A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Officer John Mahoney” Caution, "R" rated
Chicago, Illinois
June 29,1957
Marsha had been correct.
It was dark when they came out of the theatre and, “buh-ba-baba-ba-ba-buming” the ‘Colonel Bogie March’, the theme from ‘The Bridge on the River Kwai’, Mitchell anxiously drove to the closest, and first place either he or she could think of where it would be dark and they could be alone: The ‘Montrose Beach’ parking lot.
On the way, “Mitchie...” remembering, “...unless you’ve got one with you—and if you do, I have no idea what you thought you were going to do with it—I think you’d better stop and buy some.”
“Buy some ‘what’?”
“ ‘Rubbers’, Mitchie.”
Yeah!
It took three tries until he was able to find a drugstore with a male pharmacist— with no women or salesgirls within hearing range. His hand to the side of his mouth, whispering to the man behind the drug counter, “a package of ‘Trojan red-Wets’, please.”
***
Although dark, it was still too early for most of the kids that went there for a necking session and there were only a few scattered cars parked in the large Montrose Beach parking lot.
Circling twice, Mitchell parked in the furthermost, most secluded spot. Turning the motor and lights off, “Baby...” he asked, “...you want to move to the back?”
No response needed...Quickly transferred from the front to the back, sitting closely together Mitchell had his right arm across her shoulders and his left hand flat on her ribs directly beneath Marsha’s right breast where, radiating through the material of her bra and chemise, the soft warmth rested within the bow of his thumb and forefinger.
Beginning tenderly, the kiss quickly became impassioned. And as it lengthened the soft warmth filled the palm of his hand…
A button was unbuttoned—by Marsha and, his hand slipping through clasping the soft, warm, silky bulb…Whispered softly, “Marcie, I love you.”
Before Marsha’s pregnancy had changed the aspect of her breasts, holding a breast as he was, circling the nipple with his thumb he could feel tightening as the smooth circle of sensitive tissue hardened and elongated into a tight cone.
It had been so long since he’d held Marsha in this way, he’d forgotten the change within her nipples and the enlarged, now-course circle of flesh excited him in the way the first touch of a new girl had always excited him.
Although, considering the circumstances, Mitchell Lipensky would have been just as excited with Marsha’s pre-pregnancy nipples. However…
Sensing the husband’s excitement, the wife’s heightened too. “Mitchie...” her hand moving from her lap to his lap, “...I love you, too!” Her fingers instantly finding and tightening about the hard, cylindrical shape.
As a married couple with a child — Though not actually cognizant of the thought, both the husband and wife were rather sure they would never again be as ‘this’ with the other as though now ‘each’ touch was as though it were their first touch.
The excitement of ‘now’ as it had been ‘then’...when each touch ‘truly’ was the first touch.
Passion taking the two from where they were, their love—mental and physical—overflowing as though in the privacy of their home…
As always the mere touch of Marsha’s hand upon his penis— even above his slacks sent an unbearably sweet shock of excitement and pushing another button and another the upper portion of the chemise now fully open, he slipped the cups of the bra up and off both breasts.
In the scattered-cloud, semi-shadowed darkness, breathing the words, “God, Marcie!” As the refound dream of his wife’s bare breasts were before his eyes and in his hands… with a strange nipple within his lips.
Feeling the tingling sensation as his lips tightened and his mouth drew, and the sharp, delicious prick of pain as his teeth lightly nipped. Sensing also the flow of the fluid that readied her vagina…
“Wait, baby.” Sitting straight, pulling her arms through the sleeves, the dress fell to her waist. Slipping her arms through the straps, removing the bra she dropped it between her feet. Glancing into the alternating darkness of this night, Marsha put her arms back into the sleeves and brought the dress to over her shoulders.
It had been almost four months since he’d last made love to Marsha, or even seen his wife nude, and certainly this was the first opportunity to see Marsha bare-chested since her milk had dried up. By the size and weight he was able to judge that her breasts had returned to their moderate, pre-pregnancy size. He did remember that the pregnancy had caused her areolae to flatten and become darker. But until then he did not know if they would remain that way or, as he had hoped, after her milk had dried up return to their original, dark-pink, dome shape.
