A “Becoming” excerpt in sequence…
A Becoming “Ultimatum!”
Careful, a bit of "fooling around" here.
__________________________________________________
“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.
Chicago, Illinois
October 17, 1955
“Walter Lewis Studio!”
“Myra, the kids are here and they’ve come up with something of an ultimatum.”
“An ‘ultimatum’! What kind of ultimatum?”
“They say…” staring at them, “that they want to spend the night together.”
“Together! ‘They want to spend the night together’?”
“Myra, please stop repeating everything I say! Yes! They want to sleep together.”
“ ‘Together’! ‘They want to sleep together’?”
“Yes! But they say they won’t do anything.”
On the other end of the phone, nearly chocking in her effort to hold back laughter. “ ‘Won’t do any…”
“Do ‘not’ repeat that! They say that one of them will sleep on top of the blanket and one of them will sleep under the blanket! And they say if I… if ‘we’, don’t let them, they’ll go to a motel.”
“You buy the ‘blanket’ thing?” Hardly able to hold it back, “Sounds like a bunch’a bullshit to me.” Holding her hand over the mouthpiece, Myra began to laugh.
Wincing at ‘bullshit’. “I don’t know.”
Standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching her. Getting a bit edgy under Rhea’s intense stare, Marsha and Mitchell listened to the one-way conversation… Along with the muffled sound of cackling coming from the other end.
Stifling her laughter. “You believe them, do you?” Myra asked.
“I don’t know! They ‘are’ married, after all.”
Thinking the whole ‘Eyes of God’ thing ridiculous. Attempting to sound serious, “Yes, they are are married, after all.” Myra said solemnly.
“And what’s true is true .”
“ ‘What’s true is true ’?”
Glancing skyward. “Well, like they said, ‘if they were going to do something, they would have already’!” Looking from her daughter to Mitchell, thinking, I certainly would have!
“How do you know they ‘didn’t’, or ‘won’t’?”
“No,” looking at Marsha. “I know my daughter! And anyway, right now it’s beside the point.”
“Rhea, this was ‘your’ idea! What do you want from me?”
Not trusting Myra. Knowing she was not taking this seriously. “In your house they’d have a bedroom with a door.” Smiling an off-handed smile at Marsha. “And here they’ll be sleeping in the living room with a door that doesn’t close all the way.” Smiling the same off-handed smile at Mitchell. “And here they’ll ‘never’ know when I might just pop in on them.”
October 18, 1955
Washing the pills down with the last sip of coffee—which was exactly what Marsha had counted on—stretching, “Think it’s time I went to bed.”
Mitchell looked at his watch: 1:05 AM
After receiving permission to spend the night together, the two drove to Skokie and with Walter and Myra and Mitchell’s two brothers, the new Lipensky family went to dinner with the old Lipensky family.
Returning to the house in Skokie, Mitchell collected his toilet kit, pajamas and a robe. Then, meeting Rosalie and her boyfriend, Marty, the two couples went to see, ‘Lady And The Tramp’ and afterwards to Askanaz for desert.
When they returned to the apartment at 11:50, Eli had long since been asleep and Rhea, as expected, was watching television.
At the beginning of their ‘second day of marriage’:
“Mitchie...” after Jerry Lester’s ‘Broadway Open House’, “...I’m ‘so’ tired!” Not so subtly dropping a hint she’d hoped her mother would take,.“Why don’t you go in the bathroom and change into your pajamas?”
“ ‘Yeah’...” he said, just a little louder than necessary, “...that’s a good idea!” Taking his overnight bag— an A&P shopping bag containing his toilet kit, bathrobe and pajamas—Mitchell went into the bathroom.
While he was in the bathroom, Marsha went into her parent’s room, to Eli’s bottom drawer where — knowing her father wouldn’t care — took a pair of unworn silk pajamas that he’d received as a birthday gift two years earlier: ‘big’ panamas, with ‘buttons’ and a ‘fly’.
When Mitchell came from the bathroom wearing pajamas and a robe, Marsha went in to change.
Even though Rhea— ‘extremely’ uncharacteristically considering her lifetime of infidelity—wanted her daughter to remain a virgin until the ‘real’ wedding. The so called, ‘in the eyes of God’ wedding, ‘always’ putting glamour before good sense, Rhea would ‘never’ consider telling someone to sleep in their clothes. So when Marsha had told Mitchell to get into his pajamas she did not object. Also, it would never occur to Rhea to tell someone ‘to wear underwear beneath their pajamas’, so Rhea didn’t…
And the newlyweds sure as hell didn’t.
