Notation: The Woodstock Music Festival began on August 15, 1969, as half a million people waited on a dairy farm in Bethel, New York, for the three-day music festival to start.

35,000 people were

expected, instead,

approximately 450,000

people attended...

Woodstock Four

Westlake Lake

March 19,2011

Sharon and Marsha, secured to one of Landings finger docks. 

2:42 PM

“As we began across the southern end of the field to the parking lot, the rain starting again, the field, very quickly becoming a sea of mud.

Approaching the parking area, Clyde and I could see people sitting on the roof tops of cars and small trucks and even standing and dancing on the roofs of the many.”

“While it’s still raining?” Marsha asked.

“So stoned maybe not caring if they’d fall.”

“People in the parking lot were having their own party?”

“On the roofs of cars! And...” Sharon added “...they might even be able to see the stage better than most of those people in the mud.”

“Coming closer to our old Ford, now we were able to see the road that we came in on this morning and saw it was, from north to south, as far as Clyde and me could see, completely blocked wit cars, trucks and vans, leaving the narrownesst space on the far side of the soft shoulder and into the weeds for another vehicle to slip through.

As we got to the station wagon, a couple, I thought, into their early twenties approached us.”

“This your car?” The young man asked.

Unlocking the trunk, “Yes.” Clyde said.

“Dottie here and me don’t want to cause no damage, and we’re willing to pay you…” holding two twenty dollar bills forward “...if you give us permission to use your roof for the next few days.”

Incredulously, “To live on it?” I asked.

“Yeah…” Dottie said “..we’ve a blanket to sit on so…”

“We won’t scratch it.” The young man said. Though there wasn’t much they could do to harm the old wagon.”

“And we’ve water and sandwiches and Twinkies enough, so we won’t be jumping on or off very much.”

“Looking around, Marcie, I could see where the elevated roof of our old Ford wagon, parked far enough behind the mobile toilets, but close enough for easy use, and certainly close enough to the stage to, at least, maybe see whoever was preforming.”

“You’ll stay there…” jerking his thumb upward “...until this whole thing is over?” Clyde had asked.

“One of us will!” Dottie said emphatically.

“Okay…” taking the forty bucks “...it’s a deal!” Clyde said.

Westlake Village

March 19, 2011

Marsha ad Mitchell, in bed on this cool night.

10:40 PM

Turning onto her side, cupping her head within her palm, facing me. “So they made a couple of bucks off of Woodstock.”

“Yeah. Sherry said about enough to cover what food they’d brought with them, but by that time she was really feeling the effect of that one hit of…”

“Whatever.” I said.

“Clyde was carrying what food they were going to share with Lust and Dawn that evening and the next morning…” Sherrie said “...and the mud was thick and clingy and she felt so wobbly that she thought she wouldn’t be able to make it back to where they left the tent.”

“That one hit Lust gave her, had to be more than ‘just’ maharajah!”

“That’s what I was thinking also, then she told me the ground before the stage area looked like spotted molten lava as it kept expanding further and further to the south, as people that were coming by the hundreds seated themselves behind those already sitting or standing in the hundred rows before them.”

“Everything still there when Sherry and Clyde got back to Mister Lust and..?”

Squirming a little closer to me. “ ‘Autumn Dawn’.” Marsha said.

Enjoying the warmth of her body, even in panamas. “Yeah, ‘Autumn Dawn’.” I repeated.

“When they got back, Sherry said, they were sitting together in their lean-too.”

“Sherry ever say what that, possible, thirty-five year old woman and, possibly, eighteen year old boy were to each other?”

“Couldn’t tell. Sherry said the woman looked like a flabby, big titted middle aged woman while Lust looked like a teen-age model advertising some big wig university..”

“She think they were having sex together.” I asked.

“They were too touchy-freely to be mother and son. More like Lust was...

