Nobody spoke.

No one seemed to know how to get the conversation started.

Mitchell stared at his hands, which were resting one on each knee. After a few seconds his fingers began a nervous, systematic tapping.

A breeze blowing through the open window caused the white, lacy curtains to flutter inward.

Three sets of eyes darted back and forth, from one to the other as Mitchell sat, looking at his tapping fingers, till…

                                Girl with Green Teeth Part 4 of 6

                                                June 18, 1949

“Shit!” Gina said, breaking the silence. “Was today ever a hot day!” Reaching under the skirt of the sofa, searching a moment, she pulled out a package of Camels. “I thought school would never end!”

The three watched as Gina sophistically pushed a cigarette upward from the bottom of the package, pulled it out with her teeth, tapped it on the back of her hand, stuck it between her lips, struck a match, took a deep drag… and started to cough and began to gag and had to run out of the room, into the toilet.

Turning to Lisa after he heard the door slam shut, “Uh,” Mitchell asked, “did I hear her say that you two had school today?”

“Yeah. You public-schoolers got out a week ago, but, oh, no, not us kids that go to Catholic school! Us, they give an extra week an’ just got out today… Ain’t we lucky?”

“No!” Thinking she was serious, “I don’t think that’s too lucky at all. Is that why you’n’Gina’s wearin’ the same kind’a clothes, ’cause’a school? They’re some kind’a uniform?”

“Yeah, they are.”

“Yeah? What school?”

“Immaculate Heart.”

“You like it? Going there?”

“No! I hate it! I’d much rather go to school with Frankie.” Looking at Frank a moment, Lisa kissed his cheek. “You’d like it if me’n’you went to school together, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said sincerely, “you know I would!”

“Don’t know why I smoke that shit.” Returning to the room, dropping onto the sofa, but closer to Mitchell, “It always makes me puke,” Gina said. “So, Mitch, how do you like this shitty neighborhood? Kind’a shitty, huh?” Angling her body in his direction, exposing her knee and about four inches of the bare flesh of her inner thigh, lifting her skirt, she folded her left knee beneath her right leg.

He looked down, and up again, quickly, “It ain’t so bad,” and down again. “I’ve seen worse.” Though in truth he hadn’t.

Inching closer, “Where do you live?” Gina asked.

“Uh,” Looking at the smooth, white flesh of her inner thigh, “on the west side, on Homan, uh, near Ogden.” and up, into her beautiful blue eyes.

Noting his flickering eyes, “Gee, it’s really nice there.” she said, though in truth she had no idea of where Homan and Ogden were.

He’d never thought of his neighborhood as being really nice or even nice, but in comparison to this neighborhood it was. “Yeah, it’s okay, I guess.”

“Yeah! He’s just gotta love this neighborhood, ’specially since he almost got himself banged up real good by a couple’a assholes.”

“What couple’a assholes, Frankie?” Gina asked.

“These two guys that hang out together, Guido and Al.”

“Yeah, I know them cocksuckers.”

He’d never heard a girl swear as much as Gina, and Mitchell stared at her.

“So, what happened?” she asked.

“Shit!” Frank said, taking one of Gina’s Camels. “It was all my fault. I had’a do some work for my pop for a couple’a minutes, an’ it was hot in the store so I told Mitch to wait outside, an’ then them two pricks came along an’ started hasslin’ him…”

“Yeah,” Mitchell interjected, “an’ ol’ Frank here came out like Gang Busters an’ kicked the…” hesitating a moment because up to now he’d never sworn in front of a girl but, Oh, well, he rationalized, swearing doesn’t seem to bother these two. “…shit out’a both of ’em.”

“I feel bad whenever somethin’ like that happens to anyone ’round here, but to Mitch? Jesus, was I ever mad!”

No one spoke for a few seconds but, afraid of letting the conversation come to a complete halt again, “An’ talk about puke!” Frank said.

“Puke?” Lisa laughed. “Who’s talkin’ ’bout puke?”

“Gina! When she came out’a the toilet she said smokin’ makes her puke. You should’a heard what Mitch here said ’bout Mama’s pizza.”

“Come on, Frankie! If you didn’t fill me full’a cheap booze,” he said jokingly, “I’d’a never said such’a thing.”

“Yeah? What’d he say, Frankie?” Lisa asked.

“Would’j’ya believe he’s never had any before, and said Mama’s pizza looked like puke on’a pancake… An’ it was only one or two teensy,” holding his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart, “weensy glasses of Chianti. Guess Jews just don’t hold their liquor too good. That’s if you want to call one or two teensy, weensy glasses of Chianti liquor.”

“Mitchie, it’s true ? You’ve never had pizza before?”

“Gina, I’ve never even heard of pizza before. But, really,” enjoying the humor of the situation, he began to laugh so hard he was almost unable to continue talking, “after I burnt my tongue and my fingers, an’ almost had the whole damn thing slip off the crust and land on my lap, it was really pretty good… No! It was great!”

“Frank,” Lisa scolded good-naturedly, “maybe, for Italians, eating pizza comes naturally, but for a Jewish guy like Mitchie maybe it don’t, and maybe you should have taught him how to eat it.”

