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…

What If: Vol 3-6

Premature

Susan 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;

correction,

often came

—no pun intended—

when not intended,

 or, if you will,

 prematurely

—especially with inexperienced,

extremely hard-up young men—

and 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…

“What happened?”

she asked in near panic

“That’s not blood,

is it?”

“No, Sue,” I said,

“that’s not blood,”

almost wishing it were..

“Excuse me.”

Annoyed at myself

and momentarily Susan,

I attempted to stand,

but as she was still lying across my

lap 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 to the bathroom,

really,

having no idea what to say,

“I’ll tell you when I get out.”

Still sensing the heat of her orgasm,

shaken by how passionate she was…

still was,

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

he had been permitted to do.

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,

knocking softly,

“is everything okay?”

Praying  my jeans would dry,

having taken them off,

I was holding them,

wet side up,

towards the air vent near the ceiling.

Still embarrassed,

“Yes!”

Realizing I’d spoken curtly,

“Sue, honey,”

I said,

changing the tone of my voice,

“everything’s okay.

I’ll explain,”

—What the hell am I going to say—

“when I come out. ”

To be continued

©February 13, 2012 / Mark M. Lichterman