“Come on, Elsa! Do it! Le’me put it in! Come on, Elsa!”
Unless ill, Elsa Schmidt went to church with her parents every Sunday, and though she had never heard a sermon denouncing dry humping, she had listened—more often than she had cared to—to sermon after sermon denouncing, among other things, “The evils of fornication!”
Because of her fear of God and out of respect for her parents, Elsa Schmidt refused to go all the way.
Because of the pressure Wayne put upon Elsa, and her refusal—though weakening resolve—to "go all the way", at Elsa’s instance, the two had broken up at the end of the past school year.
U.S.C.G. Rockaway Life Boat Station
Rockaway, New York
Elsa Two: Fornication
Now, Elsa was completely taken with Mitchell’s looks, personality, and seeming total lack of egotism. In comparison to all the other boys she had ever known, in her estimation, Mitchell, at the age of nineteen, was the first “man” she had ever, in a male/female sense, personally known.
When he’d unexpectedly kissed her, she had been shocked, but what had shocked her more—more than returning the passionate kiss of this young man that she had met no more than two hours ago—was her volatile internal response, because the touch of his tongue had triggered a flow of heat that thrilled and frightened her at the same time, and caused Elsa to realize—not that she remotely missed Wayne—just how much she did miss being touched, and touching. So then wondered, with the premonition of losing the battle to retain her virginity, How will I feel when—because she knew he would—he touches me there? And, How will it feel when—because she was rather sure she would—uh, if, I touch him there? He is not a kid! He’s a man and he’s also a sailor, and if that’s not enough, he’s gotta look like some kind of’a movie star, too! Elsa also wondered, Maybe I shouldn’t’a told him I was eighteen. Maybe I should’a told him I’m really seventeen… Well, seventeen on my next birthday.
In order for their lips to make contact, at 5'5", normally Elsa would have had to stretch upward and Mitchell would either have had to stoop or bend his neck. But in salt water Elsa was near weightless so, putting his hands under her armpits, sensing the heat of her body in this tight, close contact, even through the water, lifting Elsa to his level, they kissed…
Intensified by the luxurious warmth of the gently eddying ocean, a spontaneous flame of passion transmitted from mouth to mouth, from brain to brain, from genitalia to…
“Whew!” She looked at him. “Where in the world did you ever learn to kiss like that!?”
Catching his own breath, feigning hurt feelings, “Sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
“Yeah,” Tightening her arm-hold about his neck, “you sure did! Rubbing her lips over his, “Do something wrong again, will you!” Entwining her fingers in his hair, she moved his face to hers.
There was a man and woman to the left and two young boys to the right, but, with no one before them…
As they kissed, leaving his left arm around her waist, stretching his right arm about the back of her knees, scooping Elsa off her feet, cradling her in his arms, Mitchell walked beyond the man and woman and boys and continued to walk outward until the water reached the lower level of his chest. Facing outward, supporting the weight of Elsa’s buoyant body with his left arm, he moved his right hand to her stomach, then, their lips still together, up to and onto the top of her bathing suit.
Taking a moment to realize that Mitchell was holding her breast, “Mitchell,” Really, she did not want to stop him, but, “really, I just met you!” Removing his hand, twisting out of his arms, the water coming to just below her chin, she stood on tiptoes on the sandy bottom.
“Elsa,” surprise showing on his face, “I thought you said you were afraid of the water?”
“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything a girl tells you.”
Surface diving, she swam about twenty feet and, treading water, waited for Mitchell to join her.
“You swim, too!” he said good-naturedly. “You lied to me!”
“Yeah, sometimes I’ve been known to do that… Race you back!”
Though a fairly strong swimmer, he could not catch her.
Elsa’s picnic basket contained ham and cheese, and bologna and cheese sandwiches, Oreo cookies, a banana, an apple, and a Thermos of cherry Kool-Aid, all of which she shared with Mitchell.
Speaking between bites of the ham and cheese sandwich, “You busy tonight?”
“Yeah,” she’d been waiting for him to ask. “If you call sitting around playing Monopoly with my folks busy.”
Taking another bite, “Have you seen From Here to Eternity?” washing it down with Kool-Aid.
She had, but, “I wanted to, but missed it when it came around.”
“Well, I was planning on Chinese for dinner, then going to see it, so if you want to… Or if you don’t like Chinese we can…”
“No! I love Chinese food.”
“Great! So we got a date?”
“Yeah,” she said, trying not to sound too excited. “What time?”
“Oh, ’bout five, five-thirty. Okay?”
“Yeah, fine. You going to be in uniform?”
“Nah. When I go out it’s usually in civvies.”
