Rhea Goldman…
Rhea Goldman was a small woman. Five foot, two inches, in height, Rhea weighed one hundred sixteen pounds, had long, straight, raven black hair, a beautiful, oval shaped face and a flawless, olive complexion. She had dark brown eyes, thick lashes, and eyebrows that were always plucked in the current style. She also had well rounded hips and buttocks and was built pretty much in exact proportion to her size… except for two features: Rhea’s breasts were large—and made to appear even larger by her diminutive size—and her legs were thin.
Taking great pride in her breasts, Rhea well knew how to use them to her best advantage.
As for her legs, Rhea had found that by wearing the highest heel of any shoe that was presently in fashion, the radical arch of the shoe would add curvature to her calves, giving at least some shape to her lower legs.
In addition to Rhea’s exotic appearance, Rhea also had a quick mind and a pleasing personality, and many of the men she would meet quickly became enamoured of her.
The youngest of three sisters and one brother, coddled and spoiled, best described Rhea Goldman is exquisite and beautiful… and selfish, narcissistic and, oh, yeah, just slightly materialistic.
Eli Goldman...
The eldest of four boys, a kind, generous, softly spoken man, Eli Goldman was five foot, seven inches, in height, had wide shoulders, muscular arms and a broad, tapering torso. With a pleasing, manly face, Eli had curly, dark brown hair, a freckle scattered forehead, light blue eyes, an amiable smile, and a fairly prominent Semitic nose.
Forced to drop out of high school less than a year prior to graduation due to his family’s financial problems, which were created when his father had committed suicide because his inherited fortune had been lost early in the great depression, Eli found himself without a trade and was, in time, forced into menial labor.
Though not highly formally educated, Eli was extremely intelligent, but the deep love he had for his wife and his very trusting nature—and the fact that he truly considered Rhea a delicate china doll that was always kept on his pedestal of adoration—did not, however, allow him to see any of Rhea’s imperfections—physical or moral.
Pearl, Rhea’s widowed mother, had, on the other hand, been able to keep most of her husband’s money intact throughout the depression.
Though she felt Eli was beneath any social strata that her family had been able to maintain through the years, she knew he was a good, hardworking man that always had and always would treat her youngest daughter with love and respect.
Not only then was Eli fully accepted by the family, he was also the person that many of the family’s more educated members went to when a good, common sense answer to a specific problem was required.
Pearl was a generous person who often gave gifts of “things” or cash to her children.
It was for this reason, and knowing that he could never give his wife “the finer things in life,” “the things Rhea was used to,” “the things Rhea deserved,” that Eli had never objected to, or questioned, where the extra money and unaffordable clothing or household items came from.
Retrospectiv:
Chicago, Illinois
Rhea, Eli, and Roger—1932
Besides the obvious, the later months of her pregnancy had caused other drastic changes in Rhea’s body.
Carrying a baby, being as small as she was, had caused wide, red, stretch marks across her abdomen. Her normally large breasts had swollen to even larger proportions, which caused the tissue to stretch and sag, and the areolae to distend and change in color from dark pink to, in her opinion, an ugly, dark brown. Her back, legs, and feet ached constantly, and also, for the first time since she was thirteen, Rhea had developed an outbreak of pimples.
Rhea had always known she was beautiful, but looking at herself in a mirror, what she saw during pregnancy was a sagging, grossly distorted body and a blotchy, brokenout, swollen face.
Becoming depressed, “Eli,” she moaned, “do you still love me now that I’m so ugly?”
Sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in his hand, “Re, honey, of course I still love you.” Putting the cup down, turning on the chair, taking hold of her arm, he pulled her onto his lap.
His right hand caressing her bulging stomach, supported by his left arm held across her back, leaning against Eli’s chest, her head resting on his shoulder, “God,” she said, “I’m so ugly!”
“No!” kissing her ear, “No, you’re not ugly!” Nipping her lobe, his hand slipped through the robe onto the bare bubble of her protruding navel.
