A “Becoming’ excerpt in sequence:

“Ina/ ‘50 Pontiac”

 Rated ‘R’ for descriptive sexual content…

Strong Warning: be “Careful!”

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Mitchell looked upward, at a brilliant three-quarter moon and clusters of brightly shining stars, and desperate to go someplace, anyplace where he and Ina could be alone to pick up where they’d left off, “Jeeze, Ina,” he said cheerfully, “It’s great night! How’s about I get a blanket an’ you’n’me go on down to the beach.”

 The last time Ina went to the beach with a boy at night he’d gotten sand on the tip of his “Redi-wet” and it hurt like hell. “Nah, I don’t feel like goin’ to the beach,” she said, instantly deflating his carnally inflated bubble, “but how’s ’bout we take a ride to a place I know?”

___________________________________________________________

August 18, 1950

Union Pier, Michigan

“Ina/ ‘50 Pontiac”

His father had promised to teach him how to drive after his sixteenth birthday, which was still six days away, and Mitchell did not want to admit that he couldn’t drive, or, for that matter, that he was not quite sixteen. “Uh, my dad couldn’t make it out this weekend,” he lied, “an’ the car’s not here.”

“Nah,” starting across the Old Highway. “I didn’t mean your car.” Going to a blue, four-door, 1950Pontiac, “I got ours.” Opening the driver-side door, ‘Come on,” Ina said, “get in.”

Yeah! Opening the door, he slid into the Dorfmann family car; a car littered with fabric swatch-books that completely covered the back seat. On the dashboard was a profusion of crumpled memos, matchbooks, empty crumpled cigarette packages and a steel flashlight held onto the metal dashboard by a magnet.

Turning the key, bringing the motor to life, “My, ol’ man’s a salesman,” Ina said as she popped the clutch, shifted from neutral to first and, with a jolt, began to drive. “An’ all that crap back there’s his samples.”

The condition of this car, though, so long as it gets them to where they’re going, “Where we goin’?” was the last thing on his mind.

“Oh, I got a place.”

Looking at Ina in profile, I sure hope that her idea of ‘a place’ is the same as my idea of a place. But he didn’t have to worry because, just about as anxious to pick up where they’d left off as Mitchell, her idea of ‘a place’ was exactly the same as his idea of a place, and after a five-minute drive…

Tires crunched on gravel as the Pontiac steered off the asphalt of the ‘Old Highway’ onto a dirt road leading to a wide view-site on a high bluff overlooking Lake Michigan.

The one car there was parked on the far northern end of the pad so, driving to the far southern end, stopping, turning the motor and lights off Ina set the handbrake.

The moon and a silvery tail of moonlight reflecting on the still water forty feet below.

Looking at the panoramic scene through the bug-splattered, dirty windshield. “Ina, it’s beautiful!” Mitchell said, then asked, “you’ve been here before?” ‘Schmuck’, he thought feeling stupid the moment the words left his mouth. She drove here! Of course she’s been here before!

Not quite knowing how to pick up where they’d left off in the Liebman’s living room. Turning towards Ina, laying his arm across her shoulders he was working up the nerve to kiss her when, turning to Mitchell ‘she’ kissed him and, his passion immediately reinflated, his free hand instantly going to beneath her blouse…

“Wait, Mitchie.” Yanking the blouse over her head, reaching behind her back and unclasping the three hooks, Ina pulled her arms through the straps and, tossing the blouse and bra over her head, onto the back seat. Turning towards Mitchell, Ina threw her shoulders back proudly jutting her 38C—now that she was sitting upright—more than just slightly sagging breasts forward.

Moonlight streaming through the Pontiac’s windshield lightening the car’s interior…

Though Mitchell had seen and appreciated Ina’s breasts at the Liebman cottage, her blouse and bra had not actually been off. But now they were and he plainly, Oh, yeah! saw her totally exposed chest and, God, he thought, she does have great tits! But, ‘of course’, to Mitchell Lipensky, in this position ‘anyone’s’ tits would be ‘great tits’.—excluding his mother, of course—and hardly believing that he was truly here! In this place! With this girl in this situation and for the moment he could only stare at…

In the defused moonlight Ina’s dark areolae appeared to be almost black in contrast to the stark white flesh of her breasts and made to appear even whiter against the darkly shadowed tan of her chest and…

Leaning forward and putting his forehead onto her chest, lifting both, holding a breast in each hand he enveloped his face within the soft, warm flesh.

