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.

____________________________________________________

A “Becoming” Excerpt

Mitchell 6/ Boy Talk 5

June 15, 1944

The train crammed with military personal, the ‘men’ of Baylor on their way home for summer vacation had been forced to split into smaller groups that were scattered throughout the long train.

Frank Rizzo and Mitchell Lipensky were together in the middle section of the second from last car, which for some reason was not quite as crowded as the forward cars.

“Hey,” returning from the toilet, Frank dropped onto the seat. “Don’t stand up or look like you’re lookin’ or nothin’, but the lady across the aisle’s,” motioning with his head, “feedin’ her baby.”

“Yeah?” Unconcerned. “Big deal!”

“With ’er tittie, Mitch. With ’er tittie!”

“Yeah?” Standing, he looked about.

Pulling him down, “I tol’j’ya not to stand!” Leaning back so Mitchell might see beyond him, both boys looked across the aisle.

In her mid-twenties, the moderately attractive lady had dishwater blonde hair and was minimally twenty pounds overweight. Stretched at the seams, the top three buttons of the cotton house-dress she wore were open revealing the white mound of her left breast. Nestled in her arms, the baby was partially wrapped in a blue receiving blanket. One of the baby’s small hands clutched the lapel of her dress, while its other hand squeezed the flesh of her breast making small indention's in the soft flesh.

Having no idea that the blanket covering her chest had slipped revealing her breast, nor that she was being watched by the two boys across the aisle, lost in a daydream, her forehead resting on the vibrating window the lady gazed absently at the passing scenery.

Her eyes closed. Opened… and closed again.

Pretending to look out the window, as though something of interest was passing on the other side of the train, every few seconds the boys looked across the aisle.

“Frankie,” Mitchell whispered, “I think she’s sleeping.”

“Yeah.”

Dropping all pretense, Frank and Mitchell watched the lady intently.

This was the first time that Frank had ever seen a ‘real live tittie,’ and so long since Mitchell had that, for him, this, too, was a first. Besides, by this time he’d grown tired of the memory of Louise Ann’s breasts and considered the possibility of using what he saw then—minus the baby, of course—as possibly the focal point of his future masturbatory daydreams.

The opening and squeezing of the baby’s fingers on the pliable flesh was beginning to affect both boys, and neither wanting the other to see what each suddenly had, first one then the other crossed their legs.

Unconsciously shifting the weight of her baby, the lady’s nipple pulled from its mouth.

“Huuh!” Both boys inhaled sharply as their mental cameras clicked the picture they saw: large normally, milk-swollen then, lines of blue veins ran beneath the translucent flesh ending at the lady’s turgid, dark pink nipple.

In her sleep, out of habit, lifting her breast from beneath the lady placed the nipple back into the baby’s mouth.

Latching on instantly, a foamy circle of thin milk formed around the baby’s puckered lips.

“Greedy little kid’s kind’a making me thirsty.”

Thinking, Maybe I’ll go into the toilet when this is over. Mitchell said, “Yeah, me, too.”

Oddly, Frank coincidentally had the same thought.

Pitching around a bend, the lady’s head bounced against the window waking her. Looking at her baby, she saw that the blanket had slipped and that her breast was fully exposed. Embarrassed, instantly pulling the blanket over the baby’s head she glanced about to see if anyone had seen her and she saw the two boys gaping at her from across the aisle. Her anger apparent, the lady stared back.

Averting their eyes, sitting back both boys looked straight ahead.

Waiting till ‘things’ subsided, Mitchell went into the toilet. When he returned a few minutes later, Frank made the same trip.

“How’s ‘bout us callin’ each other on the phone sometime?”

“Yeah, and maybe we can come to visit.”

“Yeah. Sure, why not?”

****

Twenty minutes later the train pulled into Union Station in downtown Chicago and many of the servicemen aboard rushed into the arms of their loved ones, and the men of Baylor into the arms of Ma and Pa, Mom and Dad, or Mommy and Daddy.

