Woodstock 6: Innocence

Notation: 35,000 people were expected. Instead, approximately 450,000 people attended the...

 Woodstock Festival of Music and Love

Bethel, New York 

August 11, 1969

5:56 PM

His breath hot against her ear.

That last hit from the heavily laden THC roach bringing Sharon deeply into a sporadic high.

Glancing about — Many men shirtless.. Many women topless. Scents of sweat and mildew and the overlaying mist of maharajah along with heat and humidity adding to the fuzzy knowledge that pressed against the palm of her hand was this beautiful, strange man’s cock.

The soft hanging weight of thirty-five year old breasts within his hands, fingers circling hardening nipples. Though the movement of his cock against Sharon’s hand and smooth thigh little more than a hard twitch…

Then another twitch and another and another as both Lust and Sharon are subconsciously moving their waists along with the hard rock and gyrating bodies of those pressing about and against them.

Lust’s hot breath against Sharon’s ear becoming a series of soft, then harder moans as she feels squirts of warm moisture against and running along her bare thigh.

Sharon’s senses returning—Somewhat returning as she realises what she had, so easily, brought about, thinking, Sometimes Clyde doesn’t come at all anymore, no matter what I do.

‘Shit’!

Franklin Binkowski AKA Morning Lust, thought ‘Shit’!

The blood filling the cells of his penis flowing outward with each burst of  semen, causing the retracting flesh to slip from beneath Sharon’s hand.

Wanting the feel of his cock within her hand. “Lust?” Reaching for him…

But he was no longer there.

Needing no more than a step back and to the side to be swallowed within the mass of writhing humanity — That at that time, still three full days before the start of the Festival of Music and Love, there was an unofficial estimate of minimally a hundred thousand people in the cow field.

Premature ejaculation an ongoing problem with this seventeen year old boy, which was part the reason his mother had suggested bringing him to Woodstock: To find a suitably mature woman for her boy to fuck.

And here was a beautiful, thirty-five year old woman who’s tent was parked no more than five feet from their lean-too; and as a bonus, the woman’s husband looked good enough to eat. And Margery Binkowski, AKA Autumn Dawn had every intention of doing so.

6:11 PM

Discovering Lust was no longer closely behind her, hoping to spot either him or her husband, her brain in a maharajah induced fog, Sharon began the twisting, jarring journey back to the far southern side of this gigantic field.

6:27 PM

Breathing a sigh of relief, spotting the tent she and her husband had erected this morning.

Wondering if either Clyde or Lust would be there, approaching she saw Clyde was not, but Lust was; lying nude upon his back with what looked like a hand towel covering his lower stomach and tucked between his thighs to cover his penis.

Seeing Sharon, the woman…

Sharon had estimated the woman to be roughly about her age.

“Hello, sweetie!” The woman said in what Sharon took to be a sarcastic tone, while waving a salami sandwich, apparently to show that Clyde had fed them.

Westlake Lake

March 19, 2011

Sharon and Marsha secured to one of Landings finger docks.

4:20 PM

“So this, you say, twenty year old man blew his load all over your ass…”

“Thigh.” Sharon corrected.

“Okay a twenty year old man came all over your thigh then disappeared.

“Yeah.”

“Then went back to MaMa, or whoever the hell the old broad was.”

“Yeah.” Even after six glasses of wine, wanting another as, Sharon’s Woodstock experience bringing back long hidden memories, and one in particular.

“Actually…” Sharon continued “...by the time I got back to the tent I didn’t  give a good, excuse me, fuck about Lust, or whatever his real name was, because I had about a million itching chigger bits on both ankles and about another million mosquito bites on whatever hadn't been covered, and wanted nothing more at that time but to get to that bottle of Calamine Lotion.”

“Whenever anyone talks about Woodstock, all they talk about is the music…” Marsha said “... and if you ask me, the whole thing sounds really...”

“ ‘Shitty’…” Sharon interrupted “...the word shitty doesn’t even begin to tell you how awful it was there. Only the first day and the toilets were overflowing onto the ground.”

“They didn’t send a crew to replace or clean the toilets?”

“Yeah. Trucks must have cone through the woods because there was no way for them to get there by the road. But there were no where near enough for even the thirty-five thousand they expected, and the next day it was even worse.

“You said people were undressing. There was no security?” Marsha asked.

“Yeah. The production company hired a crew, but how do you handle even thirty-five thousand people, let alone a half million? So they got hold of some of the biggest guys there, and offered each a couple hundred bucks to do security till it ended.”