“I did! But the dumb shit was so drunk he wouldn’t listen.”

“Dumb shit? You schmuck! You dared me… you double dared me to drink the wine. An’ the glass was this big!” holding both index fingers, vertically, a foot apart.

“Schmuck?” This tickling him, “Schmuck?” Frank fell onto his side laughing. “You called me a schmuck in front’a these ladies.” Catching his breath after about thirty seconds of prolonged laughter, that, though not quite understanding the joke, the three others joined in, Frank sat up. “An’ talkin’ ’bout vino!” He looked at Lisa. “How’s ’bout it? How’s ’bout us bringin’ some’a your ol’ man’s stuff up?”

“Mitchie, Lisa’s pop makes the best Dago Red you ever tasted… Well, I wouldn’t wanna use your taste in vino as an example, but believe me, it’s great, an’ Lisa’n’me’n’Gina here helped Lisa’s ol’ man make it… But I suppose, in your case, Lipensky, any vino would taste good.”

“Or bad!” Mitchell added. “How’d he make it? You guys don’t crush the grapes in a tub with your feet, do you?” In geography, he’d seen a movie about people from around the world and remembered the scene of a group of people in a huge vat crushing grapes with their bare feet. He envisioned Gina, bare-footed, crushing grapes with her feet that, he was sure, had to be at least as dirty as her neck.

“Nah!” Gina said… “That’s the way they do in the old country,” while inching closer to him. “Here we use a grape press.” As she came closer, her skirt hiked up further, showing more bare thigh, and…

Mitchell looked away because each time he looked at her, his eyes, as though magnetized, were drawn to her naked thigh that, Oh, God, fighting the urge to do it, I wanna touch so badly! As…

Jesus, Gina thought, everything Frankie’s said about him is true ! He’s just about the best lookin’ guy I ever seen. And, subconsciously, no longer aware of her action, doing something she’d been doing since she was a child: tightening and loosening the muscles of her groin and rectum, Gina was invisibly masturbating.

“Gina, why don’t’j’ya tell Mitch all about makin’ vino while Lisa’n’me go on down to the basement an’ get a jug.” Turning to Lisa, “Huh, babe,” he asked. “Ya wanna go downstairs with me?”

“Your parents let you drink wine?” Mitchell asked Gina.

“My ol’ lady don’t give a crap ’bout whatever I do,” she said bitterly. “Yeah, I’d like vino. Go on, Frank, go get a jug.” Thinking, It’ll gi’me a chance to be alone with him.

“Yeah, okay!” Standing, taking Lisa’s hand, Frank pulled her to her feet. “An’ while we’re gone,” winking conspiratorially at Mitchell, “why don’t you two try an’ get better acquainted.”

Panicking at the thought of being alone with Gina, Mitchell asked, “Maybe you guys need help?”

“No!” Emphatically shaking his head, “Lisa’n’me sure don’t need no help in the basement. Do we, babe?”

“Nope,” she smiled. “We sure don’t need help down there.”

Having spent a lot of time alone in the basement, holding hands, going through the kitchen, Lisa and Frank went down the back stairway, and…

The moment they were out of sight, Gina laid her hand on Mitchell’s thigh.

This being the first time a girl had ever placed her hand on his thigh, staring at the hand a moment, “Uh, Gina,” he said, searching for something—anything—to say, “before, you said your parents let you drink wine, an’ it’s okay with them?”

“Jeeze, Mitchie, this must really be important to ya.” Sighing, “In Italy,” she moved back a couple of inches, much to his… Mitchell wasn’t sure if he was glad or sad that she’d moved away… “kids drink wine ’stead’a milk.”

“Really?” Desperate to keep the conversation going, “Why?”

“For one thing, it’s a lot cheaper ’cause there’s more grape farmers than cow farmers. An’ also, the adults there think vino’s better for ’em than milk. Here, in America, we think that ain’t true , you know, ’bout vino bein’ better’n’milk. An’ also, here a bottle’a milk cost ten cents, an’ a bottle’a wine, even shitty stuff, is at least twenty cents. So like the ol’ sayin’ goes: ‘In Rome do as the Romans do.’ Only here in America we do as the Americans do an’ drink milk. Only it’s just that drinkin’ vino is somethin’ we wops been doin’ a long time, so most parents don’t care so much if we do drink vino, only don’t want us drinkin’ it as much as the kids in Italy. Capisce?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I capisce. Your parents, they come from Italy?”

“My Ma’n’Pa, when I had a Pa, came from Sicily.”

“Really! When’d they come here?”

“Nineteen-thirty-five, when I was two.”

The thought that Mitchell might not like her had never entered Gina’s mind. All guys like me! So she’d thought. “Your mom’n’dad,” she asked, moving her hand along the back of the sofa, touching the back of his neck, “where they from?”

Her touch going through him like the scraping of fingernails on a blackboard, “Here.” Standing, he walked to the window, parted the curtain and looked out.

He’s just bein’ bashful. “Here?”

“Here, in Chicago. My Mom was born on the west side and my Dad on the north side.”

So bashful! “Know what?”

