A “Becoming” excerpt in sequence: “Fornication, sort of”
Carefull, actuallly"R" rated
Rockaway Beach
Rockaway, New York
Summer 1953
“Wait, Mitchie, let me take it off. I don’t want to go home too wrinkled.”
“Yeah, baby…” Lifting his chest, speaking softly, “...take it off.”
Stalling a bit, giving herself time to pull her thoughts together.
Shrugging the blouse off her shoulders and holding it by the inner tab, Elsa laid it neatly on the far side of the blanket…. Pulling her arms through the hanging straps and lifting the bra over her head, she lay it on top of the blouse.
If she had been stalling, Mitchell didn’t notice because he hadn’t taken his eyes off Elsa’s moonlit, iridescent white breasts.
__________________________________________________
Sitting up, free of all restraint Elsa’s breasts hung slopingly over her stomach and when, with his gentle urging, she laid back her breasts fell to the sides of her chest where the small areolae showed in black relief against the moon-lit snowy whiteness.
To Mitchell Lipensky, though, regardless of how they truly looked, ‘all’ breasts were beautiful,
“Oh, God, Elsa,” he said once again, “you are so beautiful!”
Lifting one from beneath. Feeling the silky, soft texture and cool weight. Kissing the pliable flesh. Rubbing the small hardened circle over his lips. Closing his mouth over it…
Feeling Elsa moving against his thigh. Placing his hand into the juncture of her crotch. Rubbing the surprisingly hard rise of her mound with a sensual, circular motion…
“ ‘Oh, Jesus’!” Loosening her thighs Elsa arched her hips upward.
Her thighs spread, he felt the fissure and the heat generated by her vulva… Moving two fingers onto the now moist depression. Rubbing a moment, before she had a chance to object—if she would object—Mitchell moved his hand from the outside of Elsa’s slacks to inside Elsa’s slacks... To beneath her panties, and…Mmmm! his finger immediately sliding through the minute, slithery lips…
Never before feeling a boy’s finger actually enter her vagina, Elsa tensed a moment then, “Mmmm!” Enjoying, truly enjoying the sensation. Relaxing, opening her thighs even wider. I want to hold him, she thought.
However still having a ‘diminishing’ modicum of fear. Remembering how easily it had ‘always’ been to cause Wayne to ejaculate— quite often almost immediately— rationalizing, If I make him come, he’ll stop! Elsa also thought, Then I won’t have to make the—impossible—decision to stop. Taking hold of ‘him’, feeling the heat, massaging the cylindrical form over his jeans…
From past experience knowing just how quickly he could ejaculate ‘determined’ that this time he was going to ‘only’ one way! ‘Only’ in one place. “Elsa,” he whispered, “take your slacks off!”
Wanting to…Oh, Jesus, Lord! ‘Wanting to’!
Waiting… Waiting for her to move. When she didn’t—remembering that night on his father’s boat with Sally—“Should I take mine off first?”
Without thinking, without hesitation, “ ‘Yes’!”
Elsa wasn’t sure if this was meant as a stall or if she wanted to see Mitchell nude but, ‘really’, Oh, yes, she ‘did’ want to see Mitchell nude.
Recalling the thrill— once he’d overcome his shyness and stood fully nude before Sally— and the look on her face.
Elsa's emphatic, “ ‘Yes’!” now caused Mitchell to stand...
Standing between her outstretched legs….
Watching Elsa. Seeing her face as best he could in the moonlight. Unhurriedly pushing the steel buttons through the buttonholes from the top down…
As each button was pushed through its corresponding hole, the level of Elsa’s expectancy—and his excitement—jumped another notch.
As the bottom button was pushed through he hesitated... then, still watching her face, Mitchell allowed the jeans to slip off his hips, and…
As the jeans dropped his black pubic hair and the —also— seemingly iridescent flesh of his penis becoming clearly visible…
Jesus Christ! Unaware that she had been holding her breath, or— how could Elsa possibly know— that he had not been wearing underpants, his extended penis ‘literally’ springing into view startled Elsa then, seeing a completely nude boy—‘man’!—for the first time in her life, Elsa’s excitement level jumped to the end of her circuitry as…
****
Yes, of course she had seen Wayne’s penis, but only through his open fly. She had touched it and even— removing it from within his open fly— held his scrotum in the palm of her hand. But ‘always’ in the semi-darkness of his father’s ‘Mercury’.
But not like this! ‘No’! Never like this.
****
Looking at, actually studying Mitchell’s—in her very limited, ‘erroneous’ estimation—huge, jutting penis, Elsa haltingly reached forward, touched, and closed her cool hand around the warm shaft as, her other hand lifting from beneath, holding scrota, feeling its weight within the palm of her hand, her fingers finding and gently kneading the ovals of his testicles…
Staring... Unaware that she was nervously blinking her eyes, nor that her tongue was darting between and around her lips and, He’s—meaning the entire picture—so beautiful, she thought, Christ, holding Mitchell, I want him ‘in’ me!
