A “Becoming” Excerpt in Sequence:
"Where There’s A Will”
(R Rated) Extremely descriptively erotic
scene here.
Chicago, Illinois
October 17, 1955: Married
At precisely 10:30 AM three cars left the north side of Chicago and drove downtown in caravan.
The lead car, a green 1953 Buick, was driven by Eli Goldman with his wife, Rhea, alongside him.
The second car, a maroon 1954 Buick, was driven by Walter Lipensky with his wife, Myra, as far from him as the seat would allow.
The third car, a gray 1948 DeSoto, was driven by Mitchell Lipensky, with Marsha Goldman— his soon-to-be-wife— practically sitting on his lap.
Stopping in front of an office building on Wabash Avenue…
The three cars waited in a ‘No Parking’ zone while…
Running into the building and taking the elevator to the doctor’s office on the fifteenth floor, Mitchell picked up their blood test certifications then rushed back to an elevator and down the fifteen flights to the gray DeSoto…
And the caravan continued.
Parking in the lot across the street from ‘City Hall’…
Entering the building and asking directions of an elevator operator…
Riding the elevator to the third floor, the two sets of parents and two young people went into an office where…
Handing their blood test certifications to a wizened clerk along with five dollars, Mitchell Lipensky was handed a form that Marsha Goldman filled out that both signed then…
Sitting quietly on wooden benches— each with their own thoughts— they waited for twenty minutes until…
In a short civil ceremony presided over by a judge in a black robe, with both sets of parents as witnesses…
‘In the eyes of the law’—if ‘not in the eyes of God’…
Mitchell Lipensky and Marsha Goldman were married.
****
Back on the street…
With congratulatory kisses and hugs and handshakes and a stern, ‘remember, you promised’ look from Rhea…
Eli and Rhea went to ‘Eli’s Grill’ on West Madison Street, and…
Walter and Myra went to 'Walter Lewis Studio, Inc'. on North Clark Street and…
Suddenly the newlyweds were alone.
****
Having thought it over and discussed with his new wife — though it still made ‘no’ sense— having promised, Marsha did not want to break her word to her mother, however...
‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way!’
Mitchell drove east to ‘Lake Shore Drive’ and south about two miles to the jog of Lake Shore and ‘U.S. 41’.
Turning left, the DeSoto went along Solidarity Drive to the furthermost, secluded point of the huge, now-vacant parking lot between the Adler Planetarium— which was always closed on Monday— and the loudly crashing water of Lake Michigan.
Whispering through a minutely opened window, the mild wind moaned softly.
Unable to separate sky from sea, the leaden sky was darkly overcast.
Breaking on slabs of granite, carrying on the wind, a mist of spray lay upon the windshield.
Married.
Married!
A surrealistic sensation brought about by the ‘unreality’ of what they had done… Feeling a part of a world different from ‘any’ world they’d occupied before.. Sitting apart on opposite sides of the seat, Mitchel Lipensky and Marsha ‘Lipensky’ stared at the grey panorama before them.
Married.
One hand… fingers splayed, now lay on the seat between them.
The other’s hand moved now, to within an inch.
Fingers…
As positive and negative magnets are drawn to each other… The tips of their fingers touched… caressed… and entwined.
Married!
“I love you!”
Married!
“I love you!”
Beginning with a passion that built… and increased… and heightened, the kiss broke only when the two were left breathless…
“Marcie…”
Opening her eyes, she looked at him.
“Marcie, please… I want to see you, Marcie. I want to kiss you, here,” touching a breast over her coat. “With nothing between.”
He wants to look at me. He wants to see me!
With none of the shyness she had always thought she would have. And I want him to! “Oh, yes, baby!”
Without hesitation, angling her body so she was partially leaning against the door…
Also, by sitting in this position she was able to see if there were any cars approaching from the western end of the parking lot.
An ‘Indian Summer’ day the temperature within the car holding steady at seventy degrees...
He unbuttoned the three buttons of her coat and, as though to prolong the ecstasy and the once-in-a-lifetime excitement of seeing Marsha’s—his wife’s—bare breasts for the very first time he moved slowly, teasing himself into a near unbearable state of arousal.