Not answering immediately, trying to fathom why, I hate her touching me, an’ yet I’d’a given anything to touch her leg a little while ago. Turning from the window, “Know what, what?”

“I d’know hardly any second-generation Americans.”

“Second-generation Americans?”

“Yeah. Like me’n’my’Ma’n’Pa were born in Sicily, an’ Frank an’ Lisa’s parents were born in Italy, so that makes Lisa’n’Frank first generation Americans, an’ because I wasn’t born here, I ain’t even that. An’ because your parents were born here, right here in Chicago, an’ you were born here, too, then that makes you a second generation American… Capisce?”

“Yeah, I capisce.” Crossing the room, going to a chair, he sat down. “You hate your school, too? What’s it called again?”

“Immaculate Heart. Yeah, I do! Where do you go? You like it there?”

“Harrison. It’s okay, I guess, but I don’t really like going to school too much.”

“Yeah, me, too! What do you like to do, Mitch?”

What he liked to do, not necessarily in this order, was go to the movies, listen to the radio, watch television, occasionally play touch or tackle football, or baseball with the guys—really, with Phyllis and Sharon—and think about girls and masturbate… but he wasn’t about to tell her that, so… “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Stuff.”

Other than playing baseball, or touch or tackle football, neither knew just how alike they were.

“So,” still fishing for conversation, “Immaculate Heart just let out today, an’ you came here right from school?”

“Yeah. Frankie said you’d be here ’bout twelve… Uh, you Jewish kids, you don’t go to a religious school?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I had my Bar Mitzvah two… almost three years ago, an’ that was it for me! God, I hated chader!”

Unable to pronounce the, throat-clearing “ch,” “K-Kader?” Gina asked.

Seeing the look of confusion on her face, “Chader’s a Hebrew school, an’ a Bar Mitzvah’s… When a Jewish guy is thirteen, the Bible, uh, our Bible, says a guy’s a man when he’s thirteen, an’ he has this big ceremony, an’ after…”

“Know what?” Not waiting for an answer, her tongue parting her lips, looking at him seductively, or at least as seductively as a girl with a ring of dirt around her neck and green teeth could look, Gina said, “You sure look like a man to me!”

God, he thought, she really likes me! Why’s she gotta look so dirty? His eyes dropped from Gina’s face to the, albeit small, twin points of her breasts, then to the white flesh of her bare, inner thigh, and what he’d been hoping to avoid, the conversation lagged and the room, once again, became quiet, but fortunately not for too long because within seconds…

Sounds came from the rear of the apartment, then a moment later Frank, carrying a bottle in his hands, was back in the living room while Lisa did something in the kitchen.

Breathing a sigh of relief, “Hey, what took you guys so long? We was startin’ to think you got lost…” He sees traces of lipstick on Frank’s mouth. “…or somethin’.”

“Nah!” Calling to Lisa, “We weren’t lost, were we, Babe?”

“Nah, you’n’me, Frankie, we sure weren’t lost,” came the reply from the kitchen.

Nodding to the bottle that Frank placed onto the coffee table, “So that’s what bathtub wine looks like, huh?”

“Yeah, Mitchie, this here’s the real stuff. Wait’ll you taste it.”

The bottle was a gallon milk bottle, the old fashioned type with a glass cap and a rubber gasket around the inside that was permanently attached by means of a piece of wire held around the neck of the bottle and secured through holes in the lip of the cap.

Coming from the kitchen with the rims of four glasses held between her fingers, putting three onto the table, “Here, Mitchie.”

Crossing the room, taking the glass from Lisa, he looked at it. It was an eight-ounce jelly glass with a full color embossed picture of Porky Pig.

Fleetingly wondering if it was a coincidence that she handed him the glass with a picture of a pig on it, or if she gave it to him because he’s Jewish, though not really caring, “You sure it’s okay now?” he asked, motioning to the gallon milk bottle.

“Yeah, Lipensky, it’s okay! Stop worryin’. We’re gonna have a party.”

Squatting in front of the coffee table, pulling the cap off the bottle, it opened with a slight hissing sound. “The first one’s for our guest.” Taking it from his hand, Frank filled the Porky Pig glass, then the other three.

“Salud!”

Holding their glasses up, Lisa and Gina’s clunked against Frank’s.

“Hey, Mitch! You ain’t gonna join us? Salud!” Frank repeated, holding his glass towards Mitchell.

Hesitantly, “Yeah, sure.” All four glasses clunked. Then, moving it to his lips, his eyes moving in a semi-circle, watching the others above the rim of his glass as they drank, he took a sip. The homemade wine was sharp, but not nearly as sharp as the Chianti that he’d had earlier. Taking another sip, Mitchell stopped.

His glass drained, seeing that Mitchell had stopped drinking, “Come on, Lipensky. Thirty million dagos can’t be wrong!” Motioning with his glass, “Come on, Chicken Little. Bottoms up!”

The girls having finished their wine also, all three sets of eyes watched Mitchell, waiting for him to drink.

