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Already sixteen, Ina was almost six months older than Mitchell. She had peroxide-bleached, streaky blonde hair. Her face was round with small, dark-brown eyes, a turned-up nose with red-tinged, scaly nostrils due to blowing and rubbing because of allergies. Her forehead, chin and chest were dotted with pin-head-size sun blisters and, though not fat, Ina was fleshy with thick thighs, a somewhat flabby stomach and…________________________________________________________

 August 18, 1950

Union Pier, Michigan

Mitchell’s eyes went from her rather homely face to the creamy swelling at the top of her bathing suit, to… Oh, God! Ina’s soft-looking, delectable breasts, and even then, in the middle of the day, even there, on this crowded beach, he unwittingly obtained a full-fledged erection just thinking that, Maybe, tonight, he might, just might, be able to look at, touch, and suckle on those… Oh, God, he thought, she’s got great tits! Forcing his eyes from her chest to her face, “Ina,” not sure how to ask. “I’m, uh, babysitting tonight,” he said bluntly, “and was wondering if, uh, if you’re not doing anything, if you’d like to, uh, come on over and keep me company.”

Ina, too, looked… At Mitchell’s green eyes, darkly tanned, scrumptious face, and her eyes shifted downward, to—wearing a yellow, brief-type bathing suit, sitting cross-legged as he was—Ina saw the tubular impression of his engorged penis under the tight-fitting, glossy material and she, also, thought of what she knew she would look at, touch, and suckle on tonight, so, “Yeah, Mitchie,” looking at his face, “that sounds like fun. You wanna pick me up, or…” Knowing that most parents frown at their babysitters having company, especially opposite sex company, and most especially opposite sex company that looked like she knew she was going to look that night. “…or should I kind’a, you know, just kind’a come over later?”

Surprised, She’s going to! actually shocked that she’d agreed. “Yeah,” he said, “if you don’t mind just, uh, just kind’a come over.”

                                                                         **** 

The Liebmans had been gone almost an hour and Jerry, their three-year-old son, was sound asleep in the rear bedroom.

Having given Ina exact directions to the cottage, he asked if she’d get there about eight.

Where is she?

At eight forty-five, beginning to think Ina had changed her mind, hearing footsteps on the wooden stairs, not waiting for her to knock, Mitchell rushed to the door, pulled it open and, seeing Ina simultaneously felt relief because she did come, fear because she did come, and a very rapidly heightening sense of anticipation because on this night, without a doubt, he, finally, really… I’m finally, really going to see what a cunt looks like. Which actually, oddly enough, took precedence over intercourse… although, not by much.

Wearing a light-blue, scooped-neck blouse that showed off her very ample cleavage, brown leather thongs and short—very short—jagged-cut Levi’s, “Hi’ya, Mitchie!” Ina said. “Dis must be d’place, eh?”

“Yeah,” swallowing nervously. “Dis am d’place.” Moving aside, “Come in.” Mitchell’s eyes followed the movement of Ina’s ample posterior as she walked into the room, and—the sway of her buttocks caused the pink, elastic band of her panties to show over the swell of her ample left buttock as it moved in and out under the cut-off thigh of her Levi’s, and—excited, hell, more than excited by the movement of this thin piece of pink fabric, he swallowed again.

“Nice cottage, Mitch. How many kids they have?”

“Just one, Jerry. He’s three and asleep and he never, ever gets up and the Liebmans went to a movie in Michigan City and won’t be back till after eleven!” he said quickly, as if trying to convince Ina that it was safe for them to do whatever his imagination and her morality would allow.

Taken back, expecting just a little more… suavity from a “man” as experienced as Mitchell Lipensky—the Mitchell Lipensky—Ina said nothing in response, and…

“Uh…” Suddenly inarticulate, at a complete loss for words, he could think of nothing to say, but… “Uh, you look real nice tonight, Ina.”

Which, coincidently, was exactly the right thing to say because with a girl as insecure as Ina Dorfmann a little flattery went a long way.

“So do you, Mitchie. But then again you always look nice.”

Blushing, “Thanks.”

Going to the console radio, he turned it on and appropriately, “I want to be loved with inspiration,” the Andrews Sisters sang. “I want to be loved, starting tonight.”

Walking to the sofa, “Ina, why don’t we…” sitting in the middle—Gina’s trick—so wherever Ina sat she’d be within easy reach, “sit down.”

“No.”

“No?” He blinked his eyes.

“No.” Sensing his… Actually pleasantly surprised at his shyness. Surprised also at knowing that she, more so then he, would be in charge of the situation. Holding her hands forward, wiggling her fingers in a “come here” motion, “You come here!” As Gina, Ina knew the best way to loosen a guy up was to get him onto his feet, moving body to body. “Let’s dance.”

“No,” shaking his head. “I’m not such a good dancer.”

Her hands beckoning to him, “Sure you are!”

“No. Believe me, I am not such a good dancer.”

“Baloney!” Moving to the sofa, purposely letting her blouse gape open, Ina bent forward and, although she was wearing a brassiere, all but the nipples on the long, hanging, double flow of breast flesh was visible. Taking him by both hands, she pulled Mitchell—whose eyes, naturally, were glued to her breasts—onto his feet and into her arms. Moving her body against his, “Anyone can dance,” she said. “See, it’s easy.”

