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Mark M Lichterman

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· Becoming

· For Better or Worse

· The Climbing Boy


Short Stories
· BK1: Becoming; 1944#5

· BK1: Becoming; 1944#4

· BK1:Becoming;1944#3

· BK1:Becoming;1944#2

· BK1: Becoming; 1942#2&1944#1

· BK1:Becoming;1942 # 1 (Xrated)

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· BK1Becoming: 1941 #1

· BK1:Becoming; 1940#3

· BK1: Becoming:1940#2


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· The Pale Blue Dot

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· As Man And Woman

· Without A Woody?

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· A Near Christmas Day

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A Prelude To Love: June 19, 1955; A Becoming extract
By Mark M Lichterman
Posted: Saturday, September 06, 2008
Last edited: Saturday, September 06, 2008
This short story is rated "G" by the Author.

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Recent stories by Mark M Lichterman
· BK1: Becoming;1944#7
· BK1: Becoming: 1944 # 6
· BK1: Becoming; 1944#5
· BK1: Becoming; 1944#4
· USO Dance: Chris
· Sunset
· BK1:Becoming;1944#3
           >> View all 957
Speckled with fractured clouds, to the west the sky was ablaze with color: red, gold and purple. Tinting the city’s skyscrapers, the hues of the sunset reflected off their windows in a panorama of sparkling pinpoint colors.

Now, at 7:53, the sun was beginning to set.

Over the lake, to the east, the sky was darkening.

“Marsha, look.”

Turning, looking westerly…

Speckled with fractured clouds, to the west the sky was ablaze with color: red, gold and purple. Tinting the city’s skyscrapers, the hues of the sunset reflected off their windows in a panorama of sparkling pinpoint colors.

“My, God!” she said, softly, reverently. “It’s so beautiful!”

“Karl, okay to take a cushion forward?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Slackening the sheet, spilling the wind, “I’ll keep this tack.” Undeen rode on an even keel.

“Thanks, pal.”

Standing, taking both of Marsha’s hands, “Come on.”

“Where?” Though the boat no longer heeled, not too happy about leaving the comfort and safety of the cockpit, “Do we have to?”

“Yes.” Taking the cushion they’d been sitting on, promising, “I won’t let you fall overboard!” he stepped from the cockpit to the deck.

Marsha hesitated, then, holding his hand tightly, stepped up.

Leading her forward, he laid the cushion lengthwise facing the sunset. Sitting with his back propped against the mast, “Come on.” Mitchell patted the space between his spread legs…

Alone, hidden by the rise of the cabin, Marsha sat with her back reclining against Mitchell’s chest.

Her head resting on his shoulder, his cheek upon her cheek, his arms about her waist, their four clasped hands lay upon her lap.

Alone…

Quiet… Quiet, and so…

But for the faint movement of water, the slight crackling of sails, the balmy silence of the gently palpating breeze… and each other’s warm breath, it was quiet… Quiet and peaceful…

Peaceful… so lovingly peaceful.

The first wispy shreds of a large bank of broken clouds passed across the face of the lowering sun causing silvery-gold streamers of light to charge across the horizon. As the body of splintered clouds crossed the orange orb, the sky became bathed in a colossal kaleidoscope of hues: orange, red, purple, blue and gray, and all underlain with translucent, silvery-gold.

“Please, baby, don’t think I’m being corny,” speaking softly, his mouth near her ear, “but now is something I’ve prayed for all my life. I’ve seen hundreds of beautiful sunsets…” hugging her even tighter, Marsha could actually feel the beat of his heart against her back, “…and sometimes they’re so beautiful I thank God for whatever beauty there is in my life, but whenever that happened it always made me lonely and sometimes I felt like crying because I didn’t have anyone to share the beauty with, and…” The emotion becoming too much, his eyes watering, his voice catching, taking a few moments, until… “Marsha,” he said emotively, “I swear that I’ve never seen a more beautiful sunset, or that any girl has ever been as beautiful to me as you are right now, and I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you.”

Feeling his warm breath on her ear, hearing the heartfelt, softly spoken words and his faltering voice, experiencing a deluge of emotion, “Mitchie, I’ve always loved you…” her eyes overrunning, too, “I’ve loved you since that first night we met.” Turning her face to his, looking into his eyes, “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone but you.”

His hand held in hers, moving both from her lap, repositioning his right arm over her shoulder, Marsha moved Mitchell’s hand to beneath her blouse, to under her brassiere, and held it, tightly, palm down to her left breast—for the first time in her life feeling a hand other than hers upon her bare breast—Marsha kissed Mitchell gently, with soft passion.

Marsha still felt the beat of Mitchell’s heart upon her back, and now he felt the beat of Marsha’s heart through the fathomless softness of Marsha’s breast.

But, as the urge to touch and hold her breast had been all but overpowering the night before and earlier today, now, oddly, the feel of Marsha’s bare breast within the palm of his hand was…? To Mitchell Lipensky, the feel of Marsha Goldman’s breast, at least at that moment, was holy and the thump, thump, thumping of this girl’s heart in the palm of his hand—transcending even sex—meant more to Mitchell than anything, than anything in the past.

“I love you.”


 

Reader Reviews for "A Prelude To Love: June 19, 1955; A Becoming extract"


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Reviewed by Elizabeth Russo 10/23/2008
Now who is the romantic? I loved this piece and your concluding paragraph sparkled with emotion ... yeah, loved it! ~Lizzie
Reviewed by m j hollingshead 9/7/2008
well done


Books by
Mark M Lichterman



For Better or Worse

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The Climbing Boy

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Becoming

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