A FBOW excerpt in sequence: Fireworks:
4th of July 1958
Notice: Extremely erotic! If easily offended, please pass on this and the next two excerptrs.
“And his parents having sex might be a ‘traumatic’ experience that he might remember when he gets older, you think?”
Well, baby...” Marsha Lipensky said to her husband “...it might not be traumatic to Mikey, but it sure as hell might be traumatic to you and me.”
“We’re going to do something traumatic, are we?”
“Oh, yes baby, lift up...” As Michael was once again momentarily seduced by Woody Woodpecker…
...Lifting a bit, pulling the right leg of his shorts fully upward revealing her husband’s turgid penis along with a number of strands of black pubic hair,
Leaning forward Marsha licked the length... with her tongue lingering on the glans where — a thick drop of crystal clear semen seeping through — now having the courage, but more so the need; licking it… For the first time tasting the fluid of her husband…
“Mmmm, baby...” said breathlessly “... if I knew your cock tasted so good...”
“Marcie...” his hand going between her bare thighs “...what ever happened to ‘good Jewish wives don’t go around giving their husbands blow-jobs’?”
“ ‘Fuck’ good Jewish wives!”
As Mitchell’s hand— between his wife’s thighs moved upward...
“Ma-ma!”
Clamping her thighs shut, hauling her husband’s upward progression…
Completely out of context, “Mitchie, while I take care of Mikey, why don’t you run over to Red Dot and buy a dozen…” Thinking, I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t. “You ‘do’ plan on staying, don’t you?”
“Marsha...” rising from the sofa, “...why would you even ask? Of ‘course’ I plan on staying!”
“Okay, then, ‘good’!”
You wanted something from the store?”
“Yeah! We’ve got this great BB-Que outside, so I thought that we’d grill some hot doges for dinner tonight and maybe do it again on Sunday, if you want.”
“That’s fine, baby.”
“Might as well get some buns and Dorthy makes the greatest potato salad and what’s left over, Mikey and me’ll have next week.”
Wanting to put her family together again, and having dinners at home… ‘breaking bread’ together seemed a sure way to do it.
“Okay, a dozen hot dogs and buns… I’ll eat maybe three and you, unless you’ve changed that much, two and Mikey?”
“If we remove the skin and cut the pieces small enough, the little guy ‘loves’ hot dogs and, believe it or not, he’ll devour one.”
Okay, a dozen hot dogs, buns and a…?
“Pound.”
“Pound of potato salad,”
“You got it.” Going to a bowl on the counter, Marsha took a five dollar bill from from a jumble of bills… “Here,” Handing Mitchell the money.
“Are you ‘nuts’!”
A bit bewildered, Marsha watched as Mitchell went outside to the car and reaching into the glove department returned and handed her a passbook.
Opening the imitation leather cover that read: ‘Skokie Savings and Loan’, and inside: ‘Savings Account. ‘Mitchell Lipensky and Marsha Lipensky’. Looking at her husband. Dismayed because the account was in both their names.
“Mitchie, I...”
“Go ahead, open it.”
“Oh, my God! How did you…”
“Honey, I get two-ten an hour plus time and half for overtime and clear, after tax, about ninety-two bucks a week.”
“A ‘week’?”
“Yeah!
“But?”...Holding the check book forward.
“I’ve worked for Uncle Shel for about ten weeks now and other than about five or six bucks a week for coffee breaks and lunches… And, oh, yeah, I spent about fifty bucks for some new clothes…”
“So how come you only sent me twenty dollars a week?”
“If you asked for more, I would have sent it.”
Looking at the balance again: Balance… ‘$809.00’.
“ ‘Eight hundred dollars’!” Marsha said in disbelief.
Yeah, and that includes paying what we owe to doctors and lawyers and the credit company… But remember we haven’t been paying for rent or food.”
“Being a schlepper pays off, huh?”
“I’ll say! And we still have the money coming from the accident.”
“Hey, Mikey!” The baby looked up.
“You wanna go to the store with your pa?”
...Michael once again riding high upon his ‘Da-da’s ’shoulders. ” “Do we need charcoal for the fire?”
“No, we’ve a pile of cut wood behind here.”
Waiting until the screen-door closed. Going into the bathroom Marsha took her second shower of the day giving extra care to all of her hidden crevices.
****
Dinner finished…
Three hours until darkness. Until they wake Mikey and the newly reborn family of three go to the beach and spread a blanked on the sand to watch firework displays coming from Union Pier and New Buffalo.
Fourth of July programming droning on all three channels.
“You think he’s asleep?”
Leaving her husband’s side, going to their baby and covering him with a light blanket. “Yes...” Marsha said, “...he’s out like a light.”
“I’m going to hop in and take a fast shower, okay?”
“Yeah, baby. I’ll be waiting.”
Though he’d taken a shower that morning and swam in the fresh water of Lake Michigan, Mitchell, too, gave extra care to his dark crevice and all that was not in a crevice.
Walking nude to the bedroom, finding his wife upon the centre of bed nude also.
Seeing the look. Aware of how he loved seeing her naked...
Always! No matter how angry he might have been at his wife for whatever reason, the sight of Marsha fully nude had always dissipated that anger.
In her arsenal of feminine weapons, Marsha Lipensky knew the sight of her nude, and/or the hint, or the withholding, of sex was her equivalent of the atomic bomb.
“Marsha,” coming closer— knowing where he wants to lay, one knee upon the bed, looking, seeing his wife again...
