PIT3/15: Shadowy Figure
Points In Time
Westlake Village, California
March 18, 2010
8:22 PM
I could have told him I didn’t want to see him again.
Why was I even there with him when I knew… ‘thought’ I knew I loved Stan. When I’d not even allowed Mitchell to ‘feel me up’, when I was fucking and giving Stanley blow-jobs.
Why? Because I was eighteen and he was twenty and was a really nice, beautiful guy and I thought he was rich?
‘Why’? Because I’m a fucking bitch!
Soul-Mates?
Disgusted with herself. “Mitchie…” doing her best to sound sincere and not angry at him “...it’s been a long day and I’m really tired.”
Catching the slight change in the tone of her voice, Mitchell felt a slight chill of remembrance.
Loosening the clasp of his arms, allowing Marsha to stand.
“I love you…” she said “...but I’m going to bed.”
“Marsha, i’s not even eight-thirty! What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…” self disgust choking her words “...I told you, I’m tired…”
“Did I do anything? Did I say anything?”
“No, Mitchell, you didn't do or say anything.”
In his mind, sounding more as an admonishment then a simple statement of fact.
Rushing to the bathroom, slamming the door, Marsha Lipensky stared at the reflection in the mirror.
8:24 PM
Sitting up, What the fuck? Not the slightest inkling of what had just happened, or why Marsha…
Why’d she run away? Did I say anything? Did I do anything?
Memories of their thirty-one year marriage saturating his mind…
To much! I can’t, I’m not going to go through it again. I don’t have to go through it again!
In the seconds it took Marsha to rush to the bathroom, and Mitchell… What the fuck? ...to sit up; from deep in his psyche came a long past, unbearable remembrance.
Simultaneously, though individually – from within Marsha’s mind came the same horribly hurtful remembrance...
Every night — right from the beginning, when you knew I’d be in bed waiting for you…’
‘I stayed in the bathroom, sometimes sitting on the toiled until my ass got numb and wouldn’t come out until I thought you’d be asleep…’
“No!”
Staring a the black water of Westlake Lake…
Not again. I won’t let this happen again! Tomorrow!
Tomorrow I’ll tell her she’s got to go!”
8:25 PM
All those years ago, even the thought thought that she’d told him...
‘I stayed in the bathroom, sometimes sitting on the toiled until my ass got numb and wouldn’t come out until I thought you’d be asleep…’
Staring at her reflection in the mirror– In Marsha’s opinion seeing not the age lined face of a seventy-four year old woman; more so the face of Snow White,s wicked stepmother.
‘I stayed in the bathroom, sometimes sitting on the toiled until my ass got numb and wouldn’t come out until I thought you’d be asleep…’
Shuttering– shaking her head as though physically, violent denying the past.
‘No!’ The past is the past and I’m not that person anymore! I am not’!
Although too late, having the urgent need to get to Mitchell before he remembered the unbearably hateful words she’d screamed in his face in 1986.
Marsha’s blouse, slacks, and panties dropping to her feet, within twenty seconds, Marsha had stripped from all clothing.
Opening the bathroom door… Leaving it ajar just enough to see…
The long slider door still open...
8:27 PM
At a loss! Terribly disappointed in Marsha. Terribly depressed, Not knowing what to do.
“Mitchell.”
Bringing his shoulders forward while turning, his feet on the deck.
“Mitchell.”
Looking to his left….
Within the stilted darkness of the house there stood a figure in shadow.
“Mitchell.”
The shadows dissipating as she approached.
Coming to him. Her arms about his neck. Marsha lowered her body straddling his knees.
“Mitchell, I love you! I’m sorry…” not aware that he’d remembered also “... ‘so’ sorry for what I’d told you.”
“ ‘Never again, Marsha’!”
Her naked breasts cool upon his chest.
Faces close enough to feel the others breath.
“Never again, Marsha!”
“I swear to God, Mitchell, I’m not who I was.”
“Marsha, I couldn’t and ‘won’t’ stand it if you are.”
