Seesaw: Retrospective

                               18 months Earlier

October 17, 1955; Married

At precisely 10:30 a.m., three cars left the north side of Chicago and drove downtown in caravan.

The lead car, a green 1953 Buick, was driven by Eli Goldman with his wife, Rhea, alongside him.

The second car, a maroon 1954 Buick, was driven by Walter Lipensky with his wife, Myra, as far from him as the seat would allow.

The third car, a gray 1948 Desoto, was driven by Mitchell Lipensky, with Marsha Goldman, his soon-to-be-wife, practically sitting on his lap.

Stopping in front of an office building on Wabash Avenue, the three cars waited in a No Parking zone as, running into the building, taking the elevator to the doctor’s office on the fifteenth floor, picking up their blood test certifications, Mitchell rushed back to an elevator, down the fifteen flights to the gray DeSoto…

And the caravan continued.

Parking in a lot across the street from city hall, going into the building, asking directions of an elevator operator, riding to the third floor, the two sets of parents and two young people went into an office where, handing their blood test certifications to a wizened clerk along with five dollars, Mitchell was given a form that Marsha filled out, that both signed. Then, sitting on wooden benches, they waited for twenty minutes, until…

…In a short, civil ceremony, presided over by a judge in a black robe, with both sets of parents as witness…

In the eyes of the law—if not in the eyes of God…

Mitchell Lipensky and Marsha Goldman were married. 

                                        ***

Back on the street, with kisses and handshakes and a stern, kind of “remember, you promised” look from Rhea, Eli and Rhea went to Eli’s Grill on West Madison Street, and Walter and Myra went to Walter Lewis Studio, Inc. on North Clark Street, and…

The newlyweds were alone.

Mitchell drove east on Lake Shore Drive, and south about two miles to the jog of Lake Shore and U.S. 41. Turning left, the DeSoto went along Solidarity Drive to the furthermost, secluded point of the huge, now-vacant parking lot between the Adler Planetarium, which was always closed on Monday, and the loudly crashing water of Lake Michigan. 

                                     ***

Blowing through a minutely opened window, cold wind moaned softly.

Unable to separate sky from sea, the leaden sky was darkly overcast.

Breaking on slabs of granite, carrying on the wind, a mist of spray laid upon the windshield.

Married.

Married!

A surrealistic sensation brought about by the unreality of what they had done, feeling a part of a world different from any world they’d occupied before, sitting apart on opposite sides of the seat, the two stared at the grey panorama before them.

Married.

One hand, fingers splayed, now lay on the seat between them.

The other’s hand moved now, to within an inch.

Fingers… As positive and negative magnets are drawn to each other. The tips of their fingers touched… caressed… and entwined.

Married!

“I love you!”

Married!

“I love you!”

Beginning with a passion that built… and increased… and heightened, the kiss broke only when the two were left breathless…

“Marcie…”

Opening her eyes, she looked at him.

“Marcie, please… I want to see you, Marcie. I want to kiss you, here,” touching a breast over her coat, “with nothing between.”

He wants to look at me. With none of the shyness she had always thought she would have, And I want him to! “Oh, yes, baby!” Without hesitation, angling her body so she was partially leaning against the door… Also, by sitting in this position she was able to see if there were any cars approaching from the western end of the parking lot.

Kissing her again, he unbuttoned the three buttons of her coat, and, as though to prolong the ecstasy and the once-in-a-lifetime excitement of seeing Marsha’s—his wife’s—bare breasts for the very first time, he moved slowly, teasing himself into a near unbearable state of arousal.

Under the lightweight coat, she wore a cardigan cashmere sweater.

Moving back, Mitchell unbuttoned the six pearlized buttons, from the bottom up… The sixth button, the fifth… The light-toned flesh of Marsha’s stomach was revealed, along with—as he’d never seen her stomach bare, for some reason surprising him—the tiny bubble of her “outtie” navel that he thought was cute, so, bending forward, he kissed it… The fourth button, the third… Jutting forward, Marsha’s ribcage sharply defined her lean, concave stomach. The second button… Stopping, he looked into her eyes.

Watching Mitchell’s face intently, Marsha sensed his mounting passion, and hers, too.

He pushed the first button through, hesitated, then, moved the fully open sides of the sweater to either side of her brassiere.

The brassiere lifted Marsha’s breasts upward and inward, and a soft swelling of white flesh flowed from over the rounded twin tops of the lacy, silken fabric.

