A FBOW excerpt in sequence: Blood Sugar
Careful, a bit of sex here
Quietly lying alongside his wife spoon fashion. His arm between her arm and chest. His hand cupping her left breast with her hand holding his.
Marsha’s face turning to the side, “Mitchie...” totally surprising him, “...I’m sorry at times I’m such a bitch.”
On this night, his hand cupping a breast with her hand holding his.
Breasts: Larger; fuller... ‘Beautiful’! In comparison there was no comparison.
Realising his wife had given him three wonderful children that had caused bodily changes.
Feeling the soft flesh within his hand. Sensing the hardened nipple pressed into his palm… I love you, he thought.
“I love you!” Mitchell sincerely said.
The last conscious thought Mitchell Lipensky had on this night was…
I’m going to break it off! I’m not going to see Elizabeth again!
__________________________________________
Des Plaines,Illinois
February 28, 1963 —
On this day Marsha’s blood sugar roller coasting. Her sense of well-being gone this day.
Tired the next day.
Depressed the next day.
Her impatient anger returning the next day…
Night after night….
Once again the all too familiar sequence returning.
Headaches, stomach aches. Anger.
“I’m just too tired.”
****
Wednsday, March 22, 1963
Hoping, actually praying to find a reason not to see Elizabeth again.
After forcing himself to remain awake—thinking he heard Marsha’s sigh of displeasure at finding him awake.
Relenting, the wife allowed the husband to have perfunctory, wordless, completely unsatisfying sex.
No! No reason to break it off.
Torn! His mind going in two directions: ‘Do not do it!’
And...
Completely giving in, Mitchell impatiently waited for the twenty-seventh.
Chicago, Illinois
Wednesday, March 27, 1963
11:27 a.m.
“Hi, Donna, it’s Mitch. Any calls for me?”
Holding his breath, No calls! Silently praying, No calls, ‘please’, no calls!
“No, nothing, Mitch.”
Letting his breath out quietly, “Thanks, Donna.”
****
Arriving at Harding’s before Elizabeth.
On this day seated on the main floor facing the entry.
Craning his neck over two rows of occupied tables.
“Good afternoon.” Bringing water and a menu. “Would you care for a drink today, sir?”
“Uh, no. Not just yet, thank you, but I’m waiting for someone.”
“I’ll check back later then, sir.” Leaving the water and menu the waitress moved on.
Watching for her.
Knowing he shouldn’t.
Anxiously watching for her…
Praying for her to come.
Knowing he shouldn’t.
Praying for her not to come.
Yeah!
His heart jumping. His breath catching, God, she’s beautiful!
Standing, Mitchell motioned to her.
Spotting him, she motioned back and began to weave her way around tables on her way to him.
Coming to him…
Seeing Mitchell for the first time since saying and kissing goodbye just inside her doorway a month before.
Noting men stopping in their conversations or eating, watching as Elizabeth progressed towards their tables, looking as she came abreast then heads turning as she passed by.
Desire. Need. Love overshadowing apprehensive common sense.
Forestalling the kiss he knew was forthcoming. Standing, Mitchell held his hand forward.
Disappointed, but knowing the reason for a handshake rather than a kiss in this crowded restaurant.
But then again, this handshake might be the opening for, ‘Let’s not do this any more’!
No need to worry.
Seated. Taking her hand. Bringing it to his lips... “You hungry?” ...kissing it. “Or would rather just get out of here?”
Always looking for an excuse not to eat, “Yes!”
“Yes?”
“Yes, let’s get out of here!”
****
Opening the door, walking in…
His lips on her lips.
Her arms about him.
With not the slightest pretence of patience…
Primal instinct mutually overtaking both.
Clothing hastily removed—foreplay would come later—with not the slighted feign at quiet love, nor embarrassment.
Doing what both had waited a month to do.
Doing what each desperately wanted to do…
“Fuck me, Mitchie!” Never uttering these words before—not even to her husband. “Oh, God!” Her fingers tightly entwined in his hair, her knees draping his shoulders. His hips thrusting to meet her…
“Fuck me!”
****
The first mutually shared shower of the afternoon over.
The time spent with his penis within Elizabeth's ‘draw and release’ mouth and Mitchell’s head very comfortably and warmly ensconced between Elizabeth's soft thighs with his face within the heavy thatch of dark blonde hair whit his tongue moving inward and outward in syncopation with her slowly gyrating hips…
She: Stopping suddenly, her hands holding his head tightly to her vagina. Her fingers entwined within in his hair as— thighs tightening and loosening... as the fluid of her orgasm flooded his mouth…
Which, in the heat of passion he willingly swallowed.