Shaking her head, “Good God,” Rhea said when Marsha returned to the living room, “those things make you look so ‘klunky’!” Then remembering that her daughter was going to be spending the night with Mitchell, in bed. “Good!” she’d added. “ ‘Klunky’s’ good!”
However still not taking the hint, Rhea remained in the living room to watch the ‘Late, Late Show’.
Thirty-eight minutes into their second day of marriage:
“Mother, I want to open the bed and change the linens... Mitch, help me, will you.”
“No, baby...” Mitchell whispered, “...don't do that.”
“What?”
“ ‘Change the linens’… I’ve only got tonight, honey, and I want to sleep where you sleep and smell your hair on your pillowcase.”
If Rhea heard this, she made no comment…However not taking that hint either, she moved from the sofa to a chair.
Sixty-five minutes into their second day of marriage:
Finally the ‘Late, Late Show’ ended and ‘God Bless America’ was sung by ‘Kate Smith’ and the picture of the flag was replaced with a test pattern…
Finally! Sipping the last of her coffee. Taking her pills.
“Think it’s time I went to bed.” Standing, stretching and looking sternly from Marsha to Mitchell, “You two be good now!” Rhea said.
Oh, yeah!
****
“Marcie, come on out!” he whispered. “It’s ‘got’ to be hot in there!”
Teasing him, she’d rolled herself into the blanket and would not come out, or let him come in.
“I know why you want me to come out!”
Kissing her nose... “You do, huh?” ...which was all he could find to kiss within her cocoon of the blanket. “ ‘Why’?”
“ ‘Cause you wanna touch my boobies, that’s why.”
Oh, yeah! Pretending to consider a moment. “Yeah, that’s true , I do wanna touch your bobbies!” Forcefully pulling the upper end of the blanket open, putting his arms about her…
“Mitchie...” she said seriously, “...I don’t want my mother coming out and catching us!”
Knowing after Rhea took whatever pills she took she always fell asleep, Marsha reasoned, If he thinks she may be awake and checking on us, it might keep him from trying too hard. “And I’d really...” no longer fully trusting herself “...like to keep my word.”
Hugging her, his mouth alongside her ear. “I said it before and I’ll say it again...” flicking the inside of her ear with his tongue, “...we’ll only go as far as you want.”
Yeah, she thought, that’s the problem!
“But ‘damn-it’, we’re married and I ‘want’ to hold you!” Mitchell said in a somewhat comically demanding tone.
In response, Marsha bit his ear.
“Ouch! You coming out?”
“No,” holding the blanket open for him, “you come in.”
Giving Rhea time, hopefully, to fall asleep.
Laying on their sides with their arms around each other. Whispering. Kissing. Touching...
****
Earlier — before Rhea, supposedly, went to sleep— Marsha would have taken bets that he would ‘not’ be wearing underwear and, by the natural jiggling beneath her pajama top he was sure that Marsha wasn’t wearing a bra. Then…
When Rhea looked away, Marsha left no doubt when she’d very quickly, very unexpectedly, very playfully lifted her top exposing her breasts causing ‘him’ to all but hop through the fly of his pajamas.
****
Now... Feeling the delightfully soft pressure of her breasts pressing against his chest, reaching through the back of her bottoms— truly surprised to find that she wasn’t wearing panties— his hand moving in a circle, for the very first time caressing Marsha’s small, tight, so-warm, so-soft, so-smooth buttocks…
Oh, God! Her ass feels ‘so’ good!
Marsha’s hand also beneath the back of his bottoms touching and caressing and she, too, for the very first time held her husband’s, or for that matter ‘any’ boy’s bare bottom and…
Oh, God! His tush feels ‘so’ good!
Marsha now felt the sensuous prod of his penis which had ‘somehow’ found it’s way through the fly of his pajamas and— feeling the delightful grazing of his bare penis against her silk-covered vulva as— tightening her hold, her fingernails taut in the flesh of his buttocks, constricting her thighs…
Knowing where ‘he’ was! ‘well’ knowing where he was…
Enveloped within the silky smoothness of her pajamas and the warmth of her vulva, sensing the soft warmth of Marsha’s naked breasts against his bare chest...
