A “Becoming” Excerpt in Sequence:
“And your Life/Susan 3”
Careful, sex (of sorts) here
__________________________________________________________
Beginning to leave the room, “Oh, yeah,” turning back, “when you meet Susan, don’t mention how I’ve been in school up to now, because she thinks I’m a B-plus student.”
“Mitchie, that’s no way to start out with a girl you say you love and are going to marry, by lying.”
“I know, Mom, I hated doing it, but you had to be there to understand.”
“Oh, by the way, if I can use the car, I’ll take Larry and Mortie sledding tomorrow.”
“Jesus Christ!” Walter said, “You’re ‘volunteering’ to take your brothers someplace?”
“I’ll be damned!” Myra said. “When did you say you were getting married?”
_________________________________________________________SSSkokie, Illinois
December 8, 1951
In bed, his hands crossed beneath his head, “Dear God,” he whispered to the milky darkness of the ceiling, “I know I don’t talk to you a lot, and I’m sorry for whatever bad things I do and that the only time I do talk to you is when I want something. But tonight, God, I don’t want anything. Tonight, God, I want to thank you for bringing Susan to me. And please, God, please keep us together forever. And always let her love me as much as I love her. And help me get into Rochester and to do whatever I have to do to make Susan happy. And please, God, please let us be married someday… Well, God, I guess I did want to ask you for something after all. Anyway, God, thank you for Susan and today. Amen… Oh, yes, and God, as long as I have Susan I promise to never do ‘it’ again... Amen.”
Turning on his side, imagining his pillow is Susan, hugging it, Mitchell Lipensky fell asleep with his face next to hers.
At 6133 Talman Avenue, already asleep, Susan Friedman slept with her face next to Mitchell’s also.
December 9, 1951
Too good to be true ! Afraid it was a dream, or possibly that she’d changed her mind. Making the call with apprehension, “Hi, Sue, it’s…”
“Hi, Mitchie!”
Each knowing the other was on the line, both silent a moment.
“Sue… Honey, I’ve got the car and whenever you want, me’n’the kids…”
“Mom, Dad,” Susan called. “Mitchie’s on the phone and he’s taking his brothers sledding and wants to know if Butchie and I want to go.”
He heard the muted background voices, then…
“Yes, Mitchie. They told me to tell you that they think it’s very nice of you to ask and wondered, if later, when we come home, if you and the boys would like to go for hot chocolate or ice cream.” Now whispering, “They’re ‘crazy’ about you! They think you’re the nicest boy I’ve ever brought home. And you know what? So do I! Hurry up, I miss you.”
Oh, God! Thank you, God!
Skokie, Illinois
December 10, 1951
In the hall, “Mitch, ‘come on’!” along side of Jack Brandon’s locker. “No one’s ‘that’ good looking!”
“Yeah, she is, Jack.”
“Just like Elizabeth Taylor, huh? ‘Sure’ she does!”
“Yeah, almost just like!”
“If you believe that, Brandon, you’ll believe anything.”
“ ‘Westguard’, you shit! Yeah, she does!”
“Yeah, Mitch, an’ I’m the spittin’ image of Robert Taylor.”
“Yeah. An’ how’s ‘bout me, Brandon? ‘Cept for the little womb-broom, everyone says I’m’a double for Clark Gable.”
“The two’a you guys are a couple’a dicks. Wait, you’ll see!
****
“Mrs. Noblett.”
Looking up from the papers on her desk, “Yes, Mitchell?”
“Mrs. Noblett, something happened over the weekend and, well, I’ve changed my mind about college.”
“Really!”
“Yes, ma’am. And I want to go to R.I.T.; that’s the ‘Rochester Institute of Technology’.”
Peering at him over her glasses. “Mitchell,” his class counselor said, “wouldn’t you say it’s a bit late, to say the least, for you to be thinking of going to a university?”
“Yes, ma’am, I know, but I’ve ‘got’ to do it, so I’ll do ‘anything’ to get in. I know I’ll have to take an entrance exam and I’m ready to go to New York to do it, but I’ve got to know what I’ll need, and I need you to find out so can get to work.”
“ ‘Work’?” Knowing his record, she knew that work was not one of Mitchell Lipensky’s better habits. “You have ‘no idea’ of just how much work you’re going to have to do!”
“I don’t care! I’ll do ‘whatever’ I have to!”
