What If: Vol 3-2

Deception

Monday, December 10, 1951

“Mrs.  Harris.”

Looking up from her desk,

“Yes, Mitchell?”

“Mrs. Harris,” I said,

“something happened over the weekend

and I’ve changed my mind about college.”

“Really!”

“Yes, ma’am.

I want to go to R.I.T.:

the Rochester Institute of Technology.”

Peering at him over her glasses,

“Mitchell,”

his class counselor said,

“wouldn’t you say it’s a bit late,

to say the least,

for you to be thinking of going to a university?”

“Yes, ma’am,

I know, but I’ve got to do it,

so I’ll do anything to get in.

I know I’ll have to take an entrance exam

and I’m ready to go to Rochester to do it,

but I’ve got to know what I’ll need,

and I need you to find out

so I can get to work.”

“Work?” Mrs. Harris said.

Knowing his record,

she knew work was not one of

this young man’s better habits.

“You have no idea

how much work you’re going to have to do!”

“I don’t care!

I’ll do whatever I have to!”

“Okay,

I’ll check on the curriculum

and get back to you as soon as I find out.

Think you’d like a tutor?”

“Mrs. Harris,

I’ll do whatever you think will help.”

“What I think is,

is that it’s too late.

But I’ll find out what you need.”

                   ***

“Suzie, hi!”

Coming from him,

she didn’t mind “Suzie.”

“Mitchie, you just called a half-hour ago.

“I know.”

Fingering my gold initial ring,

“Sue, I know we just met three days ago,

but I feel like I’ve known you all my life,

and I was afraid to ask yesterday

because yesterday

we’d only known each other one day,

but…

Sue, I’d love to go steady with you!”

Thinking, Please, God!

“Will you?”

“God, Mitchell,”

Susan said excitedly,

“ I thought you’d never ask…

Yes!”

 By mutual agreement,

seeing each other only on weekends,

he spent Saturday mornings in the Library with a tutor,

and during the week,

on evenings he didn’t work,

outside of one call right after school

he spent every minute

attempting to make up for

three and a half years of wasted time.

For Christmas

he gave Susan a gold and seed pearl bracelet.

Susan gave him the most beautiful gift he’d ever received:

a cranberry-colored,

long-sleeved,

V-neck,

butter-soft cashmere sweater

that immediately became his most prized possession.

Wearing a rented tuxedo,

I was invited to accompany Susan

and her parents to the New Year’s Eve

dinner and dance at Mister and Mrs. Friedman’s country club.

What If: Vol 3-3

Alone

January 5, 1952

“Bye, kids.”

The front door closing,

the foyer and outer doors next,

then, within seconds,

there was one,

then the second

thunk of the driver’s door

of the Friedman’s 1951 Cadillac.

Three days short of a month since we’d met

baby-sitting for Butchie,

this night was our first night alone,

in a home,

with a sofa.

We’d “schnoogled,”

oh, yeah,

usually for a short time in the stairwell

between the lobby and first-floor

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 him

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,

Susan occasionally

—after each such session—

“relieved” herself.

As difficult as it was,

although he was,

oh, so sorely tempted to do so,

true to his vow to God

—outside of one nocturnal emission

that he rationalized as something

he had no control over

so didn’t feel guilty over,

and truly enjoyed,

and,

you bet,

hoped for again—

true to his vow to God,

he never did.

On this night,

reclining on the sofa,

 on her left side,

facing him,

lying across his chest,

her upper torso cradled in his left arm,

as his right hand,

twining her hair between his fingers,

supported her head.

Enjoying the feel,

taste and thrill of the other’s mouth and tongue,

unaware of time,

breathing the air of the other;

replacing his usual “Old Spice”,

she smelled the fragrance of the after shave

lotion her mother and father

had given him for Christmas

while he smelled her own unique scents.

What If: Vol 3-4

Sensations

Kissing deeply,

the kiss lengthened…

Lying against and across,

the position of her arm becoming uncomfortable,

Susan, “innocently”

Susan “unknowingly,”

rested her elbow in…

and onto his crotch.

Oh, God!

Feeling her touch,

there,

even if the touch was innocent,

even if the touch was unknowingly,

even if it was only her elbow,

Oh, God!

Within a few seconds,

moving his hand from behind her head,

cradling her chin in the palm of his hand,

naturally,

having no place to put his crooked elbow,

he,

just as “innocently,”

he,

just as “unknowingly”

put it onto

and into her crotch.

Oh, God!

If she did realize where her elbow was

if she did realize where his elbow was,

Susan did nothing to move either hers or his.

She may have been aware

she may not have been aware

that within minutes

he and she

were slowly,

minutely

moving their elbows…

But if Susan was aware

she did nothing to stop the,

Mmmmm!

erotic motion of either his,

or her elbow….

She may or

she may not

have been aware that

her hips had arched upward.

She may or

she may not

have been aware that

her thighs had loosened.

She may or

she may not

have been aware

that he was now

asserting pressing pressure onto

and into her crotch…

She may or

she may not

have been aware

that she was

rubbing her elbow harder,

that she was

asserting more pressure,

asserting more 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.

Never!

The writhing from over and

the writhing from beneath his jeans

having caused “it”  to poke through

and wiggle its way from beneath the

elastic leg-band of his Jockey shorts

so was now pressed between the

warmth of his thigh

and the material of his jeans

and the sensual pressure of the

now rhythmic motion of Susan’s elbow…

What If: Vol 3-5

“Uh-oh!”

Her breath coming harder,

faster,

His breath coming harder,

faster.

Draping his free arm over her shoulder,

tentatively touching Susan’s breast

over her sweater.

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 bra,

thinking it an excited nipple,

his passion leaping even higher,

his mouth,

on her mouth,

opened even wider

causing his jaw to pop with a noise that,

in his head,

sounded as the shot of a pistol.

However,

if Susan heard his jaw pop or

if Susan did not hear 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 bra

between his thumb and forefinger,

moving 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 onto the straining bulge along the inner seam of his jeans.

“I love you, Mitchie!”

 she said into his mouth, as…

Faster…

Harder…

Gasping, “Mitchell!”

Gasping, “Susan!”

“Oh, God! Mitchell!”

“Oh, God!”

Oh, no!

Having built

“a head of steam”

because of too much

—as if for him there ever could be too much—

schnoogling, and

—but for one nocturnal emission—

no release,

powerless to stop it…

Oh, no!

His passion running out of space

having no place to go but…

“Uh-oh!”

In the throes of her own

long-lasting,

unbelievably pleasurable orgasm,

“Uh-oh!”

not registering with Susan.

she did realize

however,

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,

Susan saw a widening wet spot

inches to the left of the fly of his well-worn,

well 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…

To be continued

©February 10, 2012 / Mark M. Lichterman