Westlake Lake

March 19, 2011

Sharon and Marsha secured to one of Landings finger docks.
3:01 PM

Apparently noticing the two old women in what appeared to a deep, long ongoing conversation. And, as they and their husbands were excellent customers...

“Ladies…” standing along side the boat, extending his arm forward “...Miss Audrey thought you’d like this and…” handing a half filled bottle of expensive white wine, that had been ordered, two glasses poured from and then left “… told me to tell you, ‘no charge.”

Taking the bottle. “Tell her we said a ‘big’ thank you!”

“Well wasn’t that nice!” Sharon said, refilling their two glasses.

“You think they were having sex together.”

“They were too touchy-freely to be mother and son. More like Lust was her ‘toy boy’.”

“Well, if she paid for the trip and apparently is the one sharing the weed…”

“And the giver of blow jobs!” Innocent Sharon Murphy said.

Authors Notation: Seventy-seven year old Sharon Murphy is 5’5”, has a round faced with startling blue eyes and short, curly, light blonde shaggy cut hair— that very possibly might have been the natural shade years back. Sharon Is fairly large busted with hips a bit too wide for her slight frame giving her well rounded buttocks.

Sharon Murphy, at age seventy-seven is still one of those women that when seen by most strangers, ‘primarily men’, very often their first impression hosts the thought: ‘Can’t even imagine how beautiful this lady had to be when younger!’

In nineteen sixty-nine, Sharon Murphy-Abrams was younger: Forty-two years younger and ‘was’ what people, ‘primarily men’ could only imagine.

In nineteen sixty-nine, in her prime, Sharon was a fairly large busted, curvaceous, absolutely beautiful thirty-five year old woman…

That, at that time and in this place…

Woodstock music festival of ‘Love And Peace’

Bethal, New York

August 11, 1969

3:32 PM

After a brief interlude of a clearing sky, rain once again falling, Clyde and Sharon, huddled closely together with a blanket covering their shoulders, watch as a steady streams of people plod through the mud, cutting across the long field to make their way to the three groupings of mobile toilets.

Many men are bare-chested. Others using umbrellas or whatever plastic covering they’d wisely brought with them. Most, however, having given up the possibility of remaining dry, stand in the rain in long lines waiting to use one of the — grossly inadequate hundred and fifty toilets. None of which, by the way were marked ‘Men’ or ‘Women’ causing all queues to move even slower…

So slow, that the continual addition of hundreds added to those waiting — ‘male and female’ to give up their places in line to rush to the woods and whatever tree or bush they can find.

3:45 PM

The later afternoon heat and humidity… and swarms of flies and mosquitoes intensifying.

The twisted sounds of free paying, unknown musical groups, or of individuals, once again blaring through the sixteen scattered loud speakers.

Not a couple into Tie-died T-shirts and second hand, bell bottom pants, returning to the tent and having exchanged their wet clothing for shorts and light weight cotton shirts, Clyde and Sharon Murphy watched from their comparatively dry, two person tent as the ever expanding rows of the humanity that had come to the Woodstock Festival of Peace and Love early enough to find a position close enough to at least ‘see’ those that they had come to see and to listen to.

However the nearest to the stage this continually oncoming rush of humanity could find a spot large enough to park their ass was ever expanding hundreds of yards away.

Able to see into the lean-too of Autumn Dawn and Morning Lust, Sharon was able to see the woman and boy? man? were both fully nude.

Sitting side by side, also watching the ongoing chaos, her knees folded upward before her, Dawns huge breasts hanging over the caps of her knees… Sharon assumed in an effort to keep cooler than if hanging flat on her chest. Trouble with big tits! Sharon thought.

Morning Lust, leaning back was supported by his elbows. His slightly parted legs straight forward. Inches of his flaccid slender penis lying onto his right thigh…

For me to see? Sharon thought.