Under the lightweight coat Marsha wore a cardigan cashmere sweater.
Moving back, Mitchell unbuttoned the six pearlized buttons, from the bottom up… The sixth button, the fifth… The light-toned flesh of Marsha’s stomach was revealed along with—as he’d never seen her stomach bare, for some reason surprising him—the tiny bubble of her ‘outtie’ navel that he thought was cute so, bending forward he kissed it…The fourth button, the third… Jutting forward, Marsha’s rib-cage sharply defined her lean, concave stomach. The second button… Stopping, he looked into her eyes.
Watching Mitchell’s face intently, Marsha sensed his mounting passion, along with hers..
He pushed the first button through. Hesitated... then moved the fully open sides of the sweater to either side of her bra.
The bra lifted Marsha’s breasts upward and inward and a soft swelling of white flesh flowed from over the rounded twin tops of the lacy, silken fabric.
Leaning forward. Kissing Marsha, both hands went to behind her back where— touching the two clasps —squeezing one between thumb and forefinger and— feeling the partial loosening— squeezed the other he felt the total release of pressure as the two sides detached. Moving back. Lifting both cups…
“Marcie,” his breath catching, “you’re beautiful!” he said softly. Blinking his eyes as though testing to be sure that what he saw was real and...
As of about forty minutes ago, ‘his’ to see, ‘his’ to touch—with Marsha’s approval— for the rest of his life.
Fantasies of big breasts wholly forgotten. “You’re beautiful!” he repeated because in his eyes, Marsha’s—his wife’s—breasts were the most beautiful he’d ever seen because..
Other than a few scattered freckles, the flesh was milk-white in comparison to the retained tan of her chest…
****
Lying to him on Saturday night, she had ‘not’ let him hold her ‘just like this’ again and on the two occasions that Mitchell had been allowed to touch her bare breast, he now saw why, momentarily he’d been unable to discern her nipple by touch... About the size of half-dollars, the dark pink, domed areolae of Marsha’s nipples lay upon the flesh of her breasts without the slightest differentiation. Now though, even as he watched—excited by just his look—tightening, the circumference wrinkling, the color erotically changed from dark pink to light brown and…
“Marcie, oh, God!” The soft weight of both within the palms of his hands. Lifting, tasting. He touched his tongue to the barely seen perforation of one, of both, from where milk would one day flow. Pressing his face to her chest, though scarcely large enough to do it, Mitchell squeezed the soft flesh of Marsha’s breasts to either side of his face and, Oh, my God! Mitchell felt…? Mitchell felt at home. As though the scent and the softness of this girl that was now his wife was where God had ‘always’ intended him to be.
Now was the ‘first time’ any eyes looked upon her, as his eyes did.
Now was the ‘first time’ any lips kissed her breasts, as his lips did.
Now was the ‘first time’, Oh, God! any mouth had closed over a nipple and drew upon it, as his mouth did and, “Oh, God!” The suckling, sweet prickling sensation caused Marsha to close her eyes and hug his head to her breast, and—sensing the itch of longing within the depth of her vagina, moaning softly—to tighten and loosen the internal muscle within her vagina.
His face pressed to a breast, he did not hear the soft moan but did feel the acceleration of her breathing. And as he drew on the now-tightened projection of Marsha’s nipple, bringing his elbow into the crook of her skirt covered crotch, he began to rub.
Feeling the pressure there. Not caring… Yes! ‘Caring’! Wanting the sensation to go on forever. Forgetting her mother and her vow. Widening her thighs to him, “Mitchie,” she whispered, “I love you!”
Moving his mouth from her breast, “Marcie, I love you, too!”
Wanting to be touched! Wanting her to touch him. Wanting to be… ‘Desperately’
wanting to be held within her hand…
“Marcie,” he whispered, “would you like to see ‘me’? Would you like to hold ‘me’?”
For a moment she didn’t quite understand what he’d asked. Then…
****
Marsha had fantasized about Mitchell and yes, in the past about other boys, too. Once, in a rather hot necking session, the boy had moved her hand onto the bulge on his thigh and out of curiosity she’d allowed it to be held there… for only three or four seconds.
