“Becoming Excerpt: “ A Farm Girl”

Author’s notation: “A Farm Girl” and “An Indian Summer Night” had been posted out of sequence and can be found as “A Virgin Girl 1 and 2”

Thank you

Mark

Skokie, Illinois

September 20, 1951

Rain came in loud, heavy, wind-blown sheets. Currents of water surging along gutters buried the curbs and collected, forming deep pools around the mouths of whirlpool-like sewers that struggled to swallow the onslaught. Cars slowing to a crawl to make the turn from Lincoln Avenue onto Niles Center Road went hub-deep in the water of the bisecting streets’ lower incline, then, speeding up again, the cars threw curling waves of water as though from the prow of a ship.

The three boys stood back, away from the curb, waiting for a break in the traffic or for the traffic signal to change from red to green. Two of the boys wore yellow slickers over their sweaters. The other boy, Mitchell Lipensky, wore a trench coat. None of the boys wore hats and the hair of all three was plastered flat on their skulls.

One of the boys, “Shit, ‘come on’!” anxiously motioned the cars on until there was a slight slowing of approaching automobiles from both directions, then the three boys made a break across the wide street.

The plate-glass window steamed to a pearl-like opaqueness, the one-line neon sign announcing ‘Roundy’s Coffee Shop’ was a blur on the foggy glass.

Shivering, the first of the boys opened the door to the accompaniment of the tinkling bells suspended above the lintel.

“Mule train! Mule train!

“Clippity, cloppin’ over hill and plain!”

Frankie Lane singing from the juke box. The clacking of voices and the clatter of dishes, silverware and rain all blended to make a garbled cacophony of sound.

Dripping water on the linoleum-covered floor, the three boys stepped into the musty warmth of the sandwich shop across the street from Niles Township High School.

“Jeeze, it’s wet out there!” Lowering the collar of his slicker, Jack Brandon shook his head, showering the boy standing next to him.

“Thanks, you dick! I ain’t wet enough?” Bill Westguard pushed the steel clasps through the slicker’s grommets, opening it. Reaching beneath his sweater, into his breast pocket he removed a plastic cigarette case. “Man, do I need a smoke!”

Unbuttoning and removing the soaked trench coat, Mitchell surveyed the kids facing him in the booths and those sitting on the chrome and Naugahyde stools alongside the long, Formica counter.

Reaching towards Bill’s cigarette case, “Gi’me one’a those, will you?”

“Shit, Brandon! Don’t you ‘ever’ buy your own?”

“An’ let my folks know I smoke? Anyway, It’s a hell of a lot cheaper smokin’ yours.” Pulling a cigarette from the pack, putting it between his lips, “Hey, you dick, how’s ’bout a light?”

Flicking his lighter to life, “Jesus, Brandon!” Holding it forward, “Maybe you’d like me to kick you in the chest to get you started, too?”

“Hey, Westguard, don’t be such a wise-ass!” Taking a deep, appreciative draw, smiling at his friend, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, mooch… You want a butt, Mitchie?”

“Yeah, sure.” Taking the offered cigarette. Bending his head forward, Bill flicked his lighter back to flame and Mitchell drew the cigarette to life. “Thanks.” Nodding his head towards the row of booths, “That girl there… Either of you guys know her?”

“Who?” Looking. “Which girl?”

“Her,” pointing. “The blonde in the second to last booth.”

“Not me.” Westgard said. “I wish I did.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“She looks kind’a good. How do you know her, Jack?”

“We went to the same grammar school. Her name’s Sally Brockman. Her family’s one of the originals here. Matter’a’fact her folks actually still have an operating farm here.”

“She’s a ‘farm girl’?”

“A ‘farm girl’? Well, yeah. Guess you could say that.”

“What’s she? A senior?”

“Nah, a junior. She was in the class behind me.”

As though sensing they were talking about her, looking up the girl waved and for a moment Mitchell thought she might be waving at him, but then realized the acknowledgment was for Jack.

