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Mark M Lichterman

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Elysium Fields 19: Exposed
By Mark M Lichterman
Posted: Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Last edited: Thursday, September 08, 2011
This short story is rated "R" by the Author.
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There are limits even in a nudist park, especially in this family oriented nudist park.

“This is my wife!” Mitchell snarled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”



“Matter’s’a’fact, Tina noticed both’a’ya earlier today and commented, ‘what a nice lookin’ older couple you are’. Didn’t’ya, Tina?”


Coming closer to Mitchell, prodding him with her breasts, “Yeah, Clyde.”


“An, we was wonderin’….”


Moving from the hard probe of Tina’s breasts…


“We, Tina an’ me, we live in Reseda an’ we’re havin’ a couple’a other couples over tomorrow, an’ was wonderin’ if ya wanna come, too.”


Thinking, Four couples? “Uh, Marsha and me, we don’t, uh, play Bridge.”


“ ‘Bridge’?” Clyde laughed. “It ain’t Bridge Tina’n’me are thinkin’ of.”


Prodding Mitchell again, “No, Clyde, It sure as hell ain’t Bridge we’re thinkin’ of.”



Elysium Fields 18: Exposed

Topanga Canyon, California

 Saturday, May 17, 1986

 4:11 PM


Incredulously, “Excuse me!” Again moving from Tina and her cast iron breasts. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”  


“Well, Mitch, It’s easy to see that you’ve sure turned Tina on.” Looking at his wife, “Ain’t he, babe!”


Smiling widely, showing nicotine stained teeth. “Yeah, you really have, you know.”  


 “An’ ol’ Marsha here is sure… “looking downward, cupping his scrotum within his hand and pushing upward “gettin’ my cock pumpin’.”


Having a penis that, when erect, extends upward rather than outward, so now, standing in waist depth water, held from beneath, Clyde exposed about seven inches of his stiffened uncircumcised penis.


There are limits even in a nudist park, especially in this family oriented nudist park.


This is my wife!” Mitchell snarled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”


Staring at Clyde’s penis…


Remembering ‘that’, that she hadn’t thought of in years…

That day returning to her, playing through the eye of Marsha’s mind at the speed of light, at the speed of the light of that day in…


Lakeside, Michigan

June 16, 1958

Leaving the buggy on the side of the road beneath a tree, slipping the strap of the diaper bag over her shoulder, with Michael in one arm, the blanket and towels under the other—long since giving up on the steep, narrow, weed-choked path she’d used as a child—she walked down the incline of the Public Beach access.


Letting the diaper bag slip from her shoulder, dropping a towel onto the sand, sitting fifteen month old Michael on the towel, she spread and smoothed the blanket.


“Come here, you!” Familiar with the on-shore breeze, well aware it pushed warmer, surface water inward, Marsha removed Michael’s diaper then, holding his hands, helping the naked baby toddle across the soft, warm sand.


At water’s edge, holding both hands stretched above his head, swinging the giggling baby over the calm water, she allowed his feet to touch. Sucking in his breath, he tried lifting his feet, but within moments, his flesh becoming accustomed to the tepid water, held safe in his mother’s hands, laughing his baby’s laugh, kicking, Michael splashed until, lifting him, cradling him in both arms, walking to where the water reached her navel, Marsha wet her baby to his neck and herself to her shoulders and, “Ollie, ollie, ooops!” again, and again.


Carrying Michael so sand wouldn’t cling to his feet, the mother and baby went back to their blanket where he was towel  dried then re-diapered..


Sitting between her thighs, “Okay, Mikey.” Mother and son looked outward, to the west, to Chicago as, thinking of her estranged husband Marsha wondered if Mitchell was thinking of her just then, at that exact time, when..


Softly said, “Hello.”


The sun at her back, the shadow was cast across the blanket.


Looking up, “Oh…” The man had a kind, gentle face, dark eyes and black-streaked gray hair. His chest and legs were covered with fine, sun-bleached, near-white hair. His spindly legs, almost comically, poked from his loosely fitting bathing trunks. “…sorry. I didn’t realize you were talking to me.”


“No, no, it’s okay! No need to be sorry. I’ve seen you here, at the beach, and you always seem so lonely that I thought I’d just come on over and say hello.” Before she could respond, he added, “You seem so young. Is this your baby?”


“Oh, yes! This is Mikey… Mikey, say hello to the man.”


Looking up, smiling, Michael gurgled his rendition of “Hello.”


Standing at the fringe of the blanket, smiling at Michael’s smile, “Hi, Mikey! Squatting, the man gently squeezed the baby’s chin. “Your baby’s beautiful… By the way, my name’s Nate.”


“Hi, Nate! I’m Marsha… Here,” patting the blanket, “why don’t you sit down.” Edging sideways, bringing Michael with her, moving to the center of the blanket she made room for the man.


“Thank you, Marsha, don’t mind if I do.” Actually sitting more on sand than blanket, he crossed his legs.

Supporting himself with his arms spread outward and backward, leaning back, the man looked downward, “I haven’t seen your husband on the beach with you and Mikey.”


“No, Mitchell’s… uh,” her eyes following his eyes…


When Marsha Goldman was eight or nine years old, occasionally some gawky, gangly-legged boy, usually right here at the beach, would inadvertently allow his penis to show through the gap of his wide-legged shorts or bathing trunks.