Thinking, Oh, God, it’s like Gina all over again. Only Ina smells like coconuts and doesn’t have green teeth. Feeling the soft push of her breasts against his chest, And she’s got tits, really got tits!

One of those perpetually late people, Ina knew that she was late getting to the cottage and not wanting to waste more time, “See, Mitchie,” putting both arms about his waist, pressing her body against his, “it ain’t hard…” Looking at his face, running the tip of her tongue over her lips, smiling, feeling “it” against her thighs, “uh, dancing, that is.”

Watching the movement of Ina’s tongue, catching the meaning of what, he thought, she really meant, moving his hands from her ample hips to her ample buttocks, grinding his pubis onto her pubis, wanting that tongue, putting his mouth over her mouth, kissing Ina he drew, and in response Ina drew, too… with such force that it was his tongue rather then hers that was drawn outward and deeply inward as, moving his hand beneath the bottom of her loose-fitting blouse, he fumbled with the small… How the hell do you undo this damn thing? clasp of her brassiere, then, too fuckin’ complicated, he slipped his hand under the strap, around and upward and… Oh, God! A soft, very ample breast filled his hand, overflowing his hand, and. reversing the vacuums hold on his tongue, Ina’s tongue was drawn into his mouth.

“Mmmm!” Pulling her mouth from his. “Don’t want to waste any time do you, baby? Go close the blinds.”

Moaning, “Mmmm. No, baby,” as he felt the rougher surface of her nipple between the tips of his fingers, “you feel so nice I don’t wanna move.”

“Yeah, baby, go on, an’ you can come right back.” For emphasis she squeezed the hand holding her breast. “I want’j’ya, too.”

Not sure if Ina meant that she wanted him to close the blinds, or if she wanted him as he wanted her. Nonetheless, reluctantly moving his hand from beneath her brassiere, from beneath her blouse, rushing to the window, he twisted the rod that turned the wooden slats downward, then… Well aware of the prominent bulge poking from beneath his jeans, remembering how proud Frankie had been of it, standing straight upward, he turned back to Ina who, having moved to the sofa, was now reclining against a heavily padded armrest.

Dropping next to her, looking at Ina’s face a moment, lifting her blouse from the bottom, snagging the undersides of the 38C cups with his index fingers, pulling upward, “My, God, Ina,” he whispered passionately, staring at her sloping breasts, “you’re so beautiful!”

His words further exciting her, Ina closed her eyes in anticipation of the sweet, prickling sensation she knew would be coming at any second.

As though his gaze a caress, as he watched, Ina’s large, flat, dark-brown areolae began to tighten, and a moment before totally abandoning himself to lust, Tits got to be one of God’s greatest miracles! Mitchell thought as, moving his head forward, holding the warm, soft weight of a breast from beneath, savoring the sweet/salt taste of her flesh, he touched the tip of his tongue to the tightly puckered projection of an areola that now stood stiffly upward, then, closing his lips around it…

Moaning softly, Ina pressed his head to her breast, as…

Concurrently, as if having the same thought at the same time, each tried, single-handedly, to unbutton the impossible to unbutton—especially in that position—steel buttons of the other’s Levi’s without relinquishing his hand-held mouth-hold on her breast and her hand-hold on his head. But being in a better position, or, more the likely, because Ina Dorfmann had more experience at popping someone else’s steel buttons in any position, Ina had Mitchell’s popped first, then the next and the next, then fishing through the slit of his Jockey shorts, freed his straining penis, and…

It had been sixteen months since Mitchell had been held by a female hand, so when Ina wrapped hers around him, her touch, plus the thought of being touched, there, again, by a real girl, in combination with what he held within his mouth, and hand… Don’t come! Do not come! forced him to concentrate to keep from an immediate ejaculation and the barely-contained spark traveled, instantaneously, from penis to brain—upper brain—and back again causing a singular spasmodic jerk and, Whew, he didn’t. But having to touch her “there,” too, God-damned, fuckin’ buttons! He quit fumbling with the button and attempted to wedge his hand between the fringe of Ina’s cut-off Levi’s and her thigh, but, tight to begin with, sitting as she was, the bulk of her thigh strained against the tightly-stretched denim causing an impenetrable barrier so, abandoning “the hand up her thigh approach,” he returned to the god-damned button!

Knowing where he wanted to go, wanting him there just about—well, hardly—as much as he wanted to be there, sucking her abdomen in…

Finally!

Finally, the top button, then the next two were unbuttoned and, turning his wrist outward, gliding his palm down her soft stomach, reaching beneath the elastic band of her panties, stopping momentarily to feel the rough dampness of Ina’s pubic hair, then…Where is it? Taking a few seconds to find the part of her labia, Mitchell probed until his finger slid into the wet, Oh, God! very wet furrow of Ina’s vagina.

Their mouths coming together again, her hand, his finger and their two tongues moved concordantly, till…

“Ina?” Looking into her face, feeling her warm breath on his.

“Yeah?” Looking into his face, feeling his warm breath on hers.

“Uh,” hardly daring to ask, “will you, uh, take your clothes off?”