In one way Elsa was relieved, because it was going to be hard enough to explain Mitchell to her parents without him showing up in a sailor uniform. But, on the other hand, she would like to see him in uniform, and would love to be seen with him in uniform. But, she thought, I’m gonna be here for two weeks, and if I play my cards right, him’n’me’ll be together all the time when he’s off.
The balance of the afternoon was spent on the blanket… and in the water.
Their kisses became longer, and in the water, with their bodies hidden from the eyes of those on the now-crowded beach, Elsa did allow his hand to linger on her breast and, completely impassioned by the romantic day, the tepid water, and especially Mitchell; again cradled in his arms, beyond the bathers, kissing him… being kissed by him, feeling the cool release as…
Touching the wet, cool, naked softness of Elsa’s breasts for the first time, moaning in her mouth, moving his lips, and eyes to her breasts and… in comparison to the tan of her chest, Elsa’s breasts were the whitest, largest breasts he’d ever seen—not, of course, that Mitchell Lipensky had seen a whole lot of real live breasts, and especially not counting Julie Marx, who’s breasts he hadn’t seen—and they had the darkest, the smallest… Lowering his head, he licked some brine off one breast, then hungrily drew its small, turgid, dark-brown nipple deeply into his mouth, tasting the saltiest nipple—actually the only salty nipple—he had ever tasted, and, Oh, God! it tasted so good and, “Elsa,” he said, forcing his mouth from her nipple and his eyes from her breasts, “you are so beautiful!”
I’m so beautiful! This praise coming from a man, from this man, flattered Elsa beyond comprehension. Fully aroused now, twisting out of his arms, her bathing suit top floating up to her chin, dropping into the water, wrapping her arms about his neck, crushing her nude breasts to his nude chest and her lips to his lips, unable, or unwilling to control herself, reaching downward, shoving her hand through the top of Mitchell’s bathing-suit…
…. holding him, “Mmmm!” she moaned, and…
Not calculating the time, of course, this day was about one month short of two years since that wonderful night on his father’s boat with Sally. And also about one month short of two years since he’d last felt the wonderful crush of a girl’s bare breasts against his chest, or felt—Susan had, on that one occasion in her bedroom, reached beneath his pants and, momentarily, touched him, making that momentary touch the last time that Mitchell had felt—the feel of a girl’s hand on his bare penis and, “Mmmm!” he moaned back, as…
Simultaneously, each had the same thought:
I am about to get laid, and he doesn’t have a rubber!
I’m about to get fucked and don’t have a rubber!
But it didn’t matter, because having some idea of what Elsa and Mitchell were up to, three pre-teen age boys decided to watch and, being boys, were not overly quiet, and…
Giving them a very dirty look, Little fuckers! Mitchell thought.
As, alas, Little creeps! Covering her breasts, Elsa yanked her bathing suit top down from beneath her chin
Splashing ashore, some people, thinking they knew what they had been doing, clacked their tongues and shook their heads. But many of the men sitting on their blankets with their wives and children sighed and looked lustfully at the pretty, big-busted young woman… As many of the women sitting on their blankets with their husbands and children looked at the darkly tanned, handsome young man and they, too, sighed lustfully.
The Schmidt’s rented cottage was on Rockaway Beach Boulevard, about one-half mile south of the Coast Guard compound. Walking Elsa home, passing the station, “That’s where I live,” Mitchell said, pointing to his room.
At the cottage, Elsa was tempted to invite Mitchell in, but she knew what would happen as soon as they were behind a closed door, besides, she had no idea when her parents would be returning home, so wisely kissed him goodbye at the front gate.
Taking a shower in a highly elated state of excitement, because he did not want to give Elsa a “beard burn,” anyplace, he shaved for the second time that day.
Knowing where they would, inevitably, be going after the movie and what they would—if truly there was a God in heaven—be doing, omitting underpants, he wore only well-worn Levi’s, a—what else but—yellow, polo shirt, and his old—getting very old—dirty white-buck shoes.
In all their hours of conversation on this day, Elsa had neglected to mention that her father was a police sergeant. So, much to her relief, her parents were still fishing when Mitchell called for her at 5:10.
They took the bus to Flatbush.
They had the C dinner for two at the China Inn.
They saw From Here to Eternity, then took the bus back to Flatbush.
Though both knew where they were going—no doubt seeing themselves as Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster rolling passionately in the surf—although he’d surely suggest it, and she’d surely agree, even if they’d just seen Bambi. Mitchell said to Elsa, “I’ve got a great idea!”
Holding hands, walking from the bus turnaround, down the incline that led to Rockaway Beach Boulevard, “Yeah?” as if she didn’t know, “What’s that, Mitchie?”
