“Anyway,” Marsha said, “I hated the way it happened with that judge, so fast and so…?”

“Impersonal.”

“Yes, impersonal. You know what, Mitchie?” Without waiting for his response, “I’ve waited so long to do it, to make love…”

Never telling her that he hadn’t, because a guy, a twenty-one-year-old guy, that hadn’t had intercourse by this time, to his way of thinking, should have, so he thought, Yeah, me too.

“… that I might just as well wait another couple of months so you and I can do it right.”

“In the eyes of God?”

“Yes. And also, about us finding a motel and not telling them. I want the two of us to get started off right, and I don’t think lying about something like that is the right way to do it.”

“In the eyes of God! All of a sudden our families got religion. I think the last time my mother and father’s been in a shul was when I had my Bar Mitzvah. How ’bout yours?” he asked, trying to make a point. “When’s the last time, you know of, that your folks went to shul?”

“When she’s gone, I don’t know, probably for Roger’s Bar Mitzvah, too. But daddy’s religious and goes every Friday, if he can.”

_________________________________________________________

“Okay, I respect your dad for that, but I don’t think he’s the one that came up with this stupid idea. I don’t think any man would ask that of another guy. And I know my mom, and it’s sure as hell not her!”

“Well, your mother didn’t exactly not agree with her.”

“Maybe not, but I think she was forced into it.”

Knowing Myra was, “Yeah,” Marsha conceded, “maybe she was.”

“And, Marcie, I don’t know if after this…” putting his hand on her thigh, “I can go back to New York tomorrow and wait ’till December… hell, ’till almost the end of December! Marcie, I dream of sleeping with you. Of turning over at night and touching you. Of waking in the morning next to you. Yeah, baby, it is the sex, too, sure it is! I can’t wait till we’re naked in bed together doing it… But, to be honest, it’s mostly the closeness to you that I dream of.” This was true … sometimes.

“Mitchie, I feel the same way”—she did, oh, yes, she did—“and I’ve got an idea.”

An idea? “What idea?”

“What if I call… Better yet, I think we’ll do better talking to her face to face, so let’s go back to my place and we’ll tell mother that if we were going to do anything, we would have already, and that we want to spend the night together. No! I’ll tell her that we are going to spend the night together, and that we won’t do anything! I’ll say that one of us"—uh, huh—"will sleep under the blanket and one above it, or something like that.”

Oh, yeah, “or something like that,” indeed.

“And,” Mitchell asked, “if she doesn’t buy it?”

Sighing, “You’re right, Mitchie, December is a long way off. If she says no, then we will go to a motel.”

“And we’ll…” Mitchell asked.

Oh, yeah, sure thing!

“… sleep over and under the blanket?”

“Of course we’ll sleep over and under the blanket!” Marsha said sternly.

“Of course we will,” Mitchell said slyly.

                                                    **** 

“Walter Lewis Studio!”

“Myra, the kids are here, and they’ve come up with something of an ultimatum.”

“An ultimatum! What kind of ultimatum?”

“They say…” staring at them, “that they want to spend the night together.”

“Together! They want to spend the night together?”

“Myra, please stop repeating everything I say! Yes, they want to sleep together.”

“Together! They want to sleep together?”

Christ! “Yes! But they say they won’t do anything.”

On the other end of the phone, fighting back laughter, “Won’t do any…”

“Do not repeat that! They say that one of them will sleep on top of the blanket and one of them will sleep under the blanket! And they say if I… if we, don’t let them, they’ll go to a motel.”

“You buy the blanket thing?” Hardly able to hold it back, “Sounds like a bunch’a bullshit to me.” Holding her hand over the mouthpiece, Myra began to laugh.

Wincing at “bullshit.” “I don’t know.”

Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her, getting a bit edgy under Rhea’s intense stare, Marsha and Mitchell listened to the one-way conversation.

Stifling her laughter, “You believe them, do you?” Myra asked.

“I don’t know! They are married, after all.”

Thinking the whole Eyes of God thing as ridiculous, trying to sound serious, “Yes, they are,” Myra said solemnly.

“And what’s true is true .”

“What’s true is true ?”

Glancing skyward, “Well, like they said, if they were going to do something, they would have already!” Looking from her daughter to Mitchell, I certainly would have!

“How do you know they didn’t, or won’t?”

“No,” looking at Marsha, “I know my daughter! And anyway, right now it’s beside the point.”

“Rhea, this was your idea! What do you want from me?”

Not trusting Myra, knowing she was not taking this seriously, “In your house they’d have a bedroom with a door.” Smiling at Marsha, “And here they’ll be sleeping in the living room, with a door that doesn’t close all the way…” now, smiling at Mitchell, “and here they’ll never know when I might just pop in on them.” 