Impulsively running to his father first, sensing a pang of disappointment; the hug quick and perfunctory, Walter dropped his arms even as his son’s arms were still about him but Mitchell’s disappointment was quickly dispelled by his mother’s welcoming enthusiasm.

“Mitchie, we’ve missed you so much!” Kissing his cheek, she held him at arm’s length. “My God, Walt, it’s only been… what? Two months since we’ve seen him last and good God, look how he’s grown!”

Occasionally he would see women with protruding stomachs and he’d never really thought too much about it but, standing at arm’s length, Mitchell was able to see his mother also. “You’ve grown, too!” Impulsively asked, “How’s come your belly’s so big?”

“Mitchie, I, uh… I’m…”

He knows! Thinking, he surely knows! Thinking he’d go along with it, Walter, who very rarely joked said, “Your mother swallowed a watermelon seed.”

Looking at his father, A watermelon seed? “Mom swallowed a watermelon seed,” he asked. “An’ that’s the reason she’s so fat?”

Continuing the joke. “Sure, Mitchie, what else?”

Shooting an angry glance at her husband, about to respond when Walter picked up their son’s suitcase and began to walk away. Thinking, This isn’t the place to go into it. Taking hold of Mitchell’s hand, they followed.

Finding the ‘watermelon seed’ story more than a bit hard to believe, but never known as a kidder—he is his father after all, and fathers do ‘not’ lie to their kids! So supposing it was possible, Mitchell told himself, I’d better be real careful whenever I eat watermelon.

****

“…Hello!”

“Normie! Hi, it’s me!”

“Mitch! Hi! When’j’ya get home?”

My mom’n’dad picked me up at the train a little while ago and I’m home for the summer now… What’j’ya doin’?”

“Nothin’, listenin’ to the radio. You wanna play or somethin’?”

“Yeah! How’s ’bout marbles?”

“Nah, don’t feel like shootin’ marbles.”

“Wanna go to the park an’ fly kites?”

Thinking a moment, “Nah, don’t feel like flyin’ a kite.”

“Normie, what’d’ya wanna do?”

“Go to a movie! It’s okay with your mom if you go to a movie?”

Turning his head, but not moving his mouth from the phone. “Hey, Mom,” he yelled to Myra, who was in the kitchen while, on the other side of the phone, Norman winced from the volume of his friend’s voice. “It’s okay if me’n’Normie go to a movie?”

“If Normie and ‘I’ go to a movie!”

“You wanna go to a movie with Normie, Mom?”

Knowing he was playing with her. “No, I don’t want to go to a movie with Normie! Yes, you can go to a movie… Ask Norman if he’d like to come over for lunch.”

“Normie. Yeah, it’s okay! An’ my mom want’s’a know if you wanna come here for lunch.”

“She makin’ toasted cheese sandwiches?”

Causing Norman to wince again: “Mom, Normie want’s’a know if you’re makin’ toasted cheese sandwiches.”

“If that’s what you two want, yes.”

“Yeah, Normie, toasted cheese sandwiches… Come on over an’ we’ll see what’s playin’.”

“Yeah, be right there! See’ya in a minute!” Dropping the phone on the cradle, Norman looked at the Baby Ben on the doily on the center of the table: ‘10:42’. Plenty’a time to eat an’ get to the movie, he thought as he scooped the two quarters off the doily that his mother had left for him.

****

Ida Parminter was a diminutive woman who yielded absolute power over Norman, his baby brother, and her husband. Standing on their third floor porch calling for Norman, Ida’s voice would resound throughout the entire block and Mitchell had often wondered how such a small lady could have such a big voice.

Standing well under six feet tall, Frank Parminter was a burly man that in his younger years had been a professional wrestler for a short time. Frank now earned his living by working at a defense plant during the week and vending beer or peanuts at the Chicago Stadium on weekends.

Four months older than Mitchell, Norman was taller than either of his parents. He had straight, dark-blonde hair, gray eyes and a pleasant face. Myopic, he wore clear-framed glasses that accentuated a long, straight nose.

