Elysium Fields 17: Sex & Wine
Topanga Canyon, California
Saturday, May 17, 1986
3:14 PM
“You play Backgammon, Marcie?”
Evie lying stretched out with her head on Morgan’s lap, each holding a partially empty glass of wine.
“No, Ken. That’s one game I never learned to play.”
“Like to learn it?”
“Not just now,” wiggling her near empty ten ounce plastic glass, “but I wouldn’t mind a little more wine.”
Without standing, Ken lifted the gallon… now the half gallon of wine from the ice chest and, reaching across Evie…
“Hey, Kenny!” A couple droplets of icy water along with a few chips of ice dripping onto Evie’s sun warmed stomach… “That’s cold!”
Leaning across Evie, “Sorry, Evie,” to Marsha’s outstretched arm, Ken poured five or six ounces into her plastic glass. “Mitch?”
Not much of a drinker himself. The last time he’d been drunk was on April 22, 1958 when, after he’d left for work the next morning, Marsha, very irrationally, had all of their furniture moved by armed movers. Not knowing where his family had gone, and nobody telling him, Mitchell hadn’t seen his wife or son for three months.
“Mitch?”
His glass near empty but, “Nah, I’m okay for now.”
“Hey, seeing as you dripped all over me,” Holding her glass forward, “Me, too.”
Pouring for Evie, “Want more, Morg?”
“Yeah, sure, may as well.”
Ken motioned to Sandy.”
“Nah, I’ve had enough for a while, but wouldn’t mind,” motioning to the Backgammon board, “a game.”
“Yeah, fine, let’s do it!”
Sitting cross-legged with his re-filled glass held between his legs, joined by Sandy sitting in a like position, Ken set the board up.
“Mitchie, you know what?” using his chest as a back rest.
Reclining on his side in kind of a fetal position, the side of his face resting upon his left hand, “What, baby?” his right arm about her waist, his hand warmly and comfortably laying beneath Marsha’s hanging right breast.
About seven or eight ounces of wine gone from the re-stocked ten ounce plastic glass held in her left hand, Marsha’s right hand, draped over his outer thigh, rubbing the backside inside of her husband’s thigh…
This beautiful day.
Marsha’s arm stretching.
This magical place.
Marsha’s fingers probing.
The wine.
“Mitchie, thank you!”
The wine.
“Why? Why are you thanking me?”
“Here, baby, I’m so glad you talked me into coming today.”
Enjoying… Loving the caressing touch of her hand, “Yeah, baby, I’m… “ Shifting positions a bit, widening his thighs a bit so…
Right here, in the open, her fingers touching the underside of his scrotum, “Yeah…” now the base of his penis, her hand pushing through the flesh of his thighs, holding ‘him’ from behind, fully holding him.
“I’m, uh, glad you’re here, too.”
Due to the position of their bodies and the way Marsha was sitting, those sitting forward probably had no idea where her hand was. However, those people behind…?
Overtaken with love.
Overtaken with passion.
Overtaken with raw desire…
Rapidly shifting positions, Marsha beneath, lying partially atop; Marsha’s chest pressed tightly against his chest, “Marcie, I love you, baby!”
“Me, too! Oh, God, Mitchie, me, too!”
The kiss becoming impassioned, Mitchell’s hand holding a compressed breast held tightly between their two bodies… Marsha’s hand hidden downward, between their bodies.
Watching as Sandy – her back to Marsha and Mitchell – figured her next move. Watching, knowing where Marsha’s hand was. Becoming impassioned himself, the tip of his penis coming out of hiding, extending.
Noticing, “Why you getting horny, Kenny?” Thinking his growing erection was caused by her, then noting his eyes were looking elsewhere, beyond her left shoulder.
Turning, seeing, wanting Mitchell herself, stabbed by jealousy, “Hey, you guys,” Sandy cautioned irately, “don’t get too, uh, hot here,” vaguely cocking her head, “or we’ll be getting company.”
Remembering that they’re in the open. In the middle of a field of possibly one hundred and fifty people. Embarrassed that Sandy had seen them, had seen her…
Moving her hand, draping it over his waist, “Mitchie…” Actually the last thing Marsha wanted to do was… “stop!” Wiggling away, “She’s right, we’d better stop.”
Breathily “Yeah.” Looking at Sandy and Ken. Exposed now, having no way to hide his erection but by covering it with his hand, and that seemed such an obvious move that, Let it go away by itself, he thought. However, noting that Sandy was looking at him, at ‘it’, to whatever degree he may have softened, ‘it’ wasn’t any longer. Not knowing what to do, taking hold of Marsha’s arm, moving her back to him, “You want to go to ‘a room’?” he whispered.
Marsha never drinks!
Now pretty well soused on seven or eight ounces of wine and wanting, desperately wanting to have intercourse with her husband, but sober enough to know that she doesn’t have the courage to walk, naked, the length of this field with all of these people looking at her. To walk naked across this field with all of those people watching as she prepared to have sex in a semi-private room was just a little more than even her besotted mind would allow her to do.
©August 27, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman
