173

Chapter Sixteen

Doing What Comes Naturally

New York, N.Y.

5/5/15

1:01 PM

Stepping from the dais.“You may kiss your bride.” Reverend Vivian Carter said.

The kiss by both bride and husband outwardly perfunctory, inwardly... What did we do?’... stomach churning.

At the desk, Reverend Carter signed, then stamped her ‘Notary Public’ stamp onto — legalising — the marriage certificate, then handed it to Morris, saying, “Everything all legal now, Mister Pin…?”

Anxious to leave this place and to either go along with, or send Bertha on her way,— which is what he wanted to do rather than a possible chance meeting with someone that recognised him from the ship— and get back into the hustling anonymity of Grand Central.

Forcing a smile. “It’s okay, Reverend, no one can pronounce it. What, uh…” holding his hand palm upward.

“For the ceremony and completed New York City paperwork, one dollar and fifty cents will cover it.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, removing a five dollar bill from the wallet… “Thank you!”...Morris handed it across the desk, receiving in return three dollar bills and two quarters that Morris dropped into his trouser pocket.

1:07 PM

The afternoon turning unseasonably warm. Unbuttoning jackets when stepping outside.

Before the white picket fence. “We’ll go back with you.” Agnes suggested.

“No…” solving Morris’ problem “...it will be easier to say goodbye here.”

Attempting to hold their tears. Facing each other, four hands held hand within hands.

“You know you’ve been more a daughter to me.”

“I know, auntie…” tears coming “… and you more my mother.”

“You’ll stay in touch?”

“Of course, Auntie. If we do not have a telephone at the store, I’ll get Morris to have one installed. And don’t forget I’ll be back in October for the ‘women’s march’.”

“I’d hoped you would.” Tears and a thickening throat causing her words to break.“I’ll look forward to it!” Turning to Morris, “You take good care of this… ‘your’ lady. You hear!” Bertha demanded.

An emotional man, sensing a tightening in his throat depicting a flow of his own tears. “I will…” left arm about the old woman’s shoulder, pulling her closer, right hand clutching hers “...I ‘promise’, I will!”

1:12 PM

Waving a taxi to the curb.

The driver opening the back door. “Where to, Sir?”

Handing the driver the two quarters. “Take the lady home.”

One last hug. One last tearful kiss, Bertha entered the cab.

At the curb, his arm about Agnes’ shoulder, watching as the taxi pulled from the curb. “Sweetheart…” attempting to stop both his and her pending tears “... it’s only a day and a half by train from Cincinitti to here, and Bertha can visit whenever she wants.”

In the taxi, rubbing tears from her closed eyes with a still clutched hand; opening it, Bertha discovered a crumpled hundred dollar bill.

1:17 PM

Watching until her aunt’s taxi had rounded a corner and was no longer in sight; sensing anger at this man that had unexpectedly come into her life  causing her to leave all she’d known and loved. — her treasured ‘tellers’ job at National City Bank; her home and the love of her aunt; her uncertain life with this ‘secretive’ man she hardly knew, that by marriage was now bound to for, possibly, the rest of her life, that now, at this moment disgusted with herself for allowing ‘any’ man to place her in such a self loathing position.— Angrily jerking from his arm. “So, Morris, now what!?”

The stiffing of her body. The tense look upon her face. The anger within her tone taking Morris by surprise. Unlike his normal ‘stay out of sight’ theory, quickly thinking ‘It might be better to be in the open rather than confined on the rear seat of a taxi’.‘ “Why don’t we walk for a while?”

1:19 PM

Having some Idea of the way to the terminal. Taking Agnes’ elbow, wordlessly the newlyweds walked easterly.

Feeling the soft pressure of Morris’ hand on her elbow, Agnes considered shaking it off but now… Glancing downward as, one foot following the other... Now that she was actually on her way to a new life as a married woman...Looking to her left, at this jolly appearing man that often caused a warming within her belly; this man she knew she loved; this man that was bringing her to a new life, to a business that she, ‘a woman’ would have a degree of control over.

Closing her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to be safely moved forward held within the soft clasp of this man… Of her husband.

”Morris.”

Looking to his right; at this woman that often caused a warm glow within his stomach. At this woman that was now his wife.

“Yes?”

Softly, sincerely spoken: “I love you.”

Sighing... Releasing the hold of her elbow, his hand now onto her hand.

Softly, sincerely spoken. “I love you, too.”

1:27 PM

The afternoon sun becoming intense. The excessive clothing Agnes wore for what she thought might be somewhat of a semi-formal wedding becoming warmer upon her perspiring body. “How much further you think the terminal might be?”

Not that much of a walker, actually not inclined to physical exercise of most any kind. Perspiring also. “Not really sure.” He thankfully said, asking, “Want me to signal a taxi?”

“Yes…” pulling the blouse collar from her throat “... please.”

1:34 PM

Hundreds of ceiling fans circulating whatever fresh air might be drawn through the hundreds of upper tier windows along with the dispersal of warmth from the horde of milling humanity, other than no longer in direct sunlight, the temperature within Grand Central Station but possibly five or six degrees cooler than outside.

Fanning her face with her hand, looking about. “Think we can find someplace to sit awhile.”

Within sight, Morris saw there were dozens of scattered wooden benches, most appearing to be occupied... “Think I see one.” Taking her free hand while cutting diagonally across the marbled floor, arriving a second before one other couple, Agnes and Morris sat far to the side leaving room enough for the other two who also sat.

Sitting quietly a minute in comparable coolness. “How long till our train leaves?”

1:40 PM

He hadn’t told Agnes that, if on time, their train will not be leaving until six-o-five this evening, giving them… Looking at his pocket watch, Damn! he thought, What do we do for four and a half hours? Haulingly stated: “We’ve a bit of time till we get on our way.”

Standing, Agnes removed her outer jacket. Now in an ankle length woollen skirt and a long-sleeved, heavily stretched white blouse — as were many other women in an attempt to be a little cooler, or less warm. “What do you mean by, ‘we’ve a bit of time till we get on our way’?”

“Uh… train’s not leaving until six-0-five…” adding “...if it’s on time.”

Looking at the large, four sided clock tower in centre lobby. “What do we do for four and a half hours, Morris?”

Having covered all bases when and by remaining as anonymous... as unnoticed as possible, how to spend this time, this— if the train is on time, four and a half hours had been the one situation Morris had not been able to figure an answer for.

“It’s been about two hours since you gave our luggage over to that attendant…” Agnes said in an annoyed tone “... so why don’t you check to be sure they’ll be in the right place on the right train…” adding sarcastically “… ‘whenever’ it gets here.”

“Sure. Good idea…” figuring, “This’ll kill a half hour “...I’ll check with one of the ticket sellers.”

Cutting diagonally across the wide deck towards the line of ticket sellers, looking to his left, in the far south-western corner of this huge terminal there is a— recently established — white, home like facade with a red roof reading ‘Howard Johnson’s Restaurant’.

“ ‘Afternoon…” Morris said, handing the three stapled, remaining tickets beneath the compartments bars “… gave our luggage over to a Red Cap a few hours ago and would like to know if they're where they should be.”

“Taking the tickets, “Hold on a minute.” Disappearing through a doorway… returning in a couple of minutes. “Yes…” he said “… all scheduled for your six-0-five departure.”

“That new place, there. The restaurant there…” nodding his head “how’s the food?”

“It’s good…” the ticket man said “...especially their hamburgers.”

“ ‘Ham’ burger? Never had one.” Hearing a rustling and a nearby presence. “Thank you.” Morris said, moving aside so the man behind could move forward.

She’d been watching as Morris approached, spoke to and was now returning. Feeling as a bit of a shrew remain which was not within Agnes’ personality. Softening her tone. “”Everything where it should be, and where it will be going?”

“Yes.” Noting and appreciating her change of temperament. Sitting closely alongside. “All our bags are where they should be.” Taking her hand. “Hungry, Honey?”

