Seagate, New York
August 5, 1956
For the first time, together
Awakening while it was still dark, going to the bathroom, he urinated. Lying down again, glancing at the luminous face of the clock, thinking, I’m going to have to get up in an hour, he remembered this day was Sunday and that he and Marsha were planning on driving to Manhattan to see Judy Garland in person at the Paramount theatre…
In a few minutes he fell asleep again.
****
10:23 a.m.
The drapes still pulled, the room in subdued shades of daylight, the flushing of the toilet woke him.
Having slept nude, stretching, he sensuously ran his hands over his chest and stomach, then rubbed the hard shaft of his urine swelled erection between the palms of his hands causing a deliciously warm friction.
Knowing Marsha would not be out for at least another five minutes, throwing the summer quilt off, going to the kitchen and, not wanting to splash water on the floor, stuffing his upright penis between his thighs so he might get right up against the sink, he washed his face with dish soap.
Rarely sleeping later then she did, hearing Mitchell move about and the sound of running water in the kitchen, “Mitchie, hi!” she called through the closed door. “Did I wake you?”
When they’d gone to bed the night before, Mitchell wasn’t sure if Marsha was really angry at him for not telling her about Ruby and Sherry before they’d arrived. He had learned that if not sure of his wife’s anger it was best to leave her alone, and not knowing if she was angry, if she was, would she still be angry this morning. True, she had refused his sexual advances last night, but he always made sexual advances and she very often refused… even if she was not angry at him.
Recognizing the tone of her voice as friendly, “Nah, I was about to get up anyway.”
Wanting to rinse the odor of sleep from his mouth, mixing a teaspoon of baking soda in half a glass of water, he gargled, then got back into bed, on top of the blanket.
Knowing her husband, hearing him gargle in the kitchen, she knew full well what he had in mind… But on this morning, Marsha, too, had an urge to do “it.”
The door to the bathroom opening, “Good morning.”
Depending on how badly she wanted to tease him, usually wearing at least her pajama top, or bottom, looking at his wife’s fully nude body, surprised that she was, Mitchell could not tell if it was his imagination or just wishful thinking but Marsha’s sloping breasts did appear to be just a bit heavier. He looked at her dusky pink areolae that he’d happily spent so much time studying, and they did appear to be just a little darker and just a little larger. Mitchell looked at the black triangle of Marsha’s pubic hair, and her long, thin legs and, though he had seen Marsha fully nude at least a hundred times, what he then saw caused a twitch in his penis as it engorged with even more blood and, fully enraptured and impassioned by his wife’s youthful, erotic, in his mind changing beauty, swallowing, speaking softly, “Hi.”
Standing across the short distance, looking at him as he looked at her, sensing the rise of her excitement, Marsha felt an all encompassing bloom of warmth along with the pleasant drawing sensation in her breasts as her excited nipples hardened and, in fear of it seeping out and down her thighs, she tightened the muscles there against the flush of moisture that seemed to flood the well of her vagina as, moving to the bed, standing above, she looked down, at the body of her husband.
Lying on his back with his hands crossed behind his head, Mitchell’s blood engorged penis stood fully upright in the hairy trisection of his thighs and crotch. As Marsha looked, a thick, crystalline drop of semen worked its way through the urethra and, as she watched, ran down the pink glans of his penis leaving a thin, shiny streak, and…
Unable to stop herself—even if she’d wanted to—touching the semen with the tip of her finger, Marsha moved the slick moisture in a circle, dampening the entire glans of her husband’s penis, leaving it shiny as…
Closing his eyes to the slight, almost nonexistent touch, that he felt from his anus to his brain…
…Swallowing, impassioned by her husband’s youthful, erotic beauty, hesitating, Marsha watched her finger as it circled the spear shaped, semen slicked head of his penis, then, stepping onto the bed, stranding above him with her outstretched legs to either side of his hips, wanting him to look, wanting him to see, lifting both breasts from beneath, “Think I’m beginning to show?” she asked as, now, seductively, Marsha brought her hands slowly down her waist and across her, possibly slightly bulging stomach. “Think I look knocked up, Mitchie?”