Nodding his head in recognition, “You want to meet her, Mitch?” Jack asked.

Oh, yeah! Draping the trench coat over his arm, “Yeah, I’d love to meet her!”

“Okay, come on.”

Holding the cigarette between his teeth, the up-curling smoker causing him to squint, Mitchell combed his wet hair as they wove through the milling crowd.

She had seen him at a distance in the hallways and noticed him when he came into Roundy’s. He was the ‘only’ reason she’d even bothered to wave at Jack Brandon. Watching him now, the closer he came, Oh, yeah! the more she liked what she saw.

The closer Mitchell came, Oh, yeah! the more he liked what he saw:

A round face with light-gray eyes and a small, straight nose, Sally Brockman had prominent cheekbones and—though Mitchell would not see them till she smiled—deep, vertical dimples on either side of her mouth. Her honey-colored, shoulder-length hair was streaked darker where the rainwater had yet to dry and, to cover a high forehead, was worn in bangs. Wearing a light-blue cardigan with a white dickey, the mounds of her breasts were noticeably outstanding.

The girl’s and Mitchell’s eyes locking and brazenly holding. “Sally, hi!” Jack said as the three boys came abreast the booth.

Without so much as a glance at Jack. “Hi, Jack.”

“Uh, Sally, this is Mitchell,” jerking his thumb to the left, then to the right, “and this is Bill.”

“ ‘Bill’.” Quickly glancing at Westguard, her eyes coming back to Mitchell, “ ‘Mitchell’.”

Oh, yeah, this is definitely my kind of shiksa! Smiling his smile. “Hi,” he said. “But call me Mitch will you, or when you get to know me better, Mitchie. But please don’t call me Mitchell; it sounds so damned formal.”

“Yeah, Mitch, uh,” forcing her eyes from his face, “this is Joan.” nodding her head towards the girl sitting across the booth.

“Hi!” Knowing her friend. Knowing Sally was interested in Mitchell, moving to the side, “Why don’t you guys sit?”

Looking about the shop, then back to Sally, “It is kind’a crowded in here.” Mitchell said. “You sure it’s okay?”

“Sure. Come on, have a seat.” Patting the Naugahyde-covered seat, Sally moved aside, making room for him.

Bill and Jack began to slide into the booth alongside of Joan but, stepping between Mitchell sat on the outside position, kitty-corner from Sally, causing Jack to sit next to her.

“Jack says your family’s from around here.”

“Yeah. My folks and grandparents have been here forever.”

“He says they’re farmers here.”

Glancing at Jack. “ ‘Farmers’? Well, yes, they still have the farm and we grow some corn and peas but they’re holding onto it because the land’s become so valuable they’re waiting for some developer to come along and make ’em an offer.”

Reaching across the table. Pulling the ashtray to him, grinding the cigarette out, “How much land you got?”

“My parents have, oh, ‘bout a hundred-fifty acres.”

“Wow! You’re going to be rich!”

Smiling, showing her deep dimples. “That would be nice for a change, but in the meantime we’re living in a sixty-year-old farmhouse.”

“You got indoor plumbing and stuff?” Bill asked, innocently.

“Yeah.” She smiled again. “And toilets that flush and running water and electricity, and all that modern stuff.”

Pretending to be chastised, “Oh, yeah,” Bill said. “I knew that.”

Laughing, Joan nudged Bill in the ribs with her elbow. “You’re kind’a cute; you know that?”

Turning in her direction. “You really think so, huh?”

Laughing again. “Yeah, I do! Your mother ever have any kids that lived?”

Smiling at the joke. “Nah,” Bill said, “just me. But you’re kind’a cute, too. You want’a go out on Friday?” he asked bluntly.

“You asking me for a date?”

“Yeah. Sure. Why not? So, you want’a go out on Friday?”

“Hey, I don’t even know you! You a nice guy, Bill?”

