____________________________________________________________________

“And what I saw,” touching her elbow, “that was…”

“Yeah, that’s what it was.”

Amazed that he was able to conjure the stuff up, mentally snapping her fingers, Just like that! Blushing, “Know what, Mitchie? she said, “I’m kind of glad it happened.”

“You’re glad! Why? I find it damned embarrassing.”

“Because I love you. And because I’m glad that you love me enough to do it, uh, the way you did, and not, you know… So we didn’t do anything that both of us would be sorry for.”

Oh, yeah. Like I planned it.

“Maybe it would be best if we promise to never let it go that far again.”

________________________________________________________

Chicago, Illinois

January 5,1952

On the other hand, thinking of where she’d been touching him and where he’d been touching her reactivated the itch in her vagina. And now, also, empowered with the power to… If I can get him to come, snapping her mental fingers again, just like that, and so long as he doesn’t touch me there… at least with his hand, and so long as I don’t touch him there… at least with my hand… Although, really…

“No, Susan,” well knowing that would be a promise he’d never be able to keep, “we don’t have to take such a drastic step as to say never! And besides, believe me, I do not want to go any further than just now. And I would never go even one inch further than you’d want me to, even if I thought that you wanted me to do it, because”—a thought of Sally flitted through his mind—“I know that you’d be mad at me later, and I don’t want you to ever be mad at me, ever! I love you too much for that, Sue, and…” Though they had never really discussed it, both knew that marriage, a distant, far-in-the-future marriage, was a very viable consideration, and… “I’m willing to wait for… it, uh, that.”

That night, Mitchell, and his semen-stained Levi’s, were long gone by the time Mister and Mrs. Friedman returned home.

 January 12, 1952

Having a full week to think about it, the physical flavor of their, by then, almost, chaste relationship changed on the very next Saturday when, because her parents implicitly trusted Susan and Mitchell, the two, once again were left alone to baby-sit, when, once again…

He, coincidentally, took the same position on the sofa, and Susan, discovering that she had a heretofore hidden randy streak, took her same position on the sofa, and Mitchell’s lap, and…

Yes, when he said it last week he did mean it. But last week he’d been embarrassed, and his passion had been spent. But on this night, operating under a very revitalized head of steam, though he’d told himselfl I will not even try to go any further than before, then just touching, or kissing… or, or, most of all, seeing what Susan’ll let me see. Meaning, of course, he dearly wanted to see her breasts, so…

Through trial and error: he trying, as she moved his hands from various parts of her body, and moving his hand, holding her hand, from that one part of his body, he’d been told…

“You’re in error, Mitchell, if you think I’m going to let you touch me there!” Or, “If you think I’m going to touch you… there!”

But, true to her code of ethics, just as she’d never touch him there… with her hand, or allow him to touch her there… with his hand—as much as Susan truly wanted him to, and truly wanted to do herself—she did allow the “innocent and accidental” laying on of elbows.

Since their first kiss, beyond their present brand of kissing, which still excited him almost beyond comprehension, Mitchell had held himself in close check. At this time, however, wanting to be prepared if there should be a repeat of what had happened on the previous Saturday—and he certainly hoped that there would be a repeat of, minimally, what had happened on the previous Saturday—he’d thought of ways to do it and, being rather inventive, using good old Yankee ingenuity, remembering Norman’s National Guard idea, using tiny safety pins, he’d pinned a piece of absorbent fabric to the inner side of his left pocket—because his penis, for some reason, always seemed to go to the left—and when things became too hot to contain—even if she had said that she didn’t mind seeing, and, unbeknown to him, Susan actually wanted to see it because she marveled at the fact that she had the power to make it happen—he was able to avoid the embarrassment of her seeing the results of his eruption by simply adjusting his blotter-like pocket.

This change in their physical love caused Mitchell to love Susan, if possible, all the more, because now there was a sexual intimacy he knew no one but he had ever had with her before.

Besides, still true to his word to God, it gave him a sexual release by other than his, or truly, anyone else’s hand. 

January 19 Through May 24, 1952

On the next Saturday, this night on the front seat of the Buick, growing tired of having to move his hand, and, in all honesty no longer really minding if he did touch her there, actually, wanting him to touch her there, “Okay,” Susan declared, “you can hold me here,” pressing his hand to her left breast. “But only over my clothes! Not under!” Adding sternly, “Do you understand me, Mitchell?”

“Over your coat, too?”

“No, Mitchie,” she smiled, “not over my coat.”

Oh, God! “Yes, Sue! I understand.” Putting his mouth to her mouth, he moved his hand onto her stomach… But now that he’d been given permission, not knowing quite how to proceed, feeling obvious and awkward, hesitating, closing his eyes tighter, becoming lost in their lengthening kiss… Holding Susan’s breast, feeling the weight and warmth and softness through her brassiere and cashmere sweater, Thank you, God!

On the next Friday, with his right arm crooked in her crotch—oh, yeah, they’d figured a way to do it in the car—stretching his left arm further over her shoulder, his hand lingering on, feeling the warm hardness of her bare chest, he was able to put his hand beneath her blouse—on this night, rather than the per-usual cashmere sweater, Susan had worn an open-necked blouse—hesitating, Mitchell waited for her to remove his hand… but there was no change in the movement of Susan’s tongue against his, nor was there any change in the circular motion of her crotch against his elbow. Slowly, moving his hand further, his penis jerking, Mitchell’s fingers touched the soft flesh of her bare breast…

And still, Susan did nothing to stop him…

Lost in the taste of her kiss, the feel of her breast and now the harder, faster motion of her elbow, his fingers, grazing her nipple, holding Susan’s breast in the palm of his hand… Oh, God! Feeling its heat! Its wonderful, bare heat! Squeezing it. Palpating it. His index finger touched, and circled, Oh, God! the hardening areola of Susan’s small, excited nipple.

