“Popcorn And Petting”: A “Becoming” Excerpt

It was the laughter Mitchell remembered, Frank’s laughter, and up until then he hadn’t fully realized how much he had missed it and, his serious expression changing, raucous laughter came painfully from his throat—still sore from vomiting. “An’ worst of all! The baddest thing about her,” forcing himself to stop laughing, “are her teeth! Shit, Frankie, who’s got green teeth?”

His expression suddenly serious, Frank stopped laughing. “Now, Mitch, now you may have a problem!”

The smile fading from his face, “Why,” Mitchell asked, “would I have a problem now? I ain’t gonna fuck her in the mouth!”

“Yeah?” Frank said. “We’ll see about that.”

___________________________________________________________

Chicago, Illinois

June 18, 1949

The odor of dinner overcoming whatever lingering nausea he may have had, by the time the boys sat down to eat Mitchell was well enough, and easily able to consume two servings of lasagna, salad, half a loaf of garlic bread, fresh string beans with almond slivers and two custard filled ‘cannoli’.

“Frankie, this one, he’s’a not so bashful like’a you other friends. This one, he’s’a like to eat. I like’a this one! Mitchell,” Mrs. Rizzo asked, holding the tray forward. “You like more cannoli?”

“No, ma’am, I’m stuffed.” He looked at the tray. “Well…” he’d never had any pastries that tasted better than cannoli. “Oh, okay. Thank you, Mrs. Rizzo.”

“Gee, Ma,” Frank laughed, “guess you twisted his arm.”

“An’ such’a good manners, this one. You should learn such’a good manners from’a you friend here, Frankie.”

 “Yeah, sure, Ma.” Frank pushed away from the table. “Lipensky, ain’t you never gonna get done? Come on, we ain’t got all day!”

Swallowing the last of the cannoli, “Thanks again, Mrs. Rizzo.”

Following Frank from the dining room, “Frankie, I was supposed to call my mom when I got here this afternoon an’ forgot. Okay if I call her now?”

“Yeah, sure. Phone’s in the kitchen.”

… “Mom, it’s me, Mitchell.”

“I ‘know’ it’s you, Mitchell! Why didn’t you call?”

“I am calling!”

“Yes, ‘now’!” Myra said angrily. “I thought I told you to call when you got there!”

“I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Big deal, you’re sorry! I sat by the phone all day waiting for you to call and ‘you’re sorry’!”

“Mom. I’m ‘sorry’! I forgot!”

The line quiet a moment... “So, okay already. How’s Frank? He look different from the last time you saw him, from the way you remember him? Tell him ‘hello’ from me.”

Mitchell looked at Frank who, flexing his wrists and forearms, had both elbows on the table watching the muscles in his arms expand and contract. “Frankie, my mom says hello.”

“Yeah? Tell her ‘hello back’.”

“Yeah, he really does look different, and he says ‘hello back’.”

“Did you have lunch?”

“Yeah, sure I did.”

“Where?”

Where? What difference does it make? “A place Frankie knows; his godmother owns it.”

“What did you eat?”

Jesus! “Something Italian. You never had it before.”

“Okay, so I never had it before. So what did you eat?”

“ ‘Pizza’! It’s called pizza, Mom.” Catching Frank’s eye, Mitchell moved his right hand, index finger extended, in a small circle around his right ear making the universally accepted ‘she’s nuts’ sign.

“ ‘Pizza’? I never had pizza. What’s it made with?”

“Uh, it’s kind’a like a big pancake, an’ it’s got lots’a stuff on it.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Sighing deeply. “You know, cheese’n’onions’n’green peppers’n’sausage. All good healthy stuff, just like you like me to eat.”

“ ‘Sausage’?” Myra said sourly. “It had ‘pork’ sausage?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. We eat pork sausage, don’t we?”

“Yes, but ‘our pork sausage is ko…” About to say ‘kosher’, she caught herself. “I know what’s in our sausage,”—though, truly, she had no idea—“and God only knows what’s in that goyisha trayf!” [Gentile junk] “So, what’s done is done, and it probably won’t kill you. So, what did you and Frank do today?”