  ****

Searching under the table Norman retrieved one tattered gym shoe. Looking about, “Where’s the other?” he said aloud as he walked to the living room where a quick search revealed one end of the frayed shoelace of his other shoe beneath the sofa. Going into the bedroom he shared with his two-year-old brother, removing his pajamas, Norman put on boxer shorts, corduroy pants, and a striped polo shirt.

Checking to be sure that he had the apartment key and his ‘four bits, pulling the door shut behind him, swinging himself by the banister post over the first four steps of each landing he bounded down the three flights of stairs.

Norman ran through his yard through Mitchell’s yard up the three flights of stairs and through the gate onto the Lipenskys porch, where Mitchell stood just inside the screen door waiting for him.

 The friends hadn’t seen each other since spring vacation, over two months before and, embarrassed by the utter joy of being in the company of the other again, the two stood on either side of the door looking at each other through the screen.

Too old to hug and too young to shake hands, the emotion of being together again was clearly seen on each of their faces.

“Hi, Mitchie.”

“Hi’ya, Normie.”

“For goodness sake,” Myra scolded, “let him in!”

“Oh, yeah.” Pushing the door open, Mitchell stepped aside.

The odors of melted butter and frying cheese filled the kitchen as Myra pressed the second batch of four pieces of butter-browned white bread together with a spatula, causing the melted American cheese to ooze from between the slices of bread onto the hot griddle.

Looking at her, “Hello, Mrs. Lipensky.” Norman stared a moment at the size of Myra’s stomach beneath the apron she wore.

“Hello, Norman… You two go wash your hands. Lunch’ll be ready in a minute.”

****

Through with lunch, sitting on the downstairs stoop the movie section of the ‘Chicago Sun’ on his lap, “So, Mitch,” Norman asked, “you happy to be home again?”

“You kiddin’?”

Feeling the vibrations of the traffic. Hearing the rattle and clang of a streetcar. Smelling the mix of cooking odors coming from the open windows. Remembering just how badly he’d missed the sounds, the sights and smells of his neighborhood, of his world, caused Mitchell to feel as though he were on the verge of crying.

“Yeah, Normie, I sure am! So,” he asked, changing the subject, “what’s around?”

****

A virtual cornucopia of movie theaters to choose from. On Ogden Avenue, one block to the west was the Lindy. On Kedzie Avenue, fibe blocks east was the White Palace. On Cermak Road, four blocks to the south was the Douglas and about a mile east on Cermak was the Marshall Square. In the opposite direction, going about a mile north to Roosevelt Road there was the Gold, the Twentieth Century and Central Park theaters.

On Saturday afternoons all the neighborhood movie theaters catered to the kids, showing two featured movies, newsreels, weekly serials, three to four cartoons and more often then not, a comedic short. Some of the theaters even gave gifts with the price of admission and most had weekly raffles for anyone buying at least one ten-cent war stamp that came along with a raffle ticket.

For the price of a quarter for admission and a quarter for candy and popcorn, parents felt that the movies were, indeed, a baby-sitting value beyond comparison, giving them ‘at least’ three hours of peace and quiet and, “So, nu, you maybe want to stay a second time? So, okay! So stay a second time.”

 Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Red Ryder, Wild Bill Elliot, Lash LaRue.

The ‘good guys’ wore white hats and the ‘bad guys’ wore black hats with the exception of ‘Hoppy’; ‘Hopalong Cassidy’ always wore black.

 Tarzan. Boston Blackie. The Thin Man. Charlie Chan. Sherlock Holmes… “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. Abbot and Costello. The Three Stooges…

“My girl Nellie wore a brand new dress,

it was really might thin.

When she asked me how I liked it,

I answered with a grin.

Wait till the sun shines, Nellie!”

Superman… “Up, up, and away!” Captain Midnight. Don Winslow of the Navy. Terry and the Pirates. Rocket Man, Captain Marvel… “Shazam!”

Popeye. Woody Woodpecker. Mickey Mouse. Donald Duck. Bugs Bunny. Porky Pig… “Th-th-that’s all folks!”

Previews of coming attractions and the newsreel.

