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Volume Three Chapter Eleven
Clyde, Sharon & Margy
October 22, 1948
Washington D.C.
THE REPUBLICAN candidate for President has seen fit to release a statement with reference to Palestine. This statement is in the form of a letter dated October 22, 1948, 10 days before the election.
I had hoped our foreign affairs could continue to be handled on a non-partisan basis without being injected into the presidential campaign. The Republican candidate's statement, however, makes it necessary for me to reiterate my own position with respect to Palestine.
I stand squarely on the provisions covering Israel in the Democratic platform.
I approved the provisions on Israel at the time they were written. I reaffirm that approval now.
So that everyone may be familiar with my position, I set out here the Democratic platform on Israel:
"President Truman, by granting immediate recognition to Israel, led the world in extending friendship and welcome to a people who have long sought and justly deserve freedom and independence.
"We pledge full recognition to the State of Israel. We affirm our pride that the United States, under the leadership of President Truman, played a leading role in the adoption of the resolution of November 29, 1947, by the United Nations General Assembly for the creation of a Jewish state.
Summer Springs, Ohio
12/24/32:
Christmas Eve family and friends dinner had been held in the Village of ‘Summer Springs’ at ‘Maize's Eats’.
With Agie’s enthusiastic endorsement, Morrie had ordered; actually ‘back ordered’ —Finishing the last of his first martini. “We ordered two of them, one that we’d be using while on display at the store, and one for home.”
“Have no idea when we’d be getting them though…” Agie said, finishing the last of her first martini “... because there’s no-one in the Cincinitti area that’s able to install them."
“Company’s factory’s in Connecticut, and it’s taken all this time for…”
“Morrie, what the hell company are you talking about?”
“ ‘Carrier’.”
“ ‘Carrier’?” Mazie questioned. “Never heard of ‘em!”
Loveland, Ohio
October 22, 1948 10: 33 PM
Huddled onto her side, rolled into the blanked in an attempt to keep warm; still chilled, finding it useless and deciding to do what she’d been doing ever since becoming old enough to consider doing it. Unwinding herself from within the— on this frigid night, inadequate quilt while reading the thought of going barefooted from her room on the hardwood flooring, then through the, even colder ceramic tiled floor of their adjoining bathroom...
Her feet burning with cold, “Smooch over!” Sharon Kaminsky ordered as, butt first, she wiggled her way beneath and between Clyde Murphy’s blanket and warm body.
Thirteen year old Sharon Kaminsky and fifteen year old Clyde Murphy having been, cold weather permitting, doing this since both realized they welcomed the comforting warmth of the others — on occasion bare stomach to bare back as though a tightly held spoon to a fork; as on this night, when the ‘Carrier Companies’ premier residential ‘forced air'’ furnace — purchased by Manny and Agnes Pink in 'December of 1932', had finally been installed in the house at 575 Placid Street in March of 1933 — and puffed it’s last puff of artificially produced warm air in October of 1948 at approximately 10:29 PM
10:35 PM: “Smooch over!”
Bathing together since and until the evening of Sharon’s third birthday when she was sternly reprimanded for flicking the five year old boys penis up and down as though a light- switch.
Their well know nude bodies having not the slightest hint of sexual mystery for either Sharon nor Clyde.
Never the slightest consideration of sexual desire. The love these two shared was that of truly beloved siblings, considering themselves as brother and sister, whom in actuality were related but by the everlasting, deeply held friendship between the Kaminsky and Murphy families.
So close their perceived physical brother and sister relationship that to those classmates— children of Summer Springs and Loveland bussed to and from Cincinitti Grade School #3 where classmates wondered how the two could possibly be brother and sister, as…
Even at age fifteen, Clyde strongly resembled Malcolm, his fathers broad shoulderd, ruddy toned face and russet colored hair along with the facial beauty of Ellen, his mother; as Sharon, the near black hair and olive complexion along with a thin nose that in time… as her face fills out, the length and sharpness will conform becoming the near image of Sara, her mother’s classic, Semitic beauty.
Now, though, Sharon in the fourth grade and Clyde the sixth grade.
They arrive in school together, go home together and between, both, the morning and afternoon recesses and their lunch break are spend with their own special classmates and friends.
Clyde and Sharon’s completely opposite appearances and names weighing on the mind of the schools resident bully: eighth grade, sixteen year old, Stanley Sempter — whom, behind his back was called simple Stanley— that on October fourth, 1948, during the afternoon recess, at approximately 1:47 PM: Stabbing two stiffened fingers hard into the area between the nape of Sharon’s neck and her shoulders… ‘You’re a Kike, ain’t’ch’ya!”
Never hearing these pejorative words before; turning, facing Stanley, who was a full head taller— and as all others in Grade School #3, aware of this older boys bulling reputation. “No, I’m not that…? What you said.! I’m American…” the painful sensation of the two fingered jab along with a ripple of fear causing a slight shutter “...l-like you!” Sharon stammered.
“Nah! Pa told me what you’s all look like. You’re a damned Christ-Killing Jew, Kike bitch, ain’t’ch’ya!”
