The sexual possibilities limitless here, Mitchell had never been with a girl that had her own apartment, especially in a building with a doorman and, totally impressed, “This is a very nice place!” Walking to the picture window, looking at the light-studded Manhattan view, “You must do well as an actress. Should I know you?”

“Now? No. Maybe someday, I certainly hope so. But now, my dad’s got lots of money, and he’d worry about me if I had to live on what I make, so he helps out with the rent and stuff… Scotch okay?”

He’d never had Scotch, but, “Yeah, sure.”

The kitchen in Christine Sanbourne’s high-rise, three-room apartment was separated from the living room by a ceramic tile counter and a row of blonde-wood hanging cabinets that opened to the kitchen.

Following Chris around the counter, he watched as, opening the freezer, scooping two hand-fulls of ice out of a plastic bowl, she dropped first one then the other into two lo-ball glasses. Opening a cabinet, removing a bottle of Chevas Regal, filling both glasses to the rim, “Here.” handing him one. “Come on.” Taking two paper coasters off a stack on the counter on her way out of the kitchen, she dropped them onto the marble-topped coffee table. Sitting on the sofa, patting the cushion next to her, “Make yourself comfortable, Mitchie.” Taking a long drink, kicking her shoes off, “I won’t bite you.”

Biting him the least of his problems, a bit nervous, though, because he knew what was coming, trying to look calm, and remain calm, “It’s okay, Chris,” sitting next to her, “you can bite me whenever…” taking a drink, grimacing, “and wherever you want.” He took another drink.

Sitting awkwardly, each waiting for the other to say, or do something, Christine Sanbourne and Mitchell Lipensky drank their drinks, and because Mitchell hadn’t had anything stronger than beer—and then only one or two—since the unhappy night of his eighteenth birthday, the Scotch going to his head immediately, wanting to kiss Chris, momentarily wooden, and at a loss for words, “Mmmm,” he said, “this is nice.”

“Yes, it is. But let me show you what I really love!” Standing, going into the kitchen, turning the lights off on her way out, returning with the bottle of Chevas, Chris refilled both glasses. Leaving the bottle on the coffee table, turning the combination television, phonograph and radio to a classical radio station, “Excuse me a minute.”

Knowing what she wanted to do, and well knowing from past experience what pancake makeup could do to a navy-blue tunic, going through her bedroom into the washroom, appraising the image of her face negatively, using cold-cream, she removed her makeup.

Turning the lights off as she went, coming back to the living room, their thighs touching, sitting alongside Mitchell, taking a long pull of scotch, laying her head back on the sofa, Chris closed her eyes.

Soft, beautifully melodic music filled the room as the diffused, flickering light from the lights of the city coming through the large window danced upon the walls and ceiling.

“Isn’t this beautiful!”

Putting his glass onto the coaster, “Yes.” No longer wooden, no longer needing words, moving his face to hers, their lips brushed, touched, and made contact.

Tasting the Scotch on her lips, and in her mouth… His hand, moving to beneath the bottom of her sweater, rested upon her warm, rock-hard stomach.

Feeling his touch, her tongue probed into his mouth.

Encouraged, his hand moving upward, “Wait,” Knowing, thinking she’d know how to placate him when the time came, “let’s go into the bedroom.”

Oh, yeah! The bedroom! Pulling his shoes off, “Yeah!” he said, pulling his socks off. “Let’s go in the bedroom!”

Standing, Chris took a step, turned back, lifted her glass and handed him his. Watching each other over the rims, each drained their glass, then, wobbling a bit, she led the way as Mitchell, wobbling a whole lot, pulling his tunic and T-shirt over his head, leaving a trail of his clothing, was fully nude by the time they’d made the short journey from the living room to the bedroom.

The curtains before the picture window in the bedroom were fully open and the city lights, additionally reflecting off an oversized dresser mirror, cast a flickering kaleidoscope of light throughout the room.

Not realizing that he’d undressed, turning, looking at him, Chris could not tell if he truly looked as good as she thought he looked, or if it was the effect of about four, or more, ounces of quickly consumed Scotch, because—seeing Mitchell as Sally Brockman and Elsa Schmidt had seen him in approximately the same amount of light—darkly tanned except for the area between his navel and crotch, Mitchell’s chest and pubic hair appeared to be pitch black and his turgid penis stark white in the reflected, dancing light and…

Sensing a warmth in her abdomen—Could be the Scotch?—and a twitch in her ovaries, her breath catching, “Mitchie,” she asked, her words a bit slurred, “how in the hell’d you get undressed that fast?”

As always, feeling a heightened—and more so due to the Scotch—sense of eroticism at being fully nude before a girl, or, now for the first time, an adult woman, “Magic.” Putting his hands on her waist, moving firmly against her…

“Mitchie,” feeling his unrestrained penis prodding into her skirt, “uh,” momentarily forgetting what she wanted to say, forcing her nails into the flesh of his buttocks, “wait!” Pushing both hands against his chest, separating their bodies, her eyes traveled from his face downward… then back to his face “I’ve got to tell you something!”

“No!” His words very slurred, “Don’t tell me you’re not eighteen yet and your dad’s a cop!”

“No!” Flattered, looking years younger than her thirty-one, knowing that he was—setting a trend for the rest of her life—minimally ten years younger. “I’m… uh, trust me, I’m older’n eighteen. And ‘a cop’? No, my father’s a stockbroker. Why?”

Relieved, “Oh, nothing,” he said, tightening his hold.

“Mitchie,” Now seems like a pretty good time to tell him.

“Chris, get undressed, please.”

“I will, Mitchie…”

She will!

“… but I’ve got to tell you something!”

   (A"Becoming"Excerpt)