“Jeeze, Mitch, that ain’t nice, bein’ a guest in Lisa’s house an’ not wantin’ to drink her ol’ man’s wine. She feels real hurt, don’t you, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m real hurt!” Trying to look stern, she smiled instead. “Nah, it’s okay, Mitchie. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to… Frank, leave him alone.”

“Yeah, sure, cluck-cluck, you don’t gotta drink it.”

“Oh, what the hell!” Bringing the glass to his mouth, he looked at Frank over the rim. Drinking without stopping to catch his breath, “There!” Slamming the glass onto the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Ah, ’tis the blood o’Christ!”

“The blood o’Christ! Oh, Shit!” Frank began to laugh.

Grabbing him by his belt, pulling him onto the sofa, “Hey, Mitchie,’ Gina said, “I knew a big guy like you could handle a little glass of vino.”

Pouring a second round, “Here, ya drunken Mick, have another.” Frank, put Porky Pig back into his hand.

“Sure! I’ll show you wops that Jews can drink, too!” Downing half, he noted that for some strange reason this glass tasted much better than the first.

“Hey, how’s ’bout some music?” Going to the console in the corner of the room, Frank turned the dial until he found a station playing danceable music. Going back to Lisa, taking her by both hands, he pulled her up into his arms.

Mitchell took another drink, almost emptying the glass.

“Ya wanna dance, Mitchie?”

Refilling Porky Pig, “No, thanks,” he said, but seeing the look on Gina’s face, “Dancing, uh,” slurring his words, “d’know how.”

“Ya, can’t dance? At’s okay, Mitchie,” she said. “I’ll teach’j’ya.”

Looking at her, he took another gulp of wine.

“Ya don’t gotta be so bashful!” Standing, grasping his free hand, Gina attempted to pull him to his feet, but he wouldn’t budge. “Come on, Mitch!” Pulling harder, she did get him onto his feet, where he wobbled until, putting her arms about him, tightening her arms, pressing her body against his, “It’s real easy. All’s ya gotta do’s make a box.”

Aware of her body pressing against his, “All’s I gotta do’s make a box?” he repeated.

Leading him a step or two to the side, away from the coffee table, “Yeah, baby.” Loosening her hold a bit, so he could look at their feet, “Like this, baby. Watch my feet.”

“Baby?” Looking down he became dizzy and had to lean into her for support. “Only my mommy calls me baby.” He giggled.

His inward movement encouraging her, tightening her arms, pulling him closer, rubbing her body against his, “Okay!”

Okay? Thinking she’d asked, How do you feel? or, How are you doing? “Grrreat!” he said.

Grrreat! Thinking he meant, It’s great to be held by me! Further encouraged, “Yeah? Okay!” she said. “Watch me.” Releasing him, Gina backed a foot away. “All’s ya gotta do’s like this.” Sliding her left foot to the left, her right foot followed. Moving her left foot forward, it was joined by the right. “One-two, three-four.” Making a box, moving her feet to the left, forward, to the right, and backward. “One-two, three-four. One-two, three-four. See? It’s easy!” Holding her arms to him, “Come on, baby, you can do it!”

Stalling, bringing Porky Pig to his lips, taking another drink, then, holding his hand to his mouth to stifle a belch, “URRRPPP!”

“Jesus, Lipensky,” Frank laughed over his shoulder. “You know any other tricks?”

“Sorry, ’scuse me. Okay, Gina,” shaking his head to bring his eyes into focus, “I’ll dance wi’ch’ya.” Taking another drink, he put the glass down, took one step forward, tripped over his foot and stumbled into her waiting arms.

Positioning her arm around his waist and his arm around her waist, taking his hand into hers, “Okay? One-two, three-four.”

Her cheek against his, her whispered words tickling his ear, “One-two, three-four.”

Being held rather tightly, he felt the surprisingly hard, yet soft prod of her breasts against his chest…

“One-two, three-four.”

And the contours of her warm body against his definitely—most definitely—warming body, Mitchell thought, Funny, she don’t look so bad now. She don’t look so good, neither, but she don’t look so bad. And he further thought…

“One-two, three-four.”

What the hell. She’s a girl, ain’t she!

“One-two, three-four.” Feeling him slip into the rhythm of the music, releasing his hand, pulling him closer, holding him tighter, Gina put both her arms about him.

Her exotic breath in his ear, the firm, yet soft feel of her breasts against his chest and the contours of her warm body sent a message downward…

But picturing the wax in her ear, he moved the side of his face from the side of her face…

But… the swaying motion of her hips sliding the coarser material of her skirt minutely back and forth over her rayon slip, feeling Gina’s skirt slithering beneath the palm of his hand, what else could he do… but let his left hand drop onto her outer thigh. So now he had one hand on the outside of her right thigh and one hand hanging in space, so he moved it, where else, but onto her left buttock.

Gina was a thin, young woman! Hidden beneath the Immaculate Heart school uniform was the figure of a thin, young woman, and her buttock, oh, yeah, was surprising well defined and, oh, yeah, you bet Mitchell’s hand sent this simple message to his benumbed brain… God, her ass feels great!

