A FBOW excerpt in sequence: Rhea’s Secret

USCGC W325 Halfmoon

Staten Island, New York —

June 21, 1956: AM

Dawning darkly overcast, barely able to see the Statue of Liberty in the foggy distance, holding a cup of coffee and eating the last of his jelly roll, he sat on the bench seat along the port bulkhead staring out the dirty, water specked window of the Staten Island Ferry.

Docking in another five minutes, with the type of liberty aboard the Halfmoon—‘port and starboard’: one weekend on, one weekend off; one night on, one night off—it would be thirty-six hours until he could make this journey in the opposite direction, to go home to be with Marsha again.

United States Coast Guard Cutter Halfmoon (W325) was permanently berthed in the huge Coast Guard facility on Staten Island, New York. The sprawling base is located directly adjacent the New York City Staten Island Ferry Terminal.

Three hundred, eleven feet in length, ‘USCGC Halfmoon’ had a complement of 137 enlisted men and officers.

The official duty designation of the Halfmoon is that of a ‘weather ship’, meaning that at various times throughout the year the ship steamed to designated nautical coordinates in the Southern Atlantic Ocean to patrol within a set geographic boundary. The function of a weather ship is the recording and forwarding of changing weather and sea conditions and, of course, to offer help to any vessel in need of assistance.

The period of patrol was usually thirty to forty days ‘out’ with a usual in-port period of sixty to ninety days.

The patrol stations, either coincidental or, according to the swabbies, more then likely planned, always seemed to be off frigid Newfoundland in winter and tropical Bermuda in summer.

The next patrol scheduled to depart Staten Island on July 30, 1956, about five weeks from this date, would be putting into Bermuda for nine days giving both the port and starboard liberty sections a weekend ashore.

Never having had a real honeymoon, Mitchell had requested and been granted a two day leave commencing on the Monday following his weekend liberty. Marsha was to fly there to meet him, thus giving them a belated a four day honeymoon in Bermuda…

But something strange had happened the last time Mitchell had spoken to Rhea that made him wonder if their honeymoon would ever come to pass.

It was more or less a one sided conversation.

Rhea’s Secret

“Mitch...” having said goodbye, handing the phone to him. “...mother wants to say hello to you.”

“Hi, Mom!” Nothing strange here so far because whenever Marsha spoke to her mother, Rhea usually asked to say hello to him.

“How are you?”—the usual greeting for someone that hadn’t the slightest idea what to say to someone when the only thing you had in common was that she happened to be the mother of the woman you’re married to. “How’s Dad?”

“Fine, Mitchell.” Speaking softly, conspiratorially, “Is Marsha nearby? Can she hear what I’m going to say?”

If either of them expelled gas in the bathroom the sound would reverberate through the one room apartment.

The phone in the kitchen. At that moment watching him, Marsha was sitting on the sofa. But in a one room apartment?

“Uh, no,” looking at Marsha, “I don’t think so.”

“Mitchell, if my daughter asks what we’re talking about, tell her… Tell her that we’re planning some kind of a surprise and I told you ‘not’ to say anything. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Mom.” Turning his back to Marsha, who by that time had been looking at him questioningly. “I ‘promise’!” ‘Covered’ himself because he ‘knew’ that the split second he hung up Marsha was going to question him. Mitchell also knew that he was a very bad liar and that, so far, he hadn’t been able to put ‘anything’ past his wife.

“Mitchell, I did’nt want to say anything to Marsha because I don’t want her to get her hopes up, but maybe… ‘maybe’ something’s going to happen soon to get you off the boat.”

“ ‘Huh’?” Said a little too loudly. Glancing at Marsha, he turned his back to her again.

“When you were gone last time…”

He’d been on one patrol since their marriage in December and was well aware of how lonely Marsha had been for the five weeks he’d been away. If it wasn’t for her job and having Aunt Ida directly across the street, she would have flown to Chicago then come back when the Halfmoon returned.

“When you were gone last time, my daughter was miserable and I’ve got this, uh, ‘friend’ who knows someone who knows someone. You know how it is here!”

****

Chicago had always been one of the most political cities in America and its mayor, ‘Richard J. Daley’—considered a ‘King Maker’—one of the most powerful politicians in the country.

The Coast Guard being an official branch of the armed forces only in time of war,  coming under the ‘Department of the Treasury’ in time of peace was ‘always’ weary of politicians and budgets ‘and’ budget cuts, because when there was a budget cut, it was usually the Coast Guard that got the worst of it. Consequently, in the Coast Guard if one had ‘P.I.’: ‘Political Influence’, it almost always worked.