Sensing the tickle that foretells the flow of the first drop of clear semen…
‘Lovin’g the tight contact of the warm hardness of Mitchell’s bare chest against her naked breasts…
Sensing the tightening of her nipples and the flow of her secretion…
“I love you!”
“Oh, God!”
“I love you!”
In the darkness of this room Mitchell could barely see Marsha’s face yet he was able to discern the light and dark contrasts of her breasts and chest…
Kissing the soft flesh, drawing the tightened circle into his mouth…
Earlier, that day:
****
Their quick impersonal marriage.
Where they had gone and what they had been doing.
The length of Mitchell’s bare pens showing through the slit of white cotton seemed to Marsha to be…?
Seemed to have a ‘surrealistic’ quality and though she had seen ‘him’ then, now…?
****
In the darkness of this room. In her own bed. However unrealistic it still seemed, reaching to ‘him’. Clenching her hand about the hardness…
Clenching her hand about the ‘so’ warm, ‘so’ soft hardness,..
Oh, God, I’m holding ‘Mitchell’! Really holding ‘Mitchell’!
The sense of her touch transmitting erotic electricity…
“Marcie,” breathing the words in her ear. “Oh, God, Marcie! I want to be in you! I want to feel myself in you!”
Hearing… Sensing. Actually feeling the vibration of his words…
Discovering now what she hadn’t discovered earlier…
Wanting to, Oh, God Wanting to!
Discovering: her fingers twining through ‘his’ hair…
What do I do?
Discovering: holding the weight of his scrotum,…
God, I want to!
Discovering: gently feeling the ovals of his testicles…
Kissing. Tasting...
Touching his tongue to her chest, to her breastbone, to her navel…
Lowering the loose fitting pajamas to her knees…
Wanting to! Oh, God!
Wanting, desperately wanting to put his mouth ‘there’…
To taste her ‘there’!
But thinking in her innocence — and wisely so— that Marsha might consider this an unnatural act, he didn’t and instead, his probing fingers twining the silky fineness...
“Mitchie…”
“Marcie, you want me to stop?” Please say no! “Should I stop?”
“God...” she answered immediately “...no!”
Caressing the soft, moist folds…
Finding the orifice…
The touch! The touching!
The love! The loving!
Subconsciously for both— ‘The giving to each far outweighing the taking from the other’.
The ‘surrealistic’ quality of the past fifteen hours certainly not lost on Mitchell Lipensky, however now came a mentally entrenched desire beyond mere intercourse. A desire surpassing all else. A desire...
To be as one! To connect, to meld, to be as one as… the prongs of a plug that must be connected to fulfill its intend function...
“Marcie, I ‘want’ to be a part of you!” he said huskily.
“I ‘need’ to be part of you!”
Tell me to do it! ‘Please’, Marcie, tell me to do it!”
“Mitchie…” Feeling the press of his chest against her breasts and the feel of the cylindrical flesh within her hand… And the dandling, oh, so nice feel of the touch of his finger within her vagina.
He is my husband, after all! We are married, after all!
“Mitchie, yes!” Marsha whispered. “Please!”… Adding softly, “Fuck me.”
‘Fuck me’. “Yes!” Delightfully shocked!“Oh, yes, baby!”
Squirming out of their pajamas: tops and bottoms.
The upper blanket tented above their— for their first time together—fully nude bodies…
Positioning himself above. Moving to between her thighs…
Tightening her thighs about his waist…
“Mitchie, please, baby, do it slow. It could hurt this first time.”
***
Actually glad that he’d waited all of his life for this moment. The fact that his waiting was not voluntary—was far from voluntary—didn’t matter. What did matter, what ‘really’ mattered was that he and Marsha...That he and his wife— the girl he’d ‘always’ loved— were going to give up their virginity together, to each other, and this registered on his mind as a poetic, ‘god-ordained’ circumstance.
What did not register on his mind, however, was the fact that he was not using a prophylactic. Nor how Marsha was going to explain a bloody sheet if she should bleed when her hymen ruptured…
“Mitchie, please, baby, do it slow. It could hurt this first time.”
However...
There was no need to worry about pregnancy due to a forgotten prophylactic, nor about blood from her ruptured hymen, because…
The bedroom door opened noisily and, clearing her throat noisily, Rhea turned the hall light on.
