PIT # 29: Marsha’s Truth

Points In Time

Tarzana, California

May 27,1986

12:40 a.m.

 “Anyone want to use the bathroom or go for a quick swim, it’s okay with me.”

Pulling herself to her feet, Janice opened the bedroom door casting a wide sheath of light into the dark room.

“And if anyone still feels a bit, uh, too ‘woosey’ to drive home, I’ll put up a pot of coffee.”

Slightly sobered now. Having not the slightest idea for the reasons of his wife’s behaviour and attitude on this night. Feeling as a man awaiting the following mornings exaction, while dreading the thought, but at the same time wanting to get it over with.

Driving home with Sandy’s pussy scent — that he himself smells that strangely, because he ‘came’ no longer than three minutes ago and is now wanting to do ‘it’ again, but ‘knows’ driving home with the scent of ‘Sandy’ covering his… possibly entire body, would not be a very smart thing to do.

But Marsha fucked Morgan… he thought …or Morgan fucked Marsha. Knowing, They fucked each other! Would mean that his wife would have some explaining to do also.

Lifting himself from the mattress, “I’m for the swim!”

Walking from the no longer ‘black room’; fresh from ‘his’ withdrawal from Sandy’s pussy, aware that he still had a major ‘boner’ and ‘knowing’ he would catch hell for it on the drive home. Oddly though— possibly because he knew that... there will be ‘so’ much I’ll be catching hell for, walking from the ‘black room’ with a hard-on will be the very least of my worries.

Sandy and ken following, moments later came three distinct splashes.

Marsha and Morgan reaming… Possibly to accumulate to the shift from darkness to light… Mitchell thought.

“Evie, if you’d like, you can spend the night here”

“With you?”

“Yes, of ‘course’ with me.”

Never into lesbian sex… Although never given the opportunity to get into lesbian sex… especially with one as beautiful as Janice.

Evie knew that she’d been fucked — Evie knew that she had been fucked, possibly even more than once, but by whom.

Still tasting the taste of Janice on her lips and the scent of Janice pleasantly renaming within her nostrils…

Taking her hand. “Yes, I would love to spend the night with you.”

Coming from the ‘black room’ with none but an inch or two of his penis visible within it field of blonde, Morgan, a step or two behind Marsha followed as first his wife then Morgan dove into the pool.

May 27, 1886

Woodland Hills

1:08 a.m.

Not a word spoken. From the time they’d said good-night to ‘the group’ and seated themselves in the car, not a word had been spoken.

Coming off the maharajah high, having entered the ‘mellow’ stage, and sober enough to drive the four miles from Janice’s home in Tarzana to their home in Woodland Hills…Leave it alone Mitchell thought., but...“Seemed like you enjoyed yourself today.”

Answered immediately, answered too quickly. “Yeah, Mitchell, I ‘really’ did!”

No anger… No sarcasm… Glancing at her… No argument, thank God!

The bland tone of voice. The set of her face telling the husband that something was on the mind of his wife and on a day such as this day, knowing Marsha, he knew that there ‘had’ to be a ‘lot’ on her mind.

Stopping for the red light on Ventura Boulevard, turning on the seat, facing him… “You’re so fucking stupid, I can’t even look at you.”

Where the hell did that om? But hating the thought of an argument that might lead into another days or weeks of household isolation. Not understanding the reason for Marsha’s nasty comment because she, as much as Morgan were ‘into’ each other. Mitchell wisely said nothing.

1:13 a.m.

Undressing. Into pajamas. Doing their individual bathroom tasks before getting into bed… All in total silence.

1:31 a.m.

“Mitchell. You still awake, Mitchell?”

Waiting for the ax to fall. The rope straining about his throat. The impact of a bullet. “Yeah, Marcie. I’m awake.”

Silence… Silence...

“You know I ‘never’ wanted to marry you.”

Another ball from left field...Truly surprised that Marsha would say such a thing. “Really…” on his elbows, facing her “...how come now’s the first I’ve heard about it?’”

“I don’t want to argue with you about it.”

Kind of a stupid thing to say...“Really? You say now, after thirty-one years and four kids that ‘you never wanted to merry me’, and you ‘don’t want to argue about it’!”

Mitchell, it’ll make no difference because I’ve been holding this in for thirty-one years and now want to get it out… So ‘shut up’ and just listen, ‘will you’?”

Reaching to his right, turning the bedside lamp on.“Okay. Go on. Say what you want to say!”

“Remember way back when you were on leave, and we met at the ‘J’!”

Thinking back. “Yeah, that was… I think in May or June of ‘55.”

“Yeah. Remember a friend dragged you away and you…”

“I asked you to wait a minute and I’d be right back.”

“I didn’t want to wait so I ditched you.”

“ ‘You ditched me’? Why?”

“I thought you were too pretty.”

“ ‘You thought I was too pretty’ and that’s why you ditched me?”

“Yeah, and I was waiting for my boyfriend.”

“You know I went back to the ‘J’ a number of times to see if I could find someone that knew you.”

“Yeah, you told me the next time we saw each other.

“Marsha, I don’t understand why you felt that way about me then and why what ever happened all that time ago has anything to do with now.”

“Why now? Because today...Tonight was the first time in years I felt I was being fucked by a ‘real man’. And I ‘loved’ it and I loved fucking him too and would have eaten Morgan’s cock if given more time.”