“Yeah, I am! Ask Jack. I’m a nice guy, ain’t I, Jack?”

“Yeah, sure, for a mooch he’s a nice guy. Ain’t he, Mitch?”

“Yeah, sure he’s a nice guy! Ain’t he, Sally?”

Laughing, “I don’t know. Are you a nice guy, Bill?”

“Hell, ‘yeah’! Ask Jack. I’m a nice guy, ain’t I, Jack?”

“ ‘Enough already’!” Holding her hands forward in surrender. “Yes, okay, I’ll go out with you on Friday!”

“How’s ‘bout you?” Mitchell asked Sally. “You busy?”

“Why, sir,” dramatically pushing the tips of the fingers of her left hand vertically into her chest, causing the material of the sweater to strain between the protrusions of Sally’s 36D breasts—which Mitchell noticed —“I don’t even know you! You a nice guy, Mitch?”

“ ‘Damn right I’m a nice guy’! Ain’t I, Jack?”

“ ‘Nah’, don’t need to go through all that again! Okay, Mitch, I’ll go out with you… Hey, if we’re going on a date, you think I know you well enough to call you Mitchie?”

Tickled at the ease of this “Yes, mam. Please do!!”

“We goin’a double?”

I’d love to be alone with her! But, jerking his thumb to the right, “It’s okay with me if it’s okay with them.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bill said. “Sounds like fun. Okay with you, Joan?”

“ ‘Joanie’. You can call me ‘Joanie’. And, yeah, it’s fine with me.”

“Okay, then,” Mitchell said. “I’ll drive.”

“Any idea where we’re going?” Joan asked.

“Don’t know.” Bill looked at Mitchell. “How’s ’bout a ‘Drive-in?’”

A Drive-in. Oh, yeah! But before Mitchell could respond…

Unconcerned. “ ‘The passion pit’?” Actually looking forward to being in a ‘Drive-In’ with Mitchell. “On our very first date?”

Not knowing whether or not she was serious, “No, not if you don’t want to.”

Looking at Mitchell, “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “If it’s okay with them, the drive-in’s just fine with me.”

Being a girl that did not have an over-abundance of dates, the thought of a drive-in, and necking with Bill, whom she really did think was cute, didn’t bother Joan in the least so, “Yeah, the drive-in’s okay with me, too.”

Reaching into her purse, ruminating a moment and finding a scrap of paper, Sally wrote her address and phone number and handed it to Mitchell.

“Uh,” Rather than a number and street, beneath her phone number it read, ‘Rural Road 9A’ “Where is this? How do I find it?”

“Don’t have time to explain now.” Nudging Jack with her elbow, “The bell’s going to ring any minute now.”

Bored with the four-way conversation, Jack looked at his watch. “Jeeze, time sure does fly when you’re havin’ fun.” Standing, he moved off the seat so Sally could pass.

Standing also, “Yeah,” Mitchell said, moving into the aisle, helping Sally on with her coat, “we’ve got to get back, too.”

The door to Roundy’s was now constantly held open by the flow of kids moving out of the coffee shop, into the rain, and back for the remaining three hours of that afternoon’s classes. As they made their way out the shop, “Come on, I’ll cover you.” Mitchell held his trench coat over his and Sally’s heads, but as they stepped outside the wind caught the coat causing it to billow upward. Reaching up, Sally helped hold the makeshift umbrella. Standing closely together, having no place to put his right arm, he put it about her waist and was pleasantly surprised as Sally’s arm immediately went about his waist.

The trench coat flapping in the wind, their arms held tightly about each other’s waists they began across the wide street. Water sloshing in their shoes and where they weren’t protected by the trench coat. Running up the wide steps and through the entrance of Niles Township High School.

Stopping, each reluctant to release the other, Sally moved her arm first.

As the day was Wednesday and he had to work that night, he wanted to ask Sally if he could see her Thursday evening also, but, Don’t be too pushy, thought better of it.

