This was a response to a friend who complained that my stories spent too much time developing characters and not enough time fucking.
This kind of thing never happens to me.
I'm an engineer, sort of a geek, even if I am in my 50's. The kind of guy that shows up on the radar screen when a woman is looking for a husband and provider, but becomes invisible when she's looking for a "good time". So, this sort of thing never happens to me, and I'm not sure I even believe it.
I work from home. To break "work" from "home", I take my dog, Henry, on a run around the neighborhood every afternoon about the same time. There's an attractive woman, half a dozen houses up from me, who also often jogs about the same time. Sometimes I'm in front of her, sometimes behind. Even though it's been winter, and we've both been in baggy sweats, I still prefer behind.
On the first really warm day of spring, I had just started when I saw her emerge from her house, wave to me, and start jogging up the street. Now, either I put on a burst of speed, or she was jogging slower than normal, because I quickly caught up with her and then we jogged side-by-side.
I couldn't help myself. I just stared. She was in a sports bra, baggy running shorts, and shoes, and what wasn't covered was better than my imagination had hoped. Taught muscles worked smoothly and she had only enough fat to give everything a very inviting smoothness. But her breasts.... "... that motion, each way free, ah, how that motion captures me ..." My subconscious served up an approximate quote of some Romantic poet I had read in high school. My subconscious can be very annoying.
But her breasts! They bounced in rhythm with her stride in a way I could not take my eyes off of. What fluidity and softness and firmness all at once! I was electrified.
I started to wonder if I was drooling and guiltily looked up. She had been watching me stare at her. To my relief, she seemed amused, not annoyed. I grinned back, sheepishly, trying to hide the fact that I would happily pay any price asked just for a few moments with those breasts.
After many years of hoof-in-mouth disease, I have learned to normally avoid just blurting out what my subconscious throws up to me, but this time a scene from the movie "Goodbye Columbus", similar but in slow motion and without the sports bra, flashed across my mind and I blurted out between breaths "Wow! ... You're gorgeous! ... I sure wish ... I had a video of you ... right now!" Oh, geez! Welcome back to Junior High.
I got an appropriately dumb-founded look from her, then, instead of taking my head off, she laughed and said "Video?!? ... Wouldn't you rather ... have the real thing?"
Now, I'm sure, I had the dumb-founded look, and just blurted out "My place ... or yours?" You can see I've had lots of practice with this.
"How 'bout those ... bushes up ahead?" she replied. She then sprinted ahead the last couple of houses and dove into the bushes. Our street dead ends about half a lot past the last house. No turn-around. No warning. Just like it was chopped off. And where it ends is a stand of very old and tall pine trees with big, wild, shrubs around their base. This is the only wild stand anywhere close to us, and it's blocking the street.
I entered the bushes more carefully than she had for a few reasons: I had never explored them; I needed to find a branch I could loop Henry's leash over (it wouldn't do if he got home half an hour before I did); and I was trying to get my heart rate back under control.
As I entered the stand of trees, the bushes stopped and left an irregular clear area covered with soft pine needles. She was already lying on her back, to one side, legs pulled up and separated so that I swear that I could dimly see her pussy staring back at me through the open leg of those baggy shorts.
I ripped off my t-shirt. She patted the ground next to her, but rather than lay down there, I fell directly over her, catching my fall just a couple inches above her chest. She didn't flinch. My mouth found hers and I hungrily pressed my tongue past her lips and explored. She opened to me; her arms wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me down. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her pussy was pressing and rubbing all over my growing cock, albeit through at least three layers of cloth.
I had no idea what I was going to do next, so I did the smartest thing I'd done so far: I stopped thinking.
We rolled into the clearing. I pushed her shorts down as far as I could. She pulled one leg out. We kept rolling. I landed on top, taking my weight on my elbows as my hands worked their way between us and started pushing her sports bra up. One after the other, her nipples popped out from under the elastic and into my fingers. I twirled nipples and massaged those magnificent feeling breasts while her pussy continued to massage my cock and our tongues dueled. I am sure there was smoke coming out my ears.
She was trying to get my shorts and jock off, and it took her a couple minutes to realize that she had to stop rubbing her pussy against my cock to accomplish the task. That done, the heat of her pussy raged through my cock, and I was ready in record time (at least, a record for the last 30 years.)