“Okay, I’ll check on the curriculum and get back to you as soon as I find out. Think you’d like a tutor?”
“Mrs. Noblett, ‘yes’! I’ll do whatever you think’ll help.”
“What I think is, Mitchell, is that it’s too late. But I’ll find out what you need.”
****
“Suzie, hi!”
Coming from him, she didn’t mind being called ‘Suzie’.
“Mitchie, you just called a half-hour ago. Don’t you and Tom ever work?”
“Yeah, sure. But we have these contests, see, and if we don’t stop every few minutes to let ’em cool off, the drills’ll melt.”
“Mitchell!”
“Yeah, Sue, it’s the truth, ‘honest… Well, they don’t actually melt but they become too dull to use.”
Fingering the gold initial ring he’d received from his grandparents for his Bar Mitzvah, “Sue, I know we just met three days ago, but…” he added quickly, “I feel like I’ve known you all my life and was afraid to ask yesterday because then we’d only known each other one day, but… Sue, I’d love to go steady with you!” Please, God! “Will you?”
“God, Mitchell, I thought you’d never ask… ‘Yes’!”
****
By mutual agreement: Seeing each other only on weekends, Mitchell spent Saturday mornings in the Skokie Library with a tutor, and during the week, on the evenings he didn’t work, outside of one phone call right after school—which was okay with Susan because she studied then, too—he spent ‘every’ minute attempting to make up for three and a half years of wasted time.
****
For Christmas Mitchell gave Susan a gold and seed pearl bracelet, and she gave him the most beautiful gift he’d ‘ever’ received: a cranberry-colored, long-sleeved, V-neck, butter-soft cashmere sweater that immediately became his most prized possession.
****
Wearing a rented tuxedo, Mitchell was invited to accompany Susan and her parents to the New Year’s Eve dinner and dance at Mister and Mrs. Friedman’s country club.
Chicago, Illinois
January 5, 1952
“Bye, kids.”
The front door closed. The foyer and outer doors next then, within seconds, there was one, then the second, solid ‘thunk’ of the driver’s side door of the Friedman’s 1951 white Cadillac.
Three days short of a month since they’d first met. Baby-sitting for Butchie this night was their first opportunity to be alone in a home... on a sofa.
They’d ‘schnoogled’! Yes they had! Usually for a short time in the stairwell between the lobby and first-floor landing of Susan’s building. And on two occasions when it wasn’t too cold in the front seat of the Buick. Though he had ‘not’ attempted to touch Susan’s breasts— or anything else— their long, no-longer-chaste kisses had caused Mitchell to have erections that became, in his opinion, casebook examples of ‘blue balls’ and—though, of course he had not the slightest idea— Susan a flood of fluid that ,by the time they’d say goodnight, left the crotch of her panties drenched.
Having made no such vow to God as Mitchell, Susan occasionally—after each such session—‘relieved’ herself.
As difficult as it was, although he was ‘sorely’ tempted to do so, Mitchell, though, true to his word—outside of one nocturnal emission that he rationalized as something he had no control over so didn’t feel guilty about, and truly enjoyed and, you bet, hoped for again— Stayed true to his word.
Now, on this night, reclining on the sofa, Mitchell was leaning against the padded armrest.
On her left side, facing him, lying across his chest Susan’s upper torso was cradled in his left arm, while his right hand, twining her hair between his fingers, supported her head.
Enjoying the feel, taste and thrill of each other’s mouths and tongues, unaware of time, depending on where they were they would often kiss, sometimes without coming up for air for five or ten minutes at a time. With closed eyes, breathing each other’s air, —replacing his usual ‘Old Spice’— she smelled the fragrance of the after shave lotion Mister and Mrs. Friedman gave Mitchell for Christmas while he smelled Susan’s own unique scents.
Their prolonged, passionate kissing always caused an erection that, if they were standing, Susan would feel pressing against her thigh, or—usually by her design—her pubis, which, of course, she pretended not to notice, which, of course, she did nothing to encourage, other than, of course, giving him, and permitting—actually, encouraging—full mouthed kisses, and, of course, allowing her thigh and, most especially, her pubis to be pressed upon and more often than not rubbed against, which, because she loved him and, as they were ‘not’ using their hands, she felt was okay because they were not going beyond her—changing—accepted protocol…
But secretly Susan was always thrilled and enjoyed the feel of Mitchell’s erected penis pressing against her thigh, and especially her pubis…
Mitchell, on the other hand. Remembering Sally and her absolute rejection of ‘even’ his day time company and, still having not the slightest idea ‘what’ he had done— other than what Sally herself had instigated— and confused because he ‘had’ done exactly as she had so strongly requested— not to ‘go all the way’— was more than merely reluctant to make ‘any’ type of sexual advance with Susan.