“Well, Mom…” Thinking a moment, mentally ticking off… I almost got killed by two anti-Semitic, Italian hoods, then met a girl with a dirty neck’n’ears’n’green teeth, an’ got stinkin’ drunk on homemade Dago Red, an’ told her’n’her girlfriend’n’Frankie how Jews get their dicks wacked off, then her’n’me went into a bedroom an’ got undressed an’ I sucked on her tits an’ put my finger into her cunt, but because I was so drunk I puked my guts out an’ never did get fucked. “Uh,” he said, “not too much. We just, kind’a, you know, hung around.”

“Come on,” Frank whispered, “we’re gonna be late.”

“An’ now we’re at Frank’s house, an’ we just finished a great dinner an’ we’re getting’ ready to go to a movie an’ we’re ‘really’ late now, Mom.”

“Well, Mitchell, it sounds like you’re having a good time,” Myra said, not wanting to hang up. “And I suppose your father was right about this being a learning experience.”

“Yeah, Mom,” his mind going back to Lisa’s bedroom. “I’m learnin’ lots’a real neat stuff.”

“Okay, honey. Be careful and don’t stay out too late.”

“Yeah, Mom, I’ll be careful.”

“Okay… Oh, by the way, if you should decide to come home tomorrow instead of Monday, were going to be at Aunt Bea’s all day because it’s Uncle Al’s birthday and we’re going to surprise him with a special brunch and,” not too happy about him being away from home, in ‘that’ neighborhood, and well knowing the way to her son’s heart, “everyone is going to be there.”

Everyone? “What are you having to eat?”

Not above bribing her son: “Oh, the usual,” Myra said. “Lox and bagels and all that, but much, much more—pastries, and of course a birthday cake. You know that when all the cousins get together they bring all kinds of good things to eat.”

“Yeah,” momentarily digesting, literally ‘digesting’ all that his mother had said. “I know!” His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall then down to Frank, who was cleaning his fingernails with a pruning knife. “Okay, if I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll see you on Monday. Okay?”

“Sure, honey… Well...” reluctant to say goodbye. “goodbye.”

“So long, Mom.” Dropping the receiver onto the cradle. “Frankie, what’a’we doin’ tomorrow?”

“First thing, I ‘gotta’ go to church, an’ I’ll be home ’bout ten, ten-thirty. If you want, you can stay in bed or watch television till I get back. Why?”

‘Lox and bagels and all that, but much, much more!’ “Oh, just askin’.”

“Come on, s’almost six-thirty an’ we gotta get dressed. You bring somethin’ decent to wear at least?”

In Frank’s bedroom. “Yeah! Sure!” he opened the canvas bag, removed his shirts, khaki slacks and underwear, and laid them onto the guest bed. “See, I brought lots’a decent stuff to wear.”

“Yeah, I see. Who packed this? Not your Ma!”

“Nah, me.”

“Figures.” Taking the khaki slacks off the bed, unfurling them, “These look like shit!” Frank said, “You can’t wear ’em on a date!”

“Hey, I didn’t think we were goin’ to a formal.”

“You’re too big for my pants, but my shirts’ll fit fine, an’ I’ll ask Ma to iron these slacks.”

“What the hell’s the difference how I look? We’re only goin’ to a movie. An’ if I gotta be with Gina, it won’t matter if I roll in horseshit. Shit! I don’t think she’d even notice.”

“Mitchie, ain’t’j’ya never been on a date before, have ya?”

“Yeah!” Actually, ‘no’, he never had, but didn’t want to tell that to Frank. “Sure I been on dates, lots’a times!”

“ ‘Lots’a times’, eh? ‘Bullshit’!”

“Okay, bullshit! But it’s only with Gina, for Christ’s sake!”

