U.S.C.G. Rockaway Life Boat Station

Rockaway, New York

Tales From The Tower 2

Erotic Watch

A cherry-red, 1952 Chevrolet convertible stopped at road’s end.

Mid-morning: Appearing to lie on the white-capped, storm-tossed ocean, the roiling black clouds to the east crackled with shrouded bolts of iridescent lightning. Overhead the sky was a solid dark-gray.

The tower swayed in battering blasts of torrid wind.

Slack line slapping onto the flagpole, the red flag snapped and wreathed.

The binoculars pressed to his eyes, he watched the shadow of an outbound ship on the far fringe of his vision. Close in, on the ocean side there were no vessels within sight. But, though the storm warning flag had been flying for the last twenty-four hours and storm warnings had been broadcast on television and radio for the past two days, still, there were three foolhardy fishermen to be found within the bay.

Carrying on the wind, broken strands of music drew his attention. Moving from the plate glass window to the open doorway, he turned the binoculars towards the convertible.

There was a man and women in the car.

The top was down and Mitchell could see that they were older, perhaps in their late thirties or early- to mid-forties. At least the man appeared to be that age because he was partially bald and had a short-cropped, gray-streaked beard.

The two sat closely together, seemingly watching the quickly approaching storm…

Suddenly the two turned their heads and kissed.

By the movement of their heads the lookout could see that the kiss was ardent, and though he could not see beyond the back of the seat, by the angle of the man’s body and the position of his left arm, his fervent imagination told him that the man was probably holding the woman’s breast.

Accompanied by a blast of sultry air that caused the tower to careen, now also came three distant, sky-splitting bolts of jagged lightening along with the muffled sound of far-off, rolling thunder.

Dangling from the strap about his neck, dropping the binoculars, he held onto either side of the doorframe until the frightful motion stopped, then, going onto the catwalk, scanning the bay, he saw that all but one of the die-hard fishing boats had hoisted anchor and were heading to shore.

“Schmuck!” he yelled futilely into the wind. “Asshole! There’s a fuckin’ hurricane coming! Go buy some god-damned fish if you need some that fuckin’ bad!”

As if the skipper of the boat had heard him, crawling to the bow, a second man hoisted the anchor and the last boat headed to shore.

“X-ray, Baker, Two, to X-ray, Baker, One. Over.”

“Baker, One to Baker, Two. Go on, Lippy.”

“X-ray, Baker, Two reporting that all vessels in the area of Sheepshead bay are ashore or heading to shore. Baker, Two, over.”

“Got’ch’ya, Baker, Two. Keep your eyes on the stragglers. Baker, One, over.”

Again the tower swayed, “Baker, One…” and again Mitchell was terrified. “Uh, Minnie? Over.”

“Yeah, Lippy? Over.”

“Baker, One… I ain’t never been in a hurricane before. Over.”

“Don’t worry, Lippy,” attempting to reassure him, “it’s only qualified as a category one storm, and the winds shouldn’t get much more’n seventy, eighty miles an hour. Over.”

Pushing the transmit button, forcing a laugh, “Minnie, you dick! You sitting there, in that solid brick building can tell me all you want that this is only a fuckin’ category one, but it ain’t gonna stop this fuckin’ tower from walkin’ all over the fuckin’ place!”

“X-ray, Baker, One, X-ray, Baker, Two!” A stern, third voice patching into the transmission, “This is Charlie, George, Dog, How!”

Uh-oh! Coast Guard District Headquarters.

“Baker, One, Baker, Two. This is to inform you that you are not following proper transmittal procedure…”

Madone! thought Minnossa.

Oy, Vey! thought Lipensky.

“…and you fuckers out in Far Rockaway better batten down the fuckin’ hatches ’cause she’s gonna blow like all shit! Charlie, George, Dog, How, out.”

With all vessels safely in-shore and having nothing more to do than hang on, the lookout’s attention went back to the couple in the cherry-red convertible…

Except that the top was up and he couldn’t see what the couple was doing…

Movement causing him to shift the binoculars,

Only they weren’t in the car.

“Holy shit!”

Their sandals throwing little puffs of sand, the man and woman were running across the wind-swept peninsula: She zigging; he zagging.

Their arms waving wildly in the air, streaming behind, the woman’s long, black hair blew in wind-blown strands and…

“Holy shit!”

Taking a moment to register, Mitchell pressed the glasses closer to his eyes. The woman was naked! And as she ran, bouncing up and down and from side to side, the woman’s pendulous breasts slapped against her shoulders and… Bringing the binoculars to behind her, to the man, “Holy shit! The man was naked, too, and there was nothing on him that bounced because the man had a jutting erection that stood as rigidly forward as though an oaken battering ram, and…

As the storm moved closer…

…so did the man.

Lightning cleaved the sky a mile offshore, as…

…catching the woman, grabbing her by the shoulders…

Thunder roaring overhead shook the ground, as…

… he spun her around, and…

Yet another, closer bolt of lightning.

…they embraced, as suddenly…

Rain fell in a thick, almost solid sheet, and…

Kissing. Fiercely pressing their bodies onto each other, the fingers of the man and woman pressed hard into the soft flesh of the others buttocks, as…

Crrackkk! Lightning split the gray-black sky directly overhead, as…

She took hold of the man’s penis, and…

The storm now directly overhead.

He reached his upturned hand between woman’s thighs and the woman strained onto the pressure of the man’s hand as… One arm behind her back, arching the lady backwards, the fingers of the man’s other hand were rubbing, inserting and withdrawing as…

Holding his penis, widening her thighs…

The sky boiling, black…

Lifting her hanging breast, lowering his head, drawing the tightened protrusion of the woman’s large, dark areola full into his mouth as…

Lightning! Thunder! Wind! Rain!

Her hips pumping in concordance with the fingers within her vagina, now, her nipple pulling from the man’s mouth, straightening her body, wrapping an arm about his neck, arching her pelvis, reaching to his penis with her other hand, taking hold of him, the lady inserted the man’s penis as…

Rain sounding as a storm of pebbles on a tin roof. Swaying in the battering wind. Lightning rattling the windows, tremors transmitting from the ground upward, the tower vibrated with each renewed salvo of thunder, as…

Both cool, wet buttocks in his hands, the man supported the weight of the woman’s body, as…

Both arms about his neck, lifting her body off the ground, the woman pressed her widened thighs forward, and…

The man’s penis went deeper into the heat of the woman’s vagina as…

The hot wind gusting even harder, off balance, the man was blown off his feet, but…

The woman’s arms did not release their hold about the man’s neck, or the hold of her thighs from about his waist, nor the length of the man’s penis from within her vagina, and…

Joined in their animalistic, carnal embrace, impervious to soil and sand and weed and rock, the man and woman rolled into a shallow depression in the hard, sandy soil.

The wind blew! The lightning flashed! The thunder roared! The pummeling rain fell!

Beneath the man now, the woman opened her thighs from side to side.

Above the woman now, the man pressed his body forward.

Outside now, pelted by the cool rain, buffeted by the hot wind, the man, the woman, the storm, the passion… and Mitchell Lipensky were as one.

Looking over the man’s shoulder, although too far away to actually see his features, the woman did see the man on the lookout tower watching her lover and herself through binoculars and, lifting her arm, purposely exaggerating the movement of her lips, she…

My God! Mitchell saw the woman looking directly at him, and the movement of her arm, “Oh, my God!” He could not believe it, but, training the glasses on her face, on her lips, the woman’s words, blown away by wind and rain and lightening and thunder, seeing, unbelievably seeing the purposeful, exaggerated movement of her lips, reading the woman’s two words…

Motioning to the lookout with her hand, “Fuck me!” the woman yelled into the wind and rain and lightening and thunder. “Fuck me!”

The man’s buttocks rose and lowered as his penis, glossy with the woman’s fluid, pushed into and drew outward, and the woman, now returning all of her attention to the man above her, within her, met his downward thrusts with her upward thrusts, and her thighs spread even wider and her legs stretched even higher, as….

Pressing the binoculars to his eyes with both hands, no longer aware that he was standing in the open doorway, or the shuddering tower or the battering wind and rain and thunder and lightening, holding himself steady by putting pressure against either side of the doorway with his elbows, his breath coming hard and fast, he thrust his hips…

As though it were he and not the man, Mitchell moved in rhythm with the woman as though she were beneath him and not the man, and as the wind whipped the woman’s hair and blew over their wreathing bodies and through the fissures of their buttocks, he stood with his legs spread and—unaware of when, or even that he did it—with the fly of his jeans open with his penis jutting through, and with both hands on the binoculars, not having to hold himself, he did! Mitchell actually did! He actually sensed himself within the body of the woman and as the man and woman moved their hips and pelvises in concert with each other, so then did he…

And the man, the woman and Mitchell were joined, two physically, one mentally, and all three had become a part of each other, and the raging storm.

Lightening! Thunder! Wind! Rain!

Moving as one!

Thrusting! Withdrawing! Thrusting!

“Yeeesss!” Screaming into the wind. “Yeeesss!” Bringing her outstretched thighs to the man’s shoulders, spreading them to either side of his head, “Yeeesss!” allowing the male organ within her body to thrust even deeper, even harder… “Yeeeeessss!”

Straightening his arms and back, turning his face to the wind and rain, “Yeeesss!” the man howled into the howling wind, “Yeeeessss!”

Breathing even harder, even faster, he felt the wind and rain upon his penis, but, his imagination running full bore, vicariously enveloped within the woman’s vagina, the cool rain actually felt as warm secretion.

The cheeks of his buttocks spasmodically opening and closing with his strong penile contractions, he ejaculated…

As the man below ejaculated, so too did the man in the tower, and the power of his spontaneous emission propelled the initial spurts of semen inches outward before it was caught by and carried away on the wind, and…

With the last ejaculation, shaking his head he came back to there, to then, along with the realization that he was standing in the open, with his penis exposed, and quickly, backing into the shack, shoving his shrinking penis into his pants, he pulled the zipper up.

Below, lifting himself off the woman, the man helped her to her feet.

Spent now, cold now, attempting to brush sand and dirt from each other’s wet backs, their bodies bowed into the wind and rain, the lovers began the walk back to the cherry-red, Chevrolet convertible.

Still having the vicarious sensation that he was a part of the man and woman, having the need to thank them for allowing him to be witness to their incredible, never to be forgotten tryst, stepping outside, Mitchell whistled through his fingers… The shrill sound carried away on the wind, receiving no response from the man and woman, he tried again, even louder, and this time, hearing the whistle the lovers looked back.

Clasping his hand over his head, the lookout gave the man and woman the universal “victory” sign.

A bit perverted in their lovemaking, knowing a man would be in the tower, watching, had added flavor to their passion. But now that her passion had been spent, the woman attempted to cover her hanging breasts with her right forearm and her crotch with her other hand.

But the man, proud of, and acknowledging this sign by another man, returned the gesture.

Waving one last time, backing into the shack, watching as the two made their way to the cherry-red convertible, closing the door to the wind and rain, “Jesus,” Mitchell said aloud, “so that’s how old people fuck.”