She’d seen ‘eight-pagers’ and crude, pornographic drawings of male members. Having an older brother, on occasion she did think about it, but had never seen Roger nude.
****
This is Mitchell, she thought. He’s my husband for God’s sake! Rationalizing, He is my husband!
Glancing about the car, There’s no way we can do it here…To go ‘all the way’.
And that, after all, was all she had promised her mother: not to go ‘all the way’.
I didn’t promise anything about ‘fooling around’..
Knowing Mitchell would go only as far as ‘she’ wanted. More afraid of her desire than his.
Rationalizing— knowing that she was going to see ‘it’ eventually— wanting to see ‘him’ now!
… Then, after a long moment’s hesitation. “ ‘Oh, yes’!” she said.
Yes!
Shrugging his jacket off and moving back on the seat, he unbuckled his belt. Unbuttoning the top button he unzipped his fly then, glancing over his shoulder to be sure there were no approaching cars…
Knowing, from what he’d gathered from their conversations, Mitchell rightfully assumed that this, now, would be the first adult penis Marsha had ever seen… Especially in the way he knows she’ll be seeing it.
...Parting the fly of his Jockey shorts, allowing only his penis and whatever long strands of pubic hair that came along with it freedom as…
Holding her breath, Marsha’s eyes widened in sensuous delight as….
Taking a pinkish blush when fully erect, at between six and a half and seven inches in length, Mitchell was— so he though— of average size and circumference. However...
...Being with Marsha. Seeing the heretofore only ‘imagined’ beauty of her breasts. Tasting the heretofore ‘only’ imagined sweetness of her breasts now ‘knowing’ she was looking at ‘him’…
...Sensing the passion-filled emotion of a situation such as this, the cells of his penis engorged with even ‘more’ blood, causing a muscular contraction that, as usually happened when he was ‘very’ aroused but ‘never’ this quickly, a thick drop of clear semen worked its way through the urethra, and…
Standing starkly upright through the slit of the white cotton material of his underpants. Appearing as an entity detached from the body of her husband. Though the sight of the bulk of Mitchell’s penis did send an additional surge of heat from mind to vagina.
Having only seen a baby’s before. Now, although of— assumed average size— to Marsha-Goldman-Lichterman her new husband’s sensually-erected-penis looked…? Frighteningly-erotically-beautiful.
Watching her face as she stared at him… at ‘it’…
“Marcie,” he asked quietly, “Touch me! Hold me.”
‘Hold him’? ‘Touch him’?
‘Yes’!
Reaching to ‘him’. Careful not to touch the shiny streak left by the drop of semen. Tentatively touching the ring of the glans with the tip of one finger... Jerking her hand away as though receiving an electric shock. Bringing it back, her fingers gently grasping the shaft of his penis, Oh, God!
Touching! Holding!
Holding her husband ‘there’ for the first time, Marsha was unable to comprehend how anything that looked so hard, could, at the same time, feel so soft and so warm, as…
My God!
Mitchell more than felt Marsha’s hand encircle him.
More than skin deep, Marsha’s touch reached from his penis, up his spine, into the furthermost recess of his mind, of his soul...
“I love you!” The words coming concurrently from each. Their lips once again caming together..
As they kissed, Mitchell’s hand moved beneath her skirt and up along the inside of her long legs and silky smooth thighs, as…
Powerless. Unwilling to stop, Marsha parted her thighs.
Touching. His fingers caressed the moisture-slicked crotch of her panties, as…
Feeling him touch her ‘there’. Taking a sharp intake of breath, Marsha unwittingly moaned, as…
Finding the way beneath the elastic...
The first feel of damp hair and a moment later, the soft, fleshy folds of Marsha’s labia caused a low moan to break from his throat also.
Moving his mouth from her mouth, bringing his lips to a breast he drew hard, taking the nipple along with much of the flesh into his mouth as…
Turning his wrist outward, Mitchell’s finger slipped through the narrow fissure of Marsha’s labia into the well of her wet vagina…
“Oh, my God!” Now…
This was the first time that ‘any’ finger— other than her own — had found and touched her secret, innermost place as Mitchell was doing as...