Enjoying the sensation of his cool hands and warm breath, closing her eyes, Ina leaned against the car door.

With the so warm, so soft mounds of flesh pressed against either side of his face a memory resurrected, a memory he’d unknowingly played in his subconscious mind since he was seven years old: Lou Ann, on the bed, her breasts splayed across her chest, her large, dark nipples—so like Ina’s—being palpitated between the fingers of Sal Diamond, just as he himself was now doing.

****

The prank Dominick Diamond had played on his newly married brother in 1941, using Mitchell to bait his brother, did make a profound impression on the then-seven-year-old boy and had, throughout the years, been the catalyst for Mitchell Lipensky’s premature and near-constant preoccupation with sex and now, at ‘this’ moment, Mitchell’s mind transformed Ina to Lou Ann and himself to Sal Diamond and…

****

‘No’! He’d fantasized doing this for too many years to be anyone but himself and in just a minute he was going to do what he’d fantasized, and masturbated to since he was nine years old… But ‘no’!

Fucking and seeing a cunt might not be all I want to do! He was surprised when the rest of the mental picture from that day in 1941 came to mind: the picture of Sal’s head between Lou Ann’s thighs.’’

Moving his face from between Ina’s breasts, holding both forward, kissing one then the other with rapidly accelerating passion, he drew one, then the other now elongated nipple into his mouth and, holding the underside of the breast in one hand and the cone of hardened flesh between his suckling lips, his other hand dropped to Ina’s thighs.

In the unflattering light of day Ina Dorfmann’s thighs were thick, dimpled and heavy. But in romantic moonlight, even in bug-splattered romantic moonlight, Ina Dorfmann’s thighs were soft, smooth, inviting and most importantly, ‘available’.

“Mitchie,” holding a restraining hand against his chest, “wait. I’ll help you.”

Ina Dofmann was normally of a, ‘to say the least’, lustful nature, and the thought of actually being with Mitchell Lipensky, along with his contagious, accelerated passion, carried Ina to an even higher degree of urgency than normal and, sitting up, lifting her lower body, she popped the buttons and pushed her shorts, along with her panties, down her legs where they fell off, alongside the brake peddle.

‘Oh, God’! She’s here! Mitchell thought. She’s here! ‘Naked’! A real, live, naked girl is here and we’re going to fuck! ‘Really’ going to fuck! Now was as if, and indeed a sexual fantasy had come to life from out his dreams and to be sure that this was not yet another fantasy—not that he wouldn’t have done it if this were a fantasy—he brought his hand to the tri-section of Ina’s thighs and twined his fingers through the coarse hair there.

Sixteen months ago, when he and Gina had been naked together, he’d been in a drunken fog and when he tried to visualize what Gina had looked like nude —although, in the pitch-black room and later, in the dark hallway, he’d never really seen what she looked like nude—he could not remember. He could not even remember what she’d felt like or, for that matter, what ‘it’ felt like when she did what she did to him with her mouth. All he clearly remembered about Gina was that she was ugly and skinny and had green teeth, and Mitchell had all but erased the experience from his mind and considered this, ‘now’, as the first time that he was with a girl... ‘this way...

****

‘Mitchell had all but erased the experience from his mind and considered this, ‘now’, as the first time that he was with a girl... ‘this way’.’

Although Mitchell Lipensky will never realize or bring this revaluation to complete fruition… As the girls and later the women that Mitchell Lipensky ever knew, in ‘that way’, all had their own personalities along with their personal mental and physical traits and attitudes, each time with a girl and later a woman— ‘for the first time’— to Mitchell Lipensky it will ‘always’ be as ‘the first time’.