“It’s so beautiful tonight!” As if to prove this statement, he spread both arms above his head, encompassing the entire moonlit, star-studded universe. “How’s ’bout going down to the beach?” Stopping, turning Elsa in his direction, embracing her tightly, they kissed. “So, how’s about it? You want to go the beach?”
Earlier, hardly able to contain her excitement, Elsa had taken a shower, put on rayon panties, an easy-to-unhook, two-clasp brassiere, beige slacks, a matching sleeveless blouse, and black leather sandals. Then, her parents still not home, she’d left a note informing them that she’d met Mitchell—omitting the fact that he was a sailor—and that, if it’s okay with them, they’re going to dinner and to see a double feature. It was a single feature that they were going to see, and her parents were not home to say either yea or nay—so now, “Sure, Mitchie, I’d love to go to the beach!”
“Sure, Mitchie, I’d love to go to the beach!” Wanting, hoping, praying she would say this, but not sure that she would, his heart thumping, “Great!” he said. “I’ll get a blanket.”
At the station, “Come on,” he coaxed. “It’s okay.” Proud of Elsa, wanting to show her off to whomever might be on duty, “You can wait for me inside.”
But, just a little shy about going to the beach at 9:35 at night with a sailor she’d only met that day, “No,” she said, sitting on the stoop. “You go. I’ll wait for you here.”
“Okay, be right back.” Going inside, running up the stairs, through the hall into his room, grabbing the extra blanket off the shelf in his closet and back downstairs, catching his breath before opening the door, “Hi!”
They walked a quarter mile along the shore, well away from—unless they, too, were looking for a secluded spot to spread a blanket—any people that may be on the beach at this hour.
“This looks pretty good, huh?” Angling away from the water, stopping, they spread the blanked under a steep, grassy embankment where, if anyone were walking along the moonlit beach they, hopefully, would not see two, hopefully, naked bodies—if there is a God in heaven—writhing in a sexual embrace.
In the theatre, they had sat as close as the armrest would allow. Every now and then they would kiss, and the kiss, as if a prelude to what both were sure was going to happen, would send a surge of moisture to Elsa’s lower region and a surge of blood to Mitchell’s.
Now, though, that the time was here… Now, delaying the moment… Now, feeling fear for what she… Please, Jesus, let it happen! Yet, praying to Jesus, Don’t let it happen! Elsa sat on the far end of the blanket looking at the moon’s wide tail reflected upon the slightly rippling water.
Not wanting to rush her, wisely giving Elsa time to acclimate herself to the situation…
But now, the words spoken both, as a soft command, and also, a plea, “Elsa, baby, come here.”
Turning her head, Elsa looked at the shadowed, moonlit-diffused figure of Mitchell, whom, having removed his shirt, shoes and socks, was lying on his side with his head propped in the palm of his hand, looking at her, waiting for her.
Seeing him with only his jeans on, again feeling the urge in her lower abdomen, Now, Elsa thought, it would be best to talk to him, to tell him before he… Yet she did not want to tell him… Yet, now she did want to tell him that she does have her limits… Yet, Jesus! she wanted no limits! Elsa was afraid to let Mitchell touch her. Yet, Jesus! I want him to touch me! She was afraid to touch him, but, Oh, Jesus! she could not wait to touch him, again… there.
Earlier, when she had impulsively reached through the top of his bathing suit and held him—so unlike Wayne’s longer, much thinner penis—holding this strange, new penis had further—much further—excited her but now, Oh, Jesus! she rationalized. What if he doesn’t have a rubber and he puts it in and he comes? Jesus, I’m afraid! But then again, But I want him to! she thought, and, But what do I do if I get pregnant?
What’ll I tell mom and dad?
Waiting… “Elsa,” patting the blanket, “Come on, baby.”
Oh, Jesus… Moving closer, turning, Elsa laid on her side, facing Mitchell, beside Mitchell.
Mouths an inch apart, each felt the warm breath of the other.
Moving even nearer, lips brushed lips… Parting, tongue touches tongue.
Laying the crook of his arm on Elsa’s hip, and the palm of his hand onto her back, applying gentle pressure, now, moving his mouth hard against hers, tongues explored deeper… Now, easing Elsa onto her back, laying his bare chest onto her, each feeling the heat of the other’s body… Now, tongues darting from mouth to mouth, moving her hands to his back, Oh, Jesus! Her resolve gone, Elsa pressed the tips of her fingers into his flesh as, lifting his chest, blindly pushing buttons through button holes… Holding the sides of both breasts within the palms of his hands, Mitchell kissed the hard points of one, then the other nipple over the slick material of her brassiere, as—knowing he was doing it, arching her back upward, helping him, as—reaching behind her back, fumbling for just a moment, one after the other, he opened the two clasps that held the elastic and rayon apparatus…