But now…


Quickly moving her eyes upward, It’s by accident, Marsha thought. He doesn’t know it’s out. Because, as when she was a child, Marsha did not want to embarrass the man, also, her inbred respect for elders forbidding her to say anything rude, pretending she does not, did not see it. “My husband and I…” But whether it was or was not by accident, whether Nate did or did not know, her instincts taking over, “he’s a salesman and hasn’t been able to get away till now, and he’ll be here later.” Adding, “Today.”


“Oh, that’s nice.” Intently watching Marsha’s face, the man had noticed what he considered to be a lingering look—the downward and rapid up-shift of her eyes along with the change in the tone of her voice. She’s seen “me”! he thought excitedly. And the thought that this so young, so beautiful woman had seen it and was so shocked aroused him even further, and he engorged even further. “I’ll bet,” Nate said matter-of-factly, “you can’t wait to see…?” Moving his extended arms further backward, leaning back, the gap in the thighs of his trunks widened. “What did you say your husband’s name is?”


“Uh, Mitchell.” Not sure that what was happening was really happening, and not wanting to look in any case, but wanting, having to prove this was not happening, Marsha’s eyes were, once again, drawn downward, where…


A moment ago it was only the glans and an inch or two of his penis that Marsha had seen. Now, about six inches of extended, obscenely pink flesh was exposed and, “Oh, my God!” Marsha said aloud as—spasmodically jerking upward, attempting to free itself from the restraint of the seam of his trunks—before her eyes it grew more till it lay extended near midway to Nate’s knee.


 “Your husband…” Nate said, glancing about once again to be sure none of the now-nine people on the beach were looking in their direction. But only yards from the water, there was no one behind and, sitting directly in front of Marsha, unintentionally she was hiding what he was displaying. “…what’s he sell?” Continuing the conversation as though nothing was happening, inching the leg of his trunks back, until… “Everything is so expensive nowadays,” …his entire penis and scrotum were fully exposed and, “it’s got to be pretty hard to support a wife and baby nowadays,” the man said in a—to Marsha—infuriatingly matter-of-fact voice.


Shaking her head, closing and opening her eyes to be sure this was really happening: A man—who was old enough to be her father, who in a small way even resembled her father—was sitting directly in front of her, smiling, making everyday conversation, asking everyday questions about herself and her family as all the while he was so nonchalantly exposing himself.


The unbelievable, surrealistic scene before her eyes suddenly becoming real, the lump of anger in her throat having the taste of vomit, making no pretense of her abhorrence of him and repugnance at what he was doing… And in some hypnotic way forcing her to see, she compelled her eyes to shift from the man’s loathsome penis to his bland-appearing face. The expression on Marsha’s face changing from incredulous shock to utter abomination…


Which, of course, was exactly what the man wanted, because Marsha’s look of revulsion, far from abrading, further stimulating him, lifting it, holding it from beneath, pointing it at Marsha, “You want to touch my cock, don’t you, Marsha!”


“Touch it?” she said incredulously. “No! God, no! You’re disgusting!” Standing, scooping her baby from the blanket. “We’re getting out of here you sick, perverted, nauseating, bastard!” Marsha snarled. “They ought to lock you up!” Her voice rising. “They ought to put you in a god-damned looney-bin and throw away the god-damned key!” As he was only sitting on part of the blanket, using her adrenaline-pumped strength, Marsha was able to yank it from beneath him. Shoving her arm through the strap of the diaper bag, spitting out, You perverted son-of-a-bitch!” Not bothering to fold the blanket or towels, bunching them under her arm, her son in her other arm, Marsha Lipensky stormed off the beach.


Elysium Fields

Topanga Canyon, California

 Saturday, May 17, 1986

 4:13 PM


“This is my wife!” Mitchell snarled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”


“You’re disgusting!” Marsha’s face an inch from Clyde’s face,You perverted son-of-a-bitch!” she screamed, “You Bastard!”


“ ‘You Bastard’!” Coming from the pool….


Screaming from the pool causing the two nearby monitors to come running.


You perverted son-of-a-bitch!” Never expecting this kind of a reaction, feeling the spray of the spittle of Marsha’s anger, “You Bastard!”  his penis shriveling and, if but for the pool wall at his back, Clyde would certainly be backing away.


Are you crazy?” Shoving Tina, she fell backwards in the water. “I wouldn’t touch you on a bet!”


What the hell’s going on here?”


Pointing from one to the other, “These creeps,” Marsha said to the monitors, “are trying to proposition us and he even…” kind of a funny thing to say in a nudist park, “…exposed himself.”


Having kept an eye on these two, temporary pass, ‘hippie types’ throughout the day, one of the monitors in the water the other, literally, dragging Clyde out by his ponytail.


Backed against the chain link fence, “We got a good place here!” Punching Clyde in the chest with the heel of his fist, “And it’s fuckers like you two that give it a bad name, so get your crap and get the hell out’a here! And we’re going to follow you down to Topanga to make sure you’re gone.”


The second monitor pulling Tina from the pool area by her arm, “Get your goddamned shit out’a here, now!”


Staying out of the way, still in the pool watching as Clyde and Tina were hustled towards their blanket.


“Marcie, honey, I hope those two assholes don’t change your mind about being here.”


“Here, at Elysium?” she asked.





©August 31, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman

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Reviewed by Rose Rideout 9/3/2011
She has guts and she's spunky watch out. another greta story Markie.

Your #1 Newfie Friend Hugs, XOXOXO, Rose
Reviewed by Annabel Sheila 9/2/2011
Marcie is more that capable of handing herself no matter what the circumstances....I don't think she's going to let a couple of perverts ruin her party!

Your friend,
Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 9/1/2011
Me thinks things are about to come to a boil ... hee hee! Great story, Mark; well done!

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

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