Kissing deeply, the kiss lengthened…
Lying against and across Mitchell, the position of her left arm becoming somewhat uncomfortable, Susan, ‘innocently’ and ‘unknowingly’ rested her elbow onto… and into his crotch.
Oh, God! Feeling Susan touch him ‘there’ even if the touch was ‘innocent’, even if the touch was ‘unknowingly’, even if it was ‘only’ her elbow. Oh, God! Moaning softly, and…
Within a few seconds, moving his hand from behind her head and cradling her chin in the palm of his hand, of course, having no place to put his crooked elbow, he, just as ‘innocently’, just as ‘unknowingly’ put it onto... and into her crotch.
Oh, yeah! Mitchell was acutely aware of where Susan had her elbow, and where he had his elbow…
And ‘if’ Susan did realize where her elbow was and where his elbow was she did nothing to move either hers or his.
She may or may not have been aware that within minutes both he and she were slowly, minutely moving their elbows…
But if she was she did nothing to stop the, Mmmmm, erotic motion of either his, or her elbow….
Susan may or may not have been aware that she had arched her hips upward and opened her thighs wider and that Mitchell was asserting more pressure onto and into the rapidly dampening fissure beneath the crotch of her tan colored slacks…
Nor that she was rubbing her elbow harder, asserting more pressure, and friction onto the long, hard protrusion alongside the seam of his jeans…
What did register with Susan, however, was that she now felt a combination of sensations that she had ‘never’ before felt. “Ummmm!” ‘Never’!
The writhing from over and beneath his jeans having caused his penis to poke through and wiggle its way from beneath the elastic leg-band of his ‘Jockey’ shorts and was now pressed between his thigh and the material of his jeans… ‘and’ the sensual pressure of the now ‘rhythmic’ motion of Susan’s elbow.
Her breath coming harder, faster, twitching her pelvis in orchestration with the ‘rhythmic’, circular motion of Mitchell’s elbow…
His breath coming harder, faster.
Draping his free arm over her shoulder, Mitchell tentatively touched Susan’s breast over her sweater. And touching Susan’s breast without Susan moving his hand caused his heart and, minimally, one other component to jump. Gaining instantaneous courage, stretching his arm even lower, touching the cross seams of her bra, thinking it an excited nipple his passion lept even higher and his mouth, on her mouth, opened even wider… Causing his jaw to pop with a noise that, in his head, sounded like the shot of a pistol. But if Susan heard his jaw pop she said nothing as…
Allowed to hold Susan’s breast, along with her ‘excited nipple’ the purposeful movement of both elbows giving him more assurance, giving him more courage, as he passionately rolled the seams of her bra between his thumb and forefinger, Mitchell moved his elbow even harder, even faster and even deeper into and against the clothed fissure between Susan’s thighs.
Said into her mouth, “I love you, Sue!”
Moving her elbow even harder, even faster, “I love you, Mitchie!” Said into his mouth, as…
Faster…
Harder…
Gasping, “Mitchell!”
Gasping, “Susan!”
“Oh, God! Mitchell!”
“Oh, God!”
Oh, no! Having built ‘a head of steam’ and— but for one nocturnal emission—no release, powerless to stop it…Oh, no! Mitchell’s passion ran out of space and had no place to go but… “Uh-oh!”
In the throes of her own long-lasting, unbelievably pleasurable orgasm, Mitchell’s ‘Uh-oh!’ did not register with Susan.
‘Okay’! so he ‘came’ prematurely in a pitch-black room with Gina and in a dark car with Ina and, yeah, as he had jumped into Lake Michigan when he was with Sally. But never while he was dressed… Well, not counting that day in 1945 during a geography lesson, and that wasn’t exactly what one would call ‘premature’ because, after all—his penis poking through the hole in his pocket—he’d brought it about with his own hand.