****

...and Mitchell had all but erased the experience from his mind and considered this, ‘now’, as the first time that he was with a girl... ‘this way’.

Mitchell looked at Ina through the light of the bug-splattered windshield: at her sloping, milk-white breasts; at the areolae of her large, dark nipples; at the, albeit shadowed, triangle of pubic hair, and...

In the excess of his passion thought Ina Dorfmann was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen fully nude and, in a way, being the ‘only’ girl Mitchell Lipensky had ever seen fully nude, she was so… “Ina,” he said hoarsely, “you are so beautiful!”

Ina Dorfmann rarely, if ever, heard the words ‘you are so beautiful’, but Mitchell had said the words! Twice, in fact! Once in the Liebman cottage—actually, he was also about to tell her that she had beautiful breasts when they’d heard the slamming of a car door outside—and he said them here… And, sensing her vagina saturating, becoming even, if possible, wetter, and wondering if she was leaking onto the front seat of her father’s 1950 Pontiac, she squeezed her thighs together, as…

Seeing Ina naked. Wanting to be naked with her. Having an urge to feel as much of her naked body against as much of his naked body as possible—within the confines of the front seat of a 1950 Pontiac—Pulling his shirt off he tossed it onto the clutch unbuttoning his jeans and pushing his underpants off at the same time, he wiggled out of both.

In an excess of her passion, “you’re beautiful, too.” Ina said. “All over!”

He saw a hand—not his hand—holding his penis. The hand was cold. Oh, God! he thought. “That feels so good!” he said.

Sitting with her back angled against the driver-side door with her feet under the driver-side console, his penis still held within Ina’s cold hand, Mitchell angled his body to hers.

Knowing from past experience that in this position, in times such as this, most boys abandoned any thought of foreplay. Fully expecting him to place himself into position for insertion and intercourse. “Hold it a second.” Turning to the right, straightening her back... “Move up a bit.” ...giving herself enough room to lift her right leg and, stretching it to the side between his back and the back of the seat, Ina placed Mitchell between her thighs and—with a bit of contorting— in position to insert his penis into her more-than-ready vagina.

But instead…

Not altogether ambivalent over the fact that Ina had just opened her thighs and vagina to his sight, two things had happened: First, a large cloud, the forerunner of a summer squall, had darkened the moon darkening the interior of the car and secondly, ‘intently’ watching the jiggling of Ina’s breasts rather than the stretching of her leg and the opening of her thighs. Feeling he’d, at least temporarily, lost the opportunity, Ina’s crotch was now flush against his hip and he couldn’t see ‘it,’ so instead, putting his arms around her waist, pulling their bare chests together, feeling the warm pressure of her breasts, “Oh, God!” he said aloud as the pliable flesh bore through the layers of Mitchell’s sexually starved psyche. “Oh, my God!”

 Apparently wanting foreplay rather than just a ‘quickie’ as most guys do, further impressed Ina and she began to manipulate the sheath of skin that covers the hard core…

As he, in turn, rubbing the palm of his hand over the coarse, damp hair at the ‘V’ of her crotch, Mitchell searched for a moment or two until, even in this awkward position, finding the orifice, his finger slid between Ina’s thick lips into her ultra-slick wetness and…

Feeling his hand there and his finger there, widening her thighs even further, her encircling experienced hand going up and down. Squeezing and loosening. Expecting it. Waiting for it, Ina’s thumb played over the tip of Mitchell’s penis till—immediately—she felt the droplet of semen that, with her help, had worked its way up and through his urethra and the feel of the slippery semen that then covered his glans effected even further…

 “Oh-my-God, Ina!”

 Looking as Mitchell looked, Ina would have taken bets that he’d have had plenty of experience with girls and she had been surprised early in the evening when she’d learned of his ‘complete’ inexperience. Ina well knew what was about to happen, but thought, If he ‘comes’ now it’ll be a snap to get it up again—especially knowing what she planned on doing because she especially loved the feeling of a limp penis growing less limp within her mouth—and then, maybe—not that the sensation a limp penis becoming less limp within her mouth didn’t ‘always’ cause her to orgasm—he’ll last long enough for me to come, too—again—So…

“Oh-my-God, Ina!”