Tightening her fingers about his. “Yes. Actually I am.”

Cocking his head to the right. “Want to try one of those new ‘How Johnson’s’ places? There’s even one in here.”

Her body adjusting to the cooler temperature within this huge, fan cooled enclosure, glad not to have to go into the outside heat again. “Yes, that would be fine.”

1:53 PM

The motif within this sparkling clean restaurant leaning towards a country farm setting.

Seated at a table with a red and white checked table cloth; surprising, but delighting Agnes, the server was a fresh faced, upper teen-aged girl wearing a lower calf length, red skirt with a red and white gingham blouse with a name tag pinned to it giving the name ‘Elaine’.

“May I get you a glass of cold water or lemonade?” the girl asked, placing one page menus before Agnes and Morris.”

“Oh, yes! Lemonade would be wonderful!” Agnes said.

Looking a Morris a moment, as,“Please…” glancing at the menu, then to the fresh-faced girl “..me, too.”

Returning in a few minutes with two tall sweaty glasses of lemonade in a red and white paper napkin and ‘place settings’ for the two at the table. “Would you care to order now?”

“Ticket man back there…” nodding his head backward “… told me to try one of your ‘ham’ burgers. Never had a ‘ham’ burger before, so let me ask…” Morris asked “...what kind of ham is it?”

“Never had one either. So how is it prepared?”Agnes asked.

“Goodness…” the young woman said good naturally “...I get asked that question all the time. Any way, Mister Johnson told us what to say if anyone asks…”

“And do they?”

“Oh, yes. All the time. Anyway, it’s not ham in the hamburger, a hamburger is made with chopped beef.”

“Beef? A ‘ham’burger is made with meat.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Why is it called a ‘ham’burger, then?”

“Mister Johnson told us that the first time someone had the idea of putting a piece of chopped meat between two slices of bread was in Germany, in a place called Hamburg, and the people there liked eating the meat this way so much that when they began to come to America they brought this new sandwich idea with them and the Americans started calling it a Hamburger.” Elaine said.’

Looking from the girl to each other. “A sandwich named after a city in Germany?” Agnes said.

Shrugging his shoulders. “Makes sense.” Morris agreed.

“And when they began making them here in America…” Elaine said “... we thought of adding a little lettuce, a slice of tomato and onion making a kind of a salad to go along with your hamburger.”

“The ticket man also said something about some kind of a potato that goes along with it?” Morris said, taking a drink of lemonade.

“Yes. Fried potato strips…” rolling her eyes “...and are they ‘ever’ good!”

Sipping, then taking a larger drink of lemonade. “Well, you talked me into one of your hamburgers that contain no ham.”

“Yes, Ma’am. And how would you like your meat cooked?”

“What do you mean?”

“Rare? Medium rare or well done?”

Sounding better all the time. “Medium would be just fine.”

“And you, Sir?”

Without hesitation: “Like hers, please.”

6:09 PM

They’d been sitting closely together, Agnes’ head upon his shoulder, dozing. Morris, now, Morris Pink’s eyes upon the central clock terminal watching as the minutes slowly… so slowly tick by until the moment of his total escape as all the while expecting an authoritative hand to clasp his shoulder. knowing he had been lucky. So lucky. Everything; his near minute by minute plans going exactly as he’d hoped.

Minutes slowly ticking by leading to the moment Morris Pinowskiz becomes totally anonymous within the vast American mid-west.

Everything going so well… In his mind, Too well!

Starting. Awakening Agnes, as...

6:12 PPM

“All Aboard!”

Walking throughout the Grand Station Terminal. “All aboard!” The man in a conductors uniform called. “All aboard for the Atlantic and Pacific southbound.”

Hand in hand, cutting diagonally across to the Grand Central Terminal train platforms.

Tapping his connector hat, “Evening Sir, Ma’am.”Holding his hand forward. “Tickets, please.”

“Oh, yes.” As his outer coat is folded across his arm, it takes a moment or two until he is able to find the right pocket. “Here you go.” Handing the two strips of the two remaining tickets each to the man.