But now? This was different! Outside of the possibility of having sex… of ‘screwing’ Gina or Ina, he could not have cared less about Gina or Ina and, yeah, he truly did like Sally… But this was Susan, and Susan was his life. Susan was his world… And he ‘was’ dressed, so…
“Uh-oh!”
Susan realized that something was wrong because he’d stopped all movement. Also, suddenly the underside of her forearm felt wet and a bit sticky. “What’s wrong?” Lifting her arm, she saw a widening wet spot inches beneath and to the left of the fly of his well-worn, faded Levi’s and immediately thought that she was possibly pushing her elbow a little too hard and that ‘somehow’ she broke something that was causing him to bleed, and…
Susan Friedman knew the facts of life. Well, Susan ‘sort’ of knew the ‘basic’ facts of life, but she knew nothing of penile ejaculation, nor that it sometimes, no, often, came—no pun intended—when it was not intended, or, if you will, ‘prematurely’—especially with inexperienced, extremely hard-up young men—and Susan did ‘not’ equate the sticky stuff on the underside of her forearm or the darkening of his jeans with the male fluid component necessary for the formation of human life, so…
“Mitchie,” in near panic, “what happened? That’s not blood, is it?”
Jesus, what the hell do I say? “No, Sue, that’s not blood.” Almost wishing it were.
“Excuse me.” Annoyed at himself and momentarily Susan, he attempted to stand, but as she was still lying across his lap he couldn’t. “Sue, will you please let me up!”
Bewildered by his somewhat unfriendly attitude and also the, whatever it was that was staining his jeans. Asking again, “What’s wrong?” sitting up, she moved aside.
Hurrying into the bathroom. Really having no idea of what to say. “I’ll tell you when I get out.”
Still sensing the heat of her orgasm. Shaken by how ‘hot’ she was… still was. Susan was also surprised by the amount of secretion that was soaking the crotch of her ‘old lady’, double-crotched underpants that she’d secretly purchased after their first long schnoogling session in the Buick and planned on burying in the outside garbage so as not to be found by her mother.
Also, she thought of what she had been doing with her elbow, and what he had been doing with his elbow…
Also, He was ‘feeling me up’ ! No boy had ever been permitted to do anywhere near ‘any’ of the things that Mitchell had been permitted to do. And also—most of all also—Not only was I letting him do it—forgetting that it was she that had invented and instigated the ‘elbow job’—but I was doing it back!
And what happened? Did he get sick? Did I—once again thinking the thought—break something by pushing too hard? Is he, God forbid, hemorrhaging in there? Going to the bathroom door, “Mitchie,” knocking softly, “is everything okay?”
Praying that his jeans would dry, having taken them off he was holding them, wet side up, towards the air vent near the ceiling. Still embarrassed, “Yes!” Realizing he’d spoken curtly. “Sue, honey,” he said, drastically changing the tone of his voice, “everything’s okay. I’ll explain,”—What the hell am I going to say—“when I come out. Okay?”
“Okay.” Going to her bedroom, Susan closed the door. Easily able to see by the light of the streetlamp that was directly opposite her window. Going to her dresser she removed a pair of panties. Glancing at the door to be sure she’d closed it, pulling both down, she stepped out of her slacks and the ‘old lady’ underpants, dabbed at her still-secreted crotch with the old lady underpants and redressed.
Unless I hide in here for an hour it ain’t going to work. Further thinking, May as well get it over with. Pulling his jeans back on. Coming out of the bathroom he saw that Susan was not in the living room and that the door to her bedroom was shut. Taking his jacket from the hall closet, well aware that it was not long enough to hide the still noticeable wet spot, he sat on the sofa with the jacket across his lap.
“Mitchie,” coming from her room, seeing him sitting on the far end of the sofa with his jacket across his lap, “you’re not leaving now, are you?”
“Sue, honey, sit there,” pointing, “will you.”
“Sure.” Confused, and slightly hurt because he didn’t want her on the sofa directly next to him, she sat on the closest wing chair.
“Look, honey, I, uh, sort of had an,uh, accident.”
Looking at him blankly, “ ‘Accident’?”
“Yeah. We were, uh, ‘very’ hot there, you and me.”
“Yes,” nodding her head, “we sure were.”
“Sue, when a guy gets too hot, sometimes ‘something’ happens… I… You’ve heard the word”—the word ‘ejaculation’ not as yet in his mental dictionary—“ ‘come’?”