Holding his head to her breast with one hand, his penis with the other—not caring that the thin stream of clear semen now flowed onto her fingers—now…
Opening her thighs wider as...
Moving her pelvis in motion with the movement of his finger. The angle of his hand causing his thumb to rub against the—still unknown to Mitchell—engorged bud at the upper cleft of her vagina.
“Oh, my God!”
Quickly! Quicker than Marsha had ‘ever’ brought onto herself…
Closing her eyes. Clenching her teeth, Marsha felt the intensity of the sharp, ‘much’ sharper, sweet, ‘much’ sweeter release, and...
Knowing by the movement within her hand that there was great urgency, and…
Instinctively aware of how she was able to release the urgency as her own urgency was subsiding—or was it—watching over the top of his head. Catching his rhythm. Her hand moving up and down along the hard/soft/warm shaft, as…
Pulling his lips from Marsha’s breast with a loud, vacuum breaking sound…
“Oh, my God, baby, I’m…”
Gazing at her naked breasts and transformed nipples, feeling the slick overflow of secretion upon his entire hand…
“Mmmm, GOD!”
The dam burst, and…
Feeling the sharp penile contractions withing her hand, Marsha watched the arching jets of creamy semen in absolute wonder…
“Oh, God, Mitchie,” she said seriously. “This is ‘it’!” Apparently not caring that it was
wet with semen, holding her hand forward. “This is it!” she repeated in awe. “The stuff that makes babies!”
As always—thinking of it as a premature ejaculation—embarrassed when this happened.
Drawing his hand from between her thighs. “Marcie, here.” Reaching into his pocket with his dry hand he removed a clean handkerchief. “Wipe your hand.”
Taking the handkerchief. “Wait,” she said. “Don’t move!”
“What do mean, ‘don’t move’?”
“Please, Mitchie, sit still a minute, I want to watch it.”
“You want to watch… ‘what’?”
Thrilled that she had been able to get that kind of a response from Mitchell ‘just’ by using her hand. To say nothing of the kind of response he’d been able to get from her ‘just’ by using his hand.
Thrilled also with the knowledge and experience that she’d gained in the last ten minutes—more than she’d had in her entire lifetime of nineteen years—Marsha watched in rapt attention as the blood reversed and the hard, erect tissue was magically replaced with soft, spongy tissue and, as his penis shrunk, it slipped, unaided, through the slit into the confines of Mitchell’s white, cotton Jockey shorts.
Trying to bring herself and Mitchell back to some sort of normalcy. “Know what I think?” she asked jokingly. “I think you’re some kind of a miracle of modern engineering.”
‘Miracle of modern engineering’? Still feeling somewhat embarrassed by his ‘premature ejaculation’. “Shucks, Marsha,” he said in mock modesty, “almost any guy can get a boner!”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said, “but you’re my guy!”
Wondering why so many things always reminded him of things in the past as he wiped semen off the dashboard with the handkerchief.
“I’m sorry it happened this way,” motioning towards his lap with the handkerchief, “but, Marcie, you got me so hot!”
“Yeah, you got me pretty hot there, too. And don’t say that.” Reaching behind her back, re-clasping her bra. “I’m not sorry for ‘anything’ that’s happened today!”
Zipping his fly. “Hold on, baby.” Reaching to her. Lifting one of the cups from the bottom, popping it up, over a breast, kissing it. “I love you!”
“Yeah, sure!” Pulling the cup down, grasping the bra from the bottom readjusting it. “You just love my boobies.”
“Yeah, baby, I sure do, but I also love what’s attached.”
Reversing the car. “Marcie, baby, you’n’me, we’re married now…”
“Yeah, baby.” Rubbing her hand high up on his thigh. “We sure are!”
Feeling her fingers graze his not-altogether-flaccid penis. “And I’ve been thinking that we can do whatever we want now that we’ve, uh...” looking at her hand, “...kind of broken the ice…”
Sensing her ‘flow’ again. “So to speak.” Wantonly tightening her fingers around his absolutely-no-longer-flaccid penis.
