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Mark M Lichterman

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4th Day 2: Youth and Beauty
By Mark M Lichterman
Posted: Sunday, February 07, 2010
Last edited: Monday, February 08, 2010
This short story is rated "G" by the Author.

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           >> View all 957
He looked at the bathroom door.
In just a few minutes Marsha would come out and for the first time in both their lives they were going to complete the act of love, together, with each other…

(A "Becoming" Excerpt)

December 21, 1955: 10:40 p.m.

 Coming off the bed, going to the dresser, he opened the top drawer. Going back to the bed, he put the foil-bound prophylactic on the end table, covered it with his handkerchief, laid down again and, the water still running, Mitchell stared at the bathroom door.

Seeing it, realizing, coming off the bed, he turned the television off. Going back to the bed, he laid down and, the water still running, Mitchell stared at the bathroom door.

Remembering, coming off the bed, returning to the dresser, he opened the top drawer. Going back to the bed, he put the small, round bottle of Vaseline Petroleum Jelly onto the end table, next to his handkerchief-covered, foil pack prophylactic, then, once again, laid down. But, thinking the bottle of Vaseline a bit too obvious, taking it off the end table, he put it onto the floor, alongside the bed, out of sight, but within easy reach.

The water still running, Mitchell stared at the bathroom door.

Coming off the bed yet again, turning all the lights off with the exception of the lamp atop the television, returning to the bed, the water still running, Mitchell stared at the bathroom door.

Lying nude on top of the blanket, he began to feel a bit obvious, so, standing, lifting his side of the blanket, laying down again, covering himself to the waist, he looked at the bathroom door…

Silence.

Mitchell watched the door…

Ten minutes…

Fifteen minutes…

Twenty-five minutes…

The knob turned.

The door opened.

“Oh…” Afraid any sound or movement would dissipate the dream before him, for…

Marsha was the living embodiment of a thousand longing daydreams.

Marsha was the hand-held, lingering remembrance of a thousand empty, passionate nights.

Mitchell felt a tightening in his throat, a binding within his chest, and a stinging in his eyes, and he was sure Marsha could hear the thumping of his heart, because…

A study of youth and beauty…

Illumination coming from the open bathroom door framed and back-lit, while the muted light from the one burning lamp, glowing through its parchment-like shade, cast Marsha in a buttery-yellow blush.

Marsha’s long, black hair was brushed straight back, revealing her sharp widow’s peak. Draped over both shoulders, thick strands of luxurious hair lay upon the upward swell of her breasts.

Cinched at the waist, the long, diaphanous gown opened into an inverted V from below the shadow of her pubic hair and widened as it fell along her long, slender legs, ending at her bare feet. The upright V of the gown widened from the waist up, leaving Marsha’s chest bare, but covered her breasts with a transparent, white sheen. Easily visible, her breasts laying slightly to the sides of her chest, the dark-pink areola of Marsha’s nipples had a soft, white cast, and….

Not sure how to proceed, Marsha stood perfectly still, as…

In this protracted moment, in this flickering point in time, the absolute beauty of his nineteen-year old bride became indelibly etched onto the mind of Mitchell Lipensky.

Taking a step towards the bed…

“Marsha, no.” Finding his voice, throwing the cover off, coming off the bed…

Not quite the reaction she’d expected. Surprised, disappointed, Marsha looked at Mitchell.

Expecting him to be aroused, his penis engorged…

It wasn’t.

But Marsha had no way of knowing that Mitchell’s reaction was far in excess of anything she could possibly imagine…

For this moment in time was the culmination of his dreams and fantasies, and for Mitchell, if the Ark of God were to suddenly be placed before his eyes, it would not—it could not—be more revered than…

“Marsha,” standing before her, this moment in time more holy than sexual. “Oh, God, Marsha,” having no way to describe how he felt, feeling his words inadequate, “you’re beautiful!” His voice husky, “So beautiful!” The heartfelt emotion bringing tears to his eyes, placing his hands on either side of her face, “I love you! Oh, God, Marcie, I love you so much!”

Whispering, “Mitchell, I love you.” Placing her arms about his waist, “I love you!” Moving her body against his…

Their lips met, and…

The electrical contact of her lips upon his lips, and her body against his body caused an immediate, non-holy reaction as blood pumped into millions of soft, sponge-like cells and Mitchell’s penis jerked upward and moved outward. His arms encircled Marsha and, feeling her flesh through the sheer, silken material, holding the small of her back in the palm of one hand, and the swell of a buttock in the other… “Marcie, I love you!”

Her body now pressed tightly against his body, the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs against his thighs, pushing against and through….

Feeling him there, within the breach of her thighs, “Mitchie, oh, God!” Holding both buttocks, her nails making sharp indentations in the soft flesh, “I love you!”

Moving back a foot, Mitchell untied the sash.

Moving back a foot, Marsha shrugged her shoulders.

The sheer gown fluttered to the floor.

Standing two feet apart, “My, God, Marcie.” Still finding it difficult to speak, “My… God…”

Taking his hand, moving to the bed, Marsha lay upon the blanket as…

Standing above her, looking at her, unable to take his eyes from the beauty, the absolute beauty of the fully nude body of Marsha, of his wife, as…

Reaching to him, encircling him.

His eyes closed to the ecstasy of her touch, “Oh, God!”

“Lay next to me, Mitchie. Touch me, love me.”

He lay next to her and their lips met, urgently, urgently, till…

Tasting the savory taste of Marsha’s flesh, his mouth moved from her mouth to the warmth of a soft breast, to the hardening orb of a nipple. His hand trailed down her stomach, onto the silken floss of Marsha’s hair and, Oh, God! Touching the hair, sensing the quiet, mysterious thrill he always felt at his first touch here, probing softly, his fingers found and parted the tight, fleshy folds of Marsha’s moist labia, as…

Sensing the quiet, mysterious thrill she’d felt the first two times he had touched her there, because spiritually, this time, now it was right, the sensation more intense now, widening her thighs, Marsha opened her vagina to the touch of his hand that, sending a sweet chill throughout her entire body, “Oh, God! Do it now, Mitchie!” Unable to wait. Anxious, so anxious! “Please, do it now!”

Now? Now! What he’d wanted, what he’d waited all his life for. Foreplay is nice… wonderful, in fact, but really, foreplay was all he’d ever had. Oh, God! Not wanting to wait. Anxious, so anxious! “Yes, baby, yes!”

Moving from her side to within her open thighs. In the buttery light seeing what he could see within her open thighs, kneeling within her open thighs, having the presence of mind to…

Reaching to the end table, taking the foil pack from beneath his handkerchief… His, oh-so-anxious fingers dropped it onto the silky fine, curly hair. Picking it up, looking at her face.

Her lower lip held captive between her teeth, her eyes half closed, Marsha watched Mitchell with ever mounting anticipation as…

Ripping the pack open, taking the prophylactic out, he placed it onto the head of his penis… backwards. Turning the rolled latex, replacing it, he unrolled it. Hoping he was impressing Marsha with his act of consideration, having to move out from within her thighs, leaning to the far side of the bed, groping a moment, his fingers found the small, round bottle of Vaseline. Coming back to within her thighs, opening the bottle, dipping two fingers in, he anointed his tightly clad, rubberized penis…

Her lower lip held captive between her teeth, her eyes half closed, Marsha watched Mitchell with ever mounting anticipation as…  

 


 

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Reviewed by Georg Mateos 2/8/2010
Cliff hanging...I hope that it will not hang! (LOL) poor Mitch, his authors has gotten him ready for so long...

Georg


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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