A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Decision Made”

Chicago, Illinois

February 17, 1963

Wanting more than an ‘affair’, but at this time taking whatever he would give, whatever she could get…

Who knows about the future?

Elizabeth in a heightened state of anticipation.

Mitchell in deep thought, still considering the life altering move he was about a half hour away from taking.

Once again in their quiet mode, the Oldsmobile turned off Lake Shore onto Bryn Mawr, onto Ridge angling northwest to—the street that bordered the cities of Chicago and Evanston—to Howard Street and the Elevated station. Taking a right on Howard…

“There it is.”

“That Coral Lark?”

“Yes.”

His mind made up... Okay, Mitchell thought, when I get out, I’ll tell her I’m sorry, but I can’t do this and I’m going to go home.

Pulling into a no parking area behind the Lark.

Turning to him, “Don’t worry,” caressing his cheek, “I won’t lose you, Mitchie.”

His door to fidelity still open, thinking, Tell her you’re going home! ‘Tell her’!

Instead, taking her hand, holding it tightly against his cheek, “I won’t let you lose me, baby!”

****

Stopping in front of a large, three story ‘C’ shaped structure.

Getting out of her car, coming to his. “Park here, Mitchie. I’ll meet you in...” pointing, “...the foyer.”

“What if someone bumps into you with me?”

“No one knows anyone here…

“I’ve assigned parking in the back and I’ll see you in a minute.”

Leaning through the window she kissed his forehead — and once again as though reading his thoughts. “You’re not going to disappear, are you?”

His door to fidelity still open, ‘Tell her’!

“No, Lizzie.” Holding her face in both hands, kissing her on the mouth. “I’m not going to disappear.”

****

Following Elizabeth to the second floor landing.

It’s still not too late!

Watching, as though in slow motion, as Elizabeth slipped the key into the lock.

It’s still not too late!

The door unlocked.

Tell her.

His door to fidelity still open, Tell her!

Stepping inside the beautifully furnished apartment.

Tell…

The door that had been open, closed.

Taking hers off, “Leave your coat here, Mitchie.”

Dropping his coat onto a chair…

Following her. Feeling as though in a metaphysical dream. Knowing that in a minute he was going to be naked with a woman other than Marsha… Other than his wife.

Knowing that for the first time in his adult life he would be making love… having sex with a woman other than Marsha… Other than his wife.

Knowing that within minutes he would be naked and making love… having sex with this beautiful young woman whom, since meeting in October of 1958 Mitchell Lipensky had felt he loved.

With this beautiful young woman whose body, whose breasts and vagina he’d imagined since sitting at their head to head desks while both in training at Transco Envelope Company.

Mitchell followed Elizabeth into what he assumed was the guest bedroom.

Feeling awkward now.

At that point in time when a conscientious person knows that he, or she is approaching a life changing ‘point of no return’.

At a loss as how to proceed, he watched as Elizabeth kicked her shoes off, laid on the bed and, “Come on, Mitchie,” patted the pillow.

“I’ve something to tell you.”

Draping his jacket over a chair, pulling his tie and shoes off, Mitchell Lipensky lay alongside Elizabeth Herzon.

On their sides. Facing each other. The length of their bodies touching, sensing the heat of their fully clothed bodies through their clothing. Living closely together, their lips met… gently, gently… Their tongues touched… Touching, feeling, tasting. His hand now slipping onto her left buttock…

Pulling back. “Mitchie, wait...” she’d putting it off, but now felt she must, “...I have to tell you something.”

Her tone and changing demeanour alarming, his immediate thought going to a cancerous breast, or breasts removal.

Apprehensively, “What’s that, Liz?”

Noting the look on his face, feminine intuition telling her, “Oh no Mitch! If ‘that’s’ what you’re thinking, I don’t have cancer and still have both of them.”

Breathing a sigh of relief. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Thank God you don’t!...”

Changing positions, sitting upright on the edge of the bed, “...what do you want to tell me?”

“Mitchie, I know that so far— for you it doesn’t look it but...”

Not even giving this prelude of their their lives to Myron, who hadn’t found out until he’d seen his new wife nude.

“...Mitchie, I used to be fat.”

“You ‘used to be fat’? So what!”

“No, you don’t understand! I used to be ‘really’ fat.

“Lizzie, it doesn’t matter what you ‘used’ to be! You’re ‘beautiful’ now.”

“I know you think so, and thank you but….”

Interrupting. “You’re the most beaut...”

“Shhh!” Putting a finger over his lips. “Mitchie, ‘please’ let me explain.”

Aware of it’s importance. “I’m sorry, baby. Go ahead.”

“When I was a kid, all the other kids teased me terribly because I was so fat and when I got into high school...” her voice breaking, “... I was constantly bullied and couldn’t even make one friend.”

Noting her emotion, Mitchell took hold of her hand.

“So...” going on, “...when I started college, when I was seventeen I decided that I’d had enough and swore to myself that I would not spend the rest of my life as ‘the fat girl’. So put myself on a starvation diet for the next fourteen months and lost near eighty pounds...”

“ ‘Eighty pounds’?”

“Mitchie, those fourteen months were the hardest in my life, and I still have to fight every day.”

Remembering...

Remembering their accidental meeting.

“I remember, that time about a year and a half ago when we had lunch and you only had a small salad, and how you stared at my hamburger and fries.”