Through the few feet that separated the lean-too from the tent, Sharon realised that the ‘maybe’ eighteen year old boy/man was staring at her and…

At that instance, thirty-five year old Sharon Murphy realised she was staring at Lust. At ‘all’ of Lust and sensed a shiver of excitement.

Still ‘stoned’? Most likely still stoned! Or due to being one of the herd of the thousands upon thousands of unknown people? Anticipation of the ‘Peace And Love Festival’? The beautiful— ‘maybe’… My, God, I hope so… ‘maybe’ eighteen year old boy? Or man? That was fully naked looking at her as she, lustfully, looked at him?

The reverberating beat of unintelligible music?

The clinging heat.

Thirty-five year old Sharon Murphy, a hardware store owner from Cincinnati, Ohio had a near uncontrollable urge to become naked also…

Instead, the side of her head dropping onto the shoulder of her husband, Sharon Murphy slept.

5:27 PM

“Sherry!”

Within a low metallic pulse, the drum, the guitar, the tambourine and female voice clearly heard.

Gently shaken. “Sherry!” Her eyes opening.

“I’ve made baloney and cheese sandwiches for you and me and…” holding a small plastic bag containing one neatly rolled ‘joint’ “...our neighbours, and they’ve some pretty good groups on the stage. So thought you and me might try to get a bit closer to see what’s going on.”

Noting her husband had changed from street shorts to a pair of extremely skimpy sport shorts, and wore no shirt.

Good-looking, at age thirty-seven — from lifting and moving heavy crates of merchandise off delivery trucks then onto display shelves and counters at his hardware store, Clyde Murphy had maintained his youthfully muscular physique, and apparently had no qualms about showing it off to the hoards of young hippies and beatniks, and… so his wife now, rightfully thought… their bra burning women.

Which strangely did not bother her.

Staid and true middle-aged Ohio people! Seeing no need to set rules of behaviour for themselves or for this once in a lifetime, rock and roll musical extravaganza, removing her street shorts, Sharon slipped on a pair of — due to her scissors, especially high cut, to near her crotch denim shorts…

And thinking her husband wouldn’t notice…

With the size of his wife’s tits, how could Clyde Murphy not notice?

As Sharon Clancy, for the first time in her thirty-five years — having a sense of heretofore unknown excitement, went bra-less into the night.

Nodding to still nude Lust and Dawn as they passed their lean-too. Aware the young man was watching her as she had approached and passed.

Walking hand in hand, Clyde and Sharon came to the ragged outer lines of closely seated people and easily wove between the first three rows…

The over-hanging scent of maharajah growing stronger as they proceeded forward and inward.

Finding it harder to navigate between tightly seated couples and individuals, Clyde’s hand — accidentally?— opened as they were forced to pass about a standing couple.

Clyde somewhere within the mass of people, Sharon found herself alone and pressed body to body between people who’s sour stink of sweat and mildew from rain and air dried clothing mixed with the persuasive scent of intoxicating weed.

Unable to move closer. Forced to remain stationary, the stage still two or three hundred yards forward, the sound of singing and the steady beat of bongos and drums from this unknown group causing thousands of people to dance where they stood.

Twisting her body with the musical beat. Intoxicated from the steady intake of maharajah infused air, Sharon Murphy also danced where she stood, as the black man alongside, taking a last hit on an overfilled joint, handed the by now THC effused roach to Sharon, who’s first inclination was to refuse the black man’s offer, but thinking, If I don’t take it, he’ll think I’m prejudiced…

Taking it, holding the roach between fingernail tips, sucking the last of the smoke into her lungs, she dropped the minute stub to the ground as, startling her…

Arms about her waist — hands beneath Sharon’s blouse foundling her bare breasts.

Unable to turn her body within this tightly held crowd. Assuming her husband had found her and the hands fondling her tits were Clyde’s, however able to turn her head enough to see…

Sharon’s eyes focusing enough to note the blond stubble on the chin of seventeen year old ‘Morning Lust’.

Next: Woodstock Five (Lust)