Knowing, far from numb there, not caring, the touch of Mitchell’s fingers on the sensitive tissue of her nipple exciting Susan even further, widening her thighs—only sheer willpower and common sense, whatever vestige of will power and common sense she had left, keeping her from—Oh, God I want touch him! I want to feel it! “Mitchie,” moving the mound of her vulva harder onto his elbow, “I love you!” The last vestige disappearing, moving her elbow, willing her fingers not to close around ‘it,’ but feeling it, Oh, God! Feeling it, Susan rubbed the palm of her hand hard over Mitchell’s penis.

Playing the flesh of Susan’s nipple between his fingers, aware, looking, seeing her hand, seeing her hand there… “I love you, Sue! I love you!” The thought of Susan touching… really touching him, there! And the thought that he was holding her breast, touching her nipple… Actually touching Susan’s breast and nipple, naked, transmitted from his brain to his penis causing a spasm that triggered…

Rubbing her palm harder. Grinding… Pumping her vagina onto his elbow… Sucking his tongue even deeper into her mouth…

Clamping his eyes shut… “Ummmmm!”

Clamping her eyes shut… “Oh, God!”

“…Mitchie…” Sitting up, moving back to her side of the car. The wetness on the crotch of her old lady underpants changing from hot to cool, “we can’t…” she wanted to say, “do this anymore,” but knew that it was as much she—at least as much she as he—that wanted to, so instead… “let it go any further than that,” she said. “Please, Mitchie!” Turning to him, looking at him in the muted, semi-darkness. “Promise me that you will never let what we just did go any further than that… Than what we just did, Mitchie!”

Completely missing the blotter on his pocket, feeling the semen upon his thigh changing from hot to cold, and sticky, “Never,” he said, more reflectively than as a statement.

Hearing the word as, “Never? “No, not never, Mitchie. Only until we’re married.”

Married? Though he had thought about it, oh, God, how he had thought about it, and prayed to God that it would happen, Married? Now was the first time that either he or she had actually spoken the word married, and it was Susan that said it.

“Oh, God!” he said, “Yes, Sue! This is fine! This is wonderful! We don’t have to do a thing more than this… More than what we just did till we’re…” Thank you, God! “married!”

                                                                        **** 

In the more than two months since they’d met, having no doubt that she loved him more than ever, Mitchell was convinced that his future with Susan depended—unequivocally depended—on a college education, even if that education was for something as mundane as commercial photography, and she was never given the slightest hint that he was anything but a B+ student.

Susan had recently been to the house in Skokie, and having met Walter and Myra knew that the Lipenskys were far from what she thought of as wealthy and, though disappointed, loving Mitchell as she did had stated that, “We’ll make our own future together, darling.” And had not told her parents that the Lipenskys—even though they did own a boat—well, somewhat of a boat, and were members of the Columbia Yacht Club—were of but moderate means.

Having adjusted their minds that, so it possibly seemed, their future son-in-law may not be a doctor, lawyer, or, at the least, a CPA, but because of the Lipenskys apparent wealth: a home in Skokie; a privately owned, successful business; a yacht and membership in the prestigious Columbia Yacht Club, because of these materialistic things, Mister and Mrs. Friedman lowered their standards for their only daughter and did nothing to hinder the—in their minds—still chaste relationship between Susan and Mitchell. They were aware of and acknowledged the mutual love the two young people had for each other. And besides, they liked Mitchell; he was courteous, well mannered and showed exemplary respect to the both of them, and, they were sure, to their daughter. And besides, envisioning the appearance of a far in the future grandchild, “Don’t those two kids look beautiful together!”

Loving Mitchell as she did, feeling the mortar of her resolve crumble a bit more each time they were alone together, each time they went into one of their lengthy kisses, at those times Susan was more than happy to let their sexual progression advance slowly. What frightened her, however, was that it was she that set the standard, and it was he that never went beyond… until she re-set it.

Loving Susan as he did, positively overjoyed with whatever leeway she would allow, Mitchell never went beyond the lead she set, which, up to that time—in the more than two months since the time of their first meeting—was that she would allow only his elbow to touch her crotch, and would allow him to touch one bare breast only, the approach of which was to be from atop her brassiere only… The first touch of which always triggered a twitch in his heart and a spasm in his penis…

…And not being numb—far from being numb—upon feeling the tip of his finger circle the areola of her nipple, which she could actually feel tighten under his touch—constantly fighting the urge to touch it bare, to feel its bare warmth, because she did feel the heat his penis generated through the material of his pants, very much afraid of the next step, unable to bring herself to close her hand around it, Susan still allowed herself, and him, only the feel of her circling palm, and…

…No longer wearing underpants, having removed the blotting material from the underside of his pocket, feeling her hand… Feeling the circling motion of the palm of Susan’s hand upon him… Knowing that she knew he had ejaculated… Knowing that for some reason she actually enjoyed the feel of the warm moisture of his semen that soaked through his pants… Oh, yeah, going only as far as Susan would allow…

Feeling the penile spasms, feeling the spreading heat, together…

Clamping his eyes shut, “Ummmm!”

Clamping her eyes shut, “Oh, God!”