“I’m not, honey!”
Tears coming…
Other than upon the murder of her father, the old Marsha never cried. Yet now is the second time during this day that Marsha had cried.
“I promise you,! I swear I’m not the person I was!”
Wanting to believe! Thank you, God!
His hands onto her cool back, caressing butter soft flesh from the nape of her neck to the flattened flesh of her upper buttocks.
Marsha’s face inches from his. “I remembered what I told you.”
“About hiding in the bathroom till I fell asleep?”
“Yes. But that’s not me anymore.” Her mouth to his – parting long enough to say, “This is me...” her lips to his, parting long enough to say, “You’re not allowed too...”
“Not allowed to what?”
“To go to sleep without me.”
“Marsha…” said seriously “...I’ve been happy these last twenty-four years without a woman in my life…”
“Without me in your life, you mean.”
“Yes! But now…” measuring his words, wanting Marsha to fully understand “...I’m going to believe you because I ‘want’ to believe you. So, please, God. Let this be the right thing!”
Her lips to his.
His arms tightening further about her waist.
“Marcie…” passionately “... my God, how I love you!”
Feeling the smooth flesh of Marsha’s back form into minute pinpricks of skin. “You cold, baby?”
Unwilling to brake the hold of her arms about his neck, or his arms about her waist or the feel of his chest tight against her breasts. But, “Yes…” she said “... a little.”
“You want to go in?”
“What I want is to go to bed…”
“With me?”
“God, ‘yes’!”
Humor sometimes being their release from dramatic circumstances.
“Good, ‘cause you’re smashing my boner.”
8:40 PM
Rubbing her hanging breasts provocatively over Mitchell’s chest.
“Oh. Baby, I can’t wait to get my hands on it!”
A question coined by Marsha on the Fourth of July, 1958– the summer she had been accosted by the deviate, Gordon Nathanson.
“You want to eat my pussy?”
Lifting a breast from beneath. kissing the cool flesh– surprised Marsha’s breast had become so…? Elastic.
The answer to Marsha’s question: “You want to suck my cock?”
Standing, rubbing the hardened cylindrical shape pushing against the material of Mitchell’s slacks.
“Oh, yeah, baby…” said rather breathlessly “… I sure do.”
Knowing where their noses and mouths will be...
Remembering the procedure they had always – at least on when those ‘very’ rare occasions – followed…
As Marsha had the edge because she was already naked, quickly heading to the shower in the guest bathroom.
As two children playing a game…
“Beat you to bed, Mitchie.”
But as the master bathroom was in his bedroom…
Mitchell really didn’t care who got to bed first, just so long as Marsha would be alongside.
8:52 PM
The bedroom slider leading to patio open. The slight breeze cool on his still damp chest and thighs.
Though not enough to see clearly, the light of a three-quarter moon dimly lighting the room.
“You beat me.”
Marsha’s white hair showing dark grey in this semi-dark room.
“I’ve been waiting for you, baby.”
Provocatively on her back with her legs cocked slightly. In the barely discernible moonlight he was able to see Marsha’s thighs to near the trisection of her crotch. Her breasts, flattened by their weight, lay to the sides of her chest. Marsha’s nipples…
Dark brown in colour, about three inches in circumference, even in this dimly lit room, seen in strong contrast to her white breasts.
Visually coarse and easily excited – possibly due to the cool air… or maybe Mitchell, Marsha’s nipples stood as wrinkled brown cones within the flesh of her white breasts…
The sight of which brought Mitchell’s seventy-six year old cock to full attention.
“Come on, Mitchie…” patting the space alongside, repeating “...I’ve been waiting for you.”
Coming closer. “Rubbing it in, aren’t you.”
“That I beat you to bed?”
Momentarily still just out of reach. “Yeah.”
Angling her hips, reaching to him, patting thee bed again.
The room still but for the rustle of bedding as he lay onto the space indicated by the patting of Marsha’s hand.
“I knew you could do it, baby.”