Glancing at the tickets, then nodding towards a group of four negro Red Caps — bringing one to step forward— Keeping one ticket while handing the other to the Red Cap, whom, tapping his cap in greeting, “If you will follow me, please,” led Morris and Agnes through four narrow aisle coaches, bringing then to the fifth coach informing the two, “This is the diner car and you can come here if you want to order a meal or drink.”

Coach number six, the next car was for Mister and Mrs Pink. Unlocking the door to compartment twelve, the Red Cap handed the key to Morris.

Reaching into his pocked, “What’s your name?”

“Floyd, Sir.”

“You going to be our, uh, helper?” Morris asked, handing the man a fifty cent piece.

The usual tip for a Red Cap was a dime, a half dollar impressive. “Yes, Sir. If you want.”

“Yes, we do.”

Obviously pleased, pointing inward, “There’s a cord there, Sir. If you need anything just pull it and I’ll come.”

6:18 PM

The cabin has two facing long cushioned sofas that will become the newlyweds beds. All their luggage had been placed onto shelves above the sofas.

Breathing a sigh of relief, or apprehension — After this afternoons long, boring wait, Agnes, more than anxious to feel the jerking sensation of the engines forward motion bringing her closer to this completely unimaginable new life, in a place she could not imagine, with this hardly known man that she must now consider as her husband.

As for Morris: Still having the sense that this whole criminal undertaking, from the time he’d paid for the forged passport to show his name to be ‘Solomon Berkowitz’, and the theft of those eight diamonds that he had smuggled into this country packed into secret compartments in the toes of his shoes, and all that had transpired from that time to now all as planned. All happening perfectly.

Yet, glancing to the closed cabin doorway, at any minute a man with a policeman’s badge might still come for him.

So close and yet?

Closing his eyes, attempting to slow the rapid beat of his heart.

“Are you okay, dear?” Noting the somewhat pained look on Morris’ suddenly pale face along with the rapid fluttering of his eyelids. Leaning forward, taking both hands into hers. “Would you like me to call for some water?”

Taking a deep breath. Opening his eye as, leaning forward and tightening his hands about Agnes’s. “Felt dizzy for a moment, but feeling better now. Water, you say?”

Nodding her head, “Yes, if you’d like.”

“What I’d like, my dear, is a drink.” Thinking, If there’s a copper aboard looking for me, there’s nothing I can do about it. A jolly tone returning. “How’s about you…” remembering the martini she had ordered the night before “... want to celebrate our new life with a ‘stiff one’.”

“Oh, I do! I do indeed.”

“I’d say, let’s go to the diner car and watch from there as we begin chugging

away sipping a lot of gin with little bitters. Okay with you, my dear?”

Relaxing herself. Standing, “Oh, yes…” straightening her dress “...can’t wait until we’re on our way.”

Passing from coach number six to coach number five, as a man dressed in black slacks and a white Jacket approached. “’Evening. Dinner’s not served till we’re on our way…” Glancing at his pocket watch “...which should be in five or six minutes. But if it’s for a drink?”

“Yes…” Morris said “...couple of martinis…” glancing at Agnes “...on the dry side, if you will.”

“Thought you said something about something called ‘bitters’?”

Looking to Agnes, “A twist of Lemon or orange peel instead of that dash of wine.” The dining car’s maître’d said.

An adventuresome lady: “Sounds interesting.”

“So, wanting to try something new?”

“Yes, honey, I do.”

“You able to handle the bitters?” Morris asked.

“ Mister, uh...”

“ ‘Pink’. Name’s ‘Pink’, and as of about five hours ago this beautiful lady is ‘Mrs Pink’.”

“Newlyweds! Congratulations! But ‘Please’ Mister Pink…” the man said jokingly “...an orange and lemon the ‘A&P Train’ line does have.” Gesturing about the empty coach. “Sit wherever you wish.”