1:49 PM: This one way conformation taking but a minute or two, still causing a small group of children to gather about Sharon and Stanley, as, on the other side of the playground, noting the gathering crowd with his ‘sister’ and the older, larger boy the center of attraction.
A dozen quick, stiff legged strides, then pushing through the ring of children coming between the older boy and freighted girl, bringing Clyde, though shorter, standing face to face as…
“An’ you, you god-damned Mick bastard…” Stanley’s spherical vision proudly noting the children standing about, watching him and Sharon, and now Clyde “... ain’t this Kike, Jew bitch’s bro…”
Clyde’s right fist pistoning forward, sinking deeply into the larger boy’s stomach, as…
Surprised, screaming in pain as Clyde’s right fist pistoned forward as, doubling to his knees — fortunately causing Clyde to back-step as, choking, gasping, Simple Stanley vomited the undigested remnants of a bologna on Silvercup and the foamy chocolate of a Hostess’ cupcake.
“And you…” grasping his hair, pulling the boy’s head upward “...if you ‘ever’ touch my ‘sister’ again…” jiggling the head from side to side “... I ‘will’ be seeing you again!” Forcing his head up and down. “ ‘You hear’ !?”
Able to speak, actually gasp but one word. “Yeah!”
October 22, 1948 10:35 PM:
“Smooch over!
Not in the slightest annoyed at this momentary awakening on this cold night; chilled himself— remaining on his right side, Clyde smooched over far enough to allow Sharon room enough to wiggle her way onto the bed and between Clyde’s blanket and pajama covered warm body.
11:28 PM:
The night silent… The room chilly... Facing away, the thirteen year old girls body sharply angled, cuddled tightly into and between the boys likewise angled body forming a soft, warm nest for — by friendship only— his sisters back and buttocks and sharply angled thighs.
Clyde’s right arm beneath his— and as his face is near enough to smell the clean scent of Sharon’s hair, the boy’s arm is beneath his and her pillows Clyde’s left arm to remain outside the blanket until, becoming cold, he places his arm beneath the blanket, resting first on his hip, then shortly moving to the added warmth of the curve of the girl’s waist where, either the bottom of her pajamas had slipped downward, or the lower seam of the pajama top had inched it’s way slightly upward, allowing Clyde’s forearm to recline on the soft, warmth of Sharon’s bare waist.
His right arm beneath his and her pillows, his left arm under the blanket draped over her waist, where his hand lay upon the bare flesh of Sharon’s stomach…
Sensing the smoothness of her flesh. Sensing the comforting warmth…
No degree of sexuality here and now. No hint of sexual urgency here and now. Certainly nothing the boy would even consider where he awake.
Sensing the heretofore unknown comfort of male to female closely held bodily contact.
Of lying tightly next to her.
Of feeling the softness of warm flesh beneath his hand.
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…
Within Sharon’s sleep, sensing the comforting closeness of her cuddled body and the warmth of his hand upon her bare stomach, unaware of her movement, placing her hand upon her ‘brothers’ hand, moving it upward upon her chest, upon the small mound of her budding breast. As…
Throughout the years of their childlike, familiar playfulness, Clyde’s hands had often been upon the hardness of Sharon’s rib embossed chest. Now, though — even within his sleep, his unaware fingers moving in a circular motion about the unfamiliar, fat-like protuberance of flesh, even within his sleep, the boy thinks his ‘sister’ should go on a diet.
‘Margy’!
Quickie Reminders. Or bringing us ‘up to date’.
Margy was born on September 6, 1931 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and was raped by her then, near eleven year old first cousin, Patrick Binkowski when she was, at that time, eight years old.
No! Actually it was Margery(Margy) that brought the entire sequence about by initiating the, “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine”...
Eventually leading to experimental fornication brought about by a hand drawn ‘eight pager’ showing Popeye and Olive Oyl having intercourse. So, naturally following Popeye and Olive Oyl’s lead— it wasn’t too difficult for Margy to bring her eleven your old cousin’s penis into an erect state, nor to place it where Olive Oyl had placed Popeye’s.
Except, the eight year old girl’s vagina was too small and to tight and when — large for his age, Patrick pushed, painfully rupturing Margy’s hymen causing blood to flow, that in Margy’s mind, and for ever more, she had been raped by her eleven year old cousin, Patrick.
However, omitting the Popeye and Olive Oyl instructional manual, while the parents played gin rummy and drank their ‘Seven-Seven’ highballs, left to ‘baby-sit’ his cousin, the two found other means of 'enjoying' themselves.
9/14/39 :
Patrick— now at age eleven— announced to his parents that he was getting too old to ‘babysit’ his now nearer nine than eight year old cousin and was old enough to be left home alone; thus their twice monthly visits ended.
Besides, mutual masturbation between the cousins was becoming boring.
Not really caring because with school in the fall, Margery Binkowski found Zachary Zimmer; a twelve year old, seventh grade boy that loved to fondle and suck on Margery’s — becoming an early developer— twelve year old Zachary Zimmer loved to fondle and suck on Margery’s small but growing breasts as she, enthusiastically, jerked the boy off.
