PIT #18: ‘50 Pontiac
Points In Time
Topanga Canyon, California
Saturday, May 17, 1986
8/18/50: Union Pier
“An’ you’ve got the most beautiful ti…” His breath catching. Watching, he stopped speaking as Ina lifted her buttocks and slowly, teasingly, began to wiggle out of her tight jagged-cut, cut-off Levi’s as Mitchell— quivering penis jutting straight forward, stared first at the tangle of Ina’s curly, dark-brown pubic hair. Then, as she slowly, teasingly, lowered her shorts even further and…
5/17/86: Topanga Canyon; 2:44 p.m.
“Look…” I said “...I told you that this whole thing was really stupid, but ever since Frankie and me began talking about…”
“Yeah, we know…” Ken said “...girl’s pissers.”
“Yeah and by that time in my life my biggest ambition was
to…”
8/18/50: Union Pier
I’m going to see it!…
‘Slam’! A car door.
Both heads snapped towards the window.
‘Slam’! Another car door.
“ ‘Uh-Oh’!”
5/17/86: Topanga Canyon; 2:46 p.m.
‘Uh-Oh’!
Four within the group erupting into uncontrollable laughter…
as…
Patting her husband on the head doggy style. “Oh…” Marsha Lipensky crooned to her husband in mock pity “...you poor thing!”
His eyes turning upward, “Yeah!” Mitchell Lipensky said in mock sadness.
8/18/50: Union Pier
‘Slam’! A car door.
Both heads snapped towards the window.
‘Slam’! Another car door.
“ ‘Uh-Oh!”
5/17/86: Topanga Canyon; 2:50 p.m.
“Don’t tell us they caught you and my cousin ‘bare ass’ naked!”
“Remember that ‘fortunately’ your cousin and me weren't ‘all’ bare ass naked.”
8/18/50: Union Pier
With the superhuman speed that God sometimes grants to those whom are about to be found out…
Mitchell, pushing his penis downward, pulled his pants and underpants up, jammed his shirt over his head and quickly, so quickly, buttoned the all-but-impossible to button— especially at times like these…
“Fuckin’ buttons!”
As, standing, Ina pulled her jagged-cut, cut-off Levi’s, along with her panties up around her ample waist, buttoned the steel buttons and both she and he dropped onto the sofa again — on either side of the sofa, but as the doorknob turned…
“Uh-Oh!” Ina remembered that her breasts were hanging out the bottom of her...“Thank God!” ...still-hooked bra and quickly, so quickly, reaching under her blouse, grasping a cup in each hand pulled down, popping her breasts back into their size 38C cups…
Then sat back again — as was Mitchell in wide-eyed innocence as the front door swung open and Doctor and Mrs. Liebman stepped into their warm, sexually odoriferous living room.
“Oh, hi...” Mitchell said, forcing his well-practiced, innocent smile “...you’re home early.”
The adults stood quietly looking at them, then, after an extremely long protracted three moments...
“Yes...” Doctor Liebman finally said “...Mrs. Liebman became ill in the theater.”
As Mrs. Liebman went to the rear of the cottage to check on her son, Doctor Liebman moved to the easy chair opposite the sofa and, standing behind it, resting his tightly clenched fists on its high back, looked closely at Mitchell.
Outside of a long forgotten but vaguely familiar ‘funky’ odor in the room, he couldn’t say for certain that these two were doing anything more than heavy petting, but even heavy petting was more, ‘much’ more, than he’d ever expected to find.
“How’s Jerry...” he asked with a tinge of anger to his voice “...he didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”
“Nah. He’s an angel, like always. No trouble at all.”
Glancing at his wife, who’d returned to the room. Hesitating, he looked from Ina to Mitchell. “It’s not your fault that Mrs. Liebman became ill, so we’re going to pay you for the entire evening.”
Reaching into his pocket, Doctor Liebman removed a gold plated $-sign money clip, took a dollar from it and, stretching over the back of the chair, handed it to Mitchell.
