________________________________________________________________________

Surprised also because on this night, for reasons fully unknown to the wife, maintaining an erection, the husband was easily able to abstain from orgasm long enough for the wife to issue a silent sigh and an unnoticed twitching of her pelvis, and, “I love you, too, Mitchie,” Marsha said, meaning it wholeheartedly.

Holy shit! Mitchell Lipensky’s ego extended to heretofore unknown proportions. Four times! He thought, four times!

Go figure: feast or famine.

The last conscious thought he had that night was, I’m going to break it off! I’m not going to see Elizabeth again!

However…

________________________________________________________________________

Des Plaines, Illinois

February 28,  1963

Marsha’s blood sugar roller coasting. Her sense of well-being gone the next day. Tired the next day. Depressed the next day. Her impatient anger returning the next day…

Night after night….

Sex denied due to headaches, stomach aches, anger or, “I’m just too tired.”

                                                                   ****

Friday, March 22, 1963

Hoping, actually praying to find a reason not to see Elizabeth again, after forcing himself to remain awake—thinking he heard Marsha’s sigh of displeasure at finding him awake—relenting, the wife allowed the husband to have perfunctory, wordless, completely unsatisfying sex.

No, no reason to break it off.

Completely giving in, Mitchell could not wait for the twenty-seventh.

 Chicago, Illinois

Wednesday, March 27, 1963, 11:27 a.m.

“Hi, Donna, it’s Mitch. Any calls for me?”

Holding his breath, No calls! Silently praying, No calls, please, no calls!

“No, nothing, Mitch.”

Letting his breath out quietly, “Thanks, Donna.”

                                                                   ****

Arriving at Harding’s before Elizabeth, this time seated on the main floor facing the entry. Craning his neck watching for her… Anxiously watching for her…

His heart jumping, his breath catching, Yeah!

Seeing Mitchell for the first time since saying and kissing goodbye just inside her doorway a month before, her face brightening, smiling, coming to him…

Forestalling the kiss he knew was forthcoming, standing, Mitchell held his hand forward.

Disappointed, but knowing the reason for a handshake rather than a kiss in this crowded restaurant. But then again, this handshake might be the opening for, “Let’s not do this any more.”

But no need to worry.

Seated, taking her hand, bringing it to his lips, “You hungry?” kissing it, “or would rather just get out of here?”

Always looking for an excuse not to eat, “Yes!”

“Yes?”

“Yes, let’s get out of here!”

                                                                    ****

Opening the door, walking in…

His lips on her lips.

Her arms about him.

With not the slightest pretence of patience…

Primal instinct mutually overtaking both.

Clothing hastily removed—foreplay would come later—with not the slighted feign at quiet love…

Doing what each desperately wanted to do…

“Fuck me, Mitchie!” Never uttering these words before: “Oh, God!” Her fingers entwined in his hair, her knees draping his shoulders, his hips thrusting to meet her… “Fuck me!”

                                                                   ****

“Mitchie,” on her right side, her head propped in the palm of her hand, “why?”

Now that he’d tasted her—literally and figuratively—knowing Elizabeth was…?

Knowing, like heroin, Elizabeth was something, someone, he could not give up. Knowing this was going to be an ongoing relationship, there now came a mandatory, though voluntary, conversation.

“Mitchie, why?”

On his back, hands behind his head, his head cradled by his entwined fingers, “Why what?”

Moving her thigh closer to the side of his thigh. “Now.”

Enjoying this peaceful after sex time. “You and me?”

Curling a finger around the hair of his armpit. “Yes.” Wanting to hear him say…

Knowing what he wanted to say, afraid of saying what he wanted to say, “Marsha and me…”

How much to say without making a commitment, though Mitchell would give anything—anything but his children—for Elizabeth and himself to have a lifelong commitment to each other.

“Marsha and me… I think, kind of…”—careful here—“We fell out of love with each other.”

“Sometimes marriages can get that way, especially with three kids! But…”

Cutting her off, turning onto his side, facing her, “She hates me!”

“Hates you? Come on, Mitch!”

