A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Opening Up”

Careful "R" Rated

Chicago, Illinois

Wednesday, March 27, 1963

Each knowing — as an addictive narcotic, each knowing the other was something, someone they could ‘not’ willingly give up.

Each knowing this was going to be an ongoing relationship. So now came a mandatory, though hopefully honest 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 other’s words a month earlier.

Each remembering the other’s 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…”

He had thought about it.

He’d thought about it during their entire month apart.

He’d thought about it in times of personal passion and in absolute passionless times.

He’d thought about it—when her ‘well’ and when in the peacefully loving before and after sexual times with his wife.

How much to say without making a commitment, though Mitchell would give anything—anything but his children—for Elizabeth and himself to have a lifelong commitment to each other.

“Marsha and me… I think, kind of…” careful here—...we fell out of love with each other.”

“Sometimes marriages can get that way, especially with three kids! But…”

Cutting her off, turning onto his side, facing her, “She hates me!”

“Hates you? Come on, Mitch!”

Their bodies touching. Their faces close enough to each feel the warm breath of the other.

“Liz, Marsha hates me! She’s always angry! If I touch her I get this look of… disgust. And it’s been this way for years now. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.

“Okay, yeah, I know I’m not the perfect husband, and do… If we’re —making a commitment, together long enough…

Forever, Elizabeth thought. Forever, I hope.

“…If we’re together long enough, I do, you’d see. Sometimes I fly off the handle easily, but I always feel sorry when I do and apologise almost instantly. And I do sometimes let my mouth get in the way of my brain and say things that at the time I think are smart or funny that come out all wrong.”

“You’re a man. What a concept! Saying dumb things comes with the territory.”

“Yeah. Liz! But by now Marsha should know me well enough to know that just because I say something stupid doesn’t mean she always has to get so mad that she says rotten, nasty things back!

“And she doesn’t care what she says or who’s around to hear it and then… And sometimes, really Liz, it’s really over nothing and then she refuses to talk to me for days.

“And the worst part of all of this is that the kids feel it and I know it makes them very unhappy.

Well remembering Marsha from the Transco Christmas dinner in 1958 .

Remembering her—at least as as far as Elizabeth was concerned, Marsha’s haughty, rather unfriendly attitude and the condescending way she spoke to Mitchell.

Disliking Marsha from the moment she’d met her, Elizabeth realised that her aversion to Marsha might have been because she was the wife of the man she loved.

But now hearing Mitchell and, truly, from his demeanour thinking she knew him. Unable to understand how anyone could dislike him ‘that’ much, to treat him as badly as he said his wife did.

Maybe, though, Marsha’s treatment of Mitchell gave Elizabeth the needed rationalisation for continuing their liaison.

****

The verbal flood gates open:..

“Marsha took Mikey and walked out on me two times.”

“ ‘Really’!”

“Yeah! Marsha took my son and walked out on me, twice!”

“No! Why? ‘Why’ would she do that?”

“Why’d she do that? I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“When?”

“Mikey was…” thinking, “about six weeks old the first time. One day I came home from my second job…”

“You had two jobs?”

“Yes. And when I came home that day Marsha was at her mother’s and she had dumped all my things into boxes and left them on the middle of the floor with a note… a really shitty note telling me that she hated me…”

“ ‘Hated you’!”

“Yes! And that she wanted me to get out.”

“And you did get out? You just left?”

“Course not! I tried to see her! I tried to talk to her! But her mother wouldn’t let me in the apartment and by that time I was so damned mad and…”

“Hurt?” Elizabeth intejected.

“‘Hurt’? Oh, yeah! You have no idea.”

“So you left.”

“Yeah! I did! I left and didn’t see her or Mikey for about two months and we even got lawyers and even got as far as court then… Maybe we shouldn’t have, but we got together again.”

Incredulously asked, “And this happened again?”

“Yeah, about a year later.” Thinking… “Yeah, Mikey was about thirteen months old, and one day when I came home from work all of our furniture and everything but my clothes had been packed up and moved from the apartment and at that time I didn’t know where Marsha and my baby went to and no one would tell me…”

“ ‘You didn’t know where your wife and son were’?” Disbelieving, “And ‘no one’ would tell you?”

“Yeah! And I didn’t see her or my son for about three months.”

Knowing how much Mitchell loved his children. Knowing how hard those seemingly unreasonable separations had to have been for him, putting her hand on his chest. “And you don’t know why she did this to you… twice?”

“Liz, yeah! ‘Yeah’, we did have money problems and we did have lots and lots of problems with both our parents. But we were newlyweds with a baby, and money problems and interference problems sometimes come along with newlyweds and if they love each other, somehow…”

Pausing, taking a deep breath. “... If they ‘really’ love each other, somehow they hold things together and the wife doesn’t just walk out taking everything leaving her husband with nothing!”

Both quiet.

Wondering, Why didn’t he divorce her then, when he only had one kid?

“And you,” Mitchell asked. “Why are you here with me, like this?”