Reaching for the dollar, “Thanks, Doc.” Standing, with Ina following, they walked to the door. Mitchell opened it and as they stepped outside. “Call me whenever you wanna go out again, okay?”
“ ‘Sure I will’!” Looking at Ina. “Goodnight, uh…?”
“Oh, sorry; ‘Ina’.” Mitchell said.
“Yes, ‘Ina!’” the doctor repeated and forcing a smile, slammed the door shut.
“Whew! Well, Mitch, there goes another satisfied customer.”
“Yeah, they really like me.”
5/17/86: Topanga Canyon; 2:55 p.m.
Her fingers still entwined in her husband's hair. “You ‘really’ thought so, huh?”
“No, I guess not ‘really’.”
Drinking the last of his wine. “I’m surprised he even paid you!”
“Me, too, Ken.”
“My cousin? Bet this didn’t even phase her.”
“Didn’t really seem like it.”
8/18/50: Union Pier
“Yeah, they really like me.”
“Maybe they did, but somehow, I don’t think they’re real happy with you right now and doubt you’ll be hearin’ from ‘em again, leastwise not for a long time.”
“You think they think we were, uh, you know?”
“Yeah, I’m ‘sure’ they think ‘we were.’ Didn’t you see the look on their faces?”
“Nah. They looked like they always look... kind’a.”
Mitchell looked upward, at a brilliant three-quarter moon and clusters of brightly shining stars and desperate to go ‘someplace’, ‘anyplace’ where he and Ina would be alone to pick up where they’d left off…
“Jeeze, Ina...” he said cheerfully “...it’s great night! How’s about I get a blanket an’ you’n’me go on down to the beach.”
The last time Ina went to the beach with a boy at night he’d gotten sand on the tip of his ‘Redi-wet’ and it hurt like hell.
“Nah, I don’t feel like goin’ to the beach…” she said, instantly deflating his carnally inflated bubble “...but how’s ’bout we take a ride to a place I know?”
His father had promised to teach him how to drive after his sixteenth birthday, which was still six days away, and Mitchell did not want to admit that he couldn’t drive, or, for that matter, that he was not quite sixteen.
“Uh, my dad couldn’t make it out this weekend...” he lied “...an’ the car’s not here.”
“Nah...” starting across the ‘Old Highway ‘“...I didn’t mean your car.” Going to a blue, two-door, ‘1949 Pontiac’ “I got ours.” Opening the driver-side door, ‘Come on...” Ina said “...get in.”
‘Yeah’!
Opening the door, he slid into the Dorfman family car; a car littered with fabric swatch-books that completely covered the back seat. On the dashboard was a profusion of crumpled memos, matchbooks and a steel flashlight held onto the metal dashboard by a magnet.
Turning the key, bringing the motor to life. “My, ol’ man’s a salesman...” Ina said as she popped the clutch, shifted from neutral to first and with a jolt, began to drive “...an’ all that crap back there’s his samples.”
The condition of this car, though, so long as it gets them to where they’re going... “Where we goin’?” ...was the last thing on his mind.
“Oh, I got a place.”
Looking at Ina in profile, I sure hope that her idea of a ‘place’ is the same as my idea of a ‘place’.
But he didn’t have to worry because just about as anxious to pick up where they’d left off as Mitchell, her idea of a ‘place’ was exactly the same as his idea of a ‘place’ and after a five-minute north-bound drive…
Tires crunched on gravel as the Pontiac steered off the asphalt of the ‘Old Highway’ onto a dirt road leading to a wide ‘view-site’ on a high bluff overlooking Lake Michigan.
The one car there was parked on the far eastern end of the pad, so driving to the far western end of the wide pad; stopping and turning the motor and lights off, Ina set the handbrake.
The three-quarter moon and a silvery tail of moonlight reflecting on the still water fifty or sixty feet below.
