I stretch upwards, leaning back over the highest bar of the little wooden bridge, enjoying the heat of the sunshine, the breeze on my skin. I stay there, bent half backwards with my arms over my head, enjoying the peace of the park, the ducks quacking and splashing, small children hitting each other far enough away for their raucous squeals to blend into a pleasant sort of murmur. I feel my brain start to switch off; my muscles grow loose and relaxed.
I have been lulled into such a soporific state that when I hear footsteps crunching towards me on the gravel, it barely occurs to me to open my eyes, till I feel the planks of the bridge ring under the confident tread of a tall young man. My eyes snap open, but it would feel silly to suddenly spring to attention, so I stay there, all stretched out, my breasts thrust forward by my posture and positively begging for attention, with my nipples hardened by the cool breeze.
He smiles at me openly with that lovely dimple people get when they really mean a smile and I grin in response, I can't avoid it, he is the most beautiful man I've seen for a long time. About an inch over six foot tall he's lean, but muscled - not that awful scrawny lankiness of teenage boys - with lightly tanned skin, dark chocolate coloured hair and the most spectacularly green eyes. His chin and cheeks are shadowed with dark stubble and his eyes have feathery smile lines around them.
Barely out of my teens I have only just started to get over my fondness for rather effeminate, teenaged boys. No longer do I lust over rounded cheeks and a smooth chest, now I find myself turned on by hard angles and wiry hair, an elegantly sculptured muscle and a confidence bordering on arrogance. I smile at this gorgeous man, but inwardly my mouth is hanging open and my heart dances the Tarantella on my stomach as my body flashes with desire.
"Careful you don't do yourself a mischief," he says to me, as he walks past, "bending double like that."
His eyes linger on my breasts as he looks at me and reluctantly I bring my arms down from over my head, lest it look too 'posed.'
"I won't," I say. Then, as a flurry of wings startle him, "but you'd best watch out for low-flying pigeons."
"Thanks for the advice" he grins, then wanders over towards a bench by the lake.
"Any time" I mutter to his back. I watch him walk away from me, measuring every tense and release of his buttocks and thighs inside the thin denim of his jeans.
I feel my face flush as the adrenalin of my desire kicks in, I can't believe what an intense response I have had to him. I want him so desperately. I turn round and hang over the bridge looking down into the water, imagining him coming back, moving towards me, putting his arms on the bar either side of me and leaning his body in towards me. I can almost feel the heat of his breath, the weight of his body, the hardness of his cock.
My breath comes fast and shallow, my nipples throb through the lace of my bra and thin cotton top, my cunt clenches and relaxes as if his cock were pushing inside me and my knickers get damp from my arousal. I swallow hard and try to stop thinking about him, this handsome and disturbing stranger, but I still have the surge of energy inside me. Thoughtlessly I break into a run, my legs pounding the ground as I try to outrun my own feelings. I run the entire length of the lake before I grow too out of breath to continue, then I fall against a tree and pant. The bark is rough and warm against my cheek and I run my fingers up the trunk, trying to calm myself.
After a few minutes I move away from the tree, wandering heedlessly from the waterside into the bracken that covers that area of the park. It is midsummer and the plants reach high up, almost to my shoulders. There are a few paths that have been broken in, but you can break these off and clamber through the growth until you're far away from any people.
I used to do this with my sister or my girlfriends when I was younger, if you trample round for a little while you can create a small clearing, like an alien crop circle, where you can lurk, completely unseen, for as long as you want. I do this, marching as far away from the noise of people as possible, holding my skirt wrapped tight around my legs to stop the bracken from scratching the tender skin on my thighs. I make a small clearing and lie my cardigan, which had been tied round my waist, down on the ground to sit on.
I try to just concentrate on my breathing, but all I can think of is how good it would feel to be kissed by him, to have his stubble grazing my face, my throat, my breasts, my thighs. I start stroking my breast, feeling the nipple harden again as I tease it and pinch it. I put my hand inside my top and pull the cup down under my tit, so I can feel the soft skin under my fingers, then I start tracing small circles on my stomach with my other hand, moving my fingers down lower and lower till I'm touching myself – even through my skirt I can feel the heat and the moistness of my pussy.
I'm so turned on I can't think of anything else. I lie back on the ground, and watch the clouds move across the sky as I pinch and squeeze my breast and rub my clit with my fingers, the fabric of my skirt sweeping my thighs and adding their caress to the overwhelming sensations I'm experiencing.
I'm unaware of being watched till I hear someone saying something to me. I shoot upright and pull my hands away, but my face is aflame and my whole body is tingling from the orgasm I had been so close to having.
"What?" I blurt, I can't bear to look this intrusive stranger in the face.
"I said I'm very sorry, I didn't mean to just, um, you know... interrupt" says a deep, male voice with a hint of embarrassment and a hint of a smile.
It sounds familiar, but I can't believe fate would be so cruel as to send the man I had been fantasising about in on me. I look up and see that it is him and my entire body folds in on itself with shame and humiliation. I can't help seeing myself through his eyes and I feel so foolish and dirty – getting myself off in a public place like some shameless whore.