Looking at Marsha in the subdued light, the white of her flesh was stark against the tan of her chest and, whereas before the areolae would barely be discernible in the available light, now they were still darker and the protruding nipples still larger, and courser. But to this husband ‘everything’ about his wife was beautiful...‘more’ than beautiful.
Now, as though seeing his wife for the first time — Overwhelmed with passion, once again putting his mouth onto a breast, Mitchell drew hungrily on his wife’s strange nipple, as…
Excited further by his gaze, tightening her hand about the clothed shape of his straining penis ‘Wanting’ to see him bare. ‘Wanting’ to hold him bare. Pulling the tab of his zipper downward, slipping her hand into his trousers, Marsha searched for the overlapping fly of his Jockey shorts, and…
“Oh, God, Marsha! The electric touch of her cool hand on his naked, blood-engorged flesh inducing a contraction within his rectum, causing his penis to jerk in her hand…
Arching his pelvis, widening the slit of his underpants freeing ‘himself’.
“ ‘Oh, yeah’...” he whispered hoarsely, “...hold me, baby1” As his hand moved beneath the hem of the chemise, up her bare calf and smooth thigh and high onto the moist… very moist crotch of her panties, then through the elastic band, and…
Marsha and Mitchell Lipensky had ‘no’ money problems! ‘No’ parental problems! ‘No’ thought whatsoever of whatever the future may hold! For Marsha and Mitchell Lipensky ‘now’ is all there is in the close confines of the back seat of a 1952 Ford convertible.
“Marcie!” The feel of her silky damp pubic hair sending an additional shock as he probed into the warm wet cleft of flesh with the finger of one hand as unbuttoning the remaining buttons of the chemise with the other… Pulling his hand from beneath the elastic, grasping the bands of the half slip along with her panties, as Marsha lifted her buttocks he pulled both off her hips, down her legs, over her ankles and feet, and…
Now, though she still wore the chemise, it was completely open and Marsha’s slender body was…
“Oh, ‘God’, Marsha! You’re ‘so’ beautiful!”
The deep tan of her sun-exposed flesh.
The iridescent whiteness of her sun-hidden flesh.
The slope of her white breasts.
The darkness of her aroused nipples…
The black triangle of pubic hair and— for the first time, the thin, diagonal appendectomy scar that within the shadows of available light were all exposed to his sight.
Through his excitement…
‘Intensified’ by his excitement Mitchell smelled the erotically mild sea-like scent of the flow of Marsha’s excitement, and…
The scent of her sex…
The sight of her body…
The feel of her hand upon his penis…
That in her excitement she began to manipulate… which caused a sharp spasm within his rectum and testicles that only by grabbing her hand and holding on firmly and tightening his sphincter was he able to hold off.
When the near uncontrollable need passed, looking at the all-but-nude phenomena that was his wife, kicking his shoes off, opening his belt, “my ‘God’, Marcie I want to be in you.”
Leaving his socks and unbuttoned shirt on, pushing his slacks off, along with his underpants…
Looking at the all-but-nude phenomena that was her husband, “me, too, Mitchie...” spoken quietly, passionately, “...I want you in me, too.”