Their bodies touching, their faces close enough to each feel the warm breath of the other.

“Liz, Marsha hates me! She’s always angry! If I touch her I get this look of… disgust. And it’s been this way for years now. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Okay, yeah, I know I’m not the perfect husband, and do… If we’re together long enough…”

Forever, Elizabeth thought. Forever, I hope.

“…If we’re together long enough, I do, you’ll see, I do sometimes let my mouth get in the way of my brain and say things that at the time I think are smart or funny that come out all wrong.”

“You’re a man.” She smiled. “What a concept! Saying dumb things comes with the territory,” Elizabeth said knowingly.

“Yeah! But by now Marsha should know me well enough to know that just because I say something stupid doesn’t mean she always has to get so mad that she says rotten, nasty things back! And she doesn’t care what she says or who’s around to hear it and then… And sometimes, really Liz, it’s really over nothing and then she refuses to talk to me for days. And the worst part of all of this is that the kids feel it and I know it makes them very unhappy.

                                                                     ****

Well remembering Marsha from their Christmas dinner. Remembering her haughty, rather unfriendly attitude and the condescending way she spoke to Mitchell.

Disliking Marsha from the moment she’d met her, Elizabeth realized that her aversion to Marsha may have been because she was the wife of the man she loved. But now, hearing Mitchell and, truly, from his demeanor thinking she knew him, unable to understand how anyone could dislike him that much, to treat him as badly as he said his wife did.

However, maybe Marsha’s treatment of Mitchell gave Elizabeth the needed rationalization for continuing their liaison.

                                                                    ****

The verbal flood gates open: “Marsha took Mikey and walked out on me two times.”

“What?”

“Yeah! Marsha took my son and walked out on me, twice!”

“No! Why? Why would she do that?”

“Why’d she do that? I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“When?”

“Mikey was…” thinking, “about six weeks old the first time. One day I came home from my second job…”

“You had two jobs?”

“Yes. And when I came home that day Marsha was at her mother’s and she had dumped all my things into boxes and left them on the middle of the floor with a note… a really shitty note telling me that she hated me…”

“Hated you!”

“Yes! And that she wanted me to get out.”

“And you did get out? You just left?”

“Course not! I tried to see her! I tried to talk to her! But her mother wouldn’t let me in the apartment and by that time I was so damned mad and…”

“Hurt?” Elizabeth intejected.

“‘Hurt’? Oh, yeah! You have no idea.”

“So you left.”

“Yeah! I did! I left and didn’t see her or Mikey for about two months and then… Maybe we shouldn’t have, but we got together again.”

Incredulously asked, “And this happened again?”

“Yeah, about a year later.” Thinking… “Yeah, Mikey was about thirteen months old, and one day when I came home from work all of our furniture and everything but my clothes had been packed up and moved from the apartment and at that time I didn’t know where Marsha and my baby went to and no one would tell me…”

“You didn’t know where your wife and son were?” Disbelieving, “And no one would tell you?”

“Yeah! And I didn’t see her or my son for about three months.”

Knowing how much Mitchell loved his children. Knowing how hard those seemingly unreasonable separations had to have been for him, putting her hand on his chest, “And you don’t know why she did this to you… twice?”

“Liz, yeah! Yeah, we did have money problems and we did have lots and lots of problems with both our parents. But we were newlyweds with a baby, and problems like those sometimes come along with newlyweds without enough money and a baby. And somehow… If they really love each other, somehow they hold things together and the wife doesn’t just walk out taking everything leaving her husband with nothing!”

Both quiet.

Elizabeth wondering, Why didn’t he divorce her then, when he only had one kid?

“And you,” Mitchell asked. “Why are you here with me, like this?”

“Doing what with you? Lying in bed with you?” She kissed his nose. “Okay, yeah, from the time I sat at the desk across from you, I’ve…” Wanting to say “loved you,” but afraid the words might scare him off, “I’ve, kind of, fantasized being with you this way.”

Wanting to hear her say “I love you”! But, “Way back then? Really? So,” he asked, “you disappointed?”