Looking at the panoramic scene through the bug-splattered, dirty windshield. “Ina, it’s beautiful!” Mitchell said, then asked, “You’ve been here before?” And, Schmuck, he thought, feeling stupid the moment the words left his mouth. She drove here! Of course she’s been here before!
5/17/86: Topanga Canyon; 3:01 p.m.
“You know, Morgan…” Evie said as she rubbed the inside of Morgan’s thigh accidentally, ‘accidentally’ brushing the loose hanging foreskin of his flaccid penis with the tip of her thumb — causing the big man to jerk upward “...I think that’s the same place I took you when we spent that week in Lakeside.”
“Oh, yeah! When we fucked on the hood my Cadillac.”
The memory apparently being a good memory, because accidentally… well, maybe not so ‘accidentally’ flicking the loose hanging foreskin again… again causing Morgan to start.
“Yeah…” Evie said “… we gotta do that again.”
Marsha Lipensky, still more than a bit fascinated by Morgan’s foreskin — causing a flush of heat within her vagina, noted the emergence of the big man’s pink glans as it peeked from within.
Evie’s left breast becoming lost within Morgan’s big hand. “Yeah, ‘lets’!” he said.
Looking about there are perhaps a hundred fully naked people seemingly enjoying the beautiful fields of Elysium
Along with we six residing within our own strong pot and home made kick ass hundred proof moonshine-induced ‘euphoric’ bubble’.
The late afternoon sun and balmy early spring breeze causing shifting leafy shadows on the blankets we sit on and upon the grass about us.
I sit with my legs stretched straight forward, my back resting onto my wife’s chest, her tits feeling warm and soft upon my back. Marsha’s arms about my waist, I feel the slight tug on my pubic hair as she twines her fingers through making small curlicues.
Though I cannot see her face, I can tell by her intake of breath that she is watching Evie’s hand as it attempts to — to not look ‘too’ obvious as she ‘accidentally’ caresses Morgan’s dick… Which actually is turning me on also…
To say nothing of Sandy whom — legs stretched forward also, our feet no more than two feet from touching. Sitting directly before me. Her back resting upon Ken’s chest. Sandy’s beautiful tits and hairy pussy in open view causing my dick to go to full attention.
I’d guess if our ‘completely’ mutual marijuana and alcohol euphoric bubble were to burst, my wife’s attitude would be far different.
Most probably mine also because— even through the fog that now envelops my brain...that envelopes my entire psyche, not knowing how far I would want it to go if Marsha and Morgan were to ‘somehow’ sexually get together.
But now reclaiming the towel Marsha had thrown off a short while ago, draping my dick with it, causing a—far from discrete tent like appearance… Whispering in my ear, tongue flicking my ear… “Mitchie...”
Making no coy pretense! Seductive words first spoken by my wife after our terrible, months long breakup and sexually beautiful marital recovery way back in — I’ll ‘never’ forget the exact day. It was on the Fourth of July in nineteen-fifty eight when, whispering in my ear, Marsha asked…
“Mitchie, you want to eat my pussy?”
Whispering back, “Marcie, you want to suck my cock?”
“Yeah, I ‘do’…” nodding her head backwards, towards the Elysium Lodge where there are the three private rooms “...finish the fucking story already!”
8/18/50: Union Pier
Not quite knowing how to pick up where they’d left off in the Liebman’s living room.
Turning towards Ina, laying his arm across her shoulders, working up the nerve to kiss her when, turning to Mitchell, she kissed him and — his passion ‘immediately’ reinflated. His free hand ‘instantly’ going beneath her blouse…
“Wait, Mitchie.” Yanking the blouse over her head, reaching
behind her back, unclasping the three hooks Ina pulled her arms through the straps and, tossing the blouse and bra over her head, onto the back seat and turning towards Mitchell, Ina threw her shoulders back proudly jutting her 38C—now that she was sitting upright—more than just slightly sagging breasts forward.
Moonlight streaming through the Pontiac’s bug splattered windshield lightening the car’s interior…
Next PIT #19: Flatulance