“How’s that work out?”

They took the money, but mostly joined the party anyway.”

“Guess all that pot and music mellowed everyone out because I don’t remember too many problems."

It was all so many years ago. For Marsha Goldman Lipensky a different life ago.

“Woodstock…” remembering, “...was during Vietnam and the draft, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. The draft lottery was going to start the year after, in ‘seventy.”

“Clyde go?”

“He was thirty-nine. No, thank goodness. …. Mitch?”

“Thirty-six at the time, Too old also.”

4:55 PM

Glancing at her watch. “You about ready to head back.”

Turing the empty wine glass upside down and placing it on the table. “Ain’t nothing’ left to drink.” Sharon said. “So might as well.”

Standing, stepping ashore. “I’ll get the lines.” Marsha said, tossing the two half hitches off the cleats.

The maharajah laced half’ cookie and six glasses of wine hitting her. Laying back on the long cushion, closing her eyes, Sharon thought about Woodstock, Morning Lust and….

Margery Binkowski, AKA Autumn Dawn was born on September 6, 1931 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and was raped by her then near eleven year old first cousin, Patrick Binkowski when she was eight years old.

5/7/39

Actually it was Margery that brought the entire sequence about.

Margery loved her cousin, Patrick. No, it was more than cousin to cousin love. Margery had a major case of what one might call puppy love for Patrick.

Second generation Americans of Polish decent, the two Binkowski brothers, Michel and John, along with their wives would have dinner at one or the others homes every other week, then sending their children, Patrick and Margery into one or the other’s bedroom to, usually, play the game of Monopoly, as the two couples played Gin Rummy while drinking bourbon highballs till about eleven-thirty when one or the other couples went home.

On March seventh, 1939, after sitting on the floor playing Monopoly for an hour and a half, sitting back, supporting herself by her back-stretched arms, Margery— whom, being curious and, even at her young age having a bit of a randy streak said…

“Patrick, if you show me yours…” gesturing to his crotch “… I’ll show you mine.”

Patrick, actually being closer to eleven than ten, being — after all, being a boy, and wondering about such thing as ‘where do girls pee from’? standing, said, “Yeah. Okay.”

Standing also, then sitting on the edge of her bed with hands folded primly on her lap, and being— being female, after all, said, “You first.”

Embarrassed, yet needing this information. Standing before his eight year  old cousin, Patrick, haltingly, lowered his ‘Oshkosh’ jeans to his shoes, then, slowly, his ‘Sears & Roebuck’ white cotton underpants.

Two feet before her, Margery curiously studied her near eleven year old cousins uncircumcised penis.

The two inch tube of flaccid flesh drooping onto and partially covering the boy’s scrotum…

“Wow…” Margery strongly proclaimed.“...your peeing thing’s ‘so’ ugly!”

Stung by this rebuttal of his ‘manhood’. Quickly pulling his Sears & Roebuck cotton underpants and Oshkosh jeans upward. “Okay, if a girl’s pee thing is so great…” no intention of hiding his anger “...show me!”

Knowing her pee-pee thing was much prettier than that ugly thing she’d just seen. Standing, holding it beneath her chin, Margery pulled her dress upward, and pushed her panties downward revealing…

Truly hurt and embarrassed, stepping a pace back. “That’s it?” Patrick emphatically questioned.

Looking to below her belly to her...”Yeah, that’s my puddy!” Margery proudly proclaimed.

“ You’re ‘puddy’? That’s what you call it?”

“Yeah…” said emphatically “...that’s what my mommy calls it: my puddy!”

“That ain't nothing but your butt crack all the way up front.”

Looking downward and widening her thighs to better show her cousin…

Which, to the near eleven year old boy, still looked like the extended fission of his cousin’s ‘rear end’.

“You pee out of your butt hole?” The boy indelicately asked.

“No…” angry now “...I pee out of my puddy!” The girl said as, pulling her panties up, while allowing the dress to fall back into place.

The balance of the evening, until the adults said goodnight, was spent in a particularly vicious, property buying… passing ‘go’ and not receiving two hundred dollars game of Monopoly.

2/22/39

This week at the home of Patrick’s parents.

Dinner finished.

The adults into their games of Gin Rummy and Bourbon Highballs.

Hardly speaking throughout dinner.

Now in Patrick’s bedroom, each on the far side of his bed.

Both Patrick and Margery, generally thinking, Maybe there was something I didn’t see. Maybe we should look again.