“Gotta get going!” Running through the hallway, calling over her shoulder, “Call me for directions, Mitch!”

The running motion causing Sally’s well-defined buttocks to shift from side to side beneath her skirt. “Yeah, later!” he called back, thinking What a great tush! Then realizing that he was about to be late, ran to his next class also.

Always having a hard time in school, the remainder of this day, scholastically, was an absolute, complete loss. Thinking, She didn’t want to let go of me any more than I wanted to let go of her. And she’s a farm girl, and she’s used to seeing things like, uh, cows and horses screwing. Visualizing the size of her breasts when she had touched her chest, God she’s got great tits! And she’s really pretty and, Oh, God!

Visualizing her swaying buttocks as she ran up the hallway… In his sixth period class he had an erection that would not go away and—remembering that day in grammar school when, his hand in his pocket, he had masturbated in class—Mitchell hoped he wouldn’t be asked a question and have to stand.

September 21, 1951

The windows were fogged… No one noticed.

Blurry images fluttered across the windshield… No one saw.

Words and music poured from the speaker… No one heard.

The air inside the car became fetid from heavy breathing and funky from the odor of overactive female moisture… Who needed fresh air? The odor of sex smelled just ‘fine’.

“Ohh, no,” whispered half-heartedly. “Bill, stop…”

“Oh, Joanie, but you feel sooo nice. Please!”

“Okay, but not under the blouse. Okay? ‘Okay’?”

Sprawled across the front seat of the big Buick, leaning towards her, almost atop Sally, only the very top of Mitchell’s head was visible to the couple in the back seat. Whom, in nearly the same position, were engrossed with their own prurient desires and did not pay the slightest attention to the couple in the front seat.

Tongues wreathing, they kissed deeply.

Attempting to unfasten her bra, his left had was beneath the back of her sweater while his right hand, beneath the front of her sweater, was caressing a rayon-enshrouded breast.

Whispered, huskily, “Mitchie, please…”

“Umm.” Savoring the feel of the soft, round breast in one hand as he squeezed and released the clasp that held the two ends of elastic material between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand… Why won’t the damned thing open? he thought as he tried to dissect the ‘demonic invention of the accursed brassiere clasp’.

“Mitchie,” her lips against his ear, “put your hand under, baby. It’s okay. Hold me under… please.” she whispered.

‘Put your hand under’? ‘Hold me under’? ‘Please’! Oh, yeah! Like he had to be asked twice and of course, now, not knowing how or why, the tightening and loosening paid off and the one elastic strap became two elastic straps and the front of the bra loosened and Sally’s, Oh, God, breasts fell free and lifting the bra up and his eyes down…

In the splendor of fog-cast Technicolor, Mitchell once again gazed upon, as far as he was concerned, God’s greatest creation: tits, and, “Oh, God, Sally,” he whispered so softly the words may have been little more than a thought, “you’re so beautiful.” Touching her, caressing the so satiny bare flesh, lowering his face to the sweet-smelling valley he once again pressed the wondrous mounds against the sides of his face and, once again, felt the warmth of this, to him, holiest of sanctuaries. Becoming overwhelmed with passion, lifting his face, tasting the taste of Sally’s flesh, covering first one, then the other, oh, so sweet nipples with his lips… As, moving his hand onto the surprising soft flesh of her belly, knowing from past experience, not even attempting to pop the steel buttons from the holes in the fly of her Levi’s, stretching his hand beneath the elastic band of her high-cut panties, he felt the shallow impression made by the tight elastic, and the small, deep depression of her navel, and the slightest hint of Sally’s pubic hair… before she moved his hand up. Mitchell tried again, and again she moved his hand. Tempted to try again, but not willing to jeopardize what she was willing to give, giving up, at least for the time being, Mitchell moved his hand back to Sally’s breast, and his mouth to her mouth.

The windows became even foggier.

The air became even thicker.