“You can’t go lookin’ like a slob no matter who you’re with! An’ remember, you’re gonna be with me’n’Lisa, too! An’ you’re supposed to be a wop not a Jew, an’ wops don’t go on dates lookin’ like fuckin’ slobs… That’s my closet,” pointing his thumb. “Take any shirt ya want. I’m gonna ask Ma to iron these,” waving the khaki slacks. “Go on! Go find a shirt.”

Opening the door to a small, walk-in closet, pulling the string hanging from a bare ceiling light fixture, Holy cow! Mitchell was amazed at the neat rows of slacks, jackets and shirts that hung from wooden bars on all three sides of the closet. Separated by color, the shirts hung precisely and neatly to the right and left. Directly ahead were a number of jackets on wooden hangers and, hanging by their cuffs on metal pants hangers, the sharp creases in the slacks all faced outward.

Myra ironed her son’s clothing with her prize possession, a ‘mangler’. She would hang the shirts on wire hangers and the pants on cardboard-covered pants hangers, then hang the shirts and pants neatly on the wooden rods in Mitchell’s closet where they would remain neat and orderly till he pulled the first pair of pants or shirt off a hanger causing the hangers on either side to hang askew and within a day all the hangers and all of the clothing in his closet were cockeyed.

Mitchell’s favorite color was yellow. There were four yellow shirts in varying shades in Frank’s closet. Carefully, so as not to jar the adjoining hangers, he took one down, studied it, put it back and took another. Coming out of the closet, standing in front of the mirror, removing his shirt he put Frank’s on. The short-sleeved shirt was pale yellow with two breast pockets and military-style epaulets.

Studying his reflection he smiled, showing his white teeth to the deeply tanned figure that smiled back at him. Using his palm, Jeeze, I look good! pushing the wave in his hair an inch closer to his left eyebrow, It’s a shame that my first real date’s gotta be wasted on Gina.

                                                    ****

…Walking briskly.

Wanting to ask Frank about something that had been on his mind, but not quit sure how to ask, so instead… “Your sister, uh?”

“ ‘Connie’.”

“Yeah. The one that slammed the door on you when she saw you looking at her ass. Thought I’d meet her at dinner tonight.”

“Naw, she’s away at ‘retreat’.”

“ ‘Retreat’?”

“Yeah. it’s a religious thing.”

“Oh... Frankie?”

Taking one last deep drag on the cigarette, Frank flipped it into the gutter before answering.’ “Yeah, Mitch?”

“You know, they seem so different.”

“Who do?”

Going along with the gag. “Dey do.”

“Dey do? Who dey?”

Becoming serious. “The girls. How’s come they’re such good friends? Lisa seems like a nice girl, and Gina’s such a…”

“ ‘Whore’?”

“Well, yeah.”

“They grew up together. Gina used to live upstairs from Lisa.”

“At where we were today?”

“Yeah. Lisa’s ma’n’pa own the building an’ Gina’s folks rented the apartment upstairs. Anyway, one day Gina’s ma’n’pa had this big argument an’ her pa took off an’ disappeared.”

“Yeah, she tol’ me her dad’s gone.”

Even though he and his father did not seem to be particularly friendly at times, and that occasionally he would go out of his way to avoid Walter, Mitchell felt a hollow core of sadness as he attempted to even imagine life without his father and in so doing felt empathy for Gina, then felt anger at himself for disliking her as much as he thought he did.

“Jesus, Frankie! How can a father just take off an’ leave his wife an’ kid an’ never see ‘em again?”

“Lisa told me that her Ma and Pah heard some of what they was fighin’ about the night before Gina’s father left an’ it had somethin’ to do with her ol’ man doing something... uh, like touching her where a father should ‘never’ touch their daughter.”

“When’d this happen?”

“Right before the war started. Gina was about eight then.”

“God, things had’a be ‘really’ tough for ’em!”