Sitting as she was, anywhere Eli put his hand on the front of her upper body would have to be onto or under a sagging breast, and he felt the warm hardness of her stomach in his palm and the warm softness of her breast upon the top of his hand… Taking hold of the back of her head, turning her head, moving her mouth to his, Eli kissed her lips, her eyes, then her lips again, this time, though, harder and, parting her teeth, Rhea allowed his tongue to make contact with hers. As the kiss lengthened, needing confirmation that, indeed, she was still desirable, if even only to Eli, whom she knew she was always desirable to, Rhea moved her tongue deeper and his hand from beneath to above.
Holding the weight of Rhea’s softer than ever, heavier than ever breast, feeling the hardening projection of her strange, pregnancy caused, distended nipple between a thumb and forefinger, “Re, I love you!” Because she had told him the last time he’d touched her there, Eli knew her nipples were sensitive. Moving his hand from her breast, he made a slow, wide circle around her stomach, then, fully expecting her to stop him, his hand, going beneath the stretched band of her underpants—actually, because at this stage of her pregnancy Rhea was more comfortable in Eli’s boxer shorts than in her panties, Eli moved his hand to under his underpants. Feeling her course pubic hair, “You’re all I ever want, Re!” he rubbed her mound.
Squirming on his lap, knowing at least he still found her appealing, further knowing that this activity would go no further than his hand, with maybe her reciprocating in kind, leaning back, Rhea opened her thighs.
* * * *
Later, standing nude, studying her image in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, Eli’s Eli! she had thought. He’d love me no matter what! Looking closely at her swollen face, bringing her hands down, over her sagging breasts, over her protruding navel, over her bulging stomach, turning sideways, gasping, “Oh, my God, I’m grotesque!” Then thinking, He’s crazy! How can even Eli say I’m beautiful? At that moment, No more! Rhea made a decision. “No more!” she said aloud, further thinking, This is it! No more babies… “Ever!”
Two months later, Eli signed the birth certificate that read, “Roger Keith Goldman. Born March 13, 1932. Chicago, Illinois.”
May 22, 1932
She sat on the sofa with the top three buttons of her housedress open and both pendulous, blue veined breasts exposed.
Held in her arms, a thin circle of bubbling milk formed around his lips, Roger noisily sucked on his mother’s distended nipple.
Eli, sitting alongside, watched.
“Think I’m going to stop now.”
“Yeah,” Eli replied, “he should be full by now.”
“No, Eli! I mean I’m going to stop nursing!”
“Re, Doc Schaffer said you should nurse for at least six months, and it’s only been… what? Eight weeks?”
“Eli, it’s not Schaffer’s breast, it’s mine, and it’s starting to hurt!” Laying the baby on the receiving blanket to her right, turning back to her husband, knowing the affect her breasts always had on Eli, lifting the breast, holding it for him to see, “See! Can you see how sore it is?” Holding the nipple between the length of her fore and index fingers, pushing inward, a thick drop of watery milk oozed through the perforation. Pouting, looking into his eyes, “It really hurts, Eli!”
Forcing his eyes from hers, Eli stared at Rhea’s breast, at the milk white, blue veined flesh; at the glistening drop of mother’s milk that hung from the dark brown, elongated nipple. Blinking his eyes, swallowing, he then touched the cusp of his wife’s nipple. Lifting the drop of milk onto the tip of his finger, Eli looked at it.
“Eli, you want to taste my milk, don’t you?” Reaching to him, putting her hand onto the back of his head, “Go on, Eli,” urging him downward, “taste my milk,” she whispered. “Drink me, Eli.”
Eli put his mouth onto Rhea’s breast, at the place where only a minute earlier the mouth of his baby had been and, sucking at the nipple, drawing the warm, sweet milk, Eli drank of his wife’s milk…
To drink of Rhea’s milk was to Eli… spiritual. Deeply moved, taking his mouth from the nipple, pulling her tightly to his chest, as he hugged Rhea with one arm, Eli cradled the small head of his child with the other hand, and…
Tears streaming down his face…
Feeling his sobs, “Shhh.” Smiling, looking at some distant point on the ceiling, “Shhh.” Patting Eli softly on his back, “My two babies,” Rhea cooed.
At that moment Rhea knew—knew—that she would always have her way—any way—with this man.