October 18, 1955

Washing the pills down with the last sip of coffee—which was exactly what Marsha had counted on—stretching, “Think it’s time I went to bed.”

Mitchell looked at his watch: 1:05 a.m.

After receiving permission to spend the night together, driving to Skokie, waiting for Walter and Myra, the new Lipensky family went to dinner with the old Lipensky family. Returning to the house in Skokie, Mitchell collected his toilet kit, pajamas, and a robe, then, meeting Rosalie and her boyfriend, Marty, the two couples went to see Lady and the Tramp and afterwards to Askanaz for a nosh. When they returned to the apartment at 11:50, Eli had long since been asleep, and Rhea, as expected, was watching television.

Midnight, “Mitchie,” after Jerry Lester’s Broadway Open House, “I’m so tired!” Not so subtly dropping a hint she’d hoped her mother would take, “Why don’t you go in the bathroom and change into your pajamas?”

“Yeah,” he said, just a little louder than necessary, “that’s a good idea!” Taking his overnight bag—an A&P shopping bag containing his toilet kit and pajamas—Mitchell went into the bathroom.

While he was in the bathroom, Marsha went into her parent’s room, to Eli’s bottom drawer, where, knowing he wouldn’t care, she took a pair of unworn silk pajamas that he’d received as a birthday gift two years earlier: big panamas, with buttons and a fly. When Mitchell came from the bathroom wearing pajamas and a robe, Marsha went in to change.

Even though Rhea—uncharacteristically, considering her lifetime of infidelity—wanted her daughter to remain a virgin until the real wedding, the “in the eyes of God” wedding, always putting glamour before good sense, Rhea would never consider telling someone to sleep in their clothes. So, when Marsha had told Mitchell to get into his pajamas she did not object. Also, it would never occur to her to tell someone to wear underwear beneath their pajamas, so Rhea didn’t… And the newlyweds sure as hell didn’t. Shaking her head, “Good God,” Rhea said when Marsha returned to the living room, “those things make you look so klunky!” Then, remembering that her daughter was going to be spending the night with Mitchell, in bed, “Good!” she’d added. “Klunky’s good!” But still not taking the hint, Rhea remained in the living room to watch the Late, Late Show.

12:38 a.m.: “Mother, I want to open the bed… Mitch, help me, will you.”

Not taking that hint either, Rhea, without comment, changed from the sofa to a chair.

1:05 a.m.: Finally the Late, Late Show ended and “God Bless America” was sung by Kate Smith and the picture of the flag was replaced with the test pattern. Finally, sipping the last of her coffee, taking her pills, “Think it’s time I went to bed.” Standing, stretching, looking sternly from Marsha to Mitchell, “You two be good now!” Rhea said.

Oh, yeah!

“Marcie, come on out!” he whispered. “It’s got to be hot in there!”

Teasing him, she’d rolled herself into the blanket and would not come out, or let him come in.

“I know why you want me to come out!”

Kissing her nose, “You do, huh?” which was all he could find to kiss within her cocoon of the blanket. “Why?”

“’Cause you wanna touch my boobies, that’s why.”

Oh, yeah! Pretending to consider a moment, “Yeah, that’s true , I do!” Forcefully pulling the upper end of the blanket open, putting his arms about her…

“Mitchie,” she said seriously, “I don’t want my mother coming out and catching us!” Knowing that after Rhea took whatever pills she took she always fell asleep, Marsha reasoned, If he thinks she may be awake and checking on us, it might keep him from trying too hard. “And I’d really”—no longer fully trusting herself—“like to keep my word.”

Hugging her, his mouth alongside her ear, “I said it before and I’ll say it again,” flicking the inside of her ear with his tongue, “we’ll only go as far as you want, but…”

Yeah, she thought, that’s the problem!

“…damnit, we’re married and I want to hold you!”

He sounded angry, so in response, Marsha bit his ear.

“Ouch! You coming out?”

“No,” holding the blanket open for him, “you come in.”

Giving Rhea time, hopefully, to fall asleep, laying on their sides with their arms around each other, whispering, kissing…

Earlier Marsha would have taken bets that he wouldn’t be wearing underwear and, by the jiggling beneath her pajama top he’d thought she wasn’t wearing a brassiere. Then, when Rhea looked away, Marsha left no doubt when she’d very quickly, very unexpectedly, lifted her top exposing her breasts causing him to all but hop through the fly of his pajamas.

Now, feeling the delightful pressure of her breasts pressing against his chest, reaching through the back of her bottoms, truly surprised to find that she wasn’t wearing panties, his hand moving in a circle, touching, caressing, for the very first time feeling Marsha’s small, tight, oh-so-warm, so soft, so smooth buttocks, and, Oh, God! Her ass feels so good!