Massaging...Lost in her desire. Massaging, manipulating, squeezing the shaft...
“Ummm!”
...Squeezing so deliciously hard that a drop of glistening semen forced its way through the urethra.
“Ummm!” When Elsa’s nervously cool hand had taken hold of Mitchell’s penis, her touch had sent a jolt of heat through him and… Arching his pelvis forward—he had watched her face as she had studied him— and held his breath as she’d kneaded his testicles and when she had squeezed and manipulated the flesh of his penis he’d tightened his groin and sphincter against ejaculation.
Now! Not at all sure how much longer he would be able to hold off. “Elsa, Baby,” his voice thick with passion, “please take your slacks off.”
Yeah! But lifting her buttocks she somehow had enough presence of mind to know that this was her ‘last’ line of resistance… So did not take hold of the elastic band of her panties and pulled only her slacks off.
Looking forward Oh, yes, to seeing Elsa fully nude, too. But not in the least discouraged because she had left her panties on. Dropping to his knees, “Lay back,” he said softly, and…
As though in a trance—or maybe resigned to do what she no longer had the power to stop—lying back, she closed her eyes.
Widening her knees. Positioning himself between and leaning forward, putting his weight on his outstretched arms. Sensuously, slowly, Mitchell kissed Elsa’s closed eyes... her mouth... her chin... her neck. He trailed his tongue slowly over, and between her breasts… He licked one then the other nipple… He kissed the depression of her ‘inny’ navel…
And slipped her panties to beneath her hips, To below her knees and off one foot…
Salvatore Diamond! Louise Ann! He hadn’t thought of ‘Salvatore’ and ‘Louise Ann’ in years and…
The— erotically ‘terrifying’ life changing — scene in the air well in 1942 when he was seven years old vividly coming to mind reminded Mitchell that he and Elsa were now in the ‘exact’ position that Salvatore and Louis Ann had been those, oh, so many years ago and, powerless to stop... Not that he wanted to stop.
Lying flat on her back with her eyes closed, Elsa felt the balmy air upon her nude body, and the soft touch of his kisses, and the sensual feel of his tongue as it traced down… down, and…
Lowering his head further, pausing a moment at the not unpleasant salt-tang odor, and the surprisingly soft, damp mat of Elsa’s pubic hair. Parting the small, puffy folds of her labia…
“ ‘Oh, Jesus’!” she said aloud as she felt, and ‘realized’ what he was doing.
For this was ‘mystical’ stuff, spoken ‘only’ in whispers. ‘Only’ between the absolute very best of friends, girlfriend to girlfriend, and In a spontaneous reaction Elsa kicked the panties off her one ankle to somewhere in the sand and grabbing Mitchell by the hair, pushing his mouth harder onto ‘her’, gyrating her pelvis in urgent rhythm with her hands and Mitchell’s tongue, while…
Ecstatically lost within the ‘literal’ sea of Elsa’s vagina. ‘
‘Knowing’ where his mouth was, and his tongue was.
Feeling Elsa’s passion. Becoming a part of — not only his but— Elsa’s passion, also.
Willingly allowing the motion of his head to go with the urging of her hands—and the pulling of his hair—His chin sliding into and out of her capaciously open, thoroughly saturated portal. The bridge of his nose rubbing up and down, over and around Elsa’s now hypertrophied clitoris.
Her fluid flooding his mouth and nostrils. Finding it becoming near impossible to breathe, but not wanting to move from the sight and smell and taste of this ultimately erotic place and—not wanting to pull from Elsa’s hands and possibly keep her from orgasm but —at that moment not sure if he was going to drown or ejaculate— turning his head minutely to the left. Drawing a breath of air through the corner of his mouth, he turned back to the task—‘task’? Ah, yes, it’s a hard job but someone has to do it—he turned back to the task at hand, as…
Drawing air harshly through her nostrils, Elsa’s movement, and her clasp upon his head turned even more frenzied and as her pelvis began to pulsate, “Ohhhh!” Groaning as though in pain—Actually frightening Mitchell for a moment—Stretching her legs straight outward and her toes straight upward, “Oh, Jesus!”
Her breathing began to slow and—having her very first ‘man-made’ orgasm—“Um!” Toes wilting, her legs, and her clasp on his head and hold of his hair relaxed.
Still positioned between Elsa’s thighs. lifting his head and swiping the palm of his hand over his mouth and chin, Mitchell looked up.
Still flat upon her back and spread-eagled, Elsa’s eyes were closed… And there was a ‘very’ satisfied look on her face…
Looking at Elsa. Ecstatic over the fact that he—to his knowledge, for the first time in his life—had actually caused a girl to orgasm…
And yet tasting her taste and smelling her scent and, Oh, God! ‘Ready’! More than ready to do what he had waited for and wanted to do all of his life—so it seemed—Moving from the harbor of Elsa’s thighs and the sight of her flooded vagina. Moving onto his knees, now…
Reaching to his jeans and his wallet...Now it was his turn.