As if both hands were mutinous extremities that no longer listened to the message that his brain was sending, his right hand rubbed up and down the outside of Gina’s outer thigh while his left hand opened and closed, squeezing and releasing the firm, yet so soft, oh, yeah, roundness of Gina’s right buttock. He felt the sensuous sensation of the wool-like material of her skirt as it slithered over the smoothness of Gina’s rayon slip and, oh, yeah, he was deserted by yet another member of his body and, if he didn’t have one a minute ago, he sure as hell had one now, and as it didn’t seem to have anyplace to go but to the corresponding area of Gina’s Immaculate Heart skirt, there it probed.

Feeling the projection of his penis again her thigh, Gina arched outward, purposely rubbing her pubis, under the dark material of her Immaculate Heart skirt, against the bulge that pressed outwardly against the faded blue material of Mitchell’s Levi’s.

His erection and, oh, yeah, growing passion not withstanding, even in his wine-induced fog Mitchell was struck with amazement.

His clean ear was pressed against her dirty ear.

His clean face was pressed against her not-so-clean face.

Although, once again, he had to admit that Gina didn’t seem quite so dirty nor quite as ugly as she had when he’d first met her… when? When he’d first met her about forty minutes and two-and-a-half glasses of Porky Pig ago.

His six-foot, one-hundred-and-seventy-five-pound body was pressed against her five-foot, eight-inch, one-hundred-and-nineteen-pound, 34–23–35-inch body and his head said, Stop! Don’t hold her so close! If he were any closer he’d be behind her.

But, Oh, God! It feels so nice!

His head said, Stop! L’go her ass!

He now held both rounded, slithery buttocks in the palms of his hands, and…

Oh, God! They feel so nice!

His head said, Stop! She’s got, uh… small tits?

His chest was pressed against her chest and he felt the prod of the twin points of her brassiere and they might not be very big, but…

Oh, yeah! They were real live tits! And, Oh, God! Pressing his chest against hers, rubbing his chest from side to side, They feel so good!

Mitchell’s head said, Stop, stop, stop!

But he strained closer. He squeezed harder. He embraced tighter and…

Oh, God! Everything about Gina felt so nice!

The music ended, the announcer came on: “L.S.M.F.T. Lucky Strike means fine tobacco!”

Mitchell and Gina still stood, swaying, straining, their bodies locked by four arms and unseen components.

On the other side of the room, in pretty much the same position, Frank and Lisa paid scant attention.

Uh, oh! Mitchell stopped all motion and using all the will power he could muster, pulled his pelvis, breaking the mesmeric, erotic contact.

“No! Stay here!” Breathing the words in his ear, Gina moved her pelvis hard against his. “Don’t move, Mitchie, I’m so hot!”

Thinking, She thinks she’s hot! The embarrassment of an ejaculatory stain on his light colored Levi’s being something he did not want, knowing that he must break away, or else, closing his eyes tightly, biting his lower lip in concentration, Don’t come! Don’t come! Do not come… The wave passed. Thank you, God!

Hunched at the waist—as though thinking if he bent his body forward Gina would not notice that he had an erection—backing to the sofa, he dropped heavily onto it.

Attempting to regain her composure, standing a moment, Gina went to the sofa also and, their thighs touching, sat next to Mitchell.

This time he did not move away.

“Frankie,” Lisa whispered, “they’re watching us.”

“Yeah? Maybe they’ll learn something.”

“Come on, Frankie!” She pulled away. “We’ll be alone in a little while then we can… you know.”

Smiling, “Yeah!” Dropping his arms, they crossed the room.

As they walked to the sofa, walking straight up, as if proud of it, Mitchell could see the telltale bulge in Frank’s pants.

Taking their previous positions on the floor in front of the coffee table, lifting the milk bottle, leaning across the table, refilling all four jelly glasses, “Okay,” Frank said, looking from Gina to Lisa, “there’s somethin’ I gotta talk to you about. When we go to the movies later…”

Thinking, Movies! I don’t wanna go anywhere with her! He looked at Gina. I don’t want anyone seein’ me with her! “Hey, Frankie,” he said, “can’t we just kind’a, you know, kind’a hang around here?”

“Mitchie, Lisa’s mom’n’dad’ll be home ’bout six-thirty, an’ I thought we’d go to a movie or somethin’. What else can we do?”

“Don’t know if I wanna go to a movie neither,” Gina said. Although, in truth, she’d like nothing better than to be seen out with Mitchell. “My ol’ lady’s not supposed to be home ’til late, an’ if you guys wanna, you can come to my place.” The thought of being alone with him, again, later, appealed to her even more.

“Okay, we’ll see ’bout that. But I wanna tell you somethin’ just in case we do go some place later. You gotta call Mitch Mario!”

“Call Mitch Mario?” Lisa said, looking at Frank. “Why?”

“Today, when them two pricks was pushin’ Mitch around, they were only playin’ like…”

“Playing? They were only playing?”

“Well, I don’t think they’d’a hurt’j’ya… too much; ’til they found out you was a J… Jewish. Then, when they found out you were, they were gonna kick the livin’ shit outta’ya.”

“Yeah, I thought they were gonna kill me, an’ if you didn’t come out when you did…” Shuddering, bringing Porky Pig to his mouth, Mitchell swallowed half the contents.

