A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Secret Weapons”
Chicago, Illinois
February 27, 1963
So I did it once; so I don’t have to do it again! I won’t do it again.
Sexually satiated!
An easy vow to make after three orgasms…
Oh, yeah! A very easy vow to make after three mind blowing orgasms within two and a half hours.
In reality, to give up that which he had just found?
To give up this beautiful, self assured woman with a sexual appetite matching his own that ‘truly’ loves him!
To give up this ‘literal’ woman of his dreams?
For what? A shrew that hates him? To give up this beautiful, self assured, sexual woman for a—in his opinion—frigid, sexless, hateful shrew?
His children, however.
Des Plaines, Illinois
February 27, 1963
Opening the door and walking into his home.
Hoping Marsha would—as she most always carried her anger into the next day—still be angry because her continued anger would fortify the rationalisation for the reason of this day’s infidelity.
As fate would have it, however…
Awakening that morning with her blood sugar levels approximately where they should be.
Awakening feeling rested and uncharacteristically cheerful... And forgiving.
Actually, on this day Marsha Lipensky—very uncharacteristically—felt remorse for the hateful, anger filled words she had spoken to her husband the night before, for whatever reason she could not remember.
Go Figure!
Opening the door and walking into his home.
Looking into the kitchen, expecting nothing in return but silence. “Hi,” said with minimal enthusiasm.
Go figure! The one time in his life when Mitchell wanted Marsha’s anger…
“Mitchie, hi...” said with maximum enthusiasm. “...how was your day?”
Surprised? No, actually shocked by the tone of her words.
However just because she was no longer angry, didn’t mean he hadn’t the right to be angry after the hateful, anger filled things she’d said the day before.
“Fine...” said harshly. “...just fine, Marsha!”
“I’ve steak for us.”
Disarmed by her tone.
First going to the lower level to say, “Hi!” to Michael and Ellie and to —in the playpen, ruffle Sammie’s hair.
Hating the arguments! Softening his tone. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.” he called to his wife.
Since Mitchell’s construction working days when he would take a shower upon returning home, a late afternoon or early evening shower had become a habit, so now had to do it to keep up appearances.
Besides, just in case of a lingering scent, he felt the need to take another shower. His third within the last three and a half hours.
****
Hearing the water go off. Giving him a few seconds to get out of the bathtub.
The gilt of her treatment to her husband nagging at Marsha. Doing something she hadn't done in a few years....
The last time Marsha Lipensky had felt the need to make love to her husband had been thirteen months earlier, when on the early morning of 1/1/62, after watching three stag films— dirty movies, she had rushed her husband from their neighbours home to their bedroom where she all but sexually attacked him… Which, of course, he had more than gladly responded to.
Whatever was to come on this night was actually to be more out of guilt than desire…
At least for the husband.
As for the wife:
‘Guilt’! Guilt be damned!
Never apologising…
The last time Marsha Lipensky had apologised to her husband had been on 7/4/58—because on 4/20/58 she had disappeared with eleven month old Michael…
“Okay to come in?”
Drying his back. Standing on the bathmat before the sink nude. Looking at the steamy reflection of the closed door in the mirror…
Why’s she doing this?
The thought of the ardent kiss at Harding’s flitting through his mind. Someone saw us and called her!
Fearfully, “Sure.” he said.
Opening the door. Coming into the steam shrouded room. Going to her husband and pressing her fully clothed body against his fully nude body. Her hands clasping his buttocks…
She knows!
Kissing him lightly on the lips. Her hand going to his limp penis…
She’s going to rip it off!
But, dropping to her knees on the bathmat before the sink...
She’s going to bite it off!
In Marsha Lipensky’s arsenal of ‘secret weapons’…
Her equivalent of the atomic bomb.
…Her lips going to his limp, dangling penis. Drawing it into her mouth…
Jesus!
No longer limp and no longer dangling…
Sensing it responding to the draw and release her mouth…
Jesus!
Knowing the fastest, easiest way to reduce his anger, or remove it altogether, intending to tease only—but after two or three delightfully pleasing minutes, for ‘both’ husband and wife—hypothetically changing the husband and wife’s family dynamic…
Standing, finding herself erotically excited, kissing him quickly on the lips. “Dinner’s ready,” Marsha said, leaving the bathroom.
Having no idea what to make of Marsha’s heretofore pressently uncharacteristic wantonness…
Bewildered! So much so he felt, She’s ‘got’ to know something!
****
“The kids ate already?”
“Thought I’d feed them early so…”
Uh-oh!