He wanted to savor this long-awaited, long-desired experience for as long as possible, and as much as he sure did love the feeling of her fondling, he knew that if she didn’t stop now, ‘right now’, he would climax, so, somehow, finding some hidden source of self control. “Please, Ina, ‘stop’!” Mitchell took hold of her hand and shoved it—along with his non-flexible penis— between his thighs and clamped both in an unmovable grip and, screwing his eyes shut, thinking for the second time tonight: Don’t come! Don’t come! ‘Do not come’! And only when the all-but-uncontrollable urge passed, did he open his eyes.

“Almost came, huh?”

Breathing heavily, “Yeah,” he admitted. “Almost.”

Now, for some obsecure reason the scene of Sal Diamond’s head between Lou Ann’s thighs flashed within his mind causing him to think there was something else he wanted to do...Feeling he had his ‘ejaculatory’ problem under control, loosening his thighs he freed Ina’s hand, along with his penis.

“Lay back some, can you?” Kissing her mouth. “I want to kiss you,” his lips grazing her neck, “here…” lowering his head, lingering, kissing first one then the other breast as stretching his finger even deeper into Ina’s vaginal canal, speaking hoarsely, passionately, “…and here.”

Thinking she knew what he meant, He’s gonna eat me! “Yeah, Mitchie!” Her voice no less passionate. “ ‘Do it’!”

The night was suddenly splintered by a ragged bolt of lightening, and seconds later the sky opened.

Feeling rain on her head and face and he on his back, relinquishing their positions as slightly as possible. Trying to move no more than the needed hand, each rolled a window closed.

 Bringing his attention—and hand—back to where they had been seconds before. Wanting to do it again! Hell, finding the kissing of Ina’s breasts to be about as enjoyable a task as he’d ever preformed. Returning to her breasts. Once again kissing each a number of times his lips trailed past her chest, onto her soft, actually rather mushy stomach, over her navel and onto the outer fringe of pubic hair… Where his lips hesitated because—being ‘very’ cognizant of odors—because of an, albeit, not thoroughly unpleasant odor but a strong odor nonetheless, he halted, also, because being this close to it, the movement of his finger within Ina’s vagina caused a ‘squishing’ sound that he could actually hear, and also, in this position his neck was beginning to hurt, but what stopped him, what stopped him cold was that suddenly…

...Because the orifice of Ina’s vagina was stretched in preparation for intercourse and flooded with readying fluid, in order to feel the pressure of Mitchell’s finger, Ina had kept her thighs and vaginal muscle constricted and expecting... ‘Anticipating’ his tongue.. Waiting for the sweet sensation that she so wanted, that she had never experienced because no guy had ever done it to her, ‘for her’, Ina loosened her thighs and vaginal muscle and... due to the excessive fluid within her vagina, the sudden release of internal pressure caused…

...A loud, ‘fart-like’ sound emitted from Ina’s vagina that she might not have heard, but being as close as he was, Mitchell Lipensky sure heard, and…

...Feeling the shift in his body, Ina opened her eyes as…

...Changing his mind about doing the ‘Sal Diamond and Lou Ann head between thighs thing’, straightening his back, Mitchell sat up.

Damn-it! Slightly angry with him because, Shit! How come guys don’t wanna eat me like I wanna eat them? She thought, ‘Screw it’! Let him do the work for a change!

Reclining on her elbows, shifting, lifting her body she laid her buttocks across his lap and, bending her right leg, putting her right foot at an angle on the seat between his right hip and the car door, by stretching her left leg onto the passenger-side floor, Ina was able to lay back with her head lying on the seat, beneath the steering wheel.

The rain outside in combination with the heavy breathing inside had caused a deep cast of fog to cover the windows. In the obliterated moonlight, what lay flat on the seat and across his lap lay wholly in a dark shadow. And though he could not see all that he wanted to see, the fact that a girl’s completely naked body was fully open to his hands and ‘somewhat’ his mouth not making him ‘too’ unhappy with this position.