“Yeah. Gina’n’her mother had’a move to a smaller place over on Campbell; it’s just a couple’a blocks away but it’s a real dump. I guess bein’ without a father an’ him doin’ whatever he was doin’ to her made it real hard for Gina an’ she just kind’a… You know, kind’a got wild ‘that way.’ An’ Lisa, bein’ as nice as she is, felt bad for her an’ they stayed friends. An’ I know Lisa’d feel ‘really’ bad if somethin’ happened an’ her’n’Gina couldn’t be pals no more.”

Quiet a few seconds digesting what Frank had divulged…

“But hangin’ ’round with Gina? Don’t that make guys think that, maybe, she’s kind’a like Gina and, you know, try to get her to do the kinds’a things Gina does?”

“Well, yeah, they used to, an’ sometimes some guy still does, an’ you ought’a see how Lisa shoots ’em down. An’ for the last two years, ever since her’n’me’s been together almost everyone in the neighborhood knows an’ mostly leave her alone or they know I’ll break their fuckin’ faces.”

Trying to think of a way to say what was on his mind, he was quiet a minute then, “Frankie, don’t misunderstand me. I like Lisa, but really, if she’s such a nice girl, then why’s she let you do ‘it’ to her? To go all the way! Like today. An’ with Gina’n’me there, just in the other room.”

Knowing that his friend was right. Searching for an excuse also taking a minute to formulate his thoughts but, unable to come up with a creditable excuse. “If we hadn’t’a drank all that wine, an’ if you’n’Gina weren’t in the bedroom makin’ out, Lisa’n’me wouldn’t’a done it, then.” Quickly adding, “But Lisa ‘only’ does it with me! An’ she does it because we, uh, like each other, a ‘real’ lot!”

“Frank, lots’a girls like lots’a guys, but the nice girl’s don’t go all the way with their boyfriends. Yeah, I know they may touch each other an’ stuff, but…”

“ ‘Cause we love each other!” Adding, “An’ we’re gonna be married!”

Incredulou! “ ‘Married’! Jesus, Frankie, you’re only… what? ‘Sixteen’! How do you know you’n’Lisa are gonna be married? How can you even think about marryin’ anyone now, when you’re ‘only’ sixteen?”

“Nearer seventeen! An’ ’cause we love each other!” Frank repeated. “…An’ Lisa’n’me really love doin’ it with each other!”

“Frankie, I d’know a whole hell of a lot about it, but from what I’ve been told, hell, even a shit-head like Skorupsi loves doin’ it! An’ I don’t think fuckin’, an’ lovin’ fuckin’ someone means you gotta think of marrin’em, least way’s now!”

Frank stopped walking. “Mitch,” grabbing him by the shoulder he spun him around so they’re facing each other. “I ‘tel’l ya,” he said angrily, “Lisa’n’me love each other! ‘Okay’!!” Poking his stiffened finger into his friend’s chest. “An’ it ain’t none’a your ‘fuckin’ business, anyway! ‘Okay’?” Balling his right fist, cocking it beneath Mitchell’s chin. “I invited ya here to get laid, not to give me a fuckin’ lecture! ‘Okay’?”

He looked at the clenched fist, then into Frank’s anger-flushed face and saw something he’d never imagined he would see coming from Frank directed towards himself: ‘rage’—pure, violent ‘rage’.

The two stared at each other... — One boy, fist threateningly poised, the other sadly sensing the end of a friendship — ... for two seconds… four seconds, then, his face softening. “ ‘Shit’, Mitchie!” His clenched fist relaxed. “I’m sorry!”

Taking a deep breath, “Frankie, just now you looked like you hated me, an’ I really thought you were gonna hit me.”

“Mitch, you’re my best pal! I’d never hit’ch’ya!”

“Yeah, sure, I knew you weren’t going to hit me.” Really, though, he wasn’t too sure about that. “You’re my best pal, too…” Really, though, Norman was. “It’s just that I don’t wanna see you get into trouble an’ screw up your life.”

“Yeah, Mitch, I know that. Come on!”

Walking again.