“Disappointed? Are you kidding?” Elizabeth said sincerely. “You’re everything I want in a man!” And you?” she asked. “Are you disappointed?”

Feeling emasculated by his wife. Now, having heard, “You’re everything I want in a man!” from this beautiful woman. Wow!

His hand fondling her left buttock, “Liz, you’re even lovelier than I imagined! And from the time I sat at the desk across from you, I dreamt of being with you like this! Disappointed? You kidding? You’re my dream come true .”

“Me too, Mitchie.” Her hand, moving from his hip, holding his flaccid penis, “I dreamt of holding you like this.” Her lips finding his, his tongue finding hers and, no longer flaccid… “Oh, yeah, baby!” Moving lower on the bed, her tongue tracing around his tightening nipples, down his chest and, in a quick motion, shifting her position, her crooked knees now on either side of his head, needing it! As though starving for it, indeed, starving for the feel of him in her mouth, Oh, my God! Her mouth closing around him…

Looking at, Oh, my God! Elizabeth’s golden hued vulva, parting her buttocks, seeing her moisture flecked vagina, the moist scent heightening the near unbearable eroticism, lifting his head, his face where he’d dreamt his face being, his tongue where he’d dreamt his tongue being, as though starving for it, indeed, starving for it…

His hips going upward to meet the warmth of her mouth…

Her pelvis going downward to meet the thrusting of his tongue…

Nearing, “Liz,” weakly attempting to move, “I’m going to…”

Sensing what was seconds from happening. Needing him! Needing the taste of him. Indeed, needing the taste of him…

Feeling the strong contractions within her mouth, far from repulsed, tasting the light saline taste…

Oh, my God!

                                                                     ****

Showered, “Liz?” and peacefully back in bed.

“Yeah, Mitch?”

“You never really answered my question.”

“Question?”

“Yeah!” Fishing for Elizabeth’s admission of her love for him, “Why are you here with me like this?”

“I told you.”

“Yeah, I know! Because you fantasized about being with me this way. But really! Why am I really here?”

Hesitating, afraid of professing her love for him, and not wanting to tell Mitchell of her “fat days.”

“Myron’s kind of a, uh, he’s kind of a health nut…”

In a way relieved, in a way disappointed, “Your husband’s a health nut, and that’s why you’n’me are together like this?”

“Yeah.” Knowing it sounded lame, her rational for being with Mitchell this way weak in comparison to his reasons. “Mitchie, he’s always running and when he’s not running he’s at the gym playing basketball or working out and he expects me to do that stuff with him, and I hate it! I know we all need exercise and I run a half mile or so twice a week. But he thinks I’m, uh… on the heavy side and I guess, well, his intentions are good, but he’s always on my back about exercise and my eating…”

“Liz, I’ve never seen you eat anything but a salad.”

Smiling, “Mitchie, if you think about it, we’ve really only eaten together once.”

Returning the smile, “Actually, including today, we’ve eaten together three times.”

Knowing what he meant, she blushed. “You’re right! But all I ever eat is baked, broiled or boiled chicken or fish and salad. And every time Myron looks at me,” exaggerating slightly, “ he tells me that I’m… uh, heavy and have to lose weight, so he’s constantly pushing me to run with him or go to the gym with him and he’s driving me crazy!”

Thank God for health nuts! Mitchell thought.

And because I love you! Elizabeth thought.

“Baby, I…” Hesitant to use the words because, knowing himself, once said, the words would then flow from his heart to his mouth without thought, however, “I love the way you look, Lizzie, and wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

 Chicago, Illinois

Wednesday, April 24, 1963, 12:12 p.m.

Raining on this day.

Waiting.

Standing outside within the cover of a doorway watching…

Seeing Elizabeth approaching from a half block away, rushing to meet her, “Hi, baby!” Holding Elizabeth’s elbow, steering her off the sidewalk into a doorway, their arms held tightly about each other, their lips meeting…

A long, seemingly never ending month away from each other, the words coming as naturally as breathing:

Her face held within his hands, “I love you!”

“Oh, God!” Elizabeth replied. “I love you, too!”