“Ina, lift up a second, can you?” Reaching beneath her buttocks, he pulled his cramped penis from under and placed it— standing upright— pressed between her right hip and his stomach.

Mitchell Lipensky looked at Ina Dorfmann and still, in whatever light there was, was able to see her darkly accentuated aureole against the stark white of her breasts, and the black shadow of her crotch in contrast to the flesh of her stomach and thighs. Concentrating on Ina’s crotch, spreading her labia with his left hand, turning his right hand upward, feeling a heightening thrill, he inserted his index finger.

In Ina’s mind, and most ‘always’ so, she was the one doing all the work with the guy doing all the enjoying—not, mind you, that she did not enjoy the results of her labor. However this time, lying on her back, closing her eyes, she’s doing all the enjoying and the guy’s doing all the work.

‘Work’? Ah, yes! It’s a tough job but someone’s got to do it.

Shifting slightly, Ina’s left breast rolled off her chest and hung, looking downward at the clutch, brake and accelerator. Her right breast, propped by the fabric-covered seat, standing somewhat upward, appeared to be gazing at him.

‘Completely’ impassioned once again—not, mind you, that a little thing like a ‘cunt-fart’ would ever disimpassion him—Bending forward, he drew the staring nipple into his mouth… But after a few seconds the awkward position caused a crick in his neck so he sat up, and because his index finger felt lost—and indeed it was—within the depth and breadth of Ina’s sexually prepared, extended vagina, Hummm? Thinking, Wonder if I can get another one in? All of his knuckles and most of his hand slick from the abundant secretion, on the next outward trip Mitchell was easily able to insert his number one finger. Having two fingers in Ina’s vagina aroused him even further. Only now it had become more than ‘just’ sexual, it had become ‘experimental’, a ‘learning experience’, if you will, so…Plenty of room in there, he thought, maybe one more. And inserted his number three finger.

“Mmmm!” Clenching her teeth, Ina began to squirm.

Having no way of knowing what, where or why, but with his small finger bent back and his middle three fingers inserted upside down, filling Ina’s vagina, touching and caressing everything, sexually, that there was to touch and caress—including, in this position, the highly erogenous zone on the roof of her vagina, that on Ina was located midway between her clitoris and urethral opening, that in the past only she had paid attention to—a whole lot of attention—Mitchell had no place to put his thumb, so it accidentally fondled the little protruding button of highly sensory flesh at the top cleft of her vagina that…

Due to the position of his hand, the pumping motion of his three fingers and the dandling touch on her hypertrophied clitoris, along with the scientifically, still-unknown ‘G spot’ caused a sensation that Ina had never before felt and she began to rotate her hips, putting syncopated, rolling pressure against the erotically satisfying movement of Mitchell’s fingers, and the more than satisfying caress of his thumb.

Forgetting that just a few minutes earlier she’d thought him wholly inexperienced, “Mitchie,” she said, breathing the words rather than saying the words, “emmm, where’d you... ahhh, learn to do this?”

At that moment—another thought that he was not wholly cognizant of— Mitchell realized that in sex, for him, ‘it was just as important to give as to receive’ and was ecstatic in the knowledge that he was doing something to Ina that she, too, was enjoying, and—though he had no way of knowing just how much she ‘was’ enjoying what he was, albeit, unknowingly, doing—having no idea what it was that he was doing, he said nothing.