“I shouldn’t’a gotten mad at you,” Frank said. “Shit! What’j’ya said, I know you’re right. But Lisa keeps talkin’ ’bout when we get married this, and when we get married that. Damn! I’m still goin’ to high school an’ I wanna go to college so’s,” sweeping his hand in a wide arch, “I can get outta this shitty neighborhood. I know what Lisa’n’I’m doing’s a sin, but even when we try to stop we can’t! When we’re alone I kiss her an’ she kisses me an’ before you know it my hand’s under her blouse an’ I’m touching her an’ her hand’s in my pants touchin’ me, an’ we can’t seem to stop.” Taking a deep breath, Frank smiled. “An’ that ain’t all! You Jews think you got it tough? Lisa’n’me, we gotta go to confession.”

“Jesus!” Mitchell laughed. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Yeah, pal, ‘Jesus’ is right!”

“Yeah, we Jews had’a Hitler an’ gas chambers,” Mitchell said facetiously, “an’ you goys got confession. How d’ya handle it?”

Frank laughed. “It ain’t easy. Seems like all Lisa’n’me ever do, all the time, is say ‘Hail Marys’ an’ ‘Our Fathers’.”

“How often do you guys gotta go to confession?”

Laughing again, “Every fuckin’ week!”

“ ‘Every week’? Wow! An’ you gotta tell a priest every time you go, ‘bout ‘every’ time you’n’Lisa screw?”

“Yup! ‘Every’ time!”

“Holy shit!”

“Oh, yeah! ‘Holy shit’ is right!”

                                                    **** 

Sitting on the front stoop, the girls were waiting for them.

“Hi, babe!” Taking Lisa by the hands pulling her onto her feet and kissing her on the cheek. “You look ‘great’!” Eyeing Lisa in her pink cotton skirt and white, off-the-shoulder blouse, “How’s come your mother let you out’a the house lookin’ this good?” Frank pressed his nose into the soft crease of Lisa’s abundant cleavage.

Giggling, “She ain’t home.”

Hugging her, “I’d guess not!”

Rising without assistance. “Hi’ya, Mitchie.”

Standing slightly behind Frank, “Gina?” he almost didn’t recognize her because she actually looked good… In comparison, she actually did look good.

Having taken a shower or bath, Gina’s hair was brushed straight back and, still having a wet sheen, it didn’t look quite as brassy as it had earlier. She’d brushed her teeth and, though there was still a noticeable stain between her teeth, the moss was gone. She had put makeup on so in comparison to the pasty color her face had been that afternoon, Gina now looked radiantly healthy. The white, pleated skirt she wore was cinched tightly at the waist, giving definition to her slight hips. Unbuttoned three buttons down, the collar of Gina’s mint-green, sleeveless blouse had purposely been left open revealing, nowhere near as much as Lisa, but…

How’s she do that? Mitchell could definitely see the soft contour of her breasts. Where’d all those tits come from? Truly surprised, “Gina! God!” he stammered. “You look great!”

“Hey,” hiding his mouth behind his hand, whispering in Mitchell’s ear, “I tol’j’ya you’d be surprised ’bout the way she’d look tonight. Didn’t I?”

“Yeah!” Still looking at Gina. Well, actually leering at Gina, knowing what was coming later, Mitchell sensed the familiar twitching in his crotch.

“You look great, too, Mitch, uh,” remembering, “Mario.”

The yellow shirt making his tan appear even darker and his teeth even whiter and, if anything, to Gina, Mitchell was handsomer now than he’d been earlier and, knowing what was coming later, contracting her vaginal muscle, thinking, Juicy-Lucy. Sensing a moistening in her crotch. “Yeah,” she said, “we’d better get used to callin’ you Mario now. An’…” looking from his face to the hollow of his throat, “you’d better take that off, too.”

Putting his hand to his throat, he held the mezuzah.

“Yeah!” Frank said, “Even I forgot about callin’ ya Mario, an’ about that thing,” pointing, “you’d better get rid of it.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” Obviously not wanting to, reluctantly pulling the chain over his head, he dropped it into his pocket.

“Hey, I got an idea!” Opening her purse, removing the change purse, opening it, Lisa handed something to Mitchell.