Now, Marsha’s hand beneath the back of his bottoms was touching and caressing, and she, too, for the very first time held her husband’s, or for that matter, any boy’s bare bottom, and, Oh, God! His tush feels so good!

Also, Marsha now felt the prod of his penis, which had poked—because, Oh, God, how it had wanted to poke—through the fly of his pajamas, and now, feeling the delightful grazing of his bare penis against her silk-covered vulva, tightening her hold, her fingernails taut in the flesh of his buttocks, constricting her thighs…

Knowing where he was, well knowing where he was, enveloped between the silky smoothness of her pajamas and the warmth of her vulva, lifting his top and her top, now feeling the soft warmth of Marsha’s naked breasts against his bare chest, sensing the tickle that foretells the flow of the first drop of his pre-semen…

Now, feeling the warm hardness of Mitchell’s bare chest against her naked breasts, sensing the tightening of her nipples, and the flow of her secretion…

“I love you!”

“Oh, God!”

“I love you!”

In the darkness of this room Mitchell could hardly see her face, yet he was able to discern the light and dark contrasts of her breasts and chest. Kissing the soft flesh, drawing the tightened circle into his mouth…

Earlier, that day—the marriage, where they had been and what they were doing—seemed to Marsha to be…? Seemed to have an unreal quality and, though she had seen him then, now…? In the darkness of this room, in her own bed, however unrealistic as it still seemed, reaching to him, tightening her hand around the hardness, the so warm, so soft hardness, Oh, God, I’m holding it! I’m really holding it!

…The feel of her touch transmitting erotic electricity, “Marcie,” breathing the words in her ear, “Oh, God, Marcie, I want to be in you! I want to feel myself in you!”

Hearing… sensing, feeling his words… Discovering now what she hadn’t discovered earlier… Wanting to, Oh, God! Wanting to! Discovering: her fingers twining through the hair there, What do I do? Discovering: holding the weight of his scrotum, God, I want to! Discovering: gently feeling the ovals of his testicles…

Kissing, tasting, touching his tongue to her chest, to her breastbone, to her navel… Wanting, Oh, God! Wanting, desperately wanting to put his mouth there. To taste her there! But, thinking in her innocence, and wisely so, that she might think of that as an unnatural act, he didn’t, and instead, his probing fingers twining the silky fineness there…

“Mitchie…”

“Marcie, you want me to stop?” Not wanting to! Please say no! “Should I stop?”

“God,” she answered immediately. “No!”

Caressing the soft, moist folds… finding the orifice…

The touch! The touching! The love and the loving.

The undeniable enjoyment of taking was far outweighed by the indisputable pleasure in giving.

“Marcie, I want to be a part of you!” he said huskily. “Tell me to do it! Please, Marcie, tell me to do it!”

“Mitchie…” Feeling the press of his chest against her breasts and the feel of the flesh within her hand… and the dandling, oh, so nice feel of the touch of his finger within her vagina, “My, God, Mitchie, I…”

Moving from her hand, positioning himself above, holding himself, moving to between her naked thighs where he pressed himself tight against the cleft of Marsha’s moist vulva, where…

Feeling the length of his penis tight against the lips of her vagina, tightening her thighs, holding him, hugging him, Marsha felt his body atop her body and his penis entrapped within her thighs, and, He is my husband, after all! We are married, after all! “Mitchie, yes!” the voice in his ear whispered, “Please! I want you to!

“Yes, baby,” the voice whispered back. “Oh, yes, baby!”

Squirming out of their pajamas: tops and bottoms.

The blanket again tented above their, now, for their first time together, fully nude bodies…

Positioned above her…

Taking hold of him, “Mitchie, please, baby, do it slow. It could hurt this first time.”

Guiding himself to her…

Now! God, yes! Mitchell was glad, actually glad, that he’d waited all of his life for this moment. The fact that his waiting was not voluntary—was far from voluntary—didn’t matter. What did matter, what really mattered, was that he and Marsha, his wife, the girl he’d always loved, were going to give up their virginity together, to each other, and this registered on his mind as a poetic, god-ordained circumstance.

What did not register on his mind, however, was the fact that he was not using a prophylactic.

Anxious, oh, yes! Fearful, yes indeed! Wanting to, oh, yeah! Not thinking of the fact that Mitchell was not using a prophylactic, either, nor how she was going to explain a bloody sheet if she should bleed when her hymen ruptured…

Positioned above her…

Taking hold of him, “Mitchie, please, baby, do it slow. It could hurt this first time.”

Guiding himself to her…

But…