PIT #13: Morgan

Careful ‘R’ rated!

Points In Time

Topanga Canyon, California —

Saturday, May 17, 1986

1:12 p.m.

She’d been sitting on the edge of the blanket. Standing now, “Hi, Marcie.”

Thinking of hugging, but changing her mind. “Hey, Mitch! It’s ‘really’ nice seeing you again.”

Thinking of hugging, but ‘wisely’ changing his mind. “Good to see you, too, Sandy.”

Thinking Sandy cute, a bit on the chubby side and other than pretty breasts, no competition, although...’It’s really nice seeing you again’? Marsha thought, How’s she know Mitchell?

Morgan’s handshake near hurting my hand, I watched Marsha’s expression of near fear at being bear hugged by this huge, all but naked man whose dick became a bit more noticeable.

“Friends of Evie’s are friends of mine! ‘Sit’! ”Morgan commanded. “Have some wine!”

Doing as commanded, Marsha sat as demurely as possible considering she was naked and, I assumed, more than a bit intimidated by Morgan whom I immediately felt a degree of friendship with.

“Thank you…” Marsha said “...but I don’t drink wine.”

“Whiskey, then?” Digging into a back pack, Morgan produced a silver flask and held it forward.

A bear of a man – the excessive blonde hair of his body bleached a near white. His voice a bit raspy, from a lifetime of smoking.

“How do you two know each other?” Morgan asked Evie.

“Marcie and me...” Evie said “...knew each other in high school…”

“You two knew each other in school?” Morgan questioned. “In L.A.? In Chicago?”

“Marcie’n’me knew each other from High school…” looking at Morgan “...in Chicago, and haven’t seen each other since we graduated in nineteen-fifty-three.”

Sitting, as usual with her legs crossed— revealing her hairy vulva. “Wait a second!” Sandy said. “You’re telling us that you two haven’t seen each other in, um…? Thirty-three years, in Chicago, for ‘Christ sake’ and you just, ‘accidentally’, run into each other, bare ass naked, here in Elysium?”

“Can you believe it? Marcie and me ‘really’ hadn’t seen each other in thirty-three years.”

“And you met up with her ‘here’ ? No shit!”

“Yeah, Morgan, amazing, isn't it!”

A darkly tanned good looking man; at least six feet tall with pale blue eyes, weighing about two-fifty — looking the part of a true ‘Viet Nam’ era throwback. Morgan’s long, near white hair was bound into a shoulder length

pony-tail and his facial hair ran from thick, wide sideburns down his

cheeks and over his chin ending in a short, but scraggly beard.

To further add to the ‘sixties’ era impression, Morgan wore a holey, battery acid spotted, ti-died T-shirt with the Viet Nam, ‘sixties’ era peace sign that came to his hips — and of course nothing else allowing his thick, uncircumcised penis to jut from his thatch of blonde pubic hair.

“No!” Marsha’s hands held forward, shaking her head. “I don’t drink.”

“Oh, come on! You’ve got to have ‘something’!” Opening the large ice chest, he pulled a gallon jug of cheap white wine from the bed if chipped ice and filling a plastic coffee cup handed it to Marsha, whom — manners dictating, had to accept the cup.

Sitting by Morgan’s side, her legs spread revealing Evie’s completely bald vulva. “Morgan, baby, If she don’t want none, she don’t have to have none.”

Manners dictating, Marsha accepted the cup of wine, and took a sip.

Rather amused by my wife’s timid compliance.

Holding the flask forward. “How’s ‘bout you? Want a snort?”

“What the hell…” I said “...yeah, why not.”

Taking the silver flask from Morgan, bringing it to my mouth… Cool as it went down. Hot when it hit bottom… “Holy shit!” I said once I caught my breath. Handing the flask back to Morgan. “This what I think it is?”

“Yep! Kentucky backwoods real shit!”

‘’Pappy Yoakum’s Kickapoo Joy Juice’ Having real moonshine many years before— remembering the fresh caught catfish cookout in Peoria with our ‘hillbilly’ neighbors and ‘Pappy Yoakum’s jug … Only then it was a quartsize ‘Mason Jar’ and ‘yes’ this seemed to be real ‘backwoods’ shit.”