Outside of basic information, Marsha had said very little about her mother therefore Mitchell had no idea of how much or what type of ‘pull’ Rhea had.

****

“Anyway...” going on, Rhea said, “...I’ve got someone working on getting you off the boat and into headquarters.”

His mind too jumbled at this news to correct her with the ‘you can put a boat on a ship’ thing.

“But ‘listen’! Just keep your mouth shut about it and ‘don't’ say a word to ‘anyone,’ even Marsha!”

Thinking, Yeah, sure! Fat chance! He said, “Yeah, sure, Mom!” Still looking at Marsha,—who was staring at him— knowing she was going to pounce on him for information the split second he hung up. “Sure… I, uh, promise!”

It never occurred to him that he’d be transferred off the ship. He was positive he’d be there till discharged. But ‘H.Q.’ ! he thought, I’ll love it! I’ll be home every night and get ‘S &Q’— ‘substance and quarters’— money for living off base.

“Okay, then, Mitchell. Mum’s the word. Right?

“Right.”

“And keep practising your typing!”

“Yeah, Mom, sure, and, uh…” Thanks? Is a ‘thanks’ enough for what his mother-in-law was trying to do for him? Well, actually for her daughter, but what effected Marsha effected him. “...thank you!”

“ ‘Bye, Mitchel.”

Wondering why Rhea told him this before even she knew for sure and why keep it a secret from her daughter—his wife?

“ ‘Bye, Mom.”

The split… The ‘very’ split split second the phone was hung up…

“What was that about?”

“Uh…”

“What were you and mother talking about?” Asked a little too loudly.

“Nothing!” Said a little too quickly.

“No! You weren’t talking about ‘nothing’! You were talking about ‘something’!”

“She made me promise. I ‘can’t’ tell you!”

“What do you mean, ‘you cant tell me’?”

“It’s a ‘surprise’.”

“What kind of’ ‘surprise’?”

“I can’t tell you!”

Smiling slyly, “Oh?”

“ ‘Oh’?” So well knowing how to get to Mitchell…

...Slowly. Watching his eyes watch ‘every’ deliberate movement of her fingers…

...Slowly, Marsha began to unbutton her blouse.

“That’s ‘not’ fair!”

“ ‘Tough shit’!”

Chicago, Illinois

Morrie Jacobson

July 3, 1956

Stopping at the ninth floor, the elevator’s stainless-steell door silently slid open.

Tall and light complexioned, having close cropped muddy grey hair, the moderately handsome man wore a crumpled seersucker suit and—his loosened tie hanging askew—a wrinkled white dress shirt open at the collar.

Glancing nervously to the left then leaning his head around the corner, to the right. Satisfied that there was no one in the hallway, stepping out of the elevator and walking quickly to the adjacent door—having called from the intercom in the outer lobby—knowing the door was ajar, pushing it open and stepping inside. “Rhea?” Closing the door, the man locked it.

“Morrie, in here!”

Three steps taking him out of entry into the living room…

* * * *

Nearing age 45, Rhea Goldman remembered how she’d felt about herself earlier, when she was younger: her face, her figure, everything about her—with the exception of her thin legs, and the fact that her breasts sagged— had been exactly the way she liked…

Rhea Goldman was ‘beautiful’! She knew it every time she looked in a mirror. She knew it by the way people—especially men—looked at her, by the way they treated her…

But that was not, so Rhea thought, the way it is now.

When Rhea looked in the mirror now. To her, her face was haggard, her eyes shadowed, her stomach soft and crisscrossed with stretch marks.

Actually, the pregnancy caused stretch marks had faded to barely noticeable lines across her abdomen. And, true , her stomach, hips, and buttocks were slightly larger and rounder. And ‘yes’, her facial features had softened…

But Rhea almost almost forty-five and the image her mirror reflected was no longer that of the young woman she’d been. What Rhea saw in the mirror now —what she found hard to accept—was the image of a mature woman.

In truth, physically, Rhea Goldman was lovelier than ever.

* * * *

Wearing a leopard-skin patterned nylon robe, Rhea lay on her left side with her elbow propped on am arm rest with the side of her head resting upon the palm of her hand. The upper end of the zipper open ten to twelve inches. The purposeful position she was in forming a deep fissure—the length of her right breast lay upon the length of the left breast.

Standing a moment, Morrie Jacobson looked at Rhea from across the room.

Crossing the room he sat on the edge of the sofa. “We’re having the kids over tomorrow, for the Fourth, you know, and Dottie’s expecting me home to take her shopping, so I can only stay a couple of minutes, but, uh...”

