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Mark M Lichterman

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BECOMING129: Beach
By Mark M Lichterman
Posted: Thursday, April 14, 2011
Last edited: Sunday, May 01, 2011
This short story is rated "R" by the Author.
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Closing his eyes, he could almost feel them in his mouth: the softness of Marsha’s nipples; the sweetness of Marsha’s flesh; the salt taste of her perspiration. “I’ll probably get married and…”

Feeling her heart skip, Ask me! She thought. Ask me now and, Oh, God, I’ll say yes!


“You mother’s very pretty. I can see where you get it.”

Frowning, looking at him, “You think she’s sexy, ehh?”

“Yeah. For someone’s mother she is, very!”

“Well, Daddy’s pretty good-looking, too, and I’d much rather think I got most of myself from him.”

Taking a chance, “Seems like you don’t care for your mother too much.”

Looking skyward, “It’s such a nice day, I’d really rather not talk about her… You like hot dogs?”

“Huh?” The question so far out of context he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Hot dogs?”

“Yeah!” Laughing, “Do you like hot dogs?”

“Well, yeah, sure I like hot dogs!” Other than lox and bagles, one of his favorite foods had always been Chicago style, kosher style hot dogs. “As a matter of fact… Now you don’t know this about me yet, Marcie, but I am considered to be one of the world’s foremost connoisseurs of hot dogs.”


Chicago, Illinois

June 19, 1955


“Really? One of the world’s foremost, huh? I don’t know if I told you, but daddy’s got an itsy-bitsy restaurant over on Madison Street; you know, hot dogs, hamburgers, chili, bacon’n’eggs and stuff like that. And I was thinking, that if tomorrow…” Stopping, she looked at him questioningly. “That is if you want to be with me tomorrow.”

Sounding almost angry, “Are you nuts? Of course I want to be with you tomorrow, and the next day and every day that I’m home! I even want to sleep with you!” Looking at each other, he smiled. “I didn’t mean it that way… Well, yeah, I did mean it that way, too. But what I meant was that I want to spend every possible minute with you.”

Thank you, God! “Me, too, Mitchie.”

Thank you, God! “What about your job, though?”

“I’ll tell them something came up and that I’ve just got to take some time off. It’s more important to me that I spend the time with you, so if they say no, then I’ll just quit and find another job. But my boss likes me and I think it’ll be okay.”

“I was wondering what I was going to do with myself while you were at work, and if that’s what you really want to do, then it’s great!”

“Of course that’s what I want to do!” Bumping his hip with hers. “Anyway, daddy makes the best hot dogs in Chicago…”

Bumping her hip back, “The best, ehh?”

“Yeah, the best! Anyway, I thought that tomorrow we’d take a ride to the store and have lunch, and then you two can meet each other.”

“Sounds good to me. That’s why he’s not home today, he’s working?”

“Yes.” Marsha sighed. “He’s there almost all the time. And it’s not only him; my brother and uncle work there also, but daddy’s there almost all the time! Living in that darned apartment costs a lot of money!” she said bitterly.

Remembering, “Oh, yeah, Roger! Kind of a surly guy, ain’t he?”

“Yes, to say the least. But why’d you ask?”

“When I talked to him the other…”

“You talked to Roger! When?”

“He didn’t give you my message? I called from Michigan City.”

“No,” she sighed, again. “He never told me you called.”


After brunch at Askanaz,, they walked to the beach, where Marsha led Mitchell to “her spot.” On the one hand she did want to be alone with him—at least as alone as they could be on a beach with “a million kids around”—on the other hand she also wanted her friends to meet and see him.

Mitchell’s head propped in his hand, he lay on his side looking down at Marsha.

Lying on her back with her eyes closed, “You know, Mitch, your family is just great!”

“Thanks. And in case you hadn’t noticed, my mom and dad and the boys are absolutely in love with you.”

Spending the years of her life with none but the love of her father, suddenly having not only the love of Mitchell, but of his family, too, all but overwhelming her, opening her eyes, looking at him, “Really?”

“Yeah, really!” Leaning downward, he kissed her nose. “But Star of David or not, my grandmother still thinks you’re a shiksa.”

“’Cause I don’t like lox?”

“Sure, ’cause you don’t like lox! What kind of a Jew doesn’t like lox?”

Her expression turning somber, “Mitchie, can I ask you something?”

“Sure you can! Anything you want!”

“Morton Humphry?” The serious expression turning to laughter, “Mitchell and Lawrence, okay… but Morton Humphry? That poor kid. How’d that happen?”

Laughing also, “I don’t know if it’s true , but my mother says Mortie’s named after two of her cousins that lived in a small village in England during the war.”

“You’ve got relatives in England?”

“Beats me. I’d always thought all of her family came from Russia, then a few years ago they had some friends over and after they’d had a few drinks someone asked that same question, and that was the first time I heard anything about England. Anyway, according to my mother, these two cousins really loved each other…”

“Boy cousins or girl cousins?”

“Boy cousins. Anyway, these two cousins loved each other a real lot, and they each lived on the other side of a small river, and there was a bridge running across it…”

“Uh, this is a true story?”

“I guess.” Shrugging his shoulders. “Do mothers lie?”

“Yeah,” Marsha said, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, “sometimes.”