“Oh, God, that feels so nice!” Constricting and relaxing her thighs and vaginal muscle while gyrating her pelvis in harmonized movement with the pressure of his fingers and the caress of his thumb. “Mmmm!” Rotating her head from side to side… Taking hold of his hand, moving his hand and fingers at her desired speed, her breathing coming harder… faster. Now oscillating her buttocks and hips, now…

 Also rubbing against, and putting a silken, oh, ‘so’ sweet pressure against her hip and his stomach-entrapped, upstanding penis…

 Mitchell was so absorbed in Ina’s passion that he did not realize that now he, too, was pumping his pelvis. And, of course, did not know of, nor take notice of the spasmodic tightening and loosening within her vagina as Ina’s intensely strong orgasm began. But suddenly did realize that it was not only her raspy breathing he heard but his also. And even under the weight of her buttocks, Mitchell arched his pelvis upward and this time unwilling, unable to stop himself, laying his head back on the seat he closed his eyes as, “Mmmm! God!” His voluminous…

More often than not, due to her date’s lack of staying power, consideration or most likely a combination of both, Ina’s sexual dalliances were consummated by her own hand in the privacy of her bedroom and now, completely satiated, relaxing, Ina loosened her thighs, and if she did realize, made no comment as…

Mitchell’s ongoing ejaculations arched upward, then dropped and splattered on her thighs, stomach and, looking much like melted droplets of vanilla ice cream, onto the dark-blue metal dashboard of Mister Dorfmann’s 1950Pontiac.

As his breathing and pulse rate returned to normal, the realization of what had happened hit him and, angry at himself for ‘coming’ that way and not even getting to see ‘it’, Mitchell looked at Ina and— even in the muted moonlight— her face did not look nearly as appealing as it had a few seconds ago. As a matter of fact, he thought, she looks really shitty! Suddenly his wrist hurt terribly so he pulled it free with a wet, suction sound. Opening and closing his fist a number of times to get the circulation flowing, he wiped both sides of his hand on the fabric seat of Mister Dorfmann’s 1950 Pontiac.

Still lying across his lap with her eyes closed and her thighs spread, Ina looked almost as though she were asleep.

Tilting his head downward, he tried to see between her thighs, but it was much too dark there. Looking up, he noticed the flashlight on the cluttered, now semen-splattered dashboard… And the hint of an idea came to mind.

Mitchell looked at Ina’s face again. Her eyes were still closed and, Hmmm, she sleeping? Yeah, maybe! It sure looks like she’s sleeping. He looked at the flashlight. Nah! His eyes flicked back to Ina, and back at the flashlight. Shaking his head negatively, Nah! But, But if she is asleep, maybe I can still get to see ‘it’. Making the decision…

Slowly… Moving slowly. Moving his arm only because he did not want to wake her. Reaching to the flashlight, he grasped and pulled. Holding a moment, the strong magnet released with a slight jerk. He looked at Ina’s face once again and, her eyes still closed, Ina hadn’t moved.

Holding the flashlight, he waited…

Still, she did not move.

Tilting his head to the right. Looking down. Slowly, carefully so as not to touch her... Positioning the flashlight, taking a deep breath, he pushed the button, and…

Light seemingly filling the car, several things simultaneously happened:

Thinking a cop was shining his flashlight through the window—as had happened oh, so many times in the past—Ina’s instantaneous reaction was to open her eyes and sharply bring her head up, and…

Ina’s instantaneous reaction to the light drawing his immediate attention, releasing the button, the light went off as…

‘Bonk’!

Ina’s forehead smashed into the hard plastic steering wheel, bounced off and fell back onto the seat.

“Ina?” .

No answer.

“Ina,” Repeated a bit louder. “Ina?”

Still, no response…

Waiting another moment. Pushing the button. shining the light onto her face. “ ‘Oh, my God’!” Swallowing, he blinked his eyes rapidly, for…

Her tongue lolling from the corner of her drooling mouth, Ina Dorfmann’s head lay flat on the seat. Staring blankly upward, her eyes were open, and crossed.

“ ‘Ina’?” Thinking she’s dead. “ ‘Ina’!” And not only dead, “Ina, I’m sorry!” But that he was responsible. That he’d killed her! “ ‘Ina’,” shaking her shoulder. “I’m sorry!” Apologizing for killing her he shook her shoulder even harder… And watched as her jiggling breasts flopped back and forth with the motion. “I’m sorry!”

“Ummm.” She moaned.

She’s ‘not’ dead! Relieved that she wasn’t dead, “Ina, I’m sorry!”

She moved her head.