As the sun was setting to the west, choosing a white table-cloth, crystal glasses and silver eating utensils table on the car’s east facing side, pulling the chair for his wife, Morris sat facing her.

Within moments, “Here you are.” Empty cocktail glasses placed before them. A decanter of gin along with a bowl of peeled strips of lemon and orange rinds between them.

7:04 PM

Looking at his watch…

“Seems we’re running a little late, so hot dinners will not be served until eight tonight. But if you’ll be wanting something before then, I’d like to recommend a new sandwich originated by one of A&P’s best returning customers, a Mister McDonald who’d suggested we put it onto our luncheon menu called a ‘Club Sandwich’ that ‘everyone seems to relish.”

“You hungry, dear?”

Considering but a second. “Well, it’s been about five hours since we’d eaten, but right now, ‘no’. That ‘hamburger’ thing and those delicious potato strips really filled me.” Looking from Morris to the maître’d. “Just in case….” smiling “...tell me…” she asked “… what’s a ‘Club Sandwich’?”

Wanting a drink more than something to eat, the maître’d watching as Morris brimmed both cocktail glasses with gin, then asked, “lemon or orange?”

Looking from her glass to the man standing alongside the table — holding her index finger upward signalling ‘one minute’ — “Lemon, I think.” Then watched as Morris, taking a lemon peel from the dish and, energetically twisting it above her glass, hypothetically laying a mist of lemon over the gin.

“That’s it?”

“Yes… that’s gin and bitters. Go on, taste.”

Which, grimacing, Agnes did and, “Wow! That’s one ‘very’ dry martini!”

“That’s what us ‘Brits’ drink on hot days while on watch in India. You like?”

“I do!” Agnes said emphatically, taking a larger sip, then — feeling it warm her belly — looking at the maître’d. “So tell me about that, uh, ‘Club Sandwich’?”

Watching this lady go from absolute sober to somewhat drunk within seconds. “Mister McDonald’s, A&P club sandwich is layered with smoked

185

ham and bacon, roasted turkey, crisp lettuce, juicy tomatoes, cheddar cheese, and this new dressing called mayonnaise that is spread on all three slices of toasted bread.”

Feeling a sharp tug, then a jerky, slowly moving forward motion.

7:08 PM

“We’re on our way now, so…” the maître’d said “...I’d better get the crew working.” Pouring the last remaining drops of gin into Morris’ glass. “Stay as long as you like…” making a table covering hand motion “...and call one my waiters whenever you’re ready…” assuming “...for another drink, or food.”

The train left Grand Central Terminal at 7:11. It chugged through New York City with it’s next ten minute layover— five and a half hours from this time— in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Remaining at the table, slowly sipping at their gin and bitters. Agnes and Morris Pink sat silently watching as the train puffed through the New York outskirts, both aware of what must become once they vacate this table and return to their private compartment and the pressing need to consummate their marriage remembering Morris’ sexual ‘shortcomings’ of the night before.

7:51 PM

You know what, Morris?” Her tone a bit on the formal side, as though speaking to one that was somewhat a stranger— as in actuality, knowing so little of the other, the two were — or possibly it was the one glass of raw gin.

Pulling his minimal attention from the passing country-side. “What’s that, Agnes?”

“I am hungry now and would care for one of those Club Sandwiches, and wound not mind another…” jiggling her empty cocktail glass “...of these with the orange twist this time.”

“See there, dear…” Morris said “...married these few hours and already we’re thinking the same thoughts. I also am in ‘dire’ need…” smiling “… of another…” tapping the rim of his glass “… and you may not believe this...” he lied “… for one of those Club Sandwiches, also.”

“Think we can get some of those wonderful potato strips also?”

Motioning to a waiter. “We can certainly ask.”

9:17 PM

After not one, but two more of those drinks that, as Morris had said: ‘Us Brits’ drink on hot days while on watch in India.’

Paying two dollars and seventy-five cents, including the waiters tip for six refills of gin along with two of Mister McDonald’s Club Sandwiches and a side order of ‘those wonderful potato strips’; Morris and Agnes then stumbled their way from diner coach ‘five’ to coach ‘six’ and into compartment twelve where a porter had made the padded benches into two, on the narrow side, twin beds dressed in a cover sheet, a second sheet, a blanket and two pillows each.

