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We are going to do it! Actually going to do it! I am going to be inside Marsha! Nothing bad is going to happen! Nothing is going to stop it… Nothing! These thoughts did not necessarily come as statements of fact, but more as a confirmation of what he was trying to convince himself as unalterable, iron-clad facts. Marsha and me, we’re really going to make love! Mitchell no longer thought of the word “fuck” in relation to his wife. When he thought of intercourse with Marsha, he thought “it” or “make love.” But when he thought of himself individually, he still thought “fuck.” I am going to get fucked! Closing his eyes, trying to make himself think of this as a categorical fact, I am going to put this—holding his limp penis—inside Marsha! Inside! Marsha! I am going to be inside Marsha! Holding himself, imagining himself in Marsha’s vagina, he manipulated himself until he was no longer limp…

Opening his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Since he was fifteen God had dangled that carrot in front of him and always pulled it away…

But No! Nothing was going to happen to stop it now…

Nothing!

Coming off the bed, he stood before the dresser mirror.

At twenty-one years of age, Mitchell’s face was youthful and handsome. His eyes were clear and his hair shone with a healthy sheen. His chest and arms solid. His stomach and buttocks tight. His calves and thighs muscled, and… ____________________________________________________________________

Seagate, New York

December 21, 1955: 10:05 p.m. 

....His penis jutted rigidly forward and all but quivered with expectation because in just a few minutes… He looked at the bathroom door.

In just a few minutes Marsha would come out and for the first time in both their lives they were going to complete the act of love, together, with each other…

And God had given this to them.

Going back to bed, the water still running, Mitchell stared at the bathroom door.

Coming off the bed, going to the dresser, he opened the top drawer. Going back to the bed, he put the foil-bound prophylactic on the end table, covered it with his handkerchief, laid down again and, the water still running, Mitchell stared at the bathroom door.

Seeing it, realizing, coming off the bed, he turned the television off. Going back to the bed, he laid down and, the water still running, Mitchell stared at the bathroom door.

Remembering, coming off the bed, returning to the dresser, he opened the top drawer. Going back to the bed, he put the small, round bottle of Vaseline Petroleum Jelly onto the end table, next to his handkerchief-covered, foil pack prophylactic, then, once again, laid down. But, thinking the bottle of Vaseline a bit too obvious, taking it off the end table, he put it onto the floor, alongside the bed, out of sight, but within easy reach.

The water still running, Mitchell stared at the bathroom door.

Coming off the bed yet again, turning all the lights off with the exception of the lamp atop the television, returning to the bed, the water still running, Mitchell stared at the bathroom door.

Lying nude on top of the blanket, he began to feel a bit obvious, so, standing, lifting his side of the blanket, laying down again, covering himself to the waist, he looked at the bathroom door…

Silence.

Mitchell watched the door…

Ten minutes…

Fifteen minutes…

Twenty-five minutes…

The knob turned.

The door opened.

“Oh…” Afraid any sound or movement would dissipate the dream before him, for…

Marsha was the living embodiment of a thousand longing daydreams.

Marsha was the hand-held, lingering remembrance of a thousand empty, passionate nights.

Mitchell felt a tightening in his throat, a binding within his chest, and a stinging in his eyes, and he was sure Marsha could hear the thumping of his heart, because…

A study of youth and beauty…

Illumination coming from the open bathroom door framed and back-lit, while the muted light from the one burning lamp, glowing through its parchment-like shade, cast Marsha in a buttery-yellow blush.

Cinched at the waist, the long, diaphanous gown opened into an inverted V from below the shadow of her pubic hair and widened as it fell along her long, slender legs, ending at her bare feet. The upright V of the gown widened from the waist up, leaving Marsha’s chest bare, but covered her breasts with a transparent, white sheen. Easily visible, her breasts laying slightly to the sides of her chest, the dark-pink areola of Marsha’s nipples had a soft, white cast, and….

Not sure how to proceed, Marsha stood perfectly still, as…

In this protracted moment, in this flickering point in time, the absolute beauty of his nineteen-year old bride became indelibly etched onto the mind of Mitchell Lipensky.

Taking a step towards the bed…

“Marsha, no.” Finding his voice, throwing the cover off, coming off the bed…

Not quite the reaction she’d expected. Surprised, disappointed, Marsha looked at Mitchell.

Expecting him to be aroused, his penis engorged…

It wasn’t.

But Marsha had no way of knowing that Mitchell’s reaction was far in excess of anything she could possibly imagine…

For this moment in time was the culmination of his dreams and fantasies, and for Mitchell, if the Ark of God were to suddenly be placed before his eyes, it would not—it could not—be more revered than…

“Marsha,” standing before her, this moment in time more holy than sexual. “Oh, God, Marsha,” having no way to describe how he felt, feeling his words inadequate, “you’re beautiful!” His voice husky, “So beautiful!” The heartfelt emotion bringing tears to his eyes, placing his hands on either side of her face, “I love you! Oh, God, Marcie, I love you so much!”

Whispering, “Mitchell, I love you.” Placing her arms about his waist, “I love you!” Moving her body against his…

Their lips met, and…

The electrical contact of her lips upon his lips, and her body against his body caused an immediate, non-holy reaction as blood pumped into millions of soft, sponge-like cells and Mitchell’s penis jerked upward and moved outward. His arms encircled Marsha and, feeling her flesh through the sheer, silken material, holding the small of her back in the palm of one hand, and the swell of a buttock in the other… “Marcie, I love you!”

Her body now pressed tightly against his body, the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs against his thighs, pushing against and through….