise of cicadas, the night was perfectly still. The sky was deeply overcast without a trace of moon or stars and, in the absolute darkness, to each the other appeared as a black shadow. But within seconds their eyes adjusted and the black shadows became lighter shadows and each was able to see the form of the other.

“Mitchie,” Sally began, “I want to tell you something.”

Reaching to her, he searched until he found her hand.

“First off, I want to tell you that I don’t usually let a guy do what you and me were doing at the drive-in, and most certainly not on the first date. But living on the farm all my life…” Hesitating, trying to think of exactly what she wanted to say. “…I’ve seen things,” she continued, “that other girls, city girls, like you know, have never seen, and I can’t be like them, pretending it—sex—doesn’t exist.”

Holding her hand, Mitchell began to massage the nape of her neck between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand.

“I’ve seen cows and pigs and sheep do it…” Leaning her head back, closing her eyes, enjoying the messaging effect of his fingers on her neck. “…and I can’t be like them, the city girls, pretending it—sex—doesn’t exist. They ought to teach about it in school.”

Thinking the thought preposterous, “Sex?”

“Yes. They ought to teach about it in school, and maybe someday they will.” Turning in the seat, her neck moving from his fingers. “But, Mitch, I know about it.” She waited for a response and when none came, continued. “And whenever I see the animals do it, I get a, uh, kind’a funny feeling.” Adding quickly, “Don’t misunderstand me. It doesn’t get me hot or anything!” Blushing in the darkness because, yes, it did, it really did get her hot. “And I know what a cow’s… ‘thing’ and a sheep’s… thing and even a pig’s thing looks like, and I see what happens to their things when they get hot… And I’ve even, accidentally, seen my older brother’s, uh,” wishing she hadn’t started talking of this, saying more than she wanted to say, “you know, his, uh, whatchamacallit…”

“You’ve seen your brother’s…” about to say dick, catching himself, “whatchamacallit when he was hot?”

Laughing, “No, silly, of course not! Not my brother’s when he was hot! But when the male animals do… it their, uh… things… get big, and I know that’s how guys get. You were that way tonight!” This said as a statement.

“Yeah, you’re right, Sal, I sure was. “And still was, and was very tempted to take her hand to show her that he still was, but wisely fighting the temptation, and wisely knowing how hard it must be for Sally to tell him this, leaning to her, kissing her on the cheek, “Look,” he said, “you really don’t have to tell me these things.”

“Yes I do! I want you to understand the way I am, Mitch! I’m not like other girls. I don’t like to play the boy/girl games other girls like to play. When I like a guy, I can’t hide the way I feel and don’t want to… And I like you, Mitch. I like you a lot!”

Wow, she likes me a lot! I love shiksas!

“Believe me,” Sally went on, “I wouldn’t have gone out with you if I didn’t like you, and I most certainly would not have let you do to me what I let you do if I didn’t! But you’ve got to know, Mitch, that that’s as far as I go—as far as I’ll let you go!”

That’s as far as she’ll let me go. Feeling a pang of disappointment, but then remembering what else she had said: “I like you, I like you a lot!” She likes me and that’s why she let me do what we did, and that’s why we’ll do it some more, and, God, those tits! Those great tits! Okay, so if that’s as far as we go, that’s okay, too. But who knows? Maybe, in a while, she’ll be the one wanting to go further.

As though reading his thoughts, “Mitchie, I promised myself I’d still be a virgin when I get married. So if you want more than tonight from me, tell me now, before we get to like each other too much.”


Web Site: mmlichterman.com  

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Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 1/30/2011
Excellent story, Mark; you draw us in with effective writing and imagery! You take us to their world. Well done!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Texas, Karen Lynn. :)


Books by
Mark M Lichterman



For Better or Worse

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The Climbing Boy

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Becoming

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