“Yes, sure. Of course!”
Of course she has! But in ‘this’ context? Mitchell could not imagine that a girl as innocent as he believed Susan to be could possibly know what he was referring to. “I mean like, uh. when a man and woman are, uh, together… You know, like… sexually, and he’s got his, uh,” pointing to his lap, “thing in her, and he… ‘comes’?”
“Yes,” nodding her head, “sure I know.”
“You know what I’m talking about?” Looking at her closely. “You’re ‘sure’?”
“Yes!” She said with annoyance in her voice. “When men and women make love… have sex.”
Remembering when Walter had attempted to tell him the facts of life. “Yeah. Well, before, being with you like we were, I got so hot that that’s what happened. Only my… ‘it’ wasn’t in you.”
Realizing. “You, uh…” thinking of the way she had felt just minutes ago, and how embarrassed she’d be if he knew just how drenched her underpants had been. “ ‘That’s’ what happened to you?”
Maybe she does know. “Yes, baby. I’m sorry, but I can only hold it off for so long then… Jesus, Sue, you made me so hot it just happened and I ‘couldn’t’ hold it back!”
“And what I saw,” touching her elbow, “that was…”
“Yeah, that’s what it was.”
Amazed that he was able to conjure the stuff up, mentally snapping her fingers, Just like that! Blushing, “Know what, Mitchie? she said, “I’m kind of glad it happened.”
“You’re ‘glad’! Why? I find it damned embarrassing.”
“Because I love you. And because I’m glad that you love me enough to do it, uh, the way you did, and not, you know… So we didn’t do anything that both of us would be sorry for.”
Oh, yeah. Like I planned it.
“Maybe,” Susan suggested, “it would be best if we promise to never let it go that far again.”
“Yes, maybe we should.”
On the other hand: thinking of where she’d been touching him and where he’d been touching her reactivated the itch in her vagina. And now, also, empowered with the power to… If I can get him to come… snapping her mental fingers again… just like that, and so long as he doesn’t touch me ‘there’… at least with his hand, and so long as I don’t touch him ‘there’… at least with my hand…
Although, really…
“No, Susan,” well knowing that would be a promise he’d ‘never’ be able to keep, “we don’t have to take such a drastic step as to say ‘never’! And besides, believe me, I do not want to go any further than just now. And I would ‘never’ go even one inch further than you’d want me to, even if I thought that ‘you’ wanted me to...” —his failed relationship with Sally once again flitting through his mind— “...because I know that you’d be mad at me later and I don’t want you to ‘ever’ be mad at me. ‘Ever’! I love you too much for that, Sue, and…”
Though they had never really discussed it, both knew that marriage, a distant, far-in-the-future marriage, was a very viable consideration, and…
“...I’m willing to wait for… it, uh, ‘that’.”
That night, Mitchell, and his semen-stained Levi’s, were long gone by the time Mister and Mrs. Friedman returned home.
January 12, 1952
Having a full week to think about it, the physical flavor of their, by then, ‘almost’, chaste relationship changed on the very next Saturday when, because her parents implicitly trusted Susan and Mitchell, the two, once again were left alone to baby-sit, when, once again…
He, ‘coincidentally’, took the same position on the sofa.
As Susan, discovering that she had a heretofore hidden ‘randy’ streak, took her same position on the sofa, and on Mitchell’s lap,
Since their first kiss, beyond their present brand of kissing, which still excited him almost beyond comprehension, Mitchell had held himself in close check. At this time, however, wanting to be prepared if there should be a repeat of what had happened on the previous Saturday—and he certainly hoped that there would be a repeat of, ‘minimally’, what had happened on the previous Saturday—he’d thought of ways to do it and, being rather inventive, using good old Yankee ingenuity, remembering Norman’s National Guard idea, using tiny safety pins, he’d pinned a piece of absorbent fabric to the inner side of his left pocket—because his penis, for some reason, always seemed to go to the left—and if things became too hot to contain—even if she had said that she didn’t mind seeing his eruption and, unbeknownst to him, Susan actually wanted to see his ejaculation because she marveled at the fact that she had the power to make it happen—he was able to avoid the embarrassment of her seeing the results of his eruption by simply adjusting his blotter-like pocket.