“Anyway, when we’re out,” Frank glanced at Mitchell, “if we go out, I want you should call him Mario,” looking from girl to girl, “so anyone seein’ him with us’ll think he’s Italian. Okay?”

“Sure, Frankie, anything ya want… Mitchie,” tucking her knee beneath her leg again, making sure that, minimally, as much of her bare thigh showed as it did earlier, “can I ask ya somethin’ without’j’ya getting’ mad at me?”

Staring at the flesh of her bare thigh again, “Sure…” Having a bit of an idea of what she was about to ask, fortifying himself for the circumcision question with another gulp of Porky Pig, “…I think.”

“Mitchie, is it true you, uh that Jews got…” Hesitating, Gina asked, “Uh, is it true that Jews got tails?”

“Huh? Tails?” Choking, turning his head to keep from spraying her with wine, “Where’d’ya hear Jews got tails?”

“In school, uh, not from the nuns! Well, not from all of ’em. But mostly it’s kids that say that their parents told ’em that Jews got tails…” hesitating again, “like the devil.”

Mitchell’s mouth dropped open. He blinked his eyes and shook his head and, not sure he’d heard right, looking at the near empty glass in his hand, thinking, Maybe this stuff’s caused me not to hear so good, “Tails?” he repeated. “No! Jews don’t got tails!”

“Bullshit! I get so sick’n’tired of hearin’ this bullshit!” Frank said. “No, Gina, ya dumb shit, Jews don’t got tails an’ I ought’a know ’cause I seen Mitch in the shower lots’a times an’ I looked to see if he’s got a tail an’ he don’t! He’s just like the rest of us… Almost.”

“Sorry, Frankie.” Strangely, Gina apologized to Frank rather than Mitchell.

“Now, don’t go gettin’ mad all over again,” she said to Frank, “but I got somethin’ else I wanna ask Mitch.” She waited a moment or two to see if Frank was going to stop her, but knowing what she was going to ask, this time, Frank said nothing.

“Mitchie, I heard…”

“In school?”

“Nah, from the kids… Mitch, I heard that when Jews are babies, they take a knife an’…” stopping, trying to think of a delicate way to put it.

Frank watched as Gina’s complexion turned from white to deep red. Although he knew it was coming, he was amused at the question and wanted to see Mitchell’s reaction when she figured a way to say it.

As interested as Frank and Gina, Lisa was also.

“Cut a piece’a their, uh…” Thinking a long moment, then another, after careful consideration, arriving at a delicate way to put it, “Cut a piece’a their pricks off.”

Thinking this question might well come up, still, when she asked it, it did embarrass him, but Mitchell remembered all the times, right up to that very moment, that he’d thought of girls and wondered what they have between their thighs, So, he thought, why shouldn’t girls wonder about what I have between my thighs? So, “Frankie,” he said, “bein’ my pal, you know Jews ain’t supposed to eat pig, an’, I’d guess, Jews ain’t supposed to drink pig either,” holding his glass up, “but this little piggy’s about empty.”

Lifting the milk bottle, Frank refilled his friend’s glass.

Taking three noisy gulps, putting the glass down, Mitchell looked at Gina, and, “Wow, you got bee-U-tiful eyes!”

Taken back by this, “Uh, yeah, you, too, Mitchie.” Gina said.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He giggled. “It’s true ! Frank’s got a tip. All goy guys got tips!” Thinking he’d said something very funny, all goy guys got tips, holding his head in his hands, Mitchell began to laugh.

Unaware of the joke, or even if there was a joke, Gina and Frank stared at him.

Lisa looked at Frank. Truly loving him, Frank was the only boy she’d ever had sex with, although discreet, and well knew how much he loved to be stroked “there,” and when she stroked it, she most always thought: It’s kind’a cute, the way Frank’s smooth, pink glans popped in and out of the foreskin with each stroke.

Lisa’s best friend, Gina, though, had had not-so-discreet sex with any number of boys and mostly she’d judge the boy by his looks, and by the size of his penis and how much of his foreskin she could pinch between her fingers… and more often than not, her teeth.

Catching his breath, “When we’re a couple’a days old,” taking another drink of wine, “they put us on a blanket or a sheet on a table an’ a special Rabbi—A Rabbi’s a teacher an’ like a, uh, priest—he gives us some wine, so’s we…”

“Boy!” Frank interrupted. “S’no wonder you’re able to put it away so good. They start you Jews off even sooner’n’us wops.”

“Nah, we just suck a couple’a drops off’a piece’a cloth or somethin’. Anyway…” Speaking softly, Frank and the girls had to lean forward in order to hear what he was saying. “… this Rabbi gives us some wine so’s we won’t feel it, then…” Pausing dramatically, he looked from face to face. “…he takes our little ‘things’…” Moving his left hand to the left, he raised his right hand, fist clenched, as if holding the handle of an ax. “…an’ he stretches ‘it’ waaay out…” Mouths agape, the three sat staring. “…an’ whacks it off. Wam!” Slapping his hand onto the coffee table, Mitchell caused the milk bottle, the glasses, and Frank, Lisa and Gina to jump. Looking at them, he fell backward on the sofa, laughing.