“Marsha…” said not as restitution for what she’d said, but because Sandy and I did all of that to and for each other and truly felt...“I’m glad, Marcie! ‘Really’ glad that you had such a fantastic time with Morgan, and if you’d like, I’m sure…”

“Oh, yeah! I ‘don’t’ need your permission to fuck Morgan or anyone else, if I want.”

She still ‘stoned’? “Marsha, where’s this going?”

“Just want to get all the lies and pretense off my chest and then we can figure ‘where’s this going’ and what we’ll… you and me are going to do about it.”

Both on our elbows. Wide awake, facing each other this conversation still very, well, ‘conversational’..

“You know I hate my whore of a mother, and want to tell you , so you’ll know, ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’.”

Bewildered by the turn of this entire conversation. The nerves in my stomach jumping. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You ever wonder why my brother...Why Roger hates me so much.”

“Yeah…” Marsha and her brother hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in twenty years “… at first I did, but then realized Roger hates almost everyone, so hating his sister hardly mattered.”

“Nah! Roger hates me because I was giving some of his club brothers blow jobs.”

Now my stomach jumping. “I ‘can’t’ believe that! How old were you then?”

“Sixteen. And I was fucking my brains out with…”

“ ‘Stan Jacobson’?”

Surprise showing on her face. “How’d you know about Stan?”

“I heard you ask Evie about him and saw the look on your face when she said ‘all his muscles turned to flab and he looked like a butterball’.”

“My Stanley was beautiful in high school!”

“But not ‘too’ pretty, huh?”

Catching the sarcasm, “ I ‘loved’ him, Mitchel!

More than you loved me?”

Snickering. “No comparison! I would have married him in a minute.”

“So, why didn’t you?”

“I was only sixteen and my mother wouldn’t give connect because she hated him… As a matter of fact, my mother hated all the boys I brought around. ..Until she met you.”

“Lucky me, huh!”

By the way, just in case you didn’t know, I never graduated from high school and my fucking mother...”

“Really!”Amazed at this. Knowing ‘no one’ that hadn’t graduated, ‘at least’, from high school. “You ‘never’ finished high school?”

“Yeah! My mother didn’t care enough to make me go and told me ‘I’d better find a job’.

“Your dad?”

“Love my dad — he was such a great guy, but when it came to his wife he was completely oblivious.”

“So, you get a job?”

Nah, at least not right away, but Stan lived in a refurnished basement apartment in his parents house and they worked all day, so Stan gave me a key so I’d be able to go there and wait for him to come home from school...And watch when he lifted his weights.”

This guy… Stan liked you to watch him when he lifted weights?”

“Yeah…” Marsha’s eyes becoming glassy slits, her facial expression bland, her voice a low monotone.

She still stoned? I wondered.

“...Usually I’d be able to talk him into doing it naked and I’d get all naked too and hold his balls …”

Though asked seriously..“So he shouldn’t get a hernia?” it came out sounding as a joke.

Not taking it ‘as a joke’. “Yeah. I’d hold his balls so he shouldn’t get a hernia and sometimes… ‘Plenty’ of times while he was naked lifting those weights and getting sweaty, I’d get close behind him… His ass… I ‘loved’ Stan’s ass was hard as a rock and I’d rub my tits onto his sweaty back and my pussy onto his ass and hold his balls with one hand and with the other feel the muscle in his arm bulge and relax, ‘ummm’…”

She coming? I wondered.

“...And when he was lying on the bench pulling that machines weight ‘down’ and ‘up’, Stan would get this huge boner…”

Don’t doubt that. A sixteen year old girl holding my balls would certainly help me get a boner.

Knowing I shouldn’t be; my wife destroying all that I knew… ‘thought’ I knew of her and the thirty-one years of our marriage. Still, the erotic tone of her voice, the rapture showing on her face, her words… poking through the slit of my pajamas, I discovered ‘I’ had a boner.

“When Stan was lying naked on the bench…” going on with her fantasy “... I’d straddle his legs and rub my hands all over his chest and stomach and feel his hard, sweaty muscles moving under my hands and that would make me so fucking hot I’d blow him then fuck him and I ‘always’ came!”

Coming back to ‘my’ reality

“Marsha, I ‘always’ thought you were virgin,”

“That was wholly ‘your’ assumption and impression, Mitchell.”

“You never told me, or gave the impression that you were anything other than a virgin. Hell, you wouldn’t even let me touch your tits!”

“Oh, God, Mitchell! I never knew ‘anyone’ could be so dumb.”

After hearing these new terrible revelations my wife had told me, an insult was easy to take.

“Why?” Becoming harder to hide my anger. “When was I ever ‘that’ dumb?”

“Our first night together… You remember?”

“On the sofa bed in your mother’s living room.”

‘Yeah! I could hardly believe you believed the bull shit story I told you.”

“Marsha, I never even thought about it because all I wanted to do was to fuck my new bride because I, after all, I ‘was’ a virgin.

“A fucking stupid virgin!”

“Why? Why would I even know? Why would I even think about it?”

“ I thought you’d think it strange when you got your cock into me and had no problem doing it, then the blood…

“ I never even thought of that.”

“Maybe you should have, and when I told you I broke my hymen horseback riding, I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me, but…”

“But stupid me ‘did’ believe you.”

”Yeah. ‘Stupid’ you did.”

Next Pit #30: Mitchell’s Truth