A “Becoming” Excerpt

Evansville, Wisconsin

January 15, 1944 

Mitchell 5/Boy Talk 4
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 “He ain’t makin’ fun’a’you, Skorp! He really don’t know nothin’!”

“He better not be!” Partially placated, glaring at Mitchell, “No! Ya don’t think’a stuff ‘like pigs ’n’mud ’n’slimy stuff’,” he said sarcastically. “Ya think’a stuff like this here picture!” Reaching for the postcard, taking it from Frank he studied it a moment then, to the complete amazement of both boys, reaching through the fly of his shorts, pulled his albeit flaccid but adult-sized penis through, closed his fist around it, and …

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 … A month earlier, while home for the Christmas and New Years vacation, Skorupski and his best, and only friend, being a bit more than ‘slightly’ inebriated—as extremely immature and horny young men might occasionally do—dared and double-dared the other to be the firs to ‘whip it out’so they might match the size of their ‘pricks’—Or possibly, because at this time the thought was absolutely repugnant; possibly deep down there were homo-sexual  tendenancies — Then, as more than occasionally happens, one thing led to another and the two ended up masturbating, ostensibly to see who could shoot his ‘jizim’ the furthest. But really, though neither boy touched the other, the thrill of knowing the other was watching added a wholly new dimension of prurience to what, up until then, had always been a solitary endeavor.  

                                                                ****

...Now, sensing the excitement of knowing he was being watched, his penis reacted and, “There,” Skorupski said proudly, “now that’s a ‘real’ boner...”— As, in his mind he is still ‘learning’ them — “...an’ here’s what’j’ya do when ya ‘jack-off’.” Leaning back on the bed, so they’d be better able to see and appreciate the size of his fully erect penis. Holding the postcard in one hand, his penis in the other, the heightened sense of eroticism coming from knowing he was being watched rather than from the ‘well known’, well worn image on the French postcard, Skorupski began to masturbate.

Indeed the two boys did watch.

 Mitchell stared at Skorupski’s penis because with each downward stroke of his hand the glans popped out of the foreskin reminding him… of the twitching nose of a rabbit.

 Not quite the reaction Skorupski had hoped for.

 As for Frank: Watching Skorupski masturbate truly repulsed him. And yet, strangely, watching caused a stretching in the crotch of his underpants that made him squirm.

 He wanted the boys to see him ejaculate. Wanted them to see that it’s not really ‘pee’ but some other stuff called ‘jizim’. However, wisely thinking better of it, forcing an unseen show of willpower, stopping just short of ejaculation the older boy concentrated a moment then reluctantly shoved his penis back in his shorts, where, as a tent pole in a tent, it jutted upward. Still ‘learning’ them, “When ya get a boner,” he said almost breathlessly, “like this,” his hand encircled the still hard shaft over the material of his shorts. “Then ya stick it in a girl’s cunt an’ ya jack-off. Only then it’s called…”

 “A girl’s big enough there so’s you can put your hand in it, too?”

 “Oh, Jesus!” Skorupski sighed. “No! Ya don’t ‘put your hand in it,’ ya stupid prick! Ya move your ass up’n’down.” Sharply raising and lowering his pelvis three times for emphasis. “An ya do like that till it feels ‘real’ good, till it feels kind’a like you’re peein’. An’ that’s what’s called fuckin’.”

 Taking the postcard from Skorupski, turning it to the light, studying it carefully. “But,” Frank said, “I still don’t know what it looks like.”

 “Ya dumb dago!” Skorupski yelled, jabbing his finger towards the card. “That there’s what a cunt looks like!”

 Shaking his head, “Sorry, Skorp,” he said emphatically. “But I still don’t see nothin’ there! How’s ’bout you, Mitch?”

 Taking the card from his friend, looking at it for a full three seconds. “Nah. Her, uh, titties, yeah, but nothin’ else.”