‘Yes’, when Mitchell said it last week he ‘did’ mean it. But last week he’d been embarrassed, and his passion had been spent. But on this night, operating under a ‘very’ revitalized head of steam, though he’d told himself, I will not even try to go any further than before, then just touching, or kissing… or, ‘or’ most of all, seeing what Susan’ll let me see. Meaning, of course, he dearly wanted to see her breasts, so…
However, true to her—new —code of ethics, just as she’d never directly touch him ‘there’… with her hand, or allow him to directly touch her ‘there’… with his hand—as much as Susan ‘truly’ wanted him to, and truly ‘wanted’ to do herself—she did allow the ‘innocent’ and ‘accidental’ laying on of elbows.
Although, by this time both knew that the ‘laying on of elbows’ was no longer ‘innocent’ or ‘accidental’.
This change in their physical love caused Mitchell to love Susan, if possible, all the more because now there was a sexual intimacy he knew no one but he had ever had before.
Besides, still true to his word to God, it gave him a sexual release by other than his, or truly, anyone else’s hand.
January 19 Through May 24, 1952
On the next Saturday, for the first time allowing Mitchell into her bedroom. In all honesty no longer really minding if he did touch her ‘there. Actually wanting him to touch her there. “Okay,” Susan declared, “you can hold me ‘here’,” pressing his hand to her left breast. “But only ‘over’ my clothes! ‘Not under’!” Adding sternly, “Do you understand me, Mitchell?”
Oh, God! “Yes, Sue! I understand.” Putting his mouth to her mouth, he moved his hand onto her stomach…
But now that he’d been given permission, not quite knowing how to proceed. Feeling obvious and awkward, hesitating, closing his eyes tighter as becoming lost in their lengthening kiss…
Touching now...Holding Susan’s breast now. Sensing the weight and warmth and softness through her bra and sweater, Thank you, God!
However, aware that once started, one liberty will lead to another. Knowing where this would be leading. However enjoying…
Enjoying the freedom of movement with a mattress beneath her back. Enjoying the sensation of his body lying full length press warmly, tightly against her side…
Their now passionate kiss… The gentle pressure of his hand upon her breast…
“Mitchie…” Breaking the contact of their bodies. “Mitchie, please! Let’s get up.”
Knowing that now...That this time would be a prelude to another such time and not wanting to move too fast or cause Susan discomfort, “Okay,baby.”
****
On the next Friday, with his right arm crooked in her crotch—oh, yes, they’d figured a way to do it in the car—stretching his left arm further over her shoulder, his hand lingering on, feeling the warm hardness of her bare chest, he was able to put his hand beneath her blouse—On this night, rather than the per-usual cashmere sweater, Susan had worn an open-necked blouse—hesitating, Mitchell waited for her to remove his hand… but there was no change in the movement of Susan’s tongue against his, nor was there any change in the circular motion of her crotch against his elbow. Slowly, moving his hand further, his penis jerking, Mitchell’s fingers touched the soft flesh of her bare breast…
And still, Susan did nothing to stop him…
Lost in the taste of her kiss, the feel of her— for the first time — bare breast and now the harder, faster motion of her elbow. His fingers, grazing her nipple. Holding Susan’s breast in the palm of his hand…Oh, God! Feeling the warmth! Its wonderful, bare warmth! Gently palpating. His index finger touching, circling , Oh, God! the hardening areola of Susan’s small, excited nipple.
Knowing! Far from numb there. Not caring, the touch of Mitchell’s fingers on the sensitive tissue of her nipple exciting Susan even further, widening her thighs—only sheer willpower and common sense, whatever vestige of will power and common sense she had left, keeping her from—Oh, God I want touch him! I want to feel it! “Mitchie,” moving the mound of her vulva harder onto his elbow, “I love you!” The last vestige of self control disappearing. Moving her elbow, shifting her arm, willing her fingers not to close around ‘it,’ but feeling it, Oh, God! Feeling it, Susan rubbed the palm of her hand hard over Mitchell’s penis.
Playing the flesh of Susan’s nipple between his fingers. Aware, well aware. Looking, seeing her hand, seeing her hand there…
“I love you, Sue! I love you!” The thought of Susan touching… actually touching him, ‘there’! And the thought that he was holding her breast, touching her nipple… Actually touching Susan’s breast and nipple, naked, transmitted from his brain to his penis causing a spasm that triggered…
Rubbing her palm harder. Grinding… Pumping her vagina onto his elbow… Sucking his tongue even deeper into her mouth…
Clamping his eyes shut… “Ummmmm!”