Mitchell rolled off Marsha and both attempted to contain their ragged breathing while attempting to tangle the tangled blankets,
A rectangle of bright light shown from around all four sides of the hallway door that —due to countless coats of paint throughout the years— did not close properly, and the bathroom door opened and closed noisily as…
Standing before the toilet a minute, flushing it then going to the sink and needlessly washing her hands. Rhea opened the bathroom door and went back to her bedroom closing the door…
Leaving the light in the hall on.
Waiting a few minutes and hearing nothing more from Rhea. The thin rectangle of light a small thing in comparison to his need, Mitchell brought his body back to Marsha’s, but…
“Mitchie, honey…”
Pretty sure; not knowing for sure and of course Rhea never knew, but her deliberate action that night did get the result she’d wanted, because…
Their moment had passed, and…
Pressing her hands to his chest, “Mitchie, honey,” Marsha said, “we’ve waited so long. Please, baby, let’s wait a little longer.”
This act of Rhea’s ‘justifiable interference’ did get the result she’d hoped for and...
Marsha and Mitchell were denied the ‘giving and taking’ treasure of their lifetimes because this lost moment was the right and proper moment for their love and marriage to be consummated.
What was rightfully theirs was taken.
Never again would their love be as totally peaceful and as untouched by the tension and pressure of everyday living… Or as wholeheartedly perfect as it had been then, at that moment in time.
Excluding, of course, the need to think of a reason and excuse for a bloody sheet caused by a ruptured hymen, or, of course, the possibility of pregnancy…
But really, what nineteen year old girl recently married to a twenty-one year old boy gets pregnant the very first time she has intercourse?
Chicago, Illinois
October 30, 1955
Ripples
“Marcie, hi, honey! So, how was the shower? How’d we make out?”
“We got ‘lots’ of nice things. But it was… oh, okay, I guess.”
“What do you mean, ‘okay, you guess’?”
“Mitchie, I ‘don’t’ want to bother you with this.”
“If you’re saying it that way, then it’s ‘got’ to be my mother! Right?”
“Really, I’d rather not talk about it.”
“No, ‘Marsha’!” Becoming angry “Tell me, ‘what happened’.”
‘Marsha’?
“Today, at the hotel… Oh, maybe it’s not such a big deal.”
“If it’s not such a big deal, then why’s it bothering you so much?”
“Look, ‘Mitchell’, I don’t want you to be mad at her! It’s just that… ‘Darn it’! My aunts made the shower for me, not her!”
‘Mitchell’?
Sighing. “So tell me already, what happened?”
“Okay… You know how she thinks she’s funny sometimes. And how she likes to think she’s running things. Well she took charge! And if anyone should have taken charge, it ‘should’ have been one of my aunts,” she said indignantly, “not her!”
“ ‘She took charge of your shower’?” he said angrily.
Misconstruing his anger. “Yes! But it’s more than ‘just’ that. I don’t know why, but your mother thought it was her place to open my gifts and I just sat there like an ‘idiot’ while she did it! And she ‘didn’t’ have the right to do it!”
His tone softening. “Maybe she thought she was helping you.” Embarrassed by his mother’s interference. “Maybe she was just trying to help out.”
Her turn to sigh. “Maybe you’re right... Nah, don’t say anything, Mitch. It’s over with, and it’ll only hurt her feelings and make things even worse between her and me. Besides, there’s only a week before you ship out and I ‘don’t’ want you having any more aggravation.”
After a few moments of prolonged silence. “Oh, yeah,” Mitchell said. “I got a letter from Norman. He told me he’s joined the Navy and won’t be there to stand up for me.”
“That’s a ‘shame’,” she said sincerely. “So who are you going to ask?”
“I’ve been thinking; we’re going to be married a long time…”
“No, Mitchie! Not ‘a long time.’ ‘Forever’!”
“Yeah, honey, ‘forever’! And that’s why I thought I’d ask your brother. Maybe it’ll help him’n’me be friends.”
“That’s a ‘real’ nice thing to do, Mitchie. I don’t know what he’ll say, but it’ll sure make Mother happy.”
Skokie, Illinois November 4, 1955
Tidal Wave
Looking at the clock again, Please, she prayed, let him call, now!”
Picking Marsha up at work, Walter had brought her to Skokie for dinner and Mitchell’s last ‘revere charge’ phone call before ‘Halfmoon’ leaves on patrol the following morning.