Becoming frustrated because they did not see what his imagination did see, whatever that might be. Also, stopped short of ejaculation twice within the last twenty minutes. Hving an urge to get back to— literally— the task at hand. “Ya asked me to teach ya ‘bout girls and I taught’j’ya! Only ya two dumb shits don’t wanna learn nothin’!”

 Glancing downward to be sure his penis was safely ensconced in his shorts, bounding off the bed Skorupski rushed to the door and yanked it open. “Get outta here ya stupid, dago shit an’ take that dumb sheeny prick wi’ch’ya!”

                                                        ****

Walking slowly back to their dormitory.

Frosty vapor streaming from Frank’s mouth. “See, it’s like I told you, Mitch, girls got nothin’.”

“Yeah.” Coat collar up, hands stuffed into pockets. “Well least-ways now we know what everything’s called.”

 “Yeah!” Punching him on the shoulder, Frank ducked as Mitchell swung back. “Ya sheeny prick, ya!”

“Yeah,” swinging again, “Ya dago, uh, tittie!” Missing again.

                                                     ****

Day is done.

 “Nine o’clock! Lights out!”

Day is done.

 Thin, wispy clouds scuttled across the sky.

The wind blew, rustling dead and dried leaves.

All was quiet…

Day was done.

                                                        ****

Mitchell was on an extremely comfortable plateau. He felt the cool breeze that came from beneath the parted window and heard the soft, even breathing of the other boys. Pulling the blanket over his head, he felt the warm vapor of his breath and his comfort, both physical and mental, was complete.

The well of sleep deepened.

                                                                             ****

There was a bright form in the tunnel’s dark, vaporous distance. Mitchell moved towards it. Coming closer the figure dwindled. As he began to run the figure receded into nothingness leaving the tunnel in total blackness.

 The light! He ran to find it. Running. Running. All remained in blackness…

Suddenly the figure was back and it was closer but still too far away and he could not see what it is. But he must see what it is and ran to it.

 The light remained stationary, yet as he came to it it came no closer so he ran faster, faster.

 Closer…

The light is her!

Waving his arms. “Wait!” Running, “Wait,” he called. “It’s me, the little kid!”

The light’s away motion suddenly stopped.

“Wait Lou Ann! Wait! It’s me, the little kid!”

Stationary now, she opened her arms to him.

 Louise Ann was as he remembered, then… naked.

 He could see her so clearly: her face; her long, braided hair… her breasts.

“Lou Ann,” he said, “I want to touch your titties! I want to taste your vanilla!” He reached to her, but she was just out of reach.

“Lou Ann, I want to see your cunt!” He looked ‘there’ … But there was nothing there. Nothing but a perfectly symmetrical, one-dimensional hole that he was able to see through, to the blackness behind.

“Lou Ann, I want jack-off in your cunt, only then it’s called fuckin’.”

“But,” pointing her finger at him, “you’re just a little kid!”

Looking down he realized he was naked, and that he had an erection. But it was not his penis; it was Salvatore Diamond’s penis.

Holding it tightly, he moved his hand down, forcing the dangle of foreskin to glide over the glans… Then up again, and down again, and each time he did the head of a rabbit popped through and it looked so funny….

And felt so nice.

“Lou Ann!” Lifting his/Sal’s penis in his hand, “I am not a kid!” Proud of it, showing it to Louise Ann, “See? I’m not a kid ’cause I got a boner!”

It felt so nice holding his/Sal’s penis.

“Here!” Pointing it upward so Louise Ann could see it better. “See?”

                                                                  ****

Moving his hand upward, and downward.

It felt so nice.

Up and down.

Holding himself through the opening of his pajamas. Unaware of the movement, the sensual feeling relaxing him further Mitchell dropped deeper into his tunnel… deeper.

Throughout his nine and a half years he had fondled himself hundreds of times, always in the morning when the need to urinate had caused an involuntary erection.

Now though it was different.

Now though the sensation was more pronounced.

Up and down.

More urgent.

Up, down.