Shaken, “Uh, how much do they cut off?” Lisa asked.

“Yeah! An’ how do ya pee after?” Gina questioned.

“Yeah, Lipensky,” Frank said, “an’ what’d they do with what they cut off?”

“Some stuff’s a secret, Rizzo. An’ if you wanna know so damn much ’bout bein’ circumcised, then maybe you ought’a convert an’ become Jewish an’ have ’em do it to you.”

Protectively grabbing his crotch, “No, thank you!”

Drinking more wine, not sure if either girl had ever really seen a penis, Mitchell looked from Gina to Lisa. Sure, he knew what Frank had told him, But, he’d thought, sometimes guys lie.

“Well,” slurring his words badly, “I d’know if you girls know what I’m talkin’ ’bout, but the best I can figure is Jews get circumcised and guys that ain’t Jewish—I seen ’em in the shower at Baylor… I wasn’t tryin’ to look!” he said defensively. “I just kind’a, you know, I just kind’a saw ’em… Well, anyways, guys that ain’t Jewish got this funny, ugly piece’a droopy, dangly skin that kind’a hangs down off’a their…”

Feeling the effects of the wine, too, “Funny? Ugly? Droopy? Dangly?” Putting her arms around his neck, Lisa pushed Frank to the floor. “Don’t you listen to ’im, Frankie! It ain’t ugly, baby! I think it’s beautiful!”

Off balance, forced onto his back, Frank could only laugh.

Leaning over him with her buttocks in the air, falling upward, her skirt bunching around her hips, Mitchell could see a patch of white skin through a quarter-sized hole in the seat of Lisa’s pink, cotton underpants.

Pushing Mitchell against the arm of the sofa, “Hey, she’s right!” Gina motioned to Frank and Lisa, who were lying face to face with their mouths locked together, with both of Frank’s hands beneath Lisa’s underpants, clasping her bare buttocks. “That piece’a droopy, dangly skin’s just great!”

So what Frank had told Mitchell about Gina was true . Also, considering what she’d said and where Frank had his hands, most probably what he’d said about Lisa was true also.

“Yeah, Mitch! It’s real pretty, ain’t it? Mmffmm!” Frank said from around Lisa’s mouth.

Putting her mouth over his again, “Mmffmm!” Lisa answered back.

On her hands and knees, “Yeah!” Gina was leaning over Mitchell with her shoulders hunched forward…

So that he was able to look down her gaping Immaculate Heart blouse and, oh, yeah, he surely did see within the inverted triangle of Gina’s blouse, and even though her breasts were encased within a formless—no doubt Immaculate Heart-issue—cotton brassiere, he was well able to see the ridges of her ribs and the wide valley formed by the flesh of her hanging breasts, and he knew that all he had to do was to reach forward and…

All Mitchell had to do was to reach forward to touch a real girl’s, real live tits!

He’d waited so long for this! And had wanted, so badly, to be in a position such as this with a real girl, but now that he was, Mitchell felt as though he were in a foggy dream.

Trying to sort it out, the intoxicated smile faded from his face because, as though all of Gina’s negative aspects: dirty neck, unbrushed teeth, brown earwax, and being skinny and ugly were all weighed on one arm of a scale, and the counterweight that tilted the opposite arm of the scale downward was merely the thought that…

His eyes focused on the valley, Screw dirty neck, unbrushed teeth, brown earwax and being skinny and ugly… Screw it! And…

She’s a girl, ain’t she! And…

At that time Mitchell Lipensky wanted nothing more than to pull that—no doubt Immaculate Heart-issue—brassiere down and to look at and to touch and to suckle on those real live tits.

“You wanna see ’em?” Recognizing the look on his face, for the first time since meeting Mitchell knowing that she was in control, “You wanna touch ’em, don’t’j’ya?” Gina whispered.

Swallowing, taking his eyes from her hanging breasts, he forced himself to look at her face.

“Hey!” Sitting up, their legs extended beneath the coffee table, Frank and Lisa’s hands, hidden by the coffee table, high up on each other’s thighs, “You know what?” Frank said. “Ol’ Mitch here’s got one’a them ol’ Captain Midnight rings. You know, the kind that shows shootin’ stars’n’stuff. Ain’t’ch’ya, Mitch?”

“Yeah.” Reaching into his pocket, feeling around, Why do I do that, he thought, put everything in one pocket? Finding the ring beneath his key chain and change, he fished it out. “Yeah, here it is.” he said, handing the ring to Frank.

“Okay, how’s it work?”

“I told’j’ya, it don’t work so good.”

“Yeah, sure it does! It’ll work just fine! What’d’ya do, hold it up to the light?” Holding the ring towards the window a moment, “There!” Handing it back, “You do wanna see shootin’ stars’n’stuff, don’t’j’ya, Gina?”

“Yeah, sure, Frankie.” She smiled. “Mitchie, I’ve been waitin’ all my life to see a real Captain Midnight ring!”

“Yeah, I knew that! So why don’t’j’ya take Mitch into Lisa’s room, an’ he’ll show you how it works.” Frank winked at Mitchell. “Won’t’j’ya, Mitch?”