Kenneth, sitting with his legs crossed, as usual, none but the glans visible within the hair of his crotch…

Appearing to be ‘taken’ with Marsha— and also having a ‘snort’ of Morgan’s one hundred proof homemade, Kentucky shit... Now his penis no longer in hiding, squatting before Marsha and taking her hand. “I had a feeling you’d be beautiful.” Ken kissed it.

Flattered by this coming from a strange man within a field of naked women. On near eye level, noting that more… much more than just the glans of Ken’s penis was visible… and being just a ‘bit’ horny herself and not knowing what to say, simply said, “Thank you.”

“ ‘Jesus’…” Sandy muttered from the far side of the blanket “...what a cornball!”

“Oh, sorry…” Though having nothing to be sorry for, although embarrassed because this man that she had known only for, possibly, twenty minuets had gotten a very noticeable ‘boner’ over her fifty year old, born four children body… Really, though, flattered as hell.

“Sorry…” Marsha said, asking  “...you and Ken married, or...?”

Embarrassed himself, moving back to his place on the blanket. “No…” Ken said “...Sandy and me are…”

Possibly part of their meeting strange, naked people introductions…

“Friends…” finishing Ken’s statement “...with benefits.”

Halfway through her coffee cup of wine…

Taken with this sensual place!

In the near four and a half hours here, absolutely taken with Elysium Fields, Marsha Lipensky felt no embarrassment at being full out naked within this group of full out naked men and women.

Rather, amazingly, what Marsha Lipensky felt was a sense of peaceful euphoria… Possibly with the help of a coffee cup of wine.

Also… A sensation she had not witnessed in years — Marsha Lipensky was looking a Morgan’s uncircumcised penis and was horny as hell.

“Hey...” thoroughly confused. Saving Marsha from having to ask Sandy “...how do you and Kenneth know Mitch?” Evie asked.

The silver flask passed from person to person.

Grimacing at the strong, harsh taste, all took a swallow… even Marsha then handed the silver flask back to Motgan.

“Oh my, God!” The downing of his second mouthful of hundred proof moonshine doing it’s job. “ ‘How do me and Sandy’n’Ken know each other...’?” Mitchell began to laugh… He began to laugh for no apparent reason and couldn’t stop until everyone, including Marsha began to laugh with him.

Finally. “Okay,” bringing his laughter under control. “This seems to be a, uh, kind’a, ‘coincidental’ kind’a day.”

Looking at Marsha. “Ken and Sandy and I met on the first day I came here.. Jeeze, was it ‘only’ a week ago!

“They… Well, as you know… Like you found out this morning...” pointing his finger at her hairy crotch “...the first day here can be, to say the least, kind’a daunting and I was afraid to… You know, get up and, maybe, take a walk with my dick hanging out and have…” gesturing about the field “...all these strangers see me naked until Ken and Sandy came along and got me off my ass, then we spent the day together, and here I am…”

Sitting straight up, his back supported by his backward stretched arms, his legs together, straight forward…Widening his legs, Mitchell’s partially flaccid penis in full view “...then we spent the day together and here I am! No longer …” singing the words “...‘A stranger in paradise.”

Looking at her husband. Looking at the other two men and two women...She sense it. Not feeling as though she were being ogled, in a perverse sense Marsha was flattered because both Morgan or Kenneth were looking at her and both had — if not at full mast, then at least half mast erections.

“Yeah, ‘bare ass naked’, we were!” Sitting alongside Sandy with her knees cocked upward, “Yup…” lowering her knees, stretching her legs straight forward “... guess that’s about the way it happens here.”

Becoming fast friends, the six looked from person to person…the uncontrolled laughter began anew.

Catching her breath as the laughter died down

Over the many years, as the remembrance of ‘Susan Friedman’ was never far from the memory of Mitchell Lipensky …

So, too, then was the name of...

“Evie…” Marsha asked “...did you know ‘Stan Jacobson’?”

Taking a moment to flip the pages of her memory… “The ‘muscle’ guy you used to run with?”

Never hearing the name of ‘any’ guy that Marsha ‘used to run with’, let alone a ‘muscle guy’, looking intently at his wife.