Normally a boy his age will not have had this need. But his conversation with Frank on Sunday had brought the picture of Salvatore Diamond and Louise Ann Richtor vividly back to mind, along with the freight. Then, pressured by Frank to ask Miss Stoldig the ‘difference’ question had created an extremely high degree of anxiety. Earlier this evening the session with Skorupski and now his dream had caused an erotic, sensory overload.

Harder, faster.

More friction created along the hard, thin shaft of the nine-and-a-half-year-old boy’s penis.

Harder, faster. Up, down. Up-down...

...His body jerking with powerfully wrenching spasms. Mitchell moaned aloud from his deep place as he sensed the warmth that began in the area of his rectum, testicles and groin then spread throughout his entire body that, even in his sleep, caused him to shudder at the convulsing heavenly erotic sensations of a child’s first orgasm…

It’s immediate end deeply relaxing, as though having relieved himself of a very full bladder after holding off for an extremely long time.

His eyes opened.

Becoming aware, he stared into the darkness for a number of seconds… Oh, no. Appalled, No! he thought, it can’t be! I’ve ‘made’ in bed! Throwing the blanket off he rushed from the room through the deserted, dimly lit hall into the bathroom. Standing before the urinal, expecting his pajamas to be wet he looked down… but they weren’t wet, his pajamas were dry, absolutely dry!

Was I dreaming? Yeah, it had to be a dream! Or maybe I was hanging out and only got the bed wet. He shuddered. The bed, ‘wet’! What’ll the guy’s say when they find out I’ve pee’d in bed? Rushing back to the room, he felt the sheet and blanket.

Dry! The bed was dry!

Was I dreaming? Mitchell wondered again.

Trying to remember, he crawled back into bed... But could not sleep and soon, Now I do gotta ‘go’.

Hungry, feeling his stomach growl as he stood in front of the urinal, Mitchell tried to remember if he had any of the cache of candy left that he’d bought at the theater yesterday. Nope! His stomach growling, he remembered that he’d finished the last box of Juju Beads after lunch and, though he had no idea of the time, he did know it was hours until reveille and breakfast.

The Toothpaste Theif

Bending over the sink, cupping his hand he scooped an ounce of water into his mouth, then again. Straightening his body his eyes came in line with the community shelf that ran above the sinks the entire length of the bathroom wall. Stepping two sinks over, taking his can of ‘Dr. West’s Tooth Powder’ off the shelf, Mitchell looked at the strip of adhesive tape marked ‘Lipensky, M.’ in indelible black ink then, shrugging his shoulders, he removed the cap, looked at the oval opening a moment, shrugged his shoulders once again and up-ended the can directly into his mouth.

“Hmmm!” Liking the taste of peppermint on his tongue, thinking, Not too bad. Standing back his eyes scaned the shelf.

A virtual candy counter.

Peppermint… Spearmint… Wintergreen… Cinnamon!

Colgate… Pepsodent… Ipana… Teel… Dr. West’s!

White… Blue… Green… Red!

Paste… Powder… Liquid!

He poured. He squeezed and shook. If he didn’t take too much of any tube, can or bottle, Who’d miss it?

Starting at the window, working his way to the door, Mitchell sampled from each can, tube and bottle, and when he finished he went back to one of the three bottles of ‘ Teel’ and— careful not to touch it there— shook a few drops of the thick, red fluid directly onto his tongue.

 Yup! Without a doubt, the cinnamony taste of Teel was his favorite.

 Mitchell Lipensky’s sweet tooth satisfied. Going back to bed, he promptly fell asleep.

January 19, 1944, to June 14, 1944

His thoughts troubled and confused him. Why then, after all that time, why then did he continually think of Salvatore and Louise Ann and try to bring each minute detail of those few moments of looking through their bedroom window into such a mentally-sharp focus? Also, even more disturbing, now his penis seemed to have a mind of its own and now, for no apparent reason, even if he did ‘not’ have to urinate, he might have an erection at any time, even, embarrassingly, in class.

Three days earlier he knew nothing of masturbation. Though no one had told him: ‘You’ll go blind if you do that’! That: ‘Thou shalt not cast thy seed upon the ground’. Or even that ‘You’ll grow hair on the palm of your hand’. Mitchell somehow felt that ‘jacking-off’ was wrong.