Turning onto her back the motion caused the robe to part exposing most of both breasts. Teasing him, reaching to him, Rhea held the back of his neck in one hand… and put the other high up on his thigh.

“...Uh, I wanted to stop by to let you know that…” No longer speaking. Unable to resist, pulling the tab to the zipper downward and using only his forefinger lifted the edge of the leopard skin patterned material that partially covered Rhea’s breast, exposing it completely.

A diminutive woman, ‘Dorothy’, Morrie’s wife, was so flat chested that her chest was actually concave and man,’always’ wanting that which man does not have, Morrie Jacobson of course, had a breast fetish.

“Um, to…”

Her fingers, absently moving to the inner seam, touched him ‘there’—which caused Morrie to jerk upward while tighten his thighs.

Rhea Goldman and Morris Jacobson had known each other intimately for six years. But even so, each time she touched him, there, Morrie jerked and Rhea loved to make Morrie jerk..

“...Uh...” finding his voice, “...I wanted to stop by let you know that that ‘thing’ you wanted me to take care of…”

Sitting up, “For my son-in-law?”

Both breasts fully exposed. “Yeah.” Forcing his eyes to her face. “We kind’a lucked into something. You know, when we first talked about it…”

* * * *

At age 55, Morris Jacobson was a political hack on the north side of Chicago.

Although a ‘hack’, Morrie was an influential, well know hack—a man whom local politicians could rely on to solve many of the troublesome problems between themselves and their constituency.

Because of this Morris Jacobson was a man who had ‘connections’ throughout city hall, including the ‘Cook County Assessors Office’, of which he’d taken monetary advantage for himself, his friends, members of his family and also Rhea Goldman because the way Morrie repaid Rhea for her ‘friendship’ was that on occasion he’d pass on a bit of information regarding a ‘neat’ piece of property that might be on the list to be confiscated by the state of Illinois in lieu of unpaid, back taxes.

Rhea then called around until she found another of her ‘friends’ that might be interested in that ‘neat piece of property’.

When a deal was made—always for thousands beneath the assessed value of the property—Rhea received a secret cash commission that she stashed in her own private safety deposit box.

This secret stash was primarily where the cash came from to pay for Marsha’s and Mitchell’s diamond engagement rings and their large wedding

The only direct favour she had ever asked of Morrie—besides if he knew a way to get Mitchell transferred from the Halfmoon into an office job—was to ‘get the fire inspector off my back’! regarding a slum apartment building that she and unknown to them, Marsha and Mitchell had purchased with the money received from their wedding that Rhea was holding for ‘safekeeping’.

Deep down, her three sisters and brother’ thought’ they knew Rhea prostituted herself, but refused to admit it to themselves or to hurt Eli.

Rhea’s mother still gave gifts of ‘things’ or cash to her children. By that time though, Pearl had become a bit ‘addled’ anyway so if Rhea explained the ‘things’ and extra money were gifts from her old mother, still on her ‘china doll pedestal’ Eli would not allow himself to think otherwise.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave…

* * * *

“You know, when we first talked about it,” Morrie continued, “I thought I’d have a try at working it from here, from city hall. But then I ran into Jim Dickson, Senator ‘D’s’ press agent at a fundraiser about a week ago and asked if he’d, maybe, mention it to the senator. You know, as a favor to me...”— Not above reminding Rhea of his importance— “...So Dickson took your son-in-laws name and what information you gave me and today I got a call from Washington, from Dickson…”

Stopping, taking hold of Rhea’s hand, placing it palm down onto his flaccid penis, Morrie immediately sensed himself beginning to engorge.

Looking at him expectantly, “Soooo?” Rhea questioned.

“Soooo…” Morrie smiled, squeezing her hand squeezing his now fully erect penis, “...it’s all taken care of! Your son-in-law will be getting transfer papers by Friday.”

“Morrie, ‘thank you’!”

Knowing full well how Morris Jacobson wanted to be thanked.

Fully unzipping the robe and purposely allowing her pendulous breasts to dangle before him. Taking his hands, holding both palms up in hers. Holding both palms fractionally beneath her thick, protruding nipples, moving both hands— grazingly— barely touching in a small circle.

“You’re wonderful, and the kids’ll thank you, too!”

Staring at Rhea’s breasts.

Sensing the hardened tips of her— barely touching nipples— pleasantly searing the flesh of his palms.

“Rhea...” Breathing her name, “… Do it!”

“I thought you had to take Dottie shopping.” Smiling slyly “Remember? For tomorrow.”

“ ‘Screw Dottie.!” Morrie said vehemently. “I’ll tell her I got tied up in traffic! Come on, Rhea, ‘please’!”