“I would have killed for one of those fries.”

Patting the pillow. “Come on back.”

He lay next to her again.

Facing each other, heads upon the same pillow. Faces close enough so each felt the other’s breath.

“When I got married… Did I tell you Myron's a ‘health nut’?”

“No. You never told e anything about your husband.”

“Well, he’s the kind of guy that still plays basketball with a couple of his old friends each Sunday morning and—I did mention that he likes to run.”

“Yes, you told me that.”

In the summer, or if it’s not too cold, if he gets home early enough he likes to run four or five miles down near the beach before supper and tells me ‘it’s good for me’. It’s a good way to keep my weight down.

“Myron thinks that I should lose more weight so drags me out to run with him whenever he goes. But I can’t go anywhere as far or as fast, so after about ten, fifteen minutes I stop and sit on a bench waiting for him to come back.”

Twining his fingers through her fine, dark blonde hair, “It wouldn’t hurt me to get more exercise than I do.” Thinking, which is almost none.

“Well...” cuddling a bit closer,”...I hate running.”

“Do you love him?”

“Myron?”

“Yes. Do you love him?”

A loaded question for Elizabeth: Do I love Myron? Saying: “He’s a pretty good guy, but...”

Thinking of their sparse diets: Elizabeth to keep her weight from returning; Myron to keep his weight from coming on.

“Do I love Myron? He’s a pretty good guy but… no, I don’t think so.”

Easing her on to her back. Scooting downward so—lying upon one pillow, their faces on an even plane.

A foot apart, each studying the face of the other. Each looking into the eyes of the other. Each wondering how, after five years, what miracle—if it so turns out to be, had brought them to this time and place.

“Mitchie...” moving her face closer, her lightly brushing tongue circling his lips, “...I love you.”

Feeling the touch of her tongue as it circled his lips once, twice, then opening, drawing inward, Elizabeth’s tongue is welcomed as it joined with his…

Kissing gently, yet passionately until...

Breathing the words into her ear, “I love you, too, Liz.”

His hand, now onto her stomach pulled the blouse from beneath her skirt…

His hand now onto Elizabeth's warm, surprisingly soft, bare stomach…

“Mitchie…” her hand atop his, “...wait. There’s more I want to tell you.”

His hand remaining onto Elizabeth’s bare stomach. Her hand remaining atop his.

When I lost all that weight, Mitchie, it did something to my body.

“Doesn’t matter, Lizzie. You look great to me!”

“Mitchie, I want to tell you, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when we get...uh, ‘personal’.”

Sensing her seriousness. “Okay, honey, I’ll shut up.”

“When I lost all of that weight, my face, I think, turned out okay, except...”

“Beautiful, in fact!”

Shooting him a ‘shut up’ look. “ ‘Except...” going on, “...right here beneath...” pinching a heretofore unnoticed vertical fold of flesh between, “...right here beneath my chin.” Looking at Mitchell, waiting for a comment, when none came…

“My breast’s...”

“Yeah, baby, been looking forward to your boobs for...”

“Mitchell, ‘please’...” expecting a comment, “I want to get this off my chest!”

“That’s a pun, Lizzie?”

Ignoring the question. “My breasts were huge before… Before I lost the weight and then went down two bra sizes, and...”

Expecting a comment, but all she got was a kind of, ‘so what’ shrug from Mitchell.

“…and my breasts have very noticeable stretch marks…

His hand still pressed to her belly. “If you’re worried about that, Lizzie, that won’t bother me in the slightest.”

“Yes, I’d imagine that you’re used to stretch marks, but she had three babies and she’s supposed to have stretch marks.”

Again a noncommittal shrug.

Lifting his hand. Pulling her blouse higher and her skirt and panties a lower exposing her stretch-marked stomach along with a fatty fold of flesh between her navel and exposed pubic hair.

“No matter how many sit-ups I do or how many squats I do I can’t seem to get rid of that damned roll of blubber.”

Seeing Mitchell continuing to look—However what he was actually looking at was her exposed, dark blonde pubic hair—she pulled her panties and skirt up.

“As far as my legs...” going on with her self-depreciating lecture “...I guess Myron’s running has done me some good after-all because my legs are looking pretty good, I think.”

Remembering thinking her calves a bit on the heavy side when he followed her upstairs at Hardings fourteen months ago. And had not been in a position to see her legs, or even had a thought of looking at her legs today.

“So you know, Myron and me never had sex before we were married and I never told Myron how I looked naked, and when he found out I think he figured me a ‘work in progress’...” giggling. “...and I guess he still does.

“In case you’re wondering why I’m telling you all this, it’s because it’s the way I am and I’m damned sick of pretending to be other than what I am and I want you to love me for ‘me’, and not ‘just’ for the way I look.”

Sitting up again... Thoughtfully quiet.

Concerned. Maybe I told him too much. “Why so quiet, Mitchie?”

“Your ‘tush’! You never told me ‘bout your tush.”

“Thought I’d let you find out ‘bout my tush for yourself.”

“Yeah! ‘Promise’, I’ll be ‘sure’ to do that! And your ‘boobies’?”

“What about my boobies?”

“You mind showin’ me all them stretch-marks on your boobies.”

“Mitchie...” unbuttoning her blouse, “...I thought you’d never ask.”

Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: Voyage Of Discovery