With the right boy, oh, yes, Sally did enjoy petting, truly enjoyed petting. But she was determined not to go “all the way” with anyone but her future husband, and with an experienced boy such as Mitchell, she knew that she had to give something or he’d lose interest. Her bare-breasted boundaries were as far as she’d allow herself, or any boy, to go, and that was only if she liked the boy well enough. Touching Mitchell’s tongue with her tongue, feeling the hardness of his constrained penis probing against her straining vulva… Well, actually, the bulge of his penis was pushing against the crotch of her Levi’s and the thick seam within the crotch of her Levi’s was rubbing against her straining vulva… Well, actually, against her hypertrophied clitoris and, oh, yeah, she was having a good time—a real good time—and she knew that, though maybe not all that he wanted, Mitchell was having a real good time, too… without going further than she wanted. And with Mitchell, Sally was very much afraid of going one bit further because she liked him more than she’d ever liked any boy, and knew that if he did go that one bit further, it would be her as much as he that would be straining to go all the way.

Sex, to Mitchell, certainly did not always mean love, but love always meant sex and Sally was the first girl that he’d wanted sexually… Well, outside of Big Rosalind Feigenbaum and a few others, he’d wanted most girls sexually, but Sally was the first girl that he wanted that he ‘really’ liked that had allowed as much as she’d allowed. Rather than disappointment for what she had not permitted, he felt gratitude for the beauty and passion she had permitted, and his gratitude, along with the dam of his passion that was about to explode, transposed to something akin to love...So he hugged Sally and felt the softness of her, Oh, God, 36D breasts pressing against his chest and, whispering, “Sal, I’m crazy about you!” Mitchell brought his mouth back to her mouth in a hard, passionate kiss, till…

Sounding above the harsh breathing and the background sounds that emanated from the drive-in speaker hanging from the closed window…

Crack!

“Jesus!” Sitting up, Mitchell grabbed his jaw.

Sitting up also, “Mitchie,” pulling her sweater down, “what’s wrong?”

Bill’s head popping up, “What the hell was that?” followed by Joan’s, who was stuffing her blouse into the waist of her slacks.

Testing, gingerly opening and closing his mouth, “Something that happened about, uh, a year and a half ago, when I was in the National Guard.”

“You were in the National Guard?” Bill asked skeptically. “When?”

“Before Korea… Well, actually when the war started, I got discharged then ‘cause I was too young.”

“And this is like a, uh, war wound or something?”

War wound? From peeling potatoes? Looking at Sally, “Well, yeah, guess you could say that. Guess kissing like we were kissing,” he smiled, “kind’a made me ‘pop’.”

“You okay?” Joan asked. “Better see a doctor.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Nah, it only hurts, uh,” still looking at Sally, “for a couple’a seconds.”

“Hey, what the hell movie is this anyway?” Reaching to the speaker, Bill turned the volume up.

On the movie screen there was an overhead view of two dozen girls in multi-colored bathing suits swimming on their backs, forming an aquatic flower in rippling, crystal-clear water. Esther Williams, in the exact center, was treading water; stretching upward, her undulating arms giving the overall effect of a flower blowing in the breeze.

“Million Dollar Mermaid,” Joan said.

Opening the windows, as fresh air streamed in, the odor of sex streamed out.

**** 

“See those trees? Park there, will you, and turn the motor off, please.”

They had dropped Joan and Bill off at Joan’s home. Now, on rural road 9A, Sally and Mitchell were alone for the first time.

“Yeah, sure.” Thinking, hoping Sally just wanted to be alone before they ‘went any further’. Pulling under the stand of trees, turning the lights and motor off, Mitchell reached to her, but…

Putting her hands against his chest, holding him back, “Mitchie, ‘no’! I want to talk to you.”

She’d been thinking about what he’d said: ‘Sal, I’m crazy about you’! Even if the words were said in the heat of passion—which they were, though, truly, he ‘was’ crazy about her—Sally, also, had been thinking about how she felt then, and how she felt now and not quite sure why but feeling a need to explain herself, she was quiet for the minute it took for her to formulate her thoughts.