“Sure, Morrie.” Standing. Holding his hand while leading him into the bedroom. “If ‘anyone’ deserves it, it’s you.”

Shrugging the robe off. Fully naked now Rhea left it where it fell. Taking a large towel from the bathroom and laying it flat on the bed. Going to her dresser for a bottle of ‘Jergans’ hand lotion, opening it, Rhea set it on the night stand.

At six foot, one inch tall, Morris Jacobson weighed two hundred, ten pounds and— for a man his age in his type of non physical work— was in fairly good shape…

Always very understandable—for Rhea—to see why he’d married as small a woman as Dorothy, and why he ‘always’, jokingly, or maybe not ‘so’ jokingly, referred to his eldest son as, ‘That kid with the god damned big head’! Because…

Except for her son when he was nearing nine years old—the last time Rhea had seen Roger naked—Morris Jacobson had the smallest penis Rhea had ever seen.

The first time she’d seen him minus clothing, she had to force herself to keep from laughing, and when they’d ‘attempted’ intercourse Rhea knew he had to feel lost within the breadth of her vagina…

But ‘good old Yankee ingenuity’ came into play and Rhea, having what Morrie ‘really’ desired—big breasts—and Morrie having a penis too small to feel the friction within Rhea’s vagina, believing ‘where there’s a will there’s a way’. Rhea came up with a solution…

Both nude now, Morrie sat with his back against the headboard with the towel beneath both his and Rhea’s buttocks as, sitting with his thighs spread over hers, Rhea poured a small amount of hand lotion into the palm of her hand and squeezed it tightly over Morrie’s elongated, albeit boy sized penis as, ogling Rhea’s breasts. Holding both within his hands, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers, Rhea…

 * * **

And Mitchell wondered what kind of ‘pull’ his mother-ion-law could possibly have to get him transferred off the ship.

The daughter, however, knew exactly what kind of pull her mother had.

  ****

In 1933…

Gustafson’s loss of composure at the mere sight of one accidentally exposed breast and minutes later his ‘wholly’ involuntary ejaculation at the mere touch of that breast, had been the catalyst for what, in 1933, had begun as little more than a flirtatious game to see how much power she, and her breasts, could wield.

Rhea soon discovered that ‘most’ of the men she met were willing to be generous to her if she was ‘nice’ to them.

Besides the game she and her breasts played, Rhea ‘truly’  believed that she deserved more out of life than her husband could, or most likely would ‘ever’ be able to give her. So, while Eli was at work—usually six days a week, often for ten hours a day—she began a series of liaisons and affairs that continued for the next thirty years.

The men she was ‘nice’ to were usually the ones in her everyday life: the ‘banker’, the ‘jeweller’, the ‘furrier’… and the ‘local hack politician’. As a means of rationalisation, she ‘must’ be attracted to the man…

Of course the more affluent the man, the more Rhea was attracted.

As a means of protection, because of the stringent divorce laws in the state of Illinois, the man must ‘always’ be married and— depending on age, importance and, of course, worth— the man, if possible, must have no less than one child.

Although Rhea did ‘occasionally’ enjoy sex, sex itself did not usually concern her.

What did concern Rhea, however, was the power, adoration and most ‘especially’, the material things the act gave her.

Because she had deluded herself into believing it, Rhea truly ‘did’ believe that power, adoration, and ‘things’ were imperative factors in her life and because of this she did not, in ‘any’ way consider herself a prostitute. And most certainly ‘not’ a whore.

Her men friends thought of Rhea as beautiful and refined. A ‘dame’ in need of more than her working stiff husband could provide and, so long as they were careful, the situation was ideal because Rhea provided a safe rendezvous for their tryst—and she ‘was’ a married woman with a family after all, who was ‘not’ about to advertise their liaison, or affair.

As for Eli…

Accustomed to receiving the benefits of his overly generous mother-in-law, It makes Rhea happy, he thought, then it’s okay with me! So he did not question where the money came from for the things that beautified their home. Maybe, he further thought, these things will make life a little more enjoyable for Rhea. Or, They will make life a little easier for Rhea.

Improprieties of ‘any’ type, especially of ‘that’ magnitude for his ‘china doll wife on his pedestal of adoration’ never occurred to Eli.

Maybe because he was such a ‘nice’ guy’ and so well liked that no one ever told him. Or maybe, for Eli, ignorance truly ‘was’ bliss. Or maybe, as the saying goes, ‘the husband is ‘always’ the last to know’. So…

Eli never did know…

Or if he did know, maybe fearful of having to topple Rhea’s pedestal and lose his china doll, Eli ‘never’ showed it.

 Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Sammy, Abbie & Secrets”