This was the very first time in his life that he’d touched one, let alone considered putting one on and, holding it in the palm of his hand, he looked at it distastefully.

“Yeah! Hey, that’s a ‘great’ idea, babe! Come on, Mitch, I’ll help ya put it on.” Anxiously,— as though this were something he’d always wanted to do— taking it from his hand, “Bend down so’s I can reach ya.” Clasping it behind Mitchell’s neck, “Hey, pal,” standing back, looking at him, “now ya look like a double grade-A wop.”

His hand going to his neck, Mitchell attempted to smile but, the smile freezing on his lips, he fingered the small, gold crucifix for a second then let it drop where it lay against the hollow of his throat and fleeting thought of the vampire movies he’d seen and the inevitable scene came to mind when someone pressed a crucifix, or a reasonable facsimile of a crucifix, against the vampire’s forehead and the flesh smoked, singed, than burst into fire. This crucifix, now, felt to Mitchell as though it were burning the flesh of his throat.

Mitchell Lipensky, though never ashamed, had never taken great pride in what he was. He’d never really given it much thought or taken the time to consider his ancestry or heritage. When he had been forced to go to Hebrew school he’d thought he hated being Jewish. But at that moment Mitchell realized that he ‘was’Jewish and knew, absolutely knew, that wearing a crucifix, for any reason was wrong.

“ ‘No’!” Looking at Frank, expecting understanding from his friend. “I can’t wear this! I hope you understand, but if I do then I’m doing something wrong.” He looked at the girls. “I even feel funny taking my mezzuza off, but okay, I don’t want any problem with the people here so I’ll keep it off. I don’t mean to insult you, but I just can’t wear this!” He attempted to pull it over his head but the chain was not long enough so reaching behind his neck, Mitchell fumbled with the small clasp.

Thinking it would be an honor, looking at him in near disbelief, Frank and Lisa did not understand Mitchell’s motive for not wanting to wear the crucifix. And yes, they did feel insulted.

Oddly, “Mitchie,” Gina—of the huge crucifix, which thankfully she wasn’t wearing on this night—“I’m sorry,” Gina said, standing in front of him. “Bend your head down an’ I’ll help ya take it off.”

Appreciating her help, “Thanks, Gina.” Bending forward, he smelled the subdued fragrance of her cologne.

“Okay, Mitch,” Frank begrudgingly said, “guess maybe you’re right… Hey, it’s getting’ late an’ we’re gonna have to stand in line there.” Taking Lisa’s hand, beginning to walk at a brisk pace within moments Frank and Lisa were a number of paces ahead of Gina and Mitchell.

****

Looking at her over his shoulder, “Gina.”

“Yeah, Mitch?”

Looking at each, their eyes locked and again Mitchell wondered how such beautiful eyes came to be in such a homely face,

“I wanna thank you for what you did back there. It’s hard to explain, but soon’s I put the cross on it made me feel… I don’t know… it made me feel kind’a funny. Really, Gina, I don’t mean nothin’ against you guys, or your religion.”

“Yeah, I know ya didn’t mean nothin’, Mitch.” Quiet a moment, “It’s just that I think that when ya know what’j’ya are, ya gotta be what’j’ya are.”

Looking at her again, he understood that Gina was referring to herself and the way she was as much as she was referring to him and the way he was. Reaching to his right, taking hold of her hand, “You’re a pretty good guy,” he said seriously.

They walked a few paces before, tightening her fingers around his. “In case ya ain’t noticed, I ain’t no guy.”

Squeezing her hand, “Yeah, Gina, believe me, I noticed!”

****

…Standing in the long line outside the theater waiting to buy tickets. Frank’s right! Mitchell thought. This is the third guy that’s come over to talk to her.

Seeing Gina, they’d leave their place in line and come to where they’re standing. They would nod their hellos to Frank and Lisa as Gina proudly introduced Mitchell as, “ ‘Mario’, this here’s my friend, Marco,” or Paulie, or Mike…

And Marco, Paulie or Mike looked at him with obvious envy, made small talk for a moment then returned to their places in line and the girls they’d left standing by themselves.