Deep within their gin induced fog. Standing a long moment, unsure how to proceed to where both knew where on this night they must go.

Turning side-ways, squeezing between beds, Morris sat as close to the side as possible. Squeezing by also, sitting closely alongside with a hand upon his knee. “Morris…” bluntly asked “...do you love me?”

Turning to the side, taking Agnes’ face between both hands, seeing the beauty — the exaggerated foggy gin induced beauty of his new wife. “Yes, I do…” speaking as sincerely as his benumbed mind would allow “...I do, sweetheart. I do love you, and think you’re beautiful!”

A twenty-three year old independent, forward thinking, sex starved virginal woman — Agnes’s mind as benumbed as her new husbands, his words touching her heart, and lower exterminates causing a familiar tickle within her uterus and a moistening within her vagina.

Agnes Longstead, now Pink, considered herself as a rather homely, on the thin side woman with an ugly, hairy body with small, sagging breasts capped with, sensitive to the touch, silver-dollar sized dark brown nipples.

Certainly not the body this newlywed woman wanted her new husband to see fully nude in a well lit room.

Morris (now) Pink: A dark haired, thirty two year old clean, lightly pink faced, good-looking — certainly not the face one might consider the face of a wanted jewel thief — with one of those bodies that had always appeared to be a bit on the chubby side.

Never prone to physical exercise, Morris did have the start of a noticeable paunch which when standing would obscure — having no basis for comparison— his, when retracted or extended rather average size penis that Morris had always considered to be very much on the small side.

Certainly not the body this newlywed man wanted his new wife to see fully nude in a well lit room.

However, far from their ‘perceived’ physical shortcomings, both Agnes and Morris were somewhat attractive people.

9:22 PM

… Speaking as sincerely as his benumbed mind would allow “...I do, sweetheart. I do love you, and think you’re beautiful!”

“Darling, might we make love together now?” Agnes haltingly suggested.

Sensing that familiar twitch within his fully retracted penis. “Oh, yes!”Enthusiastically stated— with hopes of a far different outcome.

“The room dark, alright with you?”

As he had hoped, but unsure how to ask. “Yes, that will be fine.” Morris said, adding, “You first, dear.”

Each private compartment featuring the sliver of a lavatory containing a sink and a commode along with an assortment of washcloths and towels.

9:26 PM

A robe folded over an arm, Agnes entered the lavatory securely shutting the door behind her. Sitting on the commode, with great, time consuming difficulty within the lavatories narrow confines, struggling, she was able to remove her high top shoes and shed the layers of her clothing.

Standing nude before the small sink, dousing a washcloth within the thin stream of cold water, Agnes scrubbed whatever trace of makeup, as little as she applied, from her face. Re-wetting the washcloth she scrubbed within booth hairy armpits, then once again— standing on a towel to absorb dripping water, using the soaking wet washcloth, she very vigorously scrubbed her vaginal and rectal areas… Drying herself— knowing… ‘thinking’ she knew what was about to happen, she allowed a finger to fondle the hidden tip of sensitive flesh hidden within the furrow of her clitoral hood.

9:38 PM

Opening the door, leaving but a sliver of light for Agnes to find her way to a bed and Morris — bare-footed, wearing but a bathrobe, to find his way into the lavatory.

Closing the door behind him. Standing nude at the sink, taking a second washcloth and soaking it, Morris washed his face; then, re-soaking the washcloth, within his armpits — the wet towel left on the floor, possibly purposely to remind Morris to … Scrubbing within the deep, hairy furrow of his rectum, then gently his testicles and penis and knowing… ‘thinking’ he knew where his now semi- hard penis would be on this night, erecting, masturbating, Morris stopped himself after five or six quick strokes.

