From the beginning, this became an intriguing idea in my fertile mind. Marc Malone at this stage is a Viet Nam war veteran, currently attending his alma mater Chi City State College hoping to finish his degree in architecture. He is supported financially with aid from the Veteran's G. I bill. He stands erect at 5' 11" a solid 165 pounds of mostly muscle, and a member of a national fraternity enables him to frequent many a fraternity party.
This episode he delves into a fantasy that becomes an experience that is out of this world's metaphysical implications.
Enjoy and read on!
*
Rousted from sleeping like the dead, Marc Malone recovers quickly through the fog induced from the night before, only to hear the continuous pounding outside his head. He was slightly light-headed from the loud sawing and hammering. He slithered out of bed, traipsed down the narrow hallway into the small kitchen suitable for only two. He heated water for instant coffee, scrambled two eggs, over-easy, and two slices of un-nutritious white toast with a heap of buttery spread and a gob of red raspberry jam on each slice.
He sleepily looks out the small window over the sink as two sweat glistening muscled laborers were putting up a picket fence next door to his downstairs apartment.
Unsatisfied with the noisy intrusion, he begrudgingly trudged into the living room to put on some different musical interludes, hoping to drown out the noise. It was not an auspicious undertaking, so he donned his comfortable green gym shorts, t-shirt with an image of Mount Lassen prominently displayed. Then he was off to pay an early morning visit to Kay's Tavern, a mere five city blocks away, all for a draught of liquid libation.
Maybe he would find something else to do. At the tavern, he noticed the giant ornate 'Milwaukee's finest, Blatz Beer' clock showing 11:11 a.m.
Two cold brews later, a saucy looking female carrying what seemed to be a personal pool stick case sauntered about as Marc began nursing his third. He soon realized this redhead's fiery disposition might not be in keeping with his intentions: an easy care, uncomplicated, quick roll-in-the-hay with any relatively attractive and suitable female. This redhead was a bit too flaming, maybe even flagrantly flamboyant for his taste in the summery, saucy female gender.
Disappointed at the lack of summer coeds, he shuffled slowly back down Cherry Street. The many Sycamores and Magnolias provided ample shade for the near blistering heat. He remembered there were three neighborly coeds just around the corner from his apartment.
He had befriended one of them earlier in the year, in a biblical sort of way. From time to time, she would need to 'visit' him in the downstairs apartment. She was exotic and mysterious, and from out of the county. Marc considered maybe she would welcome some unexpected company.
There was no answer to his knock on the door. R
ats, there is no one home.
Just my luck, anyway.
He turned the corner to view the front yard of the house, noticing how and who had been maintaining the yard work. The front lawn was clean; mown semi-weekly by using a push mower. The rear yard's grass behind the six-foot fence was less than.
Two Maple trees aligned both sides of the house and the neighbor, aging widow Darcy Owens' ancient Cherry tree (supposedly planted by the founder of Chi City in the mid-1800's) was always checked for cherry pickin' time. Being neighborly he would pick and keep half the harvest, the rest going to her, where she might return the favor with a freshly baked cherry pie--always appreciated and delicious. The yard's shrubbery were carefully sculptured.
He smiled and used the front gate and to check out what may lie in wait for only him to see on the other side where lived several summering college coeds.
Inside the downstairs small apartment, he
collected a week's worth of trash. While trudging to the back of the property where the trash cans were kept Marc, glanced over the neighbor's short picket fence. There she was, smoldering hot, sunbathing and topless to boot.
Oh,
my lucky stars
; t
his
is such a glorious moment
. He held his breath, taking in her stunning beauty.
She possessed a pair of ripe rosy red breasts, not too full, but enough to grasp around with the utmost of care and consideration. They sat well up on her chest, dark pink areolas with perfect round, dime sized nipples.
Oh, to indulge in the possibilities
. I would dearly love to hold them and rub my tongue around in circles on those perky peaks, before gently sucking and tugging them lustily and gently.
Makes me hard just thinking about it.
His physical male response wanted to show itself to her.
She languished in the lounge chair fully reclined, unmoving under a pair of dark sunglasses and seemed to enjoy the heat of the day.
He held his breath.
The trash, still in his arms, was getting heavier; should he remain there in silent repose much longer; either that or the load would be unceremoniously released from the wet papery bottom would unduly startle her from her quiet internal reverie.
Marc stares transfixed, fascinated, as she caressed her own supple body, gently touching and rubbing particular areas that seemed to be in excited distress. Her rosy peaks grew taunt, darkened areolas and nipples sprang forth invitingly. When she tweaked one, then the other, he noticed her hips move slightly. Acting as a voyeur, he watched this incredibly sexy display of uninhibited erotic self-induced wickedness.
Immobilized, it kept him in a thwarted dilemma of sudden erectile proportions.
I must do something, but what, when?
Immobile, transfixed and temporarily afraid to say anything else, he might ruin a possible erotic rendezvous.
However, as the saying goes: nothing ventured, nothing gained. Marc's eyes focused upon a workable solution to a current dilemma: a brown bottle of suntan lotion that almost matched her natural shade - a flesh color of rich honey, lay on its side under the lounger.
Maybe this was an answer?
Her skin must be dry
; some
bodily movements are stilted, awkward.
He made an empirical decision, a herculean effort on his part. He shook off any resultant hesitation. "Say there, fellow neighbor; I noticed that your skin looks a mite dry. Would you like some help in administering your sun-tanning lotion to the affected areas?"