Curiosity? Simply innocent curiosity? Maybe not actually all that innocent.

This thought, in a way neither had any understanding of, strangely excited both Patrick and Margery.

Finally, after several minutes of prolonged silence.

“If you want…” Patrick hesitantly said “...I’ll show you my, uh, pisser again. If you want.”

Oh, yes! She certainly did. “Yes. If you want me to?”

“Yeah. If you let me see yours again.”

Moving from the far end of the bed. Sitting alongside Patrick. “Yes. If you want, you can see my puddy again.”

“Yeah. Okay.” On a roll now. “Can I see your titties, too?”

“Ain’t got no titties.” Patting her flat chest. “You’ve bigger titties than me.”

Seeing each other at the beach in Kanosha for as long as either could remember, Patrick being a bit of a chubby kid did have bigger tities than his eight year old cousin.

His mysterious excitement growing stronger. “You want to get all naked this time?” Patrick asked.

Margery’s mysterious excitement growing stronger. “We see each other all the time at the beach in little bathing suites…” the girl said “...so what’s the difference?”

“So, you want to get naked?”

In answer. Standing, Margery pulled the dress dress over her head, dropped her pink, J.C. Penny panties to her feet and stepped out of them, as Patrick pulled his shirt over his head, and once again lowered his jeans and underpants.

Standing nude, the cousins studied each other a long moment thinking, Ain’t no difference — Except, Margery thought, For Patrick’s little peeing thing. Which still looked ridiculous.

Sitting on the side of the bed, vagina and penis near out of sight between the fold of belly and thighs…

Thinking he should do something. “Okay if I touch you…” gesturing to her hidden crotch “...there?” Patrick asked.

Sensing a slight flush. Widening her thighs a merger amount, Margery vigorously nodded her head,

Extending his fore and middle fingers, placing his hand between the girls thigh, entering the fissure between rectum and pubis, Patrick moved his hand and fingers upward, and…

Wet! Thinking, Pee! —or maybe something other than urine. As, quickly removing his hand from between his cousin’s thighs, Patrick wiped both top and palm on his blanket.

“Me, now!” Margery said, as cupping thumb and fore and index fingers, placing them about the hidden head of her cousins penis, moving her fingers upward...

Three things immediately happening: Patrick’s foreskin, sliding over the glans exposed it’s shiny red head, as the thin, two inch tube of soft flesh within the girl’s fingers expanded to five inches of hard flesh appearing much — to the eight year old girl appraring as a slimy red bug emerging from its cocoon of white flesh, causing Margery to scream and move to the far side of the bead holding both hands to her chest as though to keep her heart from jumping through.

Both somewhat satisfied with their newly found knowledge of, at least, what girls and boys pee out of.

Dressing quickly.

Going to his dresser, Patrick removed his game of Monopoly.

11/15/40

Patrick announced that he was getting too old to babysit his now ten year old cousin, and, thinking he was old enough to be left home alone, the cousin’s twice monthly visits ended.

However not caring because, actually closer to eleven than ten years of age, Margery Binkowski had a boy-friend by the name of Zachary Zimmer; a twelve year old, seventh grade boy that loved to fondle and suck on Margery’s — An early developer, twelve year old Zachary Zimmer loved to fondle and suck on Margery’s growing titties as she, enthusiastically, jerked the boy off.

A big boned, somewhat attractive young woman — certainly, if not for her over developed breasts, not so attractive that men would fall into the gutter looking at, Margery graduated high school with a B- plus average, went on to a city college majoring in a business course, then went on to take courses in shorthand and stenography.

Her work paying off, finding a secretarial job at a post war plastics factory, Margery earned a fairly substantial income.

On April one, 1951, attending an April Fools party given by a couple of her whoreish high school girlfriends. Drunk on Tequila shooters, stoned on maharajah and tripping on LSD, Margery was raped by a man she had never seen, nor would ever see again.

Struggling to hold the writhing woman down as the stranger planted his cock as deeply within Margery’s pussy as possible as…

Throughout this psychedelic episode, Margery transposed the stranger that was raping her with her cousin Patrick— Killed on General George C. Patton’s march to liberate Paris after the Normandy invasion.

From April first, 1951, when questioned by psychologist's at Margery’s three stints in alcohol and drug rehab facilities, it was her deceased cousin, Patrick, that had raped her when she was but eight years old.

Never knowing his father, Franklin Binkowski AKA Morning Lust was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on January five, 1952,

Next: Woodstock seven: Mother and Son