“What say we find someplace to eat, then… ‘Damn it’, Marcie! We’re married now and I know...” her hand still on his penis, “...you want to make love to me, ‘really’ make love to me and believe me, I want to, too, so much! So, please, we have all day! So let’s find a motel someplace. We don’t even have to tell them we did it if you don’t want to. Marcie, we’re married now and it’s none of their fu… uh, business if we make love to each other!”
Her hand no longer holding him. “Mitchie, you’re right! Believe me, too!” Oh, God I want to! “I ‘do’ want to but just can’t!” Holding her hand up, stopping him from speaking. “Besides the fact that I promised my mother, maybe she’s right and we’re not really married in the eyes of God till it’s done by a rabbi…”
“Or maybe,” Mitchell cut in, “if she wasn’t spending so much for a white wedding gown.”
“Yeah, maybe that, too.” Not wanting to think that money spent on a virginal, white wedding gown was the real reason they couldn’t spend the night together, alone, doing what newlyweds do.
“Anyway,” Marsha said, “I ‘hated’ the way it happened with that judge! So fast and so…?”
“Impersonal.”
“Yes, ‘impersonal’. You know what, Mitchie?” Without waiting for his response, “I’ve waited so long to do it, to make love…”
Never telling her that he hadn’t because a guy, a ‘twenty-one-year-old guy’, that hadn’t had intercourse by this time— to his way of thinking —should have, so he thought, Yeah, me too.
“…that I might just as well wait another couple of months so you and I can do it right.”
“ ‘In the eyes of God’?” Said sarcastically.
“Yes.” Ignoring the sarcasm. “And also about us finding a motel and not telling them. I want the two of us to get started off right, and I ‘don’t’ think lying about something like that is the right way to do it.”
“ ‘In the eyes of God’! All of a sudden our families got religion. I think the last time my mother and father’s been in a shul was when I had my Bar Mitzvah. How ‘bout yours?” he asked, trying to make a point. “When’s the last time that you know of, that your folks went to shul?”
“When ‘she’s’ gone? I don’t know. Probably for Roger’s Bar Mitzvah, too. But daddy’s religious and goes every Friday, if he can.”
“Okay, I respect your dad for that! But I don’t think he’s the one that came up with this stupid idea. I don’t think ‘any’ man would ask that of another guy. And I know my mom, and it’s sure as hell ‘not’ her!”
“Well, your mother didn’t exactly ‘not’ agree with her.”
“Maybe not, but I think she was forced into it.”
Knowing her mother. Knowing how manipulative Rhea was. “Yeah...” Marsha conceded, “...maybe she was.”
“And, Marcie, I don’t know if after this…” placing his hand on her thigh, “...I can go back to New York tomorrow and wait ‘till December… Hell, ’till almost the end of December! Marcie, I ‘dream’ of sleeping with you. Of turning over at night and touching you. Of waking in the morning next to you. Yeah, baby, it is the sex, too, ‘sure’ it is! I can’t wait till we’re naked in bed together doing ‘it’… But, to be honest, it’s mostly the closeness to you that I dream of.”
This was true … sometimes.
“Mitchie, I feel the same way.” She did! Oh, yes, she did! “And I’ve got an idea.”
‘An idea’? “What ‘idea’?”
“What if I call… Better yet, I think we’ll do better talking to her face to face. So let’s go back to my place and we’ll tell mother that ‘if we were going to do anything, we would have already’. And that we want to spend the night together. No! I’ll tell her that we ‘are’ going to spend the night together and that we ‘won’t’ do anything! I’ll say that one of us...” uh, huh “...will sleep beneath the blanket and one above it, or something like that.”
Oh, yeah, ‘or something like that’, indeed.
“ ‘And’...” Mitchell asked, “...if she doesn’t buy it?”
Sighing. “You’re right, Mitchie. December is a long way off. So If she says no, then we will go to a motel.”
“And we’ll…” Mitchell asked expectantly
Oh, yeah, sure thing!
“… sleep over and under the blanket?”
“Of ‘course’ we’ll sleep over and under the blanket!” Marsha said sternly.
“Of ‘course’ we will,” Mitchell said slyly.
Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence… A Becoming “Ultimatum!”