Three days earlier, when he watched Skorupski masturbate he’d thought the older boy looked absolutely ridiculous.

Yet, seventy-two hours since his first, unknown, nocturnal emission…

After two nights of fighting the inevitable, an hour after taps, Mitchell could no longer restrain himself and he allowed his mind to go to where his mind wanted to go, and his mind wanted to go to Louise Ann’s breasts, and he allowed his hand to go where his hand wanted to go and his hand wanted to go to his engorged penis and though he had no idea what the outcome might be, he felt a compulsion to do what he seemed compelled to do…

Holding himself, he thought about Louise Ann’s breasts—Something dirty?—and moved his hand and the more he moved his hand the more he was compelled to move his hand because the approaching juggernaut of heretofore unknown sensations registered in his brain as something that simply ‘must’ reach its conclusion….

 “Mmmm!” The involuntary moan broke simultaneously with the first spasm and Mitchell bit his lip in order to keep from being heard as the incredibly warm, sweet sensations started from between his rectum and testicles and fanned their way upward as, one after the other, the chain of penile contractions pounded deliciously throughout his body.

Catching his breath, the boy’s mind could not comprehend the impossibly sweet miracle that he’d brought onto himself, by his own hand: his first conscious orgasm…

However as the erotic heat drained his psyche, Uh, oh! Mitchell suddenly realized the prolonged sensation was a highly intensified feeling of the first moments of relief when the pressure is released in a very full bladder after holding off urinating for a very long time.

Uh, oh. Bolting from bed Mitchell rushed to the bathroom feeling as though he’d urinated and standing in front of the urinal he discovered that his pajamas were, as before, perfectly dry.

Left with a drained feeling and a slight ache in his testicles, back in bed lying with his hands crossed behind his head staring at the muted ceiling. That’s what it was! Thinking he knew what had awoken him three nights earlier. Maybe I didn’t dream I pee’d in bed. Maybe I did ‘that’ in my sleep and just thought I’d pee’d in bed… Well, okay, he further thought, I did it once, maybe two times. Also left with an illogical feeling of guilt, But I ain’t gonna do it again! He promised himself. ‘Ever’!

‘Ever’ lasted until two nights later.

By then, rather sure that he would not urinate, still, though, having the feeling that, Maybe I might, because at the time of orgasm, to him, it felt as though he had urinated and not wanting to take the chance and also, truly not wanting to admit to himself that the reason he was getting out of bed and going to the bathroom, the real reason—only, though, after he was sure that everyone else was asleep—was to do ‘ it’, Mitchell told himself that he was hungry and the reason he was going to the bathroom was to ‘nosh’ on toothpaste, which of course he did, ‘before’, then after he went into the last of the four stalls, closed the door, dropped his pajama bottoms, sat on the toilet and thought of Louise Ann.

Mitchell, of course, still hadn’t the slightest idea, and couldn’t even begin to imagine, what a girl looked like ‘there’ so, as he had before, thought of what he did see and put himself in the place of Salvatore Diamond.

He marveled at seeing his penis stir, jerk upward and —swelled to a rock-hard four and a half inches— stand straight up in his lap and was always amazed by the fact that he was able to perform this miraculous feat simply by thinking about ‘something dirty’. He would then take himself in hand and pump. Mitchell didn’t like the term jack-off’ and as the word masturbation was unknown to him he referred to… masturbating as ‘pumping’.

Well into his third week of toothpaste raids and pumping, in anticipation of his approaching orgasm, spreading his thighs, Mitchell arched his pelvis upward, closed his eyes tightly and…

Gooey Stuff

This time the contractions were stronger than usual and the sweet, pulsing phenomenon suddenly gave way to a sharp pain and, looking downward, Mitchell became frightened because, “Oh, my God!” stuff was squirting out of his boner.