Future years would find Margery transferred from school to school due to her shameless sexual provocations.
December 7. 1941: “Mare’s eat oats, and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy. A kiddley-divie-too, wouldn’t you!” Repeating: “Mare’s eat...”
The radio going silent... Then: “Broadcast from ‘NBC’ headquarters in New York City:
On December 7, 1941, at 7:55 a.m. Hawaii time, a Japanese dive bomber bearing the red symbol of the Rising Sun of Japan on its wings appears out of the clouds above the island of Oahu. A swarm of 360 Japanese warplanes followed, descending on the U.S. naval base at Pearl Harbor in a ferocious assault.
Holy Trinity Catholic School for Girls
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
April 13, 1945
8:45 AM
“ ‘Young ladies’…” Sister Mary Benedict said to her class room of thirteen to fifteen year old girls, as loudly tapping her desk with a ruler. “...today is a very sad day for us because our beloved President Roosevelt passed from this life onto his eternal time with our Lord, Jesus. So, please, let us all now bow our heads in prayer.”
Fourteen year old Margery; ‘Margy’ Binkowski’s mind was not with Lord Jesus, or in prayer. But more so— Big boned, large busted for her age, dark blonde hair; a very attractive fourteen year old girl that— if dressed and made-up properly Margy would and could and did pass for a young woman of eighteen years of age and… With that old guy dieing in Washington… Margy thought...and with all those sailors around? With head bowed. With eyes closed. With hands tented in apparent prayer Margy’ mind was not on the dead president, ‘or’ Jesus, but on the cute, twenty year old drunken sailor she’d — too young to enter, where she’d be questioned— picked up outside of the ‘Blue Cocktail’.
A grown man actually crying over the death of President Roosevelt, apparently badly in need of comfort, after a few minutes of ‘comforting’ sexually provoking conversation, while comforted by the feel of soft and
warm adult sized bare breasts, Margy had no problem talking the sailor into paying for a room in nearby motel where… Not one of her usually pimple faced kids she’d ‘blown’ or had intercourse with, but a man. A real live, cute, man! With a man sized cock, Margy thought.
With head bowed. With eyes closed. With hands tented in apparent prayer Margy’ mind on the velvety sensation of the man’s hairy ass under her caressing hand as the sailor’s hips rose and lowered with each penile penetration and withdrawal...
“...Deliver him now from every evil and bid him eternal rest and welcome him into paradise…” Sister Mary Benedict prayer continuing along with forty-seven of the forty-eight girls said… “Amen.”
Twisting in her seat, the forty-eighth girl sensed excursive moisture wetting the crotch her cotton panties.
August 6, 1945
“ He’s the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company ‘B’!”
Radio programming throughout America interrupted as hundreds of announcers from coast to coast urgently announced: “From Washington, D.C., ‘ President Harry S. Truman’.”“Seventeen hours ago...” the president began “... an American airplane dropped one bomb on Hiroshima, an important Japanese Army base. That bomb had more power than 20,000 tons of T.N.T. It had more than ‘two times the blast power of the British ‘Grand Slam’, which is the largest bomb ever yet used in the history of warfare…” the president stated in an attempt to draw a mental picture of the destructive power of ‘The Little Boy’.
Holy Trinity Catholic School for Girls
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
8:16 AM:
Sister Mary Benedict’s rapt attention drawn from the wall mounted speaker to the rear row of school desks where Margery Binkowski — her crossed arms atop the desk, her head atop her arms, until…’thawak’! Sister Mary Benedict’s spring steel enforced— so the girls thought— yard stick sharply slapped across the sleeping girl’s shoulders bringing Margery Binkowski back to glassy eyed consciousness as, standing quickly, “Fuck you!” Shoving Sister Mary Benedict backward, forcing the old woman to fall between the two rows of side aisle desks. “And fuck this place!”
One month from her fifteenth birthday, with her uncle Michel dead on a field in Bastone, Belgium, with, John, her father, somewhere in the South Pacific, with, Helen, her mother on the 4:00 a.m. to 12 noon shift at one of a dozen ‘defense Plants’ in Milwaukee.
8:39 AM:
Having both keys, first to their apartment’s assigned shed in the basement. Opening the clasp lock, Margy dragged the largest suitcase up the three flights of stairs, into the apartment, into her bedroom where, taking all the Digging through her purse, finding the napkin with a phone number given her by a ‘working girl’ outside the ‘Blue Cocktail’— knowing a ‘house’ she could go to, Margery Borkowski's decision made. Taking whatever clothing she wished to take, then leaving a note:
‘Ma, I’m moving out.
Hope daddy’s okay.
I’ll call you’.
Margy’.
9:12 AM:
The suitcase feeling as though it weighed a ton, Margery dragged it to the first telephone booth she could find.
Taking the crumpled napkin from her coat pocket, dropping a nickel into the s slot and giving the operator the phone number.
Three rings, then the thick, hairy voice of a man that had chain smoked all of his life, sounding as though it should be coming from anyplace but a…
“Florist’!”
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120
Chapter Twelve
Margy The Pansy