Watching as his penis withdrew and became all but unseen within the dark tri-section of lower belly and thighs, then putting the robe on, turning from the mirror and hoping… ‘wanting’ to catch her nude, opening the door widely he found Agnes still in her robe, lying on her side apparently waiting for him.

Sitting up, seductively motioning for him to come forward, but... — said as a softly spoken command... “Close the door.”... leaving the compartment in near total darkness.

Enough light showing from about the lavatory door to barely see the shadowy figure of his wife. Touching his way around the bed, sitting closely alongside.

Feeling clumsy. Feeling inept. Sitting, just sitting hip to hip, side to side in this small, shadowy black space... One moving. Both moving. Human sensibility… or possibly consumed alcohol causing movement of one, of the other, of both. Now in each others arms. Their lips pressing tightly together with the hold of this kiss, of their kiss. Of their first passionate kiss.

Love? A mere though within the minds of both.

“Love.” Actually having little meaning, the word had been spoken more out of obligation for the life the twenty-three year old woman and thirty-two year old man had indebted themselves to.

Love? Three glasses of gin and the sexual warmth of mere nude body to body contact?

Love! What might sobriety and tomorrows light of day bring to husband and wife?

Now! For the first time now stated aloud, stated aloud with truthful deeply felt emotion. “I love you!”

A hand reaching to the side gently clasping the wonders soft warmth of a mature woman’s breast.

A hand reaching to the side gently— for the first time in her twenty-three years, clasping the wonders warmth of a blood engorged penis.

Free arms now urging each closely to the other.

If within the willing arms of the other, if the sense of love and passion are deeply embe dded within the sexual psyche of the bodies of a man and a women there will be the allowance to move as desire… As their desire commands and now the command is — foreplay is abandoned. Foreplay shall be for the next time and for all the ‘next times’ throughout the lives of Agnes and Morris as now the command is to be for the consummation of their marriage when spiritually two bodies become as one with the insertion of the male penis within the female vagina.

Words not needed, Now the thought of one is the thought of the other.

Shifting her body to the side, squirming her way downward, and in so doing causing the husband to move aside giving the wife room enough to lie flat upon the narrow confines of this cot like bed with legs open from side to side silently, eagerly sending the message for bodily entrance between… and within.

Eyes somewhat adjusting to the darkness, standing alongside, moving towards the foot of the bed and the feet of his wife, Morris is able to see the shadowy lightness of his wife’s naked body, and the black appearing circles upon the’ lighter hue of Agnes’ breasts and the absolute blackness of the inverted abundance of pubic hair, causing a twitch within his penis as he arduously worked his way onto the bed ans into the inviting valley between her open thighs.

Feeling him within her legs, lifting her hips, tightening her thighs about his waist, using a word shed had heard, “Morris…” but never had spoken aloud “...Fuck me!”

Moving closer…

The side of his face onto hers, his lips to the side of her ear…

Closer…

Hearing his harsh breathing…

His breath grazing her ear...

Harsher…

Then silence.

Moments passing…

“Morris?”

“I don’t know.”

The harsh whisper brushing her ear.

“I don’t know!”

Embarrassed as he had been the night before. Feeling there must be something the matter with himself to cause this penile retraction.

Knowing nothing of the physiological conditions that are needed both physically and mentally to affect the erection of a human penis… or it’s retraction, Agnes’ thoughts go to the possibility of her own ineffectiveness. “Is it me?” she quietly asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Honey…” moving from his position between his wife’s out-stretched thighs onto his side “...no, it’s…” wedged between the wall and Agnes’ side “...it’s? I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

Sadly sensing his anguish as well as her own. Sitting up. “The gin?” she suggested. “Might it have something to do with what you drank yesterday and tonight?”

“Could be, honey.” Willing to believe anything that might be the cause of the loss of his mind, ‘manhood’ thinking, I did have those two martinis yesterday and the three tonight.

When a boy transitions from boyhood to, what he might consider, ‘manhood’, the change is not only easy, but wanted. However now, at age thirty-two; Maybe it’s because I’m getting old. He thinks, and all that gin two nights in a row might have made it happen.