Leaning forward, kissing Marsha, his hands went to behind her back, where, feeling the two clasps, squeezing one between thumb and forefinger, feeling the release, squeezing the other he felt the release of pressure as the two sides detached. Moving back, lifting both cups… “Marcie,” his breath catching, “you’re beautiful!” he said softly, blinking his eyes as if testing to be sure that what he saw was real and, as of about forty minutes ago, “his,”—really his—to see, to touch—conditions right, with Marsha’s approval, of course—whenever he wanted. Fantasies of big tits wholly forgotten, “You’re beautiful!” he repeated, because in his eyes, Marsha’s—his wife’s—breasts were the most beautiful he’d ever seen, because, except for a few scattered freckles, the flesh was milk-white in comparison to the retained tan of her chest…

Lying to him on Saturday night, she had not let him hold her “just like this” again, and, on the two occasions that Mitchell had been allowed to touch her bare, he now saw why—that for a few seconds or so he’d been unable to discern it by touch—because, about the size of half-dollars, the dark pink, domed areolae of Marsha’s nipples lay upon the flesh of her breasts without the slightest differentiation. But now, even as he watched—excited by just his look—tightening, the circumference wrinkling, the color magically changed from dark pink to brown and, “Oh, God” holding each from beneath, lifting, tasting, he touched his tongue to the barely seen perforation of one, of both, from where milk would one day flow. Pressing his face to her chest, though scarcely large enough to do it, Mitchell squeezed the soft flesh of Marsha’s breasts to either side of his face and, Oh, my God! Mitchell felt…? at home, as if the scent and the softness of this girl that was now his wife was where God had always intended him to be.

Now was the first time any eyes looked upon her, as his eyes did.

Now was the first time any lips kissed her breasts, as his lips did.

Now was the first time, Oh, God! any mouth had closed over a nipple and drew upon it, as his mouth did, and, “Oh, God!” The suckling, sweet prickling sensation caused Marsha to close her eyes and hug his head to her breast, and—sensing the itch of longing within the depth of her vagina, moaning softly—to tighten and loosen the internal muscle within her vagina.

His face pressed to a breast, he did not hear the soft moan, but did feel the acceleration of her breathing, and as he drew on the now-tightened projection of Marsha’s nipple, bringing his elbow into the crook of her skirt covered crotch, he began to rub.

Feeling the pressure there, not caring… Yes! Caring! Wanting the sensation to go on forever, forgetting her mother, and her vow, opening her thighs to him, “Mitchie,” she whispered, “I love you!”

Moving his mouth from her breast, “Marcie, I love you, too!”

Wanting to be touched. Wanting her to touch him. Wanting to be… desperately wanting to be held within her hand, “Marcie,” he whispered, “would you like to see me? Would you like to hold me?”

For a moment she didn’t quite understand what he’d asked. Then… Marsha had fantasized about Mitchell, and yes, in the past about other boys, too. Once, in a rather hot necking session, the boy had moved her hand onto the bulge on his thigh, and, out of curiosity she’d allowed it to be held there… for only three or four seconds. She’d seen eight-pagers and crude, pornographic drawings of male members. Having an older brother, on occasion she did think about it, but had never seen Roger nude—This is Mitchell, she thought. He’s my husband for God’s sake! Rationalizing, He is my husband! Glancing about the car, There’s no way we can do it here… go all the way. And that, after all, was all she had promised her mother: not to go all the way. I didn’t promise anything about fooling around. And, though she was afraid—knowing Mitchell would go only as far as she wanted him to go, more afraid of her desire than his, but knowing that she was going to see it eventually, wanting to see it now—after a long moment’s hesitation, “Oh, yes!” she said.

Yes! Shrugging his jacket off, moving back on the seat, he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the top button, unzipped his fly, then, glancing over his shoulder to be sure there were no approaching cars—knowing, from what he’d gathered from their conversations, that this, now, would be the first adult penis Marsha had ever seen—parting the fly of his Jockey shorts, allowing only his penis and whatever long strands of pubic hair that came along with it freedom as…

Holding her breath, Marsha’s eyes widened in sensuous disbelief as….

Taking a pinkish blush when fully erect, at between six and six and a half inches in length, Mitchell was of average size and circumference. But now, being with Marsha, seeing the heretofore only imagined beauty of her breasts, tasting the heretofore only imagined sweetness of her breasts, now, knowing she was looking at him, feeling not only the emotion of the moment but, for the first time in his life—it had never gone this far or been this open even with Susan—in a passion-filled situation such as this, the cells of his penis engorged with even more blood, causing a muscular contraction that, as usually happened when he was very aroused, but never this quickly, a thick drop of clear pre-semen worked its way through the urethra, and…

Standing starkly upright through the slit of the white cotton material of his underpants, appearing as an entity detached from the body of her husband, though the sight of the bulk of Mitchell’s penis did send an additional surge of heat from mind to vagina. Having only seen a baby’s before, now, although of average size, to Marsha, it looked…? almost frightening.

Watching her face as she stared at him… at it, “Marcie,” he asked quietly, “touch me, hold me.”

Hold him? Touch it? Yes! Reaching to him, careful not to touch the shiny streak left by the drop of semen, tentatively touching the ring of the glans with the tip of one finger, jerking her hand away as though she’d received an electric shock, bringing it back, her fingers gently grasping the shaft of his penis, Oh, God! Touching it, holding it… Holding her husband, there, for the first time, Marsha was unable to comprehend how anything that looked so hard, could, at the same time, feel so soft and so warm, as…

My God! Mitchell more than felt Marsha’s hand encircle him. More than skin deep, Marsha’s touch reached from his penis, up his spine, into the furthermost recess of his mind, and…

“I love you!” The words coming concurrently from each, their lips once again came together in an open-mouthed, tongue-filled kiss.