Looking. Seeing. Blinking his eyes, “Umm, yes, maybe.” Mitchell saw the undersides of Marsha’s breasts, the, yes, maybe, slight rounding within her lean, hard stomach, the swelling of her mound and, showing through the silky, dampened hair, the minutely hanging, fleshy double fold of her vaginal lips and, “God!” he said through clenched teeth, “you’re so beautiful, Marcie!” As, lifting his upper body, encircling Marsha with both arms, his face tight against her mound, feeling the hair there against his lips, noting not the slightest odor there, thinking, She wants me to today, saying, “I love you!” he held her smooth, Oh, God, so smooth buttocks within the palms of his hands, as…
Wanting him to look, pushing on his chest, “Lay back, Mitchie.” Wanting him to see! Reaching between her thighs, spreading the labia with the fingers of one hand, giving her husband time enough to see her own moisture slickened, so slickened genitalia—which he, oh, yes, did see—holding the shaft of his penis within the palm of her other hand, lowering herself, Marsha guided him inward… sensuously, “Oh, God!” impaling herself.
“Oh, God!” Feeling himself swallowed within the tight, smooth, warm wetness, his hands back onto her buttocks, tightening his fingers, forcing her pelvis to settle even lower onto the shaft of his upward straining penis…
Bending at the hips, leaning forward, stretching her arms to either side of his head, moving her chest from side to side, brushing her swaying, hanging breasts across his mouth…
Touching his tongue to the tip of one, then the other swaying, elongated nipple… Taking his hands from her buttocks, holding a breast in the palm of each hand… Bringing his mouth onto one he drew on the sensitized nipple filling his mouth with as much of the soft, sweet, oh, so sweet flesh of the breast of his wife as his mouth could hold, as…
Moving her lower body, rocking forward, slowly rocking backward…
Having a desire to move against her, to cause opposing friction, Mitchell knew if he did he’d ejaculate within a few strokes and did not want to! Not, at least until she had so instead, forcing self control, remaining perfectly still, letting Marsha make all movement, letting Marsha go at her own speed, freeing her breast from his mouth, Mitchell’s hands once again went to her buttocks. But not wanting to inhibit her motion in any way, holding the cool, smooth flesh lightly, feeling the softly brushing, sensuous movement upon the palms of both hands, laying his head onto the pillow, seeing emotion he had never seen before… Watching, seeing the show of emotion that now showed upon the face of his wife as…
Squeezed shut, deep furrows forming on the sides of Marsha’s eyes, her lower lip held between her front teeth, breathing inward through her nostrils with each backward motion, releasing the breath with each forward motion, but for sounds of the inhalation and expulsion of her breath, Marsha made no other sound as…
Not wanting to break her concentration, and the sexual spell that she and certainly he were under, his pelvis straining upward, Mitchell made no movement as…
The sound of breathing, of air being drawn harshly into and out of her nostrils becoming louder, becoming more pronounced… Faster as now the back and forth rocking motion changed to a tight, grinding, circular motion… Now, as though her nostrils could no longer supply the volume of air she and her passion need, her lips parted, rapidly inhaling, rapidly exhaling through her mouth as…
Seeing the unrestrained passion on her face, along with the pendulum sway of her breasts, and the feel, sight and thought of his penis deeply within Marsha’s ultra wet, ultra warm, ultra smooth vagina, even as he forced himself not to move, closing his eyes tightly, No! clenching his jaw, No! concentrating, No! Do not come! Concentrating, No! concentrating… The urgent demand passing, opening his eyes, looking at the face of his wife once again as…
“Ummm!” Straightening her body, bringing it fully upward, pulling her stomach so far inward, causing her stomach to become so deeply concave that, pregnant or not, showing or not—from Mitchell’s perspective—looking as though her stomach must be laying against her spine, closing her eyes tightly, “Ummm!” spoken through now tightly clenched lips, moving her head so far back on her shoulders that, her long hair brushing against the tops of Mitchell’s thighs—the flesh of her breasts flattening, stretching tautly, the tight projections of both nipples pointing straight upward—now holding her arms straight at her sides, her hands tightened into fists, with her knees folded beneath, now moving her body up… down… up… slowly… “Ummm,” The barely discernible sound coming from behind Marsha’s compressed lips, her body rising, lowering, rising, as…
Hearing wet, suctional sounds, his eyes, moving from the sight of her sharply tightened nipples, lower, to her widely extended thighs, watching as…
Watching, as she rose upward, the shaft of his penis, shiny and slick with the excess of Marsha’s fluid, came into view and when she lowered, when their sopping pubic hair entangled once again, his penis wholly disappeared within the vagina of his wife as…
Her lips parted, her jaw clamped, drawing air through clenched teeth… Now, her tongue circling dry lips, “Mitchell,” opening her eyes, looking at him, “I love you!” Closing her eyes again, tightly, her motion slowing, in spite of herself, sensing the delicious tugging within her ovaries, “Ummm!” Moaning loudly, feeling the sharp, sweet release, her back now ramrod straight, sitting perfectly still…
Mitchell felt them! He actually felt the pulsing…
In this position, with his penis fully within the vagina of his wife, with both he and she absolutely still, he did…
He could feel Marsha’s orgasm! And the thought of it; the sensation of Marsha’s orgasm surrounded not only the length and breadth of his penis but Mitchell’s entire psyche as he felt the tightening and loosening spasmodic contractions of his wife’s orgasm, and…
By the look of her face and the language of her body, knowing what he felt….
