____________________________________________________________________

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….

____________________________________________________________________

Seagate, New York

December 21, 1955: 10:48 p.m.

Feeling him there, within the breach of her thighs, “Mitchie, oh, God!” Holding both buttocks, her nails making sharp indentations in the soft flesh, “I love you!”

Moving back a foot, Mitchell untied the sash.

Moving back a foot, Marsha shrugged her shoulders.

The sheer gown fluttered to the floor.

Standing two feet apart, “My, God, Marcie.” Still finding it difficult to speak, “My… God…”

Taking his hand, moving to the bed, Marsha lay upon the blanket as…

Standing above her, looking at her, unable to take his eyes from the beauty, the absolute beauty of the fully nude body of Marsha, of his wife, as…

Reaching to him, encircling him.

His eyes closed to the ecstasy of her touch, “Oh, God!”

“Lay next to me, Mitchie. Touch me, love me.”

He lay next to her and their lips met, urgently, urgently, till…

Tasting the savory taste of Marsha’s flesh, his mouth moved from her mouth to the warmth of a soft breast, to the hardening orb of a nipple. His hand trailed down her stomach, onto the silken floss of Marsha’s hair and, Oh, God! Touching the hair, sensing the quiet, mysterious thrill he always felt at his first touch here, probing softly, his fingers found and parted the tight, fleshy folds of Marsha’s moist labia, as…

Sensing the quiet, mysterious thrill she’d felt the first two times he had touched her there, because spiritually, this time, now it was right, the sensation more intense now, widening her thighs, Marsha opened her vagina to the touch of his hand that, sending a sweet chill throughout her entire body, “Oh, God! Do it now, Mitchie!” Unable to wait. Anxious, so anxious! “Please, do it now!”

Now? Now! What he’d wanted, what he’d waited all his life for. Foreplay is nice… wonderful, in fact, but really, foreplay was all he’d ever had. Oh, God! Not wanting to wait. Anxious, so anxious! “Yes, baby, yes!”

Moving from her side to within her open thighs. In the buttery light seeing what he could see within her open thighs, kneeling within her open thighs, having the presence of mind to…

Reaching to the end table, taking the foil pack from beneath his handkerchief… His, oh-so-anxious fingers dropped it onto the silky fine, curly hair. Picking it up, looking at her face.

Her lower lip held captive between her teeth, her eyes half closed, Marsha watched Mitchell with ever mounting anticipation as…

Ripping the pack open, taking the prophylactic out, he placed it onto the head of his penis… backwards. Turning the rolled latex, replacing it, he unrolled it. Hoping he was impressing Marsha with his act of consideration, having to move out from within her thighs, leaning to the far side of the bed, groping a moment, his fingers found the small, round bottle of Vaseline. Coming back to within her thighs, opening the bottle, dipping two fingers in, he anointed his tightly clad, rubberized penis…

Her lower lip held captive between her teeth, her eyes half closed, Marsha watched Mitchell with ever mounting anticipation as…

Leaning to the side again, putting the bottle onto the end table, wiping his Vaseline-Petroleum-Jelly-covered fingers on his handkerchief, once again he positioned himself between Marsha’s thighs and her waiting, oh, so anxious vagina.

Now!

He hadn’t been drinking homemade Dago Red, and the room was not spinning.

She was not lying unconscious under the steering wheel of her father’s 1950 Pontiac.

She was not saving herself for an unknown, far-in-the-future marriage.

He was not holding back for a distant, far-in-the-future marriage.

She was not sixteen and her father was not a sergeant in the Bayside, New York, Police Department.

There was no tampon string dangling from between her thighs.

Her mother did not have to go to the toilet.

They are married... in the eyes of God.

She was no longer menstruating.

The phone did not ring! No one was knocking on the door. There was no tornado, hurricane, earthquake or volcanic eruption…

There was just Marsha… And, oh, yes, she was ready and she was waiting, oh, so anxiously!

Now! Now!

For the moment it took for him to position himself for insertion, he could not help but think of God’s carrot. And now! Now, parting her labia. Now! I’m there! he thought, as…

Huh? As…

Unbelievably, the process reversed and blood ran out of millions of hard, extended cells and, “Huh?” his penis wilting, he tried to insert it… but couldn’t because…

Waiting, when nothing happened, hearing his…

“Huh?”

“Mitchie,” sitting up on her elbows, looking at him, “where’d it go?”

“Uh…”

Huh? Uh? Thinking he might be having a heart attack, “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? Still kneeling between Marsha’s thighs, the greasy Vaseline-smeared prophylactic hanging from his fully retracted penis as an icicle from a stumpy protrusion, “Marcie, I…” What could he say?

“Mitchell, are you okay?”

Looking at her, “I don’t know!”

“What happened to, uh, it?”

The expectant look he’d seen on her face before had changed to that of concern, but he didn’t see the look as concern; Mitchell saw it as disappointment. “I don’t know!”

“But are you okay?”

His feelings now were of dismay and embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m okay, I guess.” Further knowing he looked ridiculous with a greasy prophylactic hanging from his shrunken penis. Turning away, he yanked it off, painfully, along with a couple dozen pubic hairs.

“Mitch…”

“Marsha,” His feelings now of anger, and having no one to take it out on, “please, don’t ask me!”

He almost shouted, “I don’t know!” Lowering his tone, “I don’t know what the hell happened to me!” Angrily flinging the prophylactic across the room, it landed with a wet plop on the dresser. Having no idea what to say, what to do, he scrambled beneath the blanket.

 A “Becoming” Excerpt.

“Becoming” (734 actual pages) can now also be purchased as a Kindle Ebook . $4.95