****

“Hey, Mitchie, let’s go to the Douglas!”

“’s’okay with me!”

Running upstairs, he threw the newspaper onto the dining room table. “Hey, Mom, me’n’Normie’s goin’ to the Douglas! Okay to take money?”

“ ‘Straw’s cheaper than hey’! And ‘Normie and ‘I’!” Speaking through the bathroom door, “My purse is on the dresser. Take fifty cents and…” knowing her son, “ ‘stop running’!”

Running to the bedroom, he took two quarters from her purse, closed it, opened it again and took another dime. “Thanks, Mom,” he called on the way out. “I took another dime!” Without waiting for an answer, slamming the door behind him he thumped down the stairs.

Below, “Oh, God!” Mrs. Kaplin, eyes raised toward her ceiling. “He’s home again! Manny, the little mumser’s home again!”

Feeling the warm, mid-June sun on his back, Mitchell blinked his eyes a number of times to be sure that he was really there: once again walking to the movies with his very best pal, Norman.

Neither boy could think of anyplace they would rather be or anything they would rather be doing. Relishing the moment both walked in silence until…

****

When home for spring vacation: Sexual complications too new at the time, and completely disregarding ‘everything’ Skorupski had to say— other than the guttural terminology of his names for human sex organs — in Mitchell’s opinion he still knew ‘nothing’ regarding female genitalia. Also, still baffled by his apparent ‘need’ to continue his masturbatory toothpaste raids, he had said nothing to Norman at that time.

Hesitant to ask, however...

****

...“Normie,” Mitchell looked to his side, “you ever think ‘bout girls?”

“Huh?” The question so far from his field of thought that Norman was not quite sure that he’d heard right. “What do you mean, ‘think ‘bout girls’?”

“ ‘Girls’! You ever think ’bout them?”

“No! Course not! Why’d I ever wanna think ‘bout girls?”

 “You’n’me don’t have sisters, so we can’t see ‘em, an’… You ever wonder ’bout their... uh, pissers?”

“No! Why’d I ever wanna wonder ‘bout girl’s pissers’?”

“Why? ‘Cause they don’t got ’em! Girls are different than guys. They got… I d’know… somethin’ else.”

Looking at his friend to see if he was serious. “Mitch,” Norman said, “I never thought ‘bout it before, but if girls don’t got pissers, what’d they pee out’a?”

“Yeah! That’s what I’m sayin’! That’s what me’n’Frankie… Remember my pal, Frankie?”

Sensing a pang of jealousy, “Yeah,” Norman nodded his head.

“That’s what him’n’me wanted to know, so I asked our teacher…”

Interrupting... “ ‘What girls pee out’a’?” Norman could not believe that anyone, ‘especially’ Mitchell, would have courage enough to… “I can’t believe it! You asked your teacher how girls pee?”

“Not ‘how’ girls pee! What they pee out’a! An’ yeah, ‘me’,” he said proudly. “An’ would you believe she never told us? She pretended to tell us, but really didn’t tell us nothin’. So me’n’Frankie asked this older guy we know, ‘Skorupski’, an’ he told us what girls got there is really what’s called a… uh, cunt. An’ sometimes, if they wanna, guys go ’round puttin’ their pissers—only on guys pissers are really what’s called a prick—an’ sometimes, if they wanna, guys put ’em—their pricks into girls—an’ then they, uh, kind’a pee in ’em.” Not having a word for it, although by now rather sure that it isn’t pee but that gooey stuff.

Too much to comprehend. Stopping, Norman looked at Mitchell. “First off,” Norman asked, “how could’j’ya do it? How’d you ever be able to get ‘it’ in ‘there’? An’ then, even if a guy could get it in there, why, ‘why’ would any guy ever wanna put his pisser, or whatever you wanna call it, into a girl’s pisser, or whatever you wanna call it, an’ then do that, what’j’ya said, ‘pee’!? That’s the most disgusting thing I ever heard!”