He: Hips and penis slowly moving inward and outward…
As Elizabeth;s hands went to his head and her fingers tightly entwined in his hair now faster...faster…
Feeling his penile contractions within her mouth as he — once, twice, three and four times stronglyejaculated...
Which, in the heat of passion she willingly swallowed.
Lying still as their physical and mental heat subsided...then heads and and mouths and bodies separated.
When his penis lay limply onto his thigh…
“Mitchie, you like some orange juice?”
Wile in the heat of their passion ‘all’ is welcome. When the heat of passion passes...
“Yeah, Lizzie. Orange juice would be great.”
Watching her naked backside as she walked to the kitchen.
As before, noting that her ‘hourglass’ figure was accentuated due to her wide hips giving Elizabeth her truly desirable figure. Also giving Elizabeth— when naked, noticeably wide buttocks and slightly chubby thighs.
Also noting as he watched Elizabeth as she walked to the kitchen an upward twitching within his currently slumbering penis.
What ‘really’ did Elizabeth Herzon and Mitchell Lipensky know of each other, other than their shallow, literally skin deep attraction?
****
What ‘really’ did Marsha Goldman and Mitchell Lipensky ‘personally’ know of each other, other than their shallow, literally, skin deep attraction?
In 1955 when Marsha quickly mentioned it. What she had said did not matter. He did not care. What she had said did not register because all Mitchell Lipensky wanted to do on that night, at that time was to make love… To have sexual intercourse with his brand new— though possibly, as his mother-in-law had insisted, ‘You’re not married in the eyes of God’. But certainly within the law of the State of Illinois Marsha and Mitchell were married.
Retrospective 21: Chicago, Illinois October 18, 1955
Mitchell looked at his watch: 1:05 a.m.
After receiving permission to spend the night together under Rhea’s special conditions, driving to Skokie and waiting for Walter and Myra, 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 a nosh.
When they returned to the apartment at 11:50, Eli had long since been asleep and Rhea, as expected, was watching television.
Midnight: “Mitchie. Why don’t you go in the bathroom and change into your pajamas?”
“Yeah...” said, just a little louder than necessary, “...that’s a ‘good idea’!”
While in the bathroom Marsha went into her parent’s room, to Eli’s bottom drawer where, knowing he wouldn’t care, she 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.
12:38 a.m.: “Mother, I want to open the bed… Mitch, help me, will you.”
Not taking that hint either, Rhea, without comment, changed from the sofa to a chair.
1:05 a.m.: Finally ‘Kate Smith’ sang . ‘God Bless America’ and the picture of the flag was replaced with the TV test pattern.
Sipping the last of her coffee and taking her pills. “Think it’s time I went to bed.” Standing, stretching, looking sternly from Marsha to Mitchell, “You two be good now!” Rhea said. “ You promised! ‘One below and one abov ’!”
Reminding them that they had promised to sleep one above the blanket and one below..
Oh, yeah! Sure thing!
...“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 blanket cocoon. “...why?”
“ ‘Cause you wanna touch my boobies, that’s why.”
Oh, yeah! Pretending to consider a moment, “Yeah, that’s true , I do!” 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 that 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.”
“What about the blood?” he asked.
The blood’?” Thinking a moment. “Oh...Don’t worry about that, I broke my ‘cherry’ a year or so ago horse back riding.”
Compleatly passing it off.
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, but…”
****
It took a few years for that moment in tme to register on the mind of Mitchell Lipensky… ‘Don’t worry about that, I broke my ‘cherry’ a year or so ago horse back riding’.
He'd compleatly passed it off and by this time it really didn’t matter and, he supposed, if he did ask his wife and she lied how would he know.
But every now and then he did wonder if his virgin wife was really a virgin so...
What ‘really’ did Elizabeth Herzon and Mitchell Lipensky know of each other, other than their shallow, literally skin deep attraction?
“Mitchie...” on her right side, her head propped in the palm of her hand, “...why?”
Now that he’d tasted her—literally and figuratively—knowing Elizabeth was…?
Each knowing —as an addictive narcotic, each knowing the other was something, someone they willingly could ‘not’ give up.
Each knowing this was going to be an ongoing relationship, so now came a mandatory, though voluntary conversation.
“Mitchie, why?”
On his back, hands behind his head, his head cradled by his entwined fingers, knowing ‘why’ but asking. “Why what?”
Moving her outer thigh closer to the side of his thigh, touching. “Why now. ‘Us’. Now.”
Enjoying this peaceful after sex time. “You and me?”
Curling a finger around the hair of his armpit. “Yes.” Wanting to hear him say…
Each hearing the words a month earlier.
Wanting a passionless confirmation.
Knowing what he wanted to say. Afraid of saying what he wanted to say…
“Marsha and me…”
Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Opening Up”