Pain and fear momentarily overcome by absolute amazement, the boy watched the trajectory of the stuff as seven bursts of creamy semen arched into the air and splattered onto the toilet door and his thighs and, “Oh, my God,” he said aloud for the second time, adding, “I’ve broken something!” Thinking, I gotta tell someone!

Tearing a wad of toilet paper off the roll, he wiped his thighs and the door, pulled his pajamas up, rushed out of the bathroom and down the hall to Miss Stoldig’s room, where, fist poised, about to pound on her door… What am I going to tell her? Uh, that I was sitting on the toilet pumping myself when all of a sudden this gooey white stuff came shooting ou’a my boner and shot all over me and the toilet door? His fist dropped. Realizing, It don’t hurt no more, so I think maybe I’d better just go back to bed an’ see how I feel in the morning. An’ God... he prayed emphatically… if it’s okay then I ‘really’ promise that I ain’t never gonna do it again!

The next morning he had a dull ache in his testicles. But by the time the boys lined up to march to the mess hall for breakfast all trace of pain was gone. So he’d decided that, Maybe I won’t say nothing to no one about breaking something there and, Okay, God, thanks for not making me sick there, and I promise I ain’t gonna do it again… not ever, ‘never’!

On the third night of his solemn resolution, awaking with an erection, No I ain’t gonna do it, he vowed. But even as he thought this, Okay—his disobedient hand taking hold of his penis—So I’ll just hold it for a couple’a seconds. Just holding ‘it’ can’t hurt nothing. He asked God, Can it?

Gosh, he thought a few seconds into ‘just holding it’, I’m sooo hungry!

As on those other ‘tooth-paste’ nights— in case he should run into one of the other boys— so ‘he’ wouldn’t be noticed, tucking his boner between his thighs, with his thighs held closely together, waddling somewhat as a penguin, Mitchell waddled into the bathroom where... Sampled from the shelf. Now looking longingly at the end stall, Maybe I ought’a try to poop.He went into the stall. Closed and locked the door. Dropped his pajamas, sat on the toilet, and… There it was!

He looked at it and it looked at him and Mitchell Lipensky’s auxiliary brain, his newly developed auxiliary brain, the brain between his thighs said, Go on! Do it! It ain’t going to hurt nothing if you do it! Well, he rationalized, maybe that gooey stuff was just a one-time, kind of a freaky thing, and, he thought hopefully, it won’t happen again. Besides, everything’s working okay, ain’t it? Besides, how would I know if it was broken if I dont try it out?

 So, taking hold, softly at first, lightly at first… Then as though in a frenzy his hand pistoned till…

Oh, God!

The good pain was back! The... Oh, God! ...So sweet, ecstatic pain was back! But…

It ‘did’ happen again!

The ejaculation but without the bad pain this time and, due to the way he was sitting, the semen shot straight into the air and fell, splattering, in a dozen or more heavy drops onto his thighs.

Sitting back, Mitchell contemplated the wet spots. Maybe, he thought, wishing there was someone, ‘anyone’ he could speak to about this. Maybe… rationalizing ...this is something I’m just going through.

Remembering something that Skorupski had said:—Pee in a girl—The wisp of a thought formulated in his brain, his ‘upper’ brain. And maybe, he further thought, this squirting stuff is something that’s supposed to happen. Then remembering what else Skorupski said: ‘But it ain’t really pee’. But, as so often happens with the wisp of a thought, this wisp, temporally, scattered because…

Thinking he saw something, lowering his head he looked closely. “I can’t believe it,” Mitchell said aloud because there, in the fold of flesh between his pelvis and penis, were the tendrils of three barely-seen, black hairs.

                                                      ****

The toothpaste raids continued and shortly parents began to receive more frequent requests for their son’s teeth cleaning substance.

“What in the hell’s that kid doing with it,” they’d ask. “Eating it?”

Of all the boys at Baylor Military School, Mitchell Lipensky always had the sweetest smelling breath, and he never suffered from constipation.

 To be continued as:

Mitchell 6/Boy Talk 5

June 15, 1944