I didn’t kill her! Relieved that he hadn’t killed her, “I’m sorry!”

She blinked her eyes.

Looking skyward, thinking, Oh, God, thank you, God! Overjoyed because Ina was alive and that he had not killed her. “I’m sorry!” Turning the flashlight off, he put it back on the dashboard.

“Oh, God,” holding her head in her hands. “I’ve got such a headache!” Turning, moving off Mitchell. Sitting up, Ina faced forward.

Relieved to see her sit up, and move her by-then unbearably hot and heavy buttocks off his lap. Thinking he was thinking, ‘I’m sorry’, but actually whispering it, “I’m sorry,” he muttered one last time as, reaching to the floorboard, hastily slipping his feet through his Jockey shorts and jeans, he pulled both up to his waist, then, grabbing his shirt off the driver-side floorboard, Mitchell pulled it over his head, as…

Trying to figure out, What happened? “What happened?” Ina asked.

Buttoning his fly, cinching his belt he didn’t answer.

Ina knew that she was naked and that he had been naked, and felt the rapidly evaporating moisture in and on her crotch and the familiar stretched feeling within her vagina. And in her still-muddled mind thought, He screwed me. Which in itself would not have bothered her, except, Why, all of a sudden do I have a headache? And, Why in the hell does he keep apologizing? And also, “Mitchie,” she asked, feeling her forehead, “How’d I get this goose-egg?”

Now thinking, The flashlight was a ‘really’ stupid thing to do! Trying to think, What should I tell her? Trying to think of a, somewhat, plausible answer, She don’t remember the flashlight.

Stretching over the seat, reaching to the back and reclaiming her bra and blouse, Ina slipped her arms through the straps, adjusted her breasts into the cups and fastened the hooks. Then, looking at Mitchell, “So,” she asked suspiciously, “how’d I get this bump on my head?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” he said, looking away. “I guess you, uh,” telling the truth, “kind’a’ bumped it.”

Bending forward, reaching for her shorts and panties, “Ouch!” her forehead grazed the steering wheel. Slipping both onto her feet, angling her body upward, Ina pulled both over her hips. “ ‘I bumped my head’?”

" ‘How’, Mitchell? ‘On what’?”

He thought a moment, Maybe I ought’a just tell the truth. And figuring the truth, some of it at least might be the way to go. So, “On the steering wheel,” he said.

As though this was the only logical answer, which in fact it was, Ina simply said, “Oh.” Except, she thought, he just saw me bump my head on the steering wheel.

And Ina Dorfmann, the girl that would screw just about ‘anyone’ thought Mitchell Lipensky did…? She didn’t know ‘what’. But she did think that this boy—this boy that she felt something akin to love for an hour ago—did ‘something’ to her.

Fresh air replacing fetid air, Ina rolled her window open, turned the key in the ignition starting the motor, turned the defroster on and while waiting for a hole of clear glass to appear. “You know, Mitch,” she said, looking across the seat. “I’ve never been out with a guy like you before.”

Catching the inflection in her voice, not knowing if this was meant as a compliment—which it most certainly was not—and not knowing how to respond in either case, he said nothing.

“Yeah, Mitch,” Ina said as, wincing, she touched the bump on her forehead. “You know I’ve gone out with lots’a guys, an’ lots of ’em have done… well, you know, ‘it’ to me. But, Mitch, you’re the only one that’s ‘ever’ apologized.”

Putting her father’s 1950 Pontiac into reverse, then forward, Ina Dorfmann drove off the dirt road of the view site onto the Old Highway.

August 19, 1950 and onward

To add to Ina’s confusion:

The next day her father had wanted to know, “Who’s the god-damned slob who dripped god-damned ice-cream all over my god-damned dashboard?

‘No’, ‘no’, she had thought at the time, that sure as hell ain’t ice-cream! Only thing is, how’d he get jizm all over me ‘and’ the dashboard, too?

Oh, yeah, Ina had thought about that night and, What the hell’d he do to me?

And was ‘never’ able to figure it out.

End “Ina” series

Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence: “The Collectors”