Marsha Lipensky, was indeed a lovely young woman. Truth be known, though, free of clothing, she was thin, bordering on skinny. Her legs were long and, though shapely they too were thin. Marsha had no noticeable hips and small, very tight buttocks, and ‘never’ considered as ‘perky’, since having Michael, her, to say the least, moderately sized breasts did have a noticeable droop.
But, to Mitchell…
“My God...” his hands lifting both breasts, “you’re so beautiful!”
When he would say those words—because he’d said them so often—Marsha would think he was not being altogether sincere because, after all, she knew what her body looked like, so how could anyone—no matter how horny—really think that she was God’s gift to him. So she’d thought the words ‘You’re so beautiful’ were said more for effect than in absolute honesty.
But hearing…
“You’re so beautiful!”
On this evening, at this time knowing the words were heartfelt warmed Marsha more so than she already was...
The late-afternoon sun coming through the gauzy curtains lit the room with a soft, wavering light.
One foot upon the floor, one knee upon the bed, looking from her face to her breasts to the black triangle of hair in the high junction of thighs and crotch... ‘
The thought that he was with his Marsha again...’
The thought that he was seeing his Marsha again filled his mind and heart.
Overwhelmed with the beauty of, yes, God’s gift to him. Dropping onto the bed alongside, sensing the heat of her body from chest to stomach...
Having more than a ‘mere’ desire. Actually having a ‘need’ to do this— bypassing the lovely and loving foreplay, face to crotch now, putting his face into the black, downy cleft of Marsha’s thighs… Sensing the moisture of Marsha’s vagina along with the slightly sea tang scent of her rapidly heightening need…
As these sensations filled his mind, reverence became passion as, holding her cool buttocks within the palms of his hands, pressing her forward, pushing her harder onto his face… His tongue probing deeper into the tight, lubricious channel… Then retracting and probing inward again, and again
As though the drop of semen taken upon her tongue earlier that day were aphrodisiac Marsha Lipensky could no longer live without…
“Mitchie, baby, do it! Eat my pussy!” Saying the words, giving voice to the unbelievable sexual picture within her mind as, feeling his penis brushing at her lips… Probing for entrance.
Wanting him to, Oh, God, Needing to! Allowing entrance, taking him fully into her mouth.
Feeling it. For the first time in the life of Mitchell and Marsha feeling the warm, wet sensation of ‘being’ within her mouth. “Oh, God, honey...” lifting his face long enough to...”...Oh. God. Honey, I ‘love’ it!” His face moving again into the warm now wet junction, his tongue again probing inward and outward
The sensual picture within Marsha Lipensky’s mind of his tongue delving deeply into her ‘pussy’ and his ‘cock’ into her mouth filling her with a desire far beyond any she had ‘ever’ witnessed… Visualising his tongue as his penis— as Marsha Goldman had when upon a blanket at Morris Avenue Beach when all either could do was to visualise…
Now though,“Eat me! Oh, God!!” Moving her hips minutely forward and back, pumping with the in and out motion of his tongue.
“Fuck my cunt, baby!” His penis back into her mouth, sucking and releasing in concert with the ‘fucking’ cadence withing her ‘cunt’.
Actually, before she’d met Mitchell, when Marsha would fantasise about a boy or, as she grew older, a man, the man would always be muscular; not just everyday muscular, but weight-lifter muscular.
Though far from the ‘weigh-lifter’ type When she had seen him in a bathing suit earlier she’d very much admired the vastly slimmed down and muscled up body of her husband… The variegating shades of white and tan not bothering her in the least.
Now though…
In the fleeting momentary thought...
Seeing Mitchell wholly nude: the tapering of his waist and the hardness of his thighs seemed to accentuate the size of his turgid penis and to Marsha, the man before her was her husband and, really, was ‘all’ she desired.
Yet, in a way, the naked man along side her was a different man and the two and a half months of loneliness, of agonising over the decisions she’d made along with the very possible fear that they might never again be together again as husband and wife, as man and woman were behind her because…
As Mitchell, scant moments earlier had found it difficult to believe that Marsha was really here, laying fully nude before him…
So then did Marsha have the same surrealistic sensation and to be sure now was not a continuation of that bothersome, but so sweet orgasmic dream she’d had those ten nights ago, moving ‘him’ from her mouth… Closing her fingers about…
Closing his eyes to the feel of her touch…
If one were to heft a piece of gold the size of a marble, one fleetingly might wonder of physical weight to size.
So then did Marsha wonder of the cylinder of flesh she held within her hand: it was hard, yet soft; it was…? Hot? Cold? Actually cool and wet from her saliva, yet the cool wet heat that emanated from the penis of her husband erotically seared the epidermis of Marsha’s flesh to spiritually enter her blood, causing it to flow through the veins that channelled from hand to heart to brain to cause an urge such as she’d never had before.
At that moment she ‘wanted’… actually needed for him to…
“Mitchie...” breathlessly whispered, barely loud enough to be hear, “...come in my mouth!”
Lifting his face, wanting to be sure… near breathlessly asked, “You sure, Marcie. You’re sure you want me to?”
“Yes, Mitchie. I want you to!” Uncontrollably kissing his penis. “Fuck me in my mouth baby! I want your cock in my mouth and I want your come!”
Whereas true love is between two assenting people, physical or otherwise, it is truly a matter of what one might give rather than what one might receive…
Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: The Beach on The 4th