“I didn’t say guys pee in ’em, I said they ‘kind’a’ pee in em. An’, yeah, Normie,” Mitchell said, beginning to walk again, “that’s what me’n’Frankie thought, too, but it’s the truth!” Holding his right hand up, “Swear on my mom!”

Everyone knows that if a guy swears on his mom it’s got to be the truth.

 “Okay!” Asking the universally asked question, “But why would a guy do that? Tell me that if you know so much. Why would a guy ‘ever’ wanna do that?”

 “Okay,” Mitchell answered belligerently. “I’ll tell you if you ‘really’ wanna know!”

 Girls… Girls are… Girls are just there! Although the thought had never entered Norman’s mind before then. Then, as though the question had become some sort of basic knowledge that was absolutely necessary for him to gain immediately, Norman then felt an urgent ‘need’ to know. Besides, by then his curiosity had been piqued. So… “Yeah, Mitch, I do wanna know! So tell me already!” Adding sarcastically, “P-lease!”

 Crossing Twenty-first and Christiana, plenty of time to teach him… “Okay,” Mitchell said. “When guys get boners… You do know what a boner is, don’t’j’ya?”

 Sure Norman knew, but didn’t want to admit that he knew so, “No,” he said.

“Normie, are you ever dumb! A boner’s like when you get up in the mornin’ an’ you gotta pee, an’ it’s like, uh, you know...” Springing his index finger upward, “...big.”

“Okay! ‘Okay’ already!” Admitting. “Yeah, I know!”

“Well, when guys get ‘em… Only then when they get ‘em, they ain’t been sleepin’. An’ when they get ‘em they put it into a girl’s, uh, cunt an’...” — Still extremely doubtful about this part of Skirpuski’s dissertation—“... jack-off. Only then it’s called…”

Of course by that time in his life Norman had ‘first-hand’ knowledge of what jack-off meant, but enjoying seeing his friend become red-faced, asked anyway.

Oh, God! Mitchell thought: Was I ever that dumb? “It’s when you, uh…” holding his well-used, index finger stiffly extended. “‘J’ya ever…” inserting the finger into his cupped hand, moving the hand up and down, “uh, do it to yourself?”

Norman, like most ten-year-old boys, was pleasantly familiar with a ‘pee boner’ and that it felt nice, really nice when held and—so he’d also pleasantly discovered—that by creating tight-handed friction along the shaft of his pee boner he’d been able to achieve a fantastic sensation. But—not about to admit this to Mitchell—before he could formulate the words to respond…

“Well, anyways...” Embarrassed that he’d asked. Actually sorry that he had instigated this conversation. Not waiting for an answer. “...that’s what’s called ‘jacking-off’. Only then, when a guy puts it… his, uh ...boner into a girl, it’s called…” glancing about to be sure that no one was within hearing, ‘fuckin’. Understand?”

“Okay! Yeah! But what I still wanna know is why’d a guy wanna do somethin’ that disgusting?”

 “ ‘Cause it feels nice! Uh, well, it’s ‘supposed’ to feel real nice when a guy does it.”

 Mitchell did not want to talk too much about the… ‘climatic sensation’ because if he went into too much detail Norman might have asked, ‘How come you know so much’? And, even though he’d asked Norman if he did it, Mitchell wasn’t quite ready to admit to his very best pal that ‘he’ did ‘it’.

“Anyways, that’s what this older guy, Skorupski, told me’n’Frankie. He said that when you put your… boner into a girl’s, uh… cunt an’, you know... fuck, it feels real good, an’ then you…”

At that moment Mitchell had two clear-cut revelations: Maybe it ain’t pee, but that other stuff that guys make into girls. Also, until that very moment he had never considered that, If it feels so nice when I do it to myself, maybe it’s gotta feel even more wonderful when you do it with a girl, because if it didn’t, why’d a guy ever wanna go to the bother of doing it with a girl?

“…Uh,” pulling his thoughts together. Finishing his sentence, “...you, uh, kind’a, like, pee in her.”

Not having time enough to fully assimilate what Mitchell had told him, at least what Mitchell had told him that he believed, Norman then had his own epiphany : Mom’n’dad always sleep with their door open, except sometimes they close it, and lock it, and maybe ‘that’s’ what they’re doing there then!