“Doing what with you? Lying in bed with you?” Her index finger still entwined in the hair of his armpit, she gave a slight yank.

“Okay, we’re talking honestly! Okay, ‘yeah’, from the time I sat at the desk across from you, I’ve loved you, and I’ve, uh, kind of, fantasied being with you this way.”

“Way back then? Really? So...” he asked seriously. , “...you disappointed?”

“ ‘Disappointed’? Are you kidding?” Elizabeth said sincerely. “You’re ‘everything’ I want in a man!” And you?” she asked. “Are you disappointed?”

Feeling emasculated by his wife. Now, having heard, ‘You’re everything I want in a man’ from this beautiful woman.

His hand fondling her left buttock. “Liz, you’re even lovelier than I imagined! And from the time I sat at the desk across from you, I dreamt of being with you like this! ‘Disappointed’?”

His hands now holding either side of her face, “You’re so fucking beautiful...” looking into her almond shaped, green eyes, “If I didn’t believe in God before, I do now.”

“Me too, Mitchie.” Her hand, moving from his hip, holding his flaccid penis. “I dreamt of holding you like this.” Her lips finding his, his tongue finding hers and, no longer flaccid…

“Oh, yeah, baby!” Moving lower on the bed, her tongue tracing around his tightening nipples, down his chest and, in a quick motion, shifting her position, her crooked knees now on either side of his head.

‘Needing’ it! As though their sexually induced fluids a needed elixir…

Starving for the feel of ‘him’ in her mouth, Oh, my God! Her mouth closing about him… Drawing inward, feeling him filling her mouth...

Looking at, Oh, my God! Elizabeth’s golden hued vulva. Parting her buttocks, seeing her moisture slicked vagina, the moist scent heightening the near unbearable eroticism. Lifting his head. His face where he’d dreamt his face being. His tongue where he’d dreamt his tongue being…

As though starving for it... Indeed, starving for it…

His hips going upward to meet the warmth of her mouth…

Her pelvis going downward to meet the thrusting of his tongue…

Nearing, “Liz I’m going to…”

Needing him! Needing the taste of him. Indeed, needing the taste of him…

Feeling the strong contractions within her mouth, tasting the light saline taste… swallowing.

Oh, my God!

****

Showered, “Liz?” and peacefully back in bed.

“Yeah, Mitch?”

“You never really answered my question.”

“Question?”

“Yeah! “Why are you here with me like this?”

“I told you.”

“Yeah, I know! Because you fantasied about being with me this way. But really! Why am I really here?”

Hesitating… ”I told you how I grew up...”

“Yes. You did.”

So I told you that Myron’s kind of a, uh, he’s kind of a health nut…”

In a way relieved, in a way disappointed. “Your husband’s a health nut, and that’s why you’n’me are together like this?”

“Yeah.” Knowing it sounded lame, her rational for being with Mitchell ‘this way’ weak in comparison to his reasons.

“Mitchie, he’s always running and when he’s not running he’s at the gym playing basketball or working out and he expects me to do that stuff with him, and I hate it! I know we all need exercise and I run a half mile or so twice a week. But he thinks I’m, uh… on the heavy side and I guess, well, his intentions are good, but he’s always on my back about exercise and my eating…

“I know he thinks he does it to help me, and also, I think to control me and I’ve gotten to hate being controlled by him.”

“Liz, I’ve never seen you eat anything but a salad.”

Smiling, “Mitchie, if you think about it, we’ve really only eaten together once.”

Returning the smile, “Actually, including today, we’ve eaten together three times.”

Knowing what he meant, she blushed. “You’re right! But all I ever eat is baked, broiled or boiled chicken or fish and salad. And every time Myron looks at me...” exaggerating slightly, “... he tells me that I’m… uh, heavy and have to lose weight, so he’s constantly pushing me to run with him or go to the gym with him and he’s driving me crazy!”

Thinking a long moment..

“Know what, Mitchie? It’s all ‘bullshit!’! He’s really not a bad guy and the way Myron treats me is ‘not’ the reason I’m here with you. The reason I’m here with you is because I love you and I love the way your dick feels in my mouth and I love you eating me and I love the way we fuck and I love the way you look at me!”

“Baby, I love it, when my dick’s in your mouth and my face is into your pussy and I absolutely ‘love; the way we fuck!” Adding, “And I ‘love’ your body and I love the way you look, Lizzie, and wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

Chicago, Illinois

Wednesday, April 24, 1963, 12:12 p.m.

Raining on this day.

Waiting.

Standing outside within the cover of a doorway watching…

Seeing Elizabeth approaching from a half block away, rushing to meet her.

“Hi, baby!” Holding Elizabeth’s elbow, steering her off the sidewalk into a doorway, their arms held tightly about each other, their lips meeting…

A long, seemingly never ending month away from each other, the words coming as naturally as breathing:

Her face held within his hands, looking, just looking at her face. “I love you!”

“Oh, God, Mitchie...” Elizabeth replied. “...I love you, too!”

Next FBOW excerpt in sequence. “A Divorce”