Shooing Mercy away with her knee, putting a steak on his plate, “…we can have a quiet, peaceful dinner.”
‘Quiet’, ‘peaceful? Waiting for the shoe—or ax—to drop.
What’s she mean by ‘quiet’ and ‘peaceful’?
Ladling some mashed potatoes onto his dish… “So you had a nice day?” ...then some steaming peas.
Putting a chunk of butter on the potatoes.
Why’s she keep asking if I had a nice day?
“Yeah, it was...” having fantastic sex three times in less than three hours with the woman of his dreams “...uh, pretty good.”
Not sitting at her usual place at the opposite end of the table, but to his immediate right.
“Good! I had a pretty good day, too.”
Shaking salt on the potatoes, “You, uh, okay?”
If she knew anything, she’d have said so by now.
“You sound like you’re feeling really well.” He considered saying, ‘for a change’, but thought better of it.
“Yeah...” her hand going beneath the table, “...I am feeling really well, and…”
Breathing a sigh of relief, she doesn’t know anything!
Cutting the steak, he gave the Dalmatian a small chunk of meat.
Squeezing his thigh. “…kind’a sexy.” Marsha added.
Watching from between his stomach and the edge of the table, silently begging for more meat, Mercy’s snout now on his lap, and his wife’s hand on his thigh.
Suppressing a giggle, Jesus, he thought, all of a sudden everyone wants’a get hold’a my dick.
On the one hand overjoyed that, She doesn’t know anything!
“Maybe...” Marsha said, “...we can get the kids to bed a little earlier tonight, and…”
On the other hand, Uh-oh! Thinking, I already ‘came’ three times today and don’t know if I can… Remembering the almost instantaneous erection of no more than ten minutes earlier.
****
However…
Taut where Elizabeth was soft. And soft where—well, nothing about Marsha was softer than Elizabeth…
And small where Elizabeth was—well, nothing about Elizabeth was smaller than Marsha and…
Surprised that after this day he felt any, “Marsha...” said in the revived heat of his passion, “...I love you!”
Surprised also because at this time he ‘sincerely’ meant it.
Due to the game Marsha unwittingly, or ‘knowingly’ played, Mitchell, in ‘his’ opinion, was kept so sexually deprived that on the rare occasions they did have intercourse he became so aroused his orgasms were almost always premature.
Surprised also.
Because on this night— for reasons fully, yet fortunately unknown to the wife! Maintaining an erection, the husband was easily able to abstain from orgasm long enough for the wife to issue a near silent sigh and a near unnoticed twitching of her pelvis, and...
“I love you, too, Mitchie.” Marsha said, meaning it ‘wholeheartedly’.
Holy shit!
Mitchell Lipensky’s ego extended to heretofore unknown proportions.
‘Four times’! He thought,’four times’!
Go figure: ‘feast or famine’.
****
While making love to his wife and later awaiting sleep, Mitchell, of course, made comparisons between Elizabeth and his wife; the two women he’d had—as it turned out ‘loving’ sexual relations with on this amazing day.
Marsha was taller and thinner and even after giving birth to three children, had a taut stomach.
Though having thinner thighs and legs—at this point in time when ‘mini-skirts’ were the fashion…
When dressed in a mini-skirt — which Mitchell ‘thoroughly’ enjoyed seeing and approved of, while wearing heels of any length, Marsha’s long legs and unique beauty often turned men’s heads…
And actually, though there was no comparison between the beautiful face of Elizabeth Herzon and the face of Marsha Lipensky, Marsha, in her own special way was beautiful also.
Factually, while engaged in intercourse on this night, when the reclining head of his wife was but ten or fifteen alternating inches distant, looking at the face of his wife Mitchell Lipensky felt a sense of total love for this woman and...
“I love you, Marcie!”
****
Quietly lying alongside his wife spoon fashion. His arm between her arm and chest. His hand cupping her left breast with her hand holding his.
Marsha’s face turning to the side, “Mitchie...” totally surprising him, “...I’m sorry at times I’m such a bitch.”
On this night, his hand cupping a breast with her hand holding his.
Breasts: Larger; fuller... ‘Beautiful’! In comparison there was no comparison.
Realising his wife had given him three wonderful children that had caused bodily changes.
Feeling the soft flesh within his hand. Sensing the hardened nipple pressed into his palm… I love you, he thought.
“I love you!” Mitchell sincerely said.
The last conscious thought Mitchell Lipensky had on this night was…
I’m going to break it off! I’m not going to see Elizabeth again!
The next FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Blood Sugar”