“Yeah…” possibly the alcohol causing her to bring forth this line of questioning “...curiously wondering if Stan ever got to the, uh, ‘Mister America’ contest?”

Not at all the reason Marsha had asked, but she, after all, ‘had’ to have some reason to ask.

“Yeah, I saw him and his wife at our twenty-fifth Roosevelt reunion.”

“ ‘His wife’? Anyone we know?”

“Yeah. Remember Harlene Pearlman?”

“ ‘Harlene Pearlman’? The cheerleader with the big tits that all the guys wanted to get into her pants? He married ‘her’?”

“Yeah, well… You know how it is with those muscle guys that in time stop being musclebound… All that muscle turns to flab and Stan and Harlene both looked like big butterballs.”

‘Like big butter balls’. Leaning back now. Feeling the shifting sun that now warmed ‘all’ of Marsha Goldman Lipensky.

Shifting her body—laying her head onto her husband’s warm thigh. Taking hold of his and laying it flat onto her chest, between the spread of her flattened breasts Marsha closed her eyes… ‘Stan’ she thought ‘Stan’...

The memory flitting as a puff of smoke in the wind...

Chicago, Illinois

June 19, 1955

11:33 a.m.

“He’s here, Mother!”

“What do you want from me? So, let him in.”

Hesitating before pushing the intercom button. “Can’t you at ‘least’ put some clothes on?”

“And what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“What’s ‘wrong’ with what you’re wearing? Mother!”

Wearing an ankle length, leopard-skin patterned nylon robe, Rhea was lying on her side on the sofa with her left elbow and head propped on the cushioned armrest. The zipper to the robe was open about six inches, revealing a slight amount of cleavage.

Light from the mid-morning sun, coming from the large window behind, dramatically highlighting her long, black hair, Rhea knew this was a seductive pose because it was a pose she had used to good effect many times in the past when she’d had ‘friends’ come to ‘visit’.

Rhea normally wouldn’t go to this much bother, or for that matter ‘any’ bother for her daughter’s friends. But this boy seemed to be somewhat different and although she knew— or thought she knew— that this boy came from a wealthy family, Rhea ‘truly’ did not hold too much hope for him because Marsha’s boyfriends were always— in her opinion— ‘creeps’ that she brought home just —Rhea was positive—to spite and annoy her.

Actually Rhea thought Marsha was very pretty. But she also thought that she was far too naive and unsophisticated to attract a boy that was good enough for her. Certainly none of the boys that Rhea had met in the past had even come close —physically or financially— to whatever lofty stan

dards she had ‘secretly’ set for her daughter.

Rhea couldn’t be bothered with Marsha when she was a child. But she was no longer a child, or for that matter a bother and she would have liked to find a way to narrow the gap between Marsha and herself—But yet, for some unknown, deeply hidden reason Rhea still went out of her way to widen the breach between her daughter and herself.

“If you don’t like the way I look, my daughter...” Rhea said sarcastically, “...then don’t invite him up!”

For a long moment mother and daughter glared at each other, as...

Indifferently lifting a book from the coffee table, Rhea pretended to read, as…

Nine stories below, he pushed the button again.

Having no intention of meeting Mitchell downstairs because she wanted to… Because Marsha could ‘not’ wait to see her mother’s reaction.

“Okay, Mother.” Shrugging her shoulders just as indifferently…

Pressing the intercom button, “Mitchie?”

“Yeah. Hi, honey!”

“Sorry it took so long. Come on up.” Pushing the button, unlocking the security door she went into the hall to wait for him.

The elevator door opening, Mitchell stepped out.

Her hair rolled into a thick coil falling over her left shoulder, Marsha wore

white, high-cut shorts over a one-piece bathing suit that accentuated her long, slender—no longer ‘knock-kneed’ —darkly-tanned legs, a sleeveless light-blue blouse and black leather sandals.

Wearing white, cotton-wash slacks and a short-sleeved, powder-blue shirt out at the waist and unbuttoned to below his chest and—coincidentally— black leather sandals.

At this time neither aware that they were dressed near perfectly alike.

“Hi...”

The total effect on both the wonder of their long lost, newly discovered love, each coming into the arms of the other…

“Hi!”