When one is young and in the heat of passion, the close confines of the back seat of a 1952 Ford convertible was, somehow, ‘no’ obstacle and the two were able, ‘somehow’, to contort their bodies into positions that under normal conditions would be, for most human beings—for all but the most ‘urgently’ passionate of human beings—utterly impossible, and…
Positioned between his wife’s legs, Mitchell moved the tips of his fingers along the inside of her silken thighs then again feeling the mat of—Oh, God—moist hair, he rubbed the palm of his hand over the hard, yet ‘so’ soft mound of Marsha’s vulva, and…
Depending on position, it usually took a few seconds until he found the fissure. Now, though, due to Marsha’s open position and willingness, touching, feeling the flow… The overflow of fluid, leaning forward he lightly kissed her lips, her neck and with lingering tongue, one, then the other tightened nipple. Inching back on the seat, his tongue trailed the slight salt taste of Marsha’s chest, down and around her ‘outie’ bellybutton and down, onto and into the hair where he drew one, then the other soft fleshly lips into his mouth…
Twenty-four hours earlier thinking he would ‘never’ again taste the honey of his wife…
Tasting the taste of Marsha, Mitchell’s tongue pushed deeply— to its root into his wife’s… into Marsha’s vagina as…
Tightening her eyes. Biting her lower lip, her fingers entwined in his hair, straining her pelvis forward and upward…
Uh-oh!
Both suddenly aware of a sharp tapping accompanied by a beam of light playing through the fog-shrouded, passion-beaded moisture of the rear, right side window.
Oh, yeah!
‘Uh-oh’, indeed, because…
“Would the two’a’ya step out’a the car, please.” This posed certainly not as a mere request.
Verging on hysteria, Marsha ‘very’ quickly fastened the seven buttons of her chemise—putting the first button into the second buttonhole, meaning the sixth button was in the seventh buttonhole as…
In near panic, trying to think of a reason, ‘any’ reason for having his head where he’d had his head —Mitchell put his left leg through the right legs of his entwined underpants and slacks as…
Impatiently tapping on the window with his flashlight, well aware of his purposely inflicted panic and doing his best to inflict more panic. “I want the two’a’ya out’a there, ‘now’!”
After a number of very long seconds, as Marsha was misbuttoning her sixth button and Mitchell was trying to untangle his pants and get his legs into the proper legs…
Finally!
Having to tilt the front seat forward in order to open the door and—‘very’ ungracefully—back out; Mitchell first with Marsha following both hesitantly stumbled out of the car, as…
Shining the light in his face. “What’ch’ya been doin’ down there...” the cop asked Mitchell, “...lookin’ for somethin’?”
‘Lookin’ for somethin’ ? The humor of the situation—for the time being and foreseeable future—completely lost on Mitchell.
“Uh, no, Sir, I was, uh…” Having to untangle his pants and underpants. Not having time enough to put his shoes on. Standing on the fringe of the Montrose Beach parking lot in his stockinged feet with his shirt fully unbuttoned—with the taste of Marsha still in his mouth—Mitchell Lipensky wondered, Christ, what do I say to this guy?
“Officer!”
The beam of light shifted from Mitchell’s face to hers. The unaccustomed brilliance stinging her eyes, Marsha looked down… and realized that not only had she misbuttoned her dress, but in her haste to get dressed she’d also put the left shoe onto her right foot.
“We’re married, you see...” she said trying to sound as convincing as possible. “...and he, uh, he ‘is’ my husband and…”
“You’re married, huh? So says you!”
The beam of light leaving her face, slowly traveled down her body to her cross-toed shoes, then back where it hesitated on her chest, where, because Marsha hadn’t the time, nor the inclination to lower her dress to put her bra on, in plain sight of this man—cop or not—the top button was inches lower then its mismatched buttonhole, leaving the top of the chemise gaping open with the upper flesh of both breasts completely visible.
Noting Marsha was a ‘woman’, not one of the usual kids he and his partner, weather permitting, hassled almost every night in this parking lot…
Occasionally, if the girl looked older than eighteen and if ‘Chicago Police Officer John Mahoney’ or his partner were able to frighten the young man and woman enough, separating the young woman from the young man…
Marsha Lipensky certainly looked older than eighteen...
Thinking, Nice piece’a ass, Officer John Mahoney’s tongue nervously flicked across his lips. “You think bein’ married, ‘if’ you’re married gives the two’a you the right to be doin’ the kind’a stuff…” jerking his thumb towards the car, “...the two’a you was doin’, in a public parkin’ lot, yet?”
“No, Officer! You are absolutely right!”
Next FNOW excerpt in sequence: “Stinking Revenge”
