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Mark M Lichterman

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1 Old Naked Lady
By Mark M Lichterman
Posted: Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Last edited: Thursday, July 26, 2012
This short story is rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Lifting her body, the lady pulled her bathing suit off her hips, down her buttocks, thighs, calves and ankles, and…

“Holy shit!”

Becoming can now also be purchased as a Kindle Ebook @ $4.95 ______________________________________

The tower is here!

The tower was in absolute broad view! Yet, much as not being able to see the forest for the trees, the tower was taken so much for granted that occasionally people did forget that it was here, and that it was always manned, day and night, fair weather and foul, seven days a week, 365 days a year, by a sailor—and not just any sailor, but a lonely, bored sailor—and not just any lonely, bored sailor, but a lonely, bored sailor with a pair of high powered binoculars.

The day was beautiful.

The mid-day sun shown through loosely woven, gossamer-like clouds.

The on-shore breeze was warm, and so soft it felt as a kiss from God.

The lady walked until she came to the end of the road, then cut diagonally across the narrow peninsula.

On the 0800–1200 watch, Mitchell had been watching a particular boat in the bay. Determining that the boat was not in trouble, bringing his attention back to the ocean-side, he first noticed the tall, slender lady as she was climbing onto one of the large, ocean-tossed slabs of flat granite that act as a natural breakwater around the thin, vulnerable strip of land.

The lady wore a green and yellow, one-piece bathing suit and carried a large beach towel, which she spread onto the hard surface.

Standing inside the shack with the binoculars trained on the lady, he was able to see that she had short, light blond hair and pleasing features. He judged her to be an older woman; oh, about thirty.

Making a quick sweep of the surrounding area, the glasses came back to the lady—who, looking outward, was still standing—and moved downward.

Although she didn’t show much cleavage, he knew that it was hard to judge the size of a woman’s breasts from this distance, especially if she was wearing a restrictive bathing suit, but he could see that she had narrow hips, small buttocks and, though not deterring him, her thighs were a bit on the heavy side.

Looking at the slightly rolling ocean for a few more seconds, squatting, she then sat on the towel… Sitting a minute or two, she lay back with her hands beneath her head, cushioning it from the hard surface.

Moving the binoculars from the reclining figure, he viewed the closer boats on both the bay and ocean sides. The closest, a fishing boat in the ocean, was about seven hundred yards off-shore. Doing a 180-degree scan of the horizon, seeing nothing of an even remotely troublesome nature, he brought the glasses back to the lady.

Sitting up now, leaning back now, supported by both arms that were extended to the sides and behind her back, she…

“Holy shit!” Mitchell swallowed and blinked his eyes because, “Holy shit!” the top of the lady’s bathing suit was lowered to her waist and, sitting as she was, with both arms stretched backward and her chest completely open to the sun and air, the distinct white flesh of her moderate-sized but, “Oh, yeah!” nicely noticeable breasts pulled back and to the sides, and the aureoles of her dark-brown, tightly air-puckered nipples were distinctly conspicuous in profile, and… “Holy shit!” he said again, Those are… the first, real live tits! he’d seen since that night so long ago with Sally and Mitchell felt a stretching in his groin and his lips formed a perfect O, as though he were—rather than two hundred yards away—a scant inch and a second away from drawing one of the, “Oh, my God!” lady’s puckered nipples into his puckered lips. He turned the adjustment wheel of the binoculars, trying to make the finely-tuned picture even finer.

The lady glanced at the tower… looked away, then, looking back, frowning, shading her eyes with the side of her hand, she tried to see if there could possibly be anyone up there.

Watching her through the binoculars as she was looking at him from beneath the visor of her hand, holding his breath, Mitchell did not move a muscle…

But she must have concluded that the well-maintained sixty-eight–foot–tall, steel, wood and glass structure was nothing more than a derelict washed ashore in a, coincidentally, upright position because, looking away from the tower, the lady brought her face full forward into the sun, and…

Letting his breath out, swinging his gaze to the ocean, noting that the closest boat was far enough away not to see the lady, bringing the glasses back…

“Holy shit!” He held his breath again because, as he watched…

Lifting her body, the lady pulled her bathing suit off her hips, down her buttocks, thighs, calves and ankles, and…

“Holy shit!”

Rolling the bathing suit, using it as a pillow, the lady’s breasts flattening and laying to her sides, she lay back altogether naked: wonderfully, beautifully, altogether exposed, and…

“Oh, lady!” Thinking, For an old lady you are B-U-tee-full! The binoculars moving from her breasts to the… Said softly, under his breath, “Oh, God,” the binoculars moved to the hairy, black tri-section of her thighs and crotch… then, back up to her head, and—the lady’s hair was light blond—smiling, licking his lips, “Only you and your fighting Coast Guard know for sure!” he said aloud, then…

“Uh-oh!” He looked at his watch, 3:07. The fucking clock should’a been hit seven minutes ago!


To be continued 



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Reviewed by m j hollingshead

good one

Reviewed by Budd Nelson
Good one I am smiling.
Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
Nothing like being caught unawares .... or getting more than you bargained for ... good story, Mark; well done!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Texas, Karen Lynn. :D

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