Taking his hand. “Come on.”

Anxiously leading him into the apartment. “I can’t wait for mother to meet you…”

“Mother!”

Her head still propped in the palm of her hand. Still ‘deeply engrossed’ in her book, moving her head from her palm, Rhea made a halting motion with her hand— as though to say: ‘I’m more interested in my book then in meeting this insignificant boy. But if he’ll wait till I’m ready, I’ll honor him with my gaze.’

Rhea instantly reminding Mitchell of the actress, ‘Hedy Lamarr’. Jesus he thought, she’s beautiful!

“Mother...” knowing this was an act “...Mitchell is here!”

Annoyed at being taken from her ‘book’. “Okay, Marsha!”

Lowering the book slowly, forcing a smile. “No need to…” Lifting her eyes…

If Mitchell Lipensky were astride a sparkling white horse wearing silver armor…

The look of surprise apparent. Unable to stop herself. “Oh-my-God!”

Having a feeling that Marsha was ‘showing him off’, not quite to this extent, though. “Mrs. Goldman...” crossing the room while smiling ‘his’ smile, Mitchell extended his hand. “...I’m glad to meet you.”

Mitchell being the last thing she’d ‘ever’ expected to see enter the room at the side of her daughter,…

“Uh,” sitting up awkwardly. Clumsily shaking his hand, “Uh…”

“Mother...” Smiling a ‘very’ broad smile. Absolutely ‘tickled’ at her mother’s reaction to Mitchell and her ‘unusual’— to say the least— loss for words. “...this is Mitchell.”

“Ah, yes... ‘Mitchell’!” Attempting to regain ‘some’ semblance of composure. “Marsha, uh, has…” glancing darkly at her daughter, “...told me ‘so’ much about you.”

Obviously, though, Marsha sure hadn’t told her all ‘that’ much.

Holding her hand forward. “Sit down, please.”

Not sure if the woman was simply gesturing to a chair or if ‘maybe’ she expected him to kiss her hand on the way there.

“No wonder Marsha’s so pretty.” Opting for the first, Mitchell sat down.

“Thank you.” Acknowledging the compliment while attempting to soften the perplexed look of her frozen smile…

Searching for something… For ‘anything’ to say…

“You’re Jewish?” Rhea said dumbly. “You don’t look Jewish.”

He’d gone through this with Jewish girl’s mothers in the past. Removing a picture from his wallet, he handed it to her.

Looking at thirteen year old Mitchell wearing a tallis and yarmulke in his bar mitzvah picture. Handing the picture back while still thinking of something intelligible to say. “Oh.” Rhea said.

Enjoying her mother’s squirming and near babbling response to Mitchell. Nonetheless thinking, Maybe now’s a good time to leave. “Mother, we’ve got to meet Shelly at Askanaz and we’re running late.”

Glancing at Marsha. Surprised at this but standing. “Nice meeting you, Mrs Goldman.” Mitchell repeated, adding. “Sorry we have to run.”

Not even ‘pretending’ to like them. Often to the point of being ‘noticeably’ rude. Rhea usually rushed Marsha’s boyfriends from the apartment as quickly as possible. Now, though, wishing they’d stay a bit longer. wanting to know more about this young man,

“Yes, Mitchell...” forcing her eyes from his face, frowning at her daughter, “...maybe you can stay longer next time.”

Oh, yeah! ‘Maybe you can stay longer next time’. Not words she’d thought she would ‘ever’ hear her mother say in regard to one of her boyfriends. “Yes, Mother!” Marsha said sweetly. “Maybe next time.”

Motioning to a beach bag by the door. “This yours?”

Still attempting to keep a straight face, “Uh-huh.” Marsha nodded.

Lifting the bag and opening the door. Stepping through and Looking back, “Bye, Mrs. Goldman.” Mitchell pulled the door shut.

The elevator hadn’t moved so the door opened the moment Marsha pushed the button.

Stepping inside, no sooner had the door closed when, her arms about his neck. “Have I ever told you how much I ‘love’ centipedes?”

“Actually, no.” Smiling, “Why would anyone ever love a centipede?”