Clamping her eyes shut… “Oh, God!”
“…Mitchie…” Sitting up, moving back to her side of the car. The wetness on the crotch of her old lady underpants changing from warm to cool. “We can’t…” she wanted to say, “do this anymore,” but knew that it was as much she—at ‘least’ as much she as he—that wanted to, so instead… “let it go any further than that,” she said. “Please, Mitchie!” Turning to him, looking at him in the muted, semi-darkness. “Promise me that you will ‘never’ let what we just did go any further than that… Than what we just did, Mitchie!”
Completely missing the blotter on his pocket, feeling the semen upon his thigh changing from hot to cold, and sticky, “Never,” he said, more reflectively than as a statement.
Hearing the word as, ‘Never’? “No, not ‘never’, Mitchie. Only until we’re married.”
Married? Though he had thought about it, oh, God, how he had thought about it, and prayed to God that it would happen, ‘Married’? Now was the first time that either he or she had actually spoken the word ‘married’, and it was Susan that said it.
“Oh, God!” he said, “ ‘Yes’, Sue! This is fine! This is ‘wonderful’! We don’t have to do a thing more than this… More than what we just did till we’re…” Thank you, God! “...married!”
****
In the more than two months since they’d met, having no doubt that she loved him more than ever, Mitchell was convinced that his future with Susan depended—unequivocally depended—on a college education, even if that education was for something as mundane as commercial photography.
However, still Susan was never given the slightest hint that he was anything but a B+ student working to bring that B+ up to an ‘A’.
Susan had recently been to the house in Skokie, and having met Walter and Myra knew that the Lipenskys were ‘far’ from what she thought of as wealthy and though disappointed, loving Mitchell as she did had stated, ‘We’ll make our own future together, darling’. And had not told her parents that the Lipenskys—even though they did own a boat—well, somewhat of a boat, and were members of the Columbia Yacht Club—were of but moderate means.
Having adjusted their minds that— so it ‘very’ possibly seemed— their future son-in-law may not be a doctor, lawyer, or, at the least, a CPA, but because of the Lipenskys apparent wealth: a home in Skokie; a privately owned, successful business; a yacht and membership in the prestigious Columbia Yacht Club, because of these materialistic things, Mister and Mrs. Friedman lowered their standards for their only daughter and did nothing to hinder the—in their minds—still chaste relationship between Susan and Mitchell. They were aware of and acknowledged the mutual love the two young people had for each other. And besides, they liked Mitchell! He was courteous, well mannered and showed exemplary respect to the both of them and, they were sure, to their daughter….And besides, envisioning the appearance of a ‘far’ in the future grandchild…
“Don’t those two kids look ‘beautiful’ together!”
Loving Mitchell as Susan did, feeling the mortar of her resolve crumble a bit more each time they were alone together. Each time they went into one of their lengthy kisses. At those times Susan was more than happy to let their sexual progression advance slowly.
What frightened Susan, however, was that it was ‘she’ that set the standard, and it was ‘he’ that never went beyond… until she re-set it.
Loving Susan as Mitchell did, positively overjoyed with whatever leeway she would allow, Mitchell never went beyond the lead she set, which, up to that time—in the more than two months since the time of their first meeting—was that she would allow only his elbow to touch her crotch, and would allow him to touch one bare breast only, the approach of which was to be from atop her bra only… The first touch of which always triggered a twitch in his heart and a spasm in his penis…
…And not being numb—far from being numb—upon feeling the tip of his finger circle the areola of her nipple, which she could actually feel contract under his touch—constantly fighting the urge to touch his penis bare, to feel its bare warmth, because she did feel the heat his penis generated through the material of his pants. Very much afraid of the next step, unable to bring herself to close her hand around it, Susan still allowed herself, and him, only the feel of her circling palm, and…
…No longer wearing underpants, having removed the blotting material from the underside of his pocket, feeling her hand… Feeling the circling motion of the palm of Susan’s hand upon him… Knowing that she knew he had ejaculated… Knowing that for some reason she actually enjoyed the feel of the warm moisture of his semen that then soaked through his pants…
****
Feeling the mortar of her resolve crumble...
Going only so far as Susan would allow…
Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence: “Changes Forever/Susan 4”