As they kissed, Mitchell’s hand moved under her skirt and up along the inside of her long legs and silky smooth thighs, as…

Powerless, unwilling to stop him, Marsha parted her thighs.

Touching, his fingers caressed the moisture-slicked crotch of her panties, as…

Feeling him touch her there, taking a sharp intake of breath, Marsha unwittingly moaned, as… Finding the way beneath the elastic, the first feel of damp hair and, a moment later, the soft, fleshy folds of Marsha’s labia caused a low moan to break from his throat also. Moving his mouth from her mouth, bringing his lips to a breast, he drew hard, taking the nipple, along with much of the flesh of her breast, into his mouth, as, turning his wrist outward, Mitchell’s finger slipped through the crease of her labia, deeply into the well of, “Oh, my God!” Marsha’s tight and oh-so-wet vagina…

“Oh, my God!” Now, this was the first time that any hand, other than her own hand, had ever found and touched her secret, innermost place, as Mitchell was doing, and now, holding his head to her breast with one hand, and his penis with the other—not caring that the thin stream of clear semen now flowed onto her fingers—now opening her thighs even wider… now moving her pelvis in motion with the movement of his finger, the angle of his hand causing his thumb to rub against the—still unknown to Mitchell—engorged bud at the upper cleft of her vagina. “Oh, my God!” Quickly, much more quickly than Marsha had ever brought onto herself, closing her eyes, clenching her teeth, Marsha felt the intensity of the sharp, much sharper, sweet, much sweeter release… And knowing by the movement within her hand that there was great urgency there, instinctively aware of how she was able to release it, now, her own urgency subsiding—or was it—watching over the top of his head, catching his rhythm, moving her hand up and down, along the hard, soft, warm shaft, as…

Pulling his lips from Marsha’s breast with a loud, vacuum breaking sound, “Oh, my God, baby, I’m…” Looking at her naked breasts and transformed nipples, feeling the slick overflow of her secretion upon his entire hand… “Mmmm, GOD!” The dam burst, and…

Feeling the sharp penile contractions, Marsha watched the arching jets of spurting, creamy semen in pure wonder, then, when no more came, “Oh, God, Mitchie,” she said seriously, “this is it!” Holding her hand up, looking at it, apparently not caring that it was wet with his semen, “This is it!” she repeated in awe. “The stuff that makes babies!”

As always—thinking of it as a premature ejaculation—embarrassed when this happened, “Marcie,” drawing his hand from between her thighs, “Here,” reaching into his pocket, with his dry hand, removing his clean handkerchief, “wipe your hand.”

Taking the handkerchief, “Wait,” she said. “Don’t move!”

“What do mean, don’t move?”

“Please, Mitchie, sit still a minute, I want to watch it.”

“You want to watch… what?”

Thrilled that she had been able to get that kind of a response from Mitchell just by using her hand, to say nothing of the kind of response he’d been able to get from her just by using his hand. Thrilled also with the knowledge and experience that she’d gained in the last ten minutes—more than she’d had in her entire lifetime of nineteen years—Marsha watched in rapt attention as the blood reversed and the hard, erect tissue was magically replaced with soft, spongy tissue, and as it shrunk, it slipped, unaided, through the slit, into the confines of Mitchell’s white, cotton Jockey shorts.

Trying to bring herself and Mitchell back to some sort of normalcy, “Know what I think?” she asked jokingly. “I think you’re some kind of’a miracle of modern engineering.”

Miracle of modern engineering? Still feeling somewhat embarrassed, laughing, “shucks, Marsha,” he said in mock modesty, “almost any guy can get a boner!”

“Yeah, maybe,” she said, “but you’re my guy!”

Wondering why so many things always reminded him of things in the past, wiping a drop of semen off the dashboard with the handkerchief, “I’m sorry it happened this way,” motioning towards his lap with the handkerchief, “but, Marcie, you got me so hot!”

“Yeah, you got me pretty hot there, too. And don’t say that,” reaching behind her back, re-clasping her brassiere, “I’m not sorry for anything that’s happened today!”

Zipping his fly, watching her, “Hold on, baby,” reaching to her, lifting one of the cups of her brassiere from the bottom, popping it up, over a breast, kissing the breast, “I love you!”

“Yeah, sure!” Pulling the cup down, grasping the brassiere from the bottom, readjusting it. “You just love my boobies.”

“Yeah, baby, I sure do, but I also love what’s attached.”

Reversing the car, “Marcie, baby, you’n’me, we’re married now…”

“Yeah, baby,” rubbing her hand high up on his thigh, “we sure are!”

Feeling her fingers graze his, not-altogether-flaccid penis, smiling, “And I’ve been thinking that we can do whatever we want now that we’ve, uh,” looking at her hand, “kind of broken the ice…”

Sensing her flow again, “So to speak.” wantonly tightening her fingers around his absolutely-no-longer-flaccid penis.