“’Cause... kissing him, “...they’re cute and fuzzy and look like you.”

Walking through the lobby. Disappointed when she’d said it. “I didn’t know we were meeting Shelly.” He’d hoped they would be spending the day alone. “You want to walk or drive?”

“Walk… And we’re not meeting Shelly. I just wanted to get out of there.”

Putting his arm about her waist. “Good!”

Putting her arm about his waist. “You don’t like Shelly?”

“Sure I like Shelly.” Chuckling at the tongue-twister. “But I ‘Love’ you and was hoping to spend the day alone with you.”

“Me, too, Mitchie. I want to be alone with you, too… Thinking, God, don’t let him be there today!

“You mother’s very pretty. I can see where you get it.”

Frowning, looking at him. “You think she’s sexy, ehh?”

“Yeah. For someone’s mother she is, ‘very’!”

“Well, Daddy’s pretty good-looking, too, and I’d ‘much’ rather think I got most of myself from him.”

Taking a chance. “Seems like you don’t care for your mother too much.”

Looking skyward. “It’s such a nice day, I’d really rather not talk about her.”

After brunch at Askanaz they walked to the beach where Marsha led Mitchell to ‘her spot’.

On the one hand she did want to be alone with him—at least as alone as they could be on a beach with ‘a million kids around’. On the other hand she also wanted her friends to meet, and see him… Except for one of her ‘friends’.

Mitchell’s head propped in his hand, he lay on his side looking at Marsha.

Lying on her back with her eyes closed. “You know, Mitch, your family is just great!”

“Thanks. And in case you hadn’t noticed, my mom and dad and the boys are absolutely in love with you.”

Spending the years of her life with none but the love of her father. Suddenly having not only the love of Mitchell, but of his family also all but overwhelming her. Opening her suddenly teary eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, ‘really’!” Leaning downward, he kissed her nose. “But ‘Star of David’ or not, my grandmother still thinks you’re a ‘shiksa’.”

“ ‘Cause I don’t like lox?”

“Sure, ‘cause you don’t like lox’! What kind of a Jew doesn’t like lox?”

Thinking his self-depreciating way rather a nice change from most of the

boys she knew… ‘Especially’ regarding Stanley Jacobson; the ‘Charles Atlas’ of Morris Avenue Beach.

Lying closely together. Their thighs touching, the sensation of bare, warm flesh upon bare, warm flesh transmitting charges of sexual electricity.

The flood of erotic emotion overwhelming him, “Marsha...” he said hoarsely “... I love you!” Kissing her. “Marcie, I love you!”

Pressing his body tightly against her body. Kissing her deeply, imagining his tongue as his penis he moved it in and out, slowly, rhythmically, in and out… deeply into, and partially out of, Marsha’s… vagina.

Putting her arms about his neck she tightened her chest against his chest and drawing deeply, imagining...

But her imagination was not of the young man that lay tightly against her.

Marsha Goldman’s imagination was not of the young man who’s tightly held penis was very pleasantly pressing onto her thigh...

Kissing deeply—as of yet not knowing Mitchell’s penis, imagining the penis she did know...

Mitchell’s tongue was seventeen year old Stanley Jacobson’s penis that ‘had’ been in fifteen year old Marsha Goldman’s mouth… and vagina many time.

...As his elongated, hardened tongue went forward and back; constricting her vaginal muscle and loosening her vaginal muscle in rhythm with Stan Jacobson’s imagined penis…

Marsha soon sensed the warm, wet flow of her passion and soon… very soon, the tug and, ‘Oh, God’! warm release within the well of her vagina

and…

‘Oh, God’! Coming from this special kiss breathless. Marsha felt the rapid beating of her heart and—as she realized what had, amazingly happened—the sweet, warm glow of orgasm.

Several times throughout that day people that knew Marsha, both male and female, came to her. They stood or stooped in front of the blanket or knelt upon it. After a few minutes of small talk, catching the subliminal hint that said, ‘we want to be alone’, the people left… And each time Marsha thanked God that Stan Jacobson was ‘not’ one of those that had stopped to talk.

Topanga Canyon, California

Saturday, May 17, 1986

1:20 p.m.

 Next PIT #14: The Hit