But for the noise of cicadas, the night was perfectly still. The sky was deeply overcast without a trace of moon or stars and in the absolute darkness to each the other appeared as a black shadow. But within seconds their eyes adjusted and the black shadows became lighter shadows and each was able to see the form of the other.

“Mitchie,” Sally began, “I want to tell you something.”

Reaching to her, he searched until he found her hand.

“First off, I want to tell you that I don’t usually let a guy do what you and me were doing at the drive-in and ‘most certainly’ not on the first date. But living on the farm all my life…” Hesitating, trying to think exactly what she wanted to say. “…I’ve seen things,” she continued, “that other girls, city girls, like you know, have never seen. And I can’t be like them, pretending it—‘sex’ doesn’t exist.”

Holding her hand, Mitchell began to massage the nape of her neck between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand.

“I’ve seen cows and pigs and sheep do ‘it’…” Leaning her head back, closing her eyes, enjoying the messaging effect of his fingers on her neck. “…and I ‘can’t’ be like them, the city girls, pretending it—sex doesn’t exist. They ought to teach about it in school.”

Thinking the thought preposterous, “Sex?”

“Yes. They ought to teach about it in school, and it’s so important maybe someday they will.” Turning in the seat, her neck moving from his massaging fingers. “But, Mitch, I ‘do’ know about it.” She waited for a response and when none came, continued. “And whenever I see the animals do it, I get a, uh, kind’a funny feeling.” Adding quickly, “Don’t misunderstand me. It doesn’t get me ‘hot’ or anything!” Blushing in the darkness because, yes, it did, it really did get her hot. “And I know what a cow’s… ‘thing’ and a sheep’s… thing and even a pig’s thing looks like, and I see what happens to their things when they get hot… And I’ve even, accidentally, seen my older brother’s, uh,” wishing she hadn’t started talking of this, saying more than she wanted to say, “you know, his, uh, ‘whatchamacallit’…”

“You’ve seen your brother’s…” about to say dick, catching himself, ‘whatchamacallit’ when he was hot?”

Laughing, “No, silly, of ‘course not’! Not my brother’s when he was hot! But when the male animals do… it their, uh… ‘things’… get big, and I know that’s how guys get. You were that way tonight!” This said as a statement.

“Yeah, you’re right, Sal, I ‘sure’ was.” And still was and was tempted to take her hand to show her that he still was. But wisely fighting the temptation and, wisely knowing how hard it must be for Sally to tell him this. “Look,” he said, “you really don’t have to tell me these things.”

“ ‘Yes’ I ‘do’! I want you to understand the way I am, Mitch! I’m ‘not’ like other girls. I don’t like to play the ‘boy/girl’ games other girls like to play. When I like a guy, I can’t hide the way I feel and ‘don’t’ want to… And I like you, Mitch. I like you a ‘lot’!”

Wow, she likes me, a lot! I love shiksas!

“Believe me,” Sally went on, “I wouldn’t have gone out with you if I didn’t like you and I most certainly would ‘not’ have let you do to me what I let you do if I didn’t! But you’ve ‘got’ to know, Mitch, that that’s as far as I go—as far as I’ll let you go!”

That’s as far as she’ll let me go. Sensing a pang of disappointment, but then remembering what else she had said: ‘I like you, I like you a lot!’ She likes me and that’s why she let me do what we did, and that’s why we’ll do it some more, and, God, those tits! Those ‘great’ tits! Okay, so if that’s as far as we go, that’s okay, too. But who knows? Maybe, in a while, she’ll be the one wanting to go further.

As though reading his thoughts, “Mitchie, I promised myself…” Hesitating, “… and ‘Jesus Christ’ that I’d still be a virgin when I get married. So if you want more than tonight from me, ‘please’ tell me now, before we get to like each other too much.”

 Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence “ An Indian Summer Night”