Walking on, contemplative, both boys pondered their thoughts and the silence, though lasting only seconds, became pronounced

“So,” Mitchell asked after about a minute of complete silence. “you understand now?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” Wanting to change the subject until he’d had more time to think about it, Norman asked the unanswerable question: “But what’s it look like? You know, a girls… thing?”

“This older guy, Skorupski, didn’t tell us, but you know what I think, Normie? I think it looks kind’a like a guy’s looks, only on girls it’s littler an’ fatter and kind’a like has a big hole in it.”

Envisioning somewhat the same picture, agreeing knowingly. “Yeah, an’ it’s gotta be kind’a like all crinkly’n’ugly.”

Laughing, “Yeah,” Mitchell said, “s’no wonder girls are always catchin’ colds all the time.”

“Yeah,” Norman added, “with the wind blowin’ through it all the time.”

Approaching the theater, the boys went to the end of the line of children waiting for the doors to open.

“Wanna know somethin’ I’ve just been thinkin’ ’bout?”

“Yeah, sure, Normie.”

Standing back from the two girls before them, speaking softly. “I heard my Mom’n’dad talkin’, an’ they said somethin’ ’bout your ma bein’…” When he’d heard the word, Norman had made a mental notation and now searched his memory… “p… pr… preg… I can’t remember, only I’m pretty sure your ma’s gonna have a baby.”

 “A baby?” Mitchell’s voice rising, “ ‘No’!”

The two girls standing before them looked over their shoulders.

“Yeah, she is! I’m sure she is! That’s why she’s so fat.”

 “No! She’s fat, ‘cause… Uh, she…” Stopping. Thinking, the statement became a question, “...swallowed a watermelon seed?” The ridiculousness of his father’s statement suddenly apparent. “My dad said my mom swallowed a watermelon seed.” he said softly, as if not wanting anyone else to be witness to his stupidity, “an’ he said that’s why she’s so fat.”

“Don’t be such a dummy! You ever eat watermelon without swallowing a seed… a whole bunch’a seeds?”

Looking away, Mitchell didn’t answer.

Persisting. “You believe everything your dad says?”

“Yeah! Sure. Why not? Kid’s dads don’t lie… do they?”

“Maybe he was only kiddin’. I don’t know ‘bout that. But I do know…” whispering directly into Mitchell’s ear, “...your ma’s got a baby in her stomach.”

“Yeah? How? What makes you so smart? How’d you know?”

“‘How’d I know’?” The realization coming to him. Remembering. “ ‘Cause your ma looks like Lou Ann before her’n’Sal had their baby, that’s how!”

“A baby?” Mitchell said in wonder. “I’m gonna have a baby brother?”

“Or a sister. Maybe it ain’t a boy but a girl baby. And if it is,” whispering directly into Mitchell’s ear again, “you’ll let me see… it? Her, uh, whatchamacallit?”

“Yeah, sure.” Distracted, still finding it all but impossible to believe. “But if she’s really gonna have a baby, Normie, how’d it… How’d the baby get there?”

“You know,” saying it out loud somehow giving his conjecturing a bit more credence. “I think that maybe,” speaking softly again, “havin’ a baby has somethin’ to do with what we was just talkin’ ’bout.”

“You mean ‘bout guys,” cupping his hand over Norman’s ear, “fuckin’ with girls?”

“Yeah. I think that’s got somethin’ to do with…” cupping his hand over Mitchell’s ear, “how babies get made.”

Thinking as they moved up in line. “Nah!” Mitchell said loudly. “It ‘can’t’ be!”

The two girls looked at him again.

Waiting till the girls faced forward. “It just ‘can’t’ be!”

“Yeah! Why? Why can’t it? How do you know?”

“Why?” The mental picture impossible to visualize. “ ‘Cause, Normie, my mom’n’dad would ‘never’ do stuff like that!”

To be conntinued as:

Mitchell 7/ Joy of Sex