****

The lights in the theater dimmed, faded and went black. The talk and laughter subsided. Motion in color moved along the folds of the crimson curtain as it opened outward from the center. People cleared their throats, coughed, then, outside of the rustling of hundreds of bodies on movie theater seats, were silent.

Sitting slouched in his seat, fully absorbed, Mitchell was staring intently at the screen when, reaching across with her right hand, taking hold of his right hand, forcing him to

sit up higher, Gina lifted it over her shoulder and around her neck. Looking at her briefly, he gladly moved closer.

The beautiful golden fawn ran through the woods…

His right hand now held with both of her hands.

…and bounded into a sun-lit clearing…

Gina moved his hand from her shoulder onto her chest.

…and to the shore of a sparkling blue, mountain lake….

Covering the ‘V’ of her blouse with her left hand, she led Mitchell’s hand through the opening and into...

“…Flag!” The boy, Jody, called to the fawn…

Her index finger over his index finger, moving the first two joints of her finger, she moved the first two joints of his finger in a small, tight circle.

…As Jody came through the woods into the clearing he saw the fawn…

He felt something. Looking to his right, Oh, God! he realized that his hand, beneath her hand, was on her breast. And, Oh, God! that his finger, beneath her finger, was caressing the aureole of her nipple.

…standing silhouetted against…

Becoming hard, the flat circle of Gina’s flesh erected.

…azure sky…

Aware, Oh, God! of what he was touching. Becoming hard, the soft cylinder of Mitchell’s flesh also began to erect, as…

…and reflected…

Squeezing, he gently palpated the wondrous softness in the palm of his hand.

…on the…

Leaning closer, looking at her, he stretched his arm further.

…blue water.

In the semi-darkness of the theater, with muted tones of Technicolor light playing across her flesh, softening the hard angles of her face, amazed at the transformation, feeling a binding in his heart, How come I didn’t notice before? She really isn’t as bad as I thought and I do like her. ‘And’ I’m gonna get fucked tonight!

Straining against the armrest that separated their two seats, forgetting there were people about, a whole theater of people about, holding Gina’s breast, kneading the soft flesh of Gina’s breast, turning her face to his with his free hand, bringing his mouth to her mouth he kissed her and now, without a hint of hesitation, Mitchell’s tongue pushed through Gina’s lips, beyond her teeth and into her mouth…

Breaking the long kiss. “Whew,” Gina whispered. “Cool off, baby.” Sitting back in her seat. Taking his hand from beneath her blouse and bra, placing it on her shoulder, “Be a good boy, Mitchie,” she said, primly folding her hands on her lap. “Watch the movie.”

He didn’t know why she’d moved his hand, but he sure liked it better where it had been and after a minute, moving it from her shoulder, he put his hand onto her chest, then it slipped beneath her bra.

“Mitchie,” motioning for him to move his head closer, whispering, “watch the movie.” Flicking the inside of his ear with her tongue—causing a shiver to run up his spine—as, once again moving his hand from her breast, Gina placed it back onto her shoulder.

Looking at her in profile, taking his hand from her shoulder, he placed it onto the armrest… then onto her thigh and within a few seconds began to rub her thigh, moving his hand in an ever-widening circular motion, working his way inward, and upward.

Covering his hand with both of her hands so the lady sitting next to her could not see what he was doing, slouching lower, Gina crossed her legs.

He felt the heat generated from her thighs and pubis…

And she allowed his hand to remain there… just long enough to realize that he’d reached his goal then, lifting it over the armrest, putting his hand onto his lap and holding it there, “Later.” she whispered.

‘Later’!

“ ‘Later’.” Having whispered the provocative word, like the gloating fisherman who’d ‘finally’ hooked an elusive fish. Sitting back, Gina thoroughly enjoyed the movie, also Mitchell’s squirming.

 To be continued as…. “White Castle”