Nonetheless knowing what had happened was his problem and not hers. Wanting to ease her mind. “Agnes, honey, no, you did nothing wrong. Come here…” patting the two feet of space between himself and the edge of the bed “...lay next to me.”

Not being room enough to lie flat upon her back, turning onto her side, Agnes lay with her backside pressed firmly against her husband’s

front-side spoon fashion with his right arm draped over the soft area between his wife’s lower abdomen and hip, his face warmly held against the indentation of beck and shoulder.

9:53 PM

In light of this nights disappointment, both thinking ‘tomorrow is another day.’ However extremely comfortable in this heavenly held, male-female position, within minutes all conversation stopping as...

The train chugging through the dark countryside where through the side of the covering window shade, the only visible pinpoints of light came from distant farmhouses and the few automobiles that ran on roads parallel to the train, as…

Sensing the lightly vibrating movement of steel wheels on steel tracks, as…

Unwilling to move, remaining nude...

Eyes closing, as...

Rumbling past hamlets and sparsely populated areas, whatever scattered light there were became brighter as they came closer… Until they blurred past the narrow margin within the window shade.

10:09 PM

Still.

And still nude...

In the lengthening night, the compartment becoming cooler.

Quiet

In the compartment there was only the lulling sound of breathing.

Dark, cool and quiet.

Having broken the close body to body contact earlier, now...

The radiating heat of Agnes’ body drawing him.

Morris came closer…

And even closer…

…Until, nuzzling against the warmth of naked buttocks, feeling her warmth, sensing absolute, luxurious comfort…

Sensing the movement of her husband’s body, the wife moved her hips, arching herself, nestling her buttocks even closer into the warm forming contour of his stomach and thighs.

His left arm beneath the pillow, his right arm draped over her waist, where his hand lay upon the bare flesh of Agnes’ stomach… then instinctively moved upward to fill the soft warmth of a sleep-creased breast held within his hand.

…And the feel of Agnes’ breast within his hand caused the gauze-like veil of his subconscious to lift for a moment, then return to the semi-dream of this lady, and the weight of her her naked breast held within his hand…

And of lying next to her.

Of feeling the softness of her breast..

Of feeling the warmth of her back against his chest.

Of feeling the roundness of her buttocks nestled closely against his stomach and thighs, and…

Agnes’ subconscious mind, flitting towards consciousness…

Morris’ subconscious mind hovering just beneath consciousness…

Both returned to their dream of lying close and comfortable, warm and safe…

…To the dream they each dream:

That Morris is holding her closely.

That Agnes is held in his arms, and…

The hidden part of Morris stirred and, moving in his sleep…

Fractionally moving the dream of his turgid penis between the dream of the  soft, warmly moist, tightly enveloping fissure within Agnes’ buttocks…

In… out… in… out.

Through the layers of darkness, the wife felt the erotically stirring, teasing friction…

In… out… in… out…

As the very tip of the husband’s penis probed into, and out of the moist, outer folds of the wife’s vagina, as…

Dreaming? No! Wanting ‘him’ there! Oh, God! Wanting him there, Agnes arched even further, as…

Dreaming? No. Wanting to be there! Oh, God! Wanting to be there, Morris drew their tightly forming bodies even closer, and…

The front of his thighs and legs formed tightly against the back of her thighs and legs, and his forward straining pelvis molded tightly, oh, so tightly against her sharply angled backside…

In the ethereal wisps of their dreams…

“Mmm,” moaning in his sleep, Morris strained forward.

“Morriis…” Whispering his name, “Morris…”

Suddenly awake…

“Morris,” Agnes said softly. “Love me.” As…

His wondrous dream became vaporous… then faded, and the husband and wife kissed, and as they do they ‘meld’.

“I love you!” Feeling his soul enfolded within the lubricious sheath of this beautiful woman that by the grace of God, had become his wife.

“I love you.” Coming from the heart of each…

Doing what finally does come naturally.
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195

Chapter Seventeen

Bye-Bye- Blackbird