Sitting at the far end of the kitchen table, Myra sat directly across from Marsha. Walter—on the bench along the wall—sat to Marsha’s right. The table cleared, each had a cup of coffee before them.
(The explosive sits, waiting...)
For a reason not yet known, Myra had been silently angry ever since Walter and Marsha came through the door and the young woman had done her best to stay out of her way... physically and verbally.
(As a wick sit waiting for a match...)
Suddenly, from out of nowhere: “I’ve been thinking about it all day and I ‘still’ don’t know why, ‘all of a sudden’ your brother is going to be best man!”
Having spoken to his son, knowing it was Mitchell’s choice.
“ ‘That’s’ why you’ve been so quiet, Myra?” Walter asked.
(The match is scratched to life...)
Glancing at her husband, looking back at Marsha. “It’s ‘not’ like they’re friends! They hardly know each other.”
“That’s why!” Marsha said. “Mitchell thinks it’ll help make them friends. Anyway, it was your son’s idea.”
(The match is brought to the wick...)
“Oh, ‘yes’! I’m ‘sure’ it was!”
Ignoring the snide remark, “Mitchie thinks it’ll make Roger and him… well, if not friends, then at least friendly brothers-in-law, and I told him if that’s what he wants, it’s certainly okay with me.
“I’m ‘sure’ it is! And your mother, I’ll just ‘bet’ she loves it!”
“Sure. Why not? Mother felt horrible when Roger and Brenda were married by a judge because Brenda’s parents didn’t want to make a wedding.”
“Shame we can’t all be as rich as Rhea Goldman!”
“Look…”About to retort angrily, thinking better of it, “...having Roger as his best man is your son’s idea, ‘not’ mine and ‘not’ my mother’s!”
(The match makes contact...)
Turning the cup in her hands. “Know what I’ve been thinking…?” Said to no one in particular. “If your brother is best man,” now looking directly at Marsha, “I might not be there.”
His head snapping up, “Myra, what in the ‘hell’ are you saying?”
Glaring at him, “Stay out of this, Walt! I’m ‘not’ talking to you!”
“Just ‘what’ is it you’re telling me?” No longer able to contain her anger. “Are you telling me that if my brother is best man, you’re ‘not’ coming to your son’s wedding?”
(The wick burns...)
“Yes!” Myra hissed back. “That is ‘exactly’ what I’m telling you!”
“You have ‘no’ right telling Mitchell who he should or shouldn’t have as his best man! And if he wants my bother, then ‘damn it’, that’s his business!”
Glaring at Marsha, subconsciously turning the cup in her hands…
“Just who is it ‘you’ want as best man? ‘Larry’? Maybe ‘Mortie’?”
(The burning wick makes contact...)
“You…” pointing at Marsha, “shut up!” Losing all control, flinging her cup across the table…
(...And explodes!)
Instinctively cocking her head, coffee splattering on her head and left shoulder, the cup shattering against the wall. Standing quickly, Marsha’s chair clattered to the floor.
“ ‘Jesus Christ’, Myra!”
Hearing the shattering of the cup and the clatter of the chair. coming from the den but knowing better than to butt in, and in any case not knowing whom to butt-in in defense of anyway. Standing quietly, Larry and Morton watched, as…
Stammering, “I, I can’t believe you did that!” Marsha looked at the boys then, hoping for support, expecting support from Walter. “How could you?”
“’And I want to know’…” Myra screamed across the table, “...why do you refuse to call me ‘Mom’?”
Her mouth dropping open. “So ‘that’s’ what this is ‘really’ about, huh?” Again Marsha looked to Walter for support, but…
Fearing Myra would start on him next. Making a mistake that he quickly and ‘always’ thereafter regretted—because Walter truly loved Marsha—“Yes! For God’s sake...” siding with his wife, turning on the girl, “...that’s not ‘too’ much to ask! Why in hell can’t you ‘just’ do it?”
Tears coming to Marsha’s eyes. She felt she’d been assaulted by Myra and betrayed and abandoned by Walter—whom she’d truly considered as a friend rather than her father-in-law—and now, trapped, having no means of leaving this house, her eyes shifting from Myra to Walter and back, standing lost and terrified, not knowing what to do, what to say…
The phone rang...
Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence : “Deafening Silence”