“Anyway,” touching his fingers to her cheek, “there was an air raid one day and the cousins ran out of their houses on either side of the river and began to run across the bridge…”


“Beats me. Anyway, the cousins began to run across the bridge calling each other’s names… Oh, by the way, did I tell you what their names were?”

“No, but I can guess.”

“Yeah, that’s it! Their names were Morton and Humphry.”


“Yeah. And as they ran across the bridge they called, ‘Morton!’ ‘Humphry!’ ‘Morton!’ ‘Humphry!’ Then a bomb fell on the bridge and killed ’em both.”

“No kidding,” she said in mock seriousness.

“Yeah,” he said in mock sadness.

Lifting her head, “Oh, what a sad story.” she kissed his forehead.

“Yeah, and that’s how Morton Humphry got his name.”

“According to your mother.”


“You believe everything your mother tells you, do you?”

“Sure, and my dad, too.” Laughing, “When she was pregnant with Larry he told me that she’d swallowed a watermelon seed.”

“And you believed him?”

“Well, yeah. Why not? What did I know about it then?” Laughing again, kissing her, tasting the salt of perspiration on her upper lip, “Hell, I don’t even know that much about it now.”

Thinking his self-depreciating way rather a nice change from most of the know-it-all kind of guys she knew, closing her eyes, crossing her hands behind her head, “What are you planning on doing after you get out of the Coast Guard?”

Thinking the way Marsha abruptly changed the subject kind of cute, lying closely together, their thighs touching, the sensation of bare, warm flesh upon bare, warm flesh transmitting charges of sexual electricity, “I really haven’t made up my mind.” he said. Laying on her back with her hands behind her head, the V of her bathing suit having spread across her chest, Mitchell saw the ridges of her ribs and the slight swell of her breasts and, Oh, God! how he wanted look at Marsha’s breasts and taste the taste of Marsha’s nipples. Oh, God! He actually ached to do this and had to fight the urge to do this. “I’ll have the G.I. Bill and know it would probably be best to go back to college,” he said as he tried to visualize what Marsha’s breasts might look like: their size; the size, texture and color of her nipples. “But I’m not even sure if I want to go back to college, and…” Closing his eyes, he could almost feel them in his mouth: the softness of Marsha’s nipples; the sweetness of Marsha’s flesh; the salt taste of her perspiration. “I’ll probably get married and…”

Feeling her heart skip, Ask me! She thought. Ask me now and, Oh, God, I’ll say yes!

“…go to work at the studio as a salesman.” And those legs! Oh, God, those long, tan, slender legs! Envisioning his waist held captive between those long, tan, slender legs… The flood of erotic emotion overwhelming him, “Marsha,” he said hoarsely.

Oh, God! He is going to ask me!

“I love you!” Kissing her, “Marcie, I love you!” Pressing his body tightly against her body, kissing her deeply, imagining his tongue as his penis he moved it in and out, slowly, rhythmically, in and out… deeply into, and partially out of, Marsha’s… vagina.

Feeling him pressing hard onto her thigh, aware of, and joining into the sensual movement of his tongue, putting her arms about his neck she tightened her chest against his chest and drawing deeply, Marsha, too, imagined, and as his elongated, hardened tongue went forward and back, constricting her vaginal muscle, and loosening her vaginal muscle in rhythm with Mitchell’s… penis, Marsha sensed the warm, wet flow of her passion and soon… very soon, the tug and, Oh, God! warm release within the well of her vagina, and, “Oh, God!” Coming from this special kiss breathless, “I love you!” Marsha felt the rapid beating of her heart and—as she realized what had, amazingly, happened—the sweet, warm glow of orgasm.

“Oh, God!” Feeling the rapid beating of his heart—along with the tightness of his bathing suit that constricted his pulsing erection—their mouths but an inch apart, Mitchell felt the ragged breath of Marsha upon his lips and, no longer able to control his hands, feeling the ridges of her ribs beneath the hot flesh, he placed his hand flat upon her chest, between the spread of Marsha’s breasts.

Feeling Mitchell’s ragged breath upon her lips, sensing their mutual love, and lust, still, unwitting flinching as she felt his hand upon her chest, rather than moving it, though, covering his hand with her hand, holding it captive, “Mitchie,” glancing about, “there’s so many people around.”

“Oh, God!” Taking a deep breath, shaking his head, “Every bone I have,” popping his jaw twice, “and a few I didn’t know I have till a couple’a seconds ago, are jumping all over the place.”

Trustingly taking her hand off his, putting her arms about his neck, pulling him closer again, their lips met again… less urgently—at least less urgently for Marsha Goldman.

For Mitchell Lipensky, though, his hand held flat between their pressing chests, by stretching his fingers he was able to feel the softness on either side of Marsha’s chest… But feeling he was doing something wrong… Feeling this was a betrayal of Marsha’s trust, Mitchell withdrew his hand.


Several times throughout this day people that knew Marsha, both male and female, came to her. They stood or stooped in front of the blanket, or knelt on it. After a few minutes of small talk, catching the subliminal hint that said, “we want to be alone,” the people left… And in the midst of the crowd, they were alone.


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Reviewed by Annabel Sheila 4/19/2011
Hmmm...sounds pretty hot on that beach.......

Reviewed by Laura Fall 4/15/2011
Wow steaming things up a bit and as always a Fantastic read and much enjoyed Laura
Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 4/15/2011
Rich in detail and imagery, you take us into his world. Excellent story, Mark; well done!

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

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