Closely to her. His still slightly damp body warming immediately. “Do what?’”
Thrilling her as well, “Get a boner, baby.”
Catching his breath as Marsha’s warm hand closed about his shower cooled cock.
Tightly together now.
Kissing Mitchell.
Marsha’s tongue reaching into his mouth was met by his tongue.
Kissing Marsha.
As though his kisses renewing the memory of Marsha’s body. In repetitive movements, kissing Marsha’s mouth, her neck, her chest, her breasts. Drawing a dark nipple into his mouth, he drew on the tightly elongated flesh.
Bringing his hand slowly over her stomach and—avoiding it completely, teasing himself and, maybe Marsha, too—along and down the cool, firm flesh of the outer side of Marsha’s thigh…
Along and up the warm, soft flesh of the inner side of Marsha’s thigh.
Reaching Marsha’s mound, cupping his hand onto the soft/hard, silky projection… Always loving the feel of this, the outward jutting of Marsha’s pussy when held within his hand… Momentarily, though, as two upward curving fingers slid within the moist, tight, fissure moving fore and back, inward and outward for the moments it took till his thumb located the budding tip of her clitoris.
Feeling his fingers enter her vagina. Feeling his fingers moving within, squirming as the tip of his thumb brushed the near hidden tip of her deliciously sensitive “Eat me, baby!”
What Marsha loved the most. What Mitchell loved the most.
Her eyes closed, her hand encircling his cock, Marsha widened her thighs as…
Two fingers rubbing along the moist fissure, parting the lips. Feeling the heat. Feeling the wetness...
“Eat me, baby!”
“Yeah, baby… Slide down.” Urging Marsha lower onto the bed.
Moving downward on the mattress, making room for Mitchell to lay lengthwise alongside of her.
Changing positions, his head to her thighs…
Her head to his thighs.
Opening her thighs...
Parting the Marsha’s lips, caressing the length of her vagina with the tip of his tongue.
Sensing the tickle within his urethra...
Oh, my God! Tightening her thighs about it, his head exactly where she wanted his head to be. His tongue, exactly where she wanted his tongue to be.
As though starving for it.
Possibly after twenty-four years, indeed, starving for it...
A string of glistening semen making it’s way through Mitchell’s urethra.
His thick cock now inches from her mouth.
Compelled to, Oh, my God!
Wanting to! Taking it…
Taking as much of the length of it...
His hips moving to meet the warmth of her mouth...
Her pelvis moving to meet the erotic cock like thrusting of his tongue...
The room quiet but for harsh breathing and the barely heard moans of each...
Considering that Marsha and Mitchell were together once again.
Considering this time was a time neither had expected– certainly not this quickly.
Both sensing a heretofore unknown, surrealistic sense of intense passion...
The mouth-filling taste of the flesh of his cock and slight flow of semen...
Breath coming harder, faster...
“Honey...” weakly attempting to move “...I’m going to...”
Knowing what was seconds from happening.
Needing him! Needing what would be ‘coming’.
Her nails digging into his buttocks, holding him… Keeping his face onto her, his tongue into her.
Breath coming harder, faster…
Afraid of chocking her, his pulsing cock gliding even deeper into, and out of her mouth.
‘Coming!’
Feeling the strong contractions within her mouth…
Far from repulsed!
Her thighs tightening even tighter.
Her pelvis pushing upward, upward...
Her moaning louder now...
Tasting…
Swallowing the flood the fluid of this woman he loved...
9:28 PM
A quick washing of faces and rinsing of mouths.
9:31 PM
Lying together. Facing each other. Held closely by her hand on his hip, his arm laid along her outer thigh.
Faces but inches apart, feeling the light breath of the other.
Silent, neither speaking but each hearing the thought of the other.
And the silent thought each heard: I love you!
Now and then, one would gently place a soft kiss onto the lips of the other.
Quiet...
9:55 PM
Sleep.
Back to belly, the old woman, the old man, the ‘soul mates’ slept..
Next PIT 4/1: A New Day