She, sitting straight up, he, lying flat upon his back, both still…
Still, without moving, not in the slightest, engorged to its maximum with love, with desire—of which at this moment there was not the slightest distinction—the penis of Mitchell Lipensky no longer able to contain or retain his passion, he, too…
Marsha had felt them before, but in the past he—and occasionally she—or both had been moving, but now both were still and feeling the contractions of her husband’s ejaculations, knowing what she felt triggering again, or possibly having never stopped…
Sensing the pinnacle of their physical love…
Sensing…
Actually feeling the other’s orgasm, for the first time, together…
Warmed…
Mentally and physically warmed by the miracle caused by the other.
Sated now. Exhausted by the culmination of their desire but yet fully joined within their position, Mitchell, his eyes closed, relaxed, and Marsha, her eyes closed, slumped forward, resting her chest upon his chest, the side of her face against the side of his face…
Their ragged breathing slowing… Slowing, becoming normal, Mitchell, now flaccid, slipping from Marsha, the pain within his extended bladder suddenly acute, remembering, “Oh, baby,” he said, “do I gotta go!” Shrugging Marsha off his supine body, holding the dripping, retracted slug of his penis within his hand, rushing to the bathroom, swinging the door to a partially closed position, standing over the toilet—for what seemed forever—“Marcie, we sure didn’t waste it today!”
Often surprised by the amount he was able to hold, listening to the seemingly never-ending sound of urine running into the toilet, “We sure didn’t waste what today?”
“A great boner, baby!”
Not fully understanding what he meant, but yet feeling the residual affect of her orgasm… of—knowing for the first time for sure—their orgasm. “Yeah, baby!” Certainly agreeing with him. “That’s for sure!”
****
The weather unusually cool these first days of August, outside it was a beautifully crisp summer day, at least here, near the ocean.
Before leaving for the city, lowering the convertible top, because they’d be raising it when they parked, Mitchell did not go to the bother of putting the boot on.
Still feeling the afterglow of their lovemaking, Marsha sat as closely as possible. Driving in the—even for Sunday morning—light traffic, Mitchell drove with his arm about Marsha’s shoulder.
Finding a parking spot on Ninth Avenue near 44th Street, about a half mile from the theatre, Mitchell raised the top.
Walking along 42nd Street, finding a restaurant just off Times Square, they had breakfast where Mitchell, despite what Ruby had told him, had his usual of fried eggs, hash brown potatoes, pork sausage, toasted bagel with cream cheese and coffee. With the exception of ham and tea, Marsha had the same.
Finished eating, walking to the Paramount Theatre, they found a triple wide box office line snaking halfway around the block.
Checking with the outside usher, Mitchell learned that the lobby was packed and the next show completely sold out.
Disappointed, but unwilling to wait in line for three hours, even to see Judy Garland, deciding, “As long as we’re here, we might as well see a movie.”
Walking along 42nd Street, looking for a movie they both agreed on, passing the alley that runs adjacent to the theatre, “Clang, clang, clang went the trolley!” they heard the strong voice of Judy Garland wafting through the open rear doors of the Paramount. Stopping, moving into the alley, they stood among a large group of people that also stood listening.