“Yeah! Come on, Mitch!” Standing, grabbing his arm, Gina helped to pull him onto his feet. “I wanna see shootin’ stars’n’stuff!”

On his feet…Wobbling on his feet, Mitchell knew that he was really about to be alone with Gina. That he was really about to be alone with a real live girl, with real live tits! Part of him, the brain in his penis part that had told him to hold her close and to rub his body against her body, the brain in his penis part that, just a minute or so ago had wanted him to look at and to touch and to suckle on those real live tits… That part of his body said, Yeah! But the other part of his body, the brain in his head part, once again reminded Mitchell what Gina looked like: the grime that ringed her face, the brown wax in her ears, her green tinged teeth and unappealing face and body… Body? Body! Yeah! Body seemed to be the key word and, Yeah, you bet Mitchell Lipensky allowed himself to be…

Pulling him forward, leading him into a bedroom, Gina closed the door.

Dark!                 

Holding the ring to approximately where he thought their eyes should be, “See,” he said. “I told Frankie the ring’s no good an’ you can’t see nothin’… Why’s it so dark in this room?”

“Lisa likes it dark when she sleeps, so they never took the blackout curtains down after the war… Screw the ring!”

Standing just inside the room, Mitchell was leaning against the door.

Standing close enough to feel his breath on her face, but not actually touching, Gina hoped that he’d make the first move… But he didn’t, so, snuggling against him, putting her arms about his waist, “So bashful!” she said. “But you don’t gotta be with me, baby, ’cause I like you, a lot!”

Feeling her body pressing warmly against his, instantly inflating, Mitchell’s penis shifted from neutral to third.

Purposefully rubbing her body against his, Gina held him even tighter and, getting the response she’d expected, she felt the push of his penis against her Immaculate Heart skirt. “Mmmm, baby,” flattered by his immediate response, “you get a boner so fast!”

Holding her waist a moment, his hands found their way through the back of her skirt and beneath the elastic band of her high-waisted—no doubt Immaculate Heart-issue—cotton underpants, where, Oh, God, he thought, holding a warm, naked buttock in each hand. So smooth! Moving a hand around, to her front, finding Gina’s navel, hesitating a moment, he was about to move his hand downward, when…

Gina’s warm breath was on his face, and Gina’s mouth was on his mouth…

Tongue!

He felt the tip of Gina’s tongue push against his lips and, Green teeth! he clenched his mouth tightly.

“Mmmm, Mitchie, baby, ain’t you never Frenched before?”

Actually, no, and though her breath kind’a tickled and kind’a felt nice, his mouth remained closed against “green teeth contamination.”

“Mmmm, so bashful,” she whispered onto his mouth as, reaching downward, caressing the bulge of his penis…

“Ummm!” His mouth loosened slightly, and the tip of her tongue went just a bit deeper than it had a moment ago, and…

Obviously used to working backhanded, especially with a boy’s fly, his belt suddenly unbuckled, Mitchell felt the release of the waistband of his pants as the metal button was popped from its hole, and…

“Ummm!” Gina’s tongue moved another centimeter inward.

Another button and, reaching beneath the elastic band of his shorts, her hand encircling him, “Mmmm!” stretching upward, Gina’s cold touch on Mitchell’s warm penis all but, “Oh, God!” caused him to leave the ground.

So warm! So hard! she thought, and wanting to know how it felt, rubbing her thumb over the glans, Gina further marveled, So smooth!

No one had ever touched him there except himself, and, he supposed, his mother when he was a baby, but in a situation such as this the touch of his mother when he was a baby sure as hell didn’t count and, “Ummmm!” within the first infinitesimal second of feeling Gina’s hand wrap around his penis—What green teeth?—His mouth opened and their tongues found each other’s and, leaving the indentation of her navel in the flat hardness of her stomach—floating in a fog of red passion and Dago-Red, for him, the eroticism in this pitch-black room was…? Dream-like, so—I’m really going to touch a girl’s cunt! he thought on one hand, but on the other hand Mitchell simply could not believe that this was truly happening, that… I’m really going to touch a girl’s cunt! Now! Lowering his hand, his fingers touching the soft/hard protrusion of her mound…? He has pubic hair, but he’d never considered that girls might have hair there, too, and when he touched Gina’s coarse, surprisingly abundant mat of pubic hair, “Ummmm!” his penis jerked in his hand.

Feeling the spasm, Gina rubbed her thumb over the urethra, making the glans slippery with the minute droplet of semen that had seeped through, as, arching her hips, she turned her body to the side so that Mitchell might reach her easier.

Extending his hand, and still, having no idea what he was about to find, touching Gina’s labia, the fleshy lips felt as one and thinking, This is it? the remembrance of the thought, Girls got nothin’, came to mind and, not readily finding the chasm, rubbing the ridges of flesh between his fingers…

“You ain’t never touched a girl here before, have you?” Reaching under his hand, spreading her vaginal lips, guiding his index finger, “Yeah, baby!” Gina’s lips brushed his. “That’s how ya do it.”