But…
“Mitchie,” sitting up, “are you going to…” pointing first at his still willing, able, and very ready penis, “...uh,” ...then to her crotch.
Thinking that he understood the meaning of her gestures. “Yes.”
If Mitchell had stopped doing what he’d been doing—though possibly he would have lost a double handful of hair—within the heat of ‘that’ moment Elsa would have welcomed… Hell, Elsa would have ‘urged’ his penis into her vagina…
Now, though! Now that the bulk of her passion had been spent, thinking of her mother and her father and her Baptist minister’s continual preaching against evils of illicit fornication … Elsa began to cry.
“Elsa?” His penis wilting, “What’s wrong?”
“Mitchie, ‘believe’ me,” she said through her sobs. “I ‘do’...”—actually, to be exact, she ‘did’, a minute or so ago—“...want to do ‘it’ with you ‘so’ bad, but I’m afraid. What if I get pregnant? And...” Okay, now’s the time to tell him“...I think you ought to know…”
“Elsa, I ‘wouldn’t’ do that to you! I’ve got a ‘rubber’!” Groping through a pocket of his jeans, removing his wallet and the’ Trojan. “See?”
Looking at the small, foil wrapped pac in his hand, then at his face, “I ‘can’t’,” she said softly.
“Huh?” Not sure he’d heard right. “What do you mean?”
“I said I ‘can’t’ do it!” Said softly, then thinking a moment... “ ‘That’ way.”
“Elsa,” he said in near panic, “how can you tell me now that you ‘can’t’ do it?”
“Mitchie, my dad’s a police sergeant!” Not sure if she had issued this as a warning or a statement of fact. “And, uh, I’m ‘only’ sixteen. But…” she added quickly, “only for another few months.”
He remembered a lecture accompanied by a film that he had seen in boot camp. The film was on venereal disease and the lecture concluded with the stern warning: ‘The age of consent in most northern states is eighteen, and you…’ In his mind’s eye, the Chief Petty Officer giving the lecture had looked directly at him. ‘…’will’ go to jail for statutory rape!”
“ ‘Sixteen’! Elsa, you’re ‘only’ sixteen?” As though that wasn’t bad enough. “And your father’s a ‘cop’!?”
“Yeah.” On her knees, Elsa searched the sand at the foot of the blanket for her panties. Finding them. Thoroughly shaking the sand out ,she sat on the blanket as she put them on
“Mitchie, I’m sorry I lied to you. ‘Come here’!” Spreading her legs, she patted the blanket in front of her.
Still on his knees, he moved closer. But, the thought that, It’s God! came to mind. The ridiculous thought that. God does not want me to ever get fucked! came to mind.
Putting her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers, Elsa kissed Mitchell, ardently. And as she kissed Mitchell she reached to his, by then fully flaccid penis, and— thinking that Wayne’s, in a state flaccidity, was much longer than Mitchell’s—massaged it till, breaking the kiss, “Baby…” she said, after having ‘resurrected’ his penis. After…
...Feeling ‘it’ grow. Feeling ‘it’ harden and become erect in her hand, Elsa sensed the flow, again, of her own heat. “Baby, there’s other ways to do ‘things’, you know.”
Lying back, Elsa inserted the tip of the head of his penis in the shallow depression made by her, once-again secretion-slicked panties.
“Mmmm! That’s not so bad, is it?” she asked as, holding the shaft of his penis, Elsa began to move her hand up and down. And, as Elsa masturbated Mitchell she also rubbed his glans into, and put hard penile pressure onto, her clitoris…
And soon, Elsa orgasmed again. While…
Held in the hand of a real live girl. Looking at big, real live breasts. Pressed against, but, alas, not actually in, a real live vagina soon, ‘very’ soon, Mitchell orgasmed, too.
****
Whenever he had liberty, waiting until it became dark, Elsa and Mitchell would sped the evening on the beach, at ‘their’ spot. He swimming nude and Elsa in panties.
But no matter how careful he was, and no matter how romantic it had looked when Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr did it, sand is sand after all, and by the time ‘Labor Day’ rolled around and the Schmidt’s two-week vacation was through, the skin on the head of his penis, and tongue, had been painfully rubbed raw.
Besides, although he hadn’t ‘actually’ penetrated Elsa, Mitchell had the nagging thought that, ‘technically’, what he and Elsa were doing ‘could’ be construe d as ‘statutory rape’.
So, with a promise to call her—Yeah, I’ll call you, in two years when you’re eighteen—Mitchell was just as glad to say goodbye and see Elsa, and her police sergeant father leave Rockaway and go home to Bayside.
Next “Becoming” extract in sequence: “Furlough/1954”
