Diamond Ring

The day was hot and sticky.

I watched my daughter run up and down the ramp of the playground castle, down the slide, and back around for more. My son kicked around on the swing and asked for pushes. I gave him his quota of twenty, then told him he needed to swing by himself.

The heat made me tired, so I sat on the bench next to one of the moms. She was slightly pudgy, blonde, with thick pale thighs pouring from cutoff jean shorts and generous cleavage bulging from a white t-shirt.

She had a large bag full of snacks, sunscreen and games. She had planned for a day at the park. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she hid her eyes and her thoughts behind a large pair of sunglasses. She held her phone at the ready to text.

I sat on the far side of the bench, would have sat on a different bench entirely, but they were all taken by pairs of women discussing the intricacies of naptime and comparing notes on preschools.

I had gotten used to being the only dad on the playground, and to being treated warily by moms who opened up so quickly to one another with the most intimate details of childbirth, breastfeeding and child development.

My daughter approached. "Dad, can I have some water?"

"The drinking fountain is over there, hon," I replied, pointing.

"Thanks, Dad," she responded politely and ran off.

"Such a sweet girl," said the woman sitting next to me.

I tried not to smile too widely, to accept the compliment graciously.

"Yeah, well, you should try getting her to brush her hair in the morning," I said.

She didn't say anything for a time.

A large blond boy approached. He wanted the frisbee from his mom so he could toss it with his friend in the field. She gave it to him, then he ran off with his friend into the soccer fields.

"You seem like a good dad," the woman said. "Do you raise these kids all by yourself?"

I started to tell her about myself--my wife who works long hours, how I take care of the kids most of the time. I tried hard to hold back the torrent of frustration and loneliness lurking just below the surface. Did not mention the torturous nights next to a woman who does not want to be touched.

She introduced herself as Mary, mother of three, one of whom, Jacob, swung as high as he could then let go to careen through the air and then to the ground, where he posed like an olympic gymnast.

"You seem like you need someone to talk to," she told me. Why don't you call me sometime and we'll talk, or we can arrange a playdate for the kids or something.

No one had been this forward with me for a long time. This possibility of connection with another human being--another adult--filled me with joy. I watched her walk away. Her round ass swayed as she walked, her kids running back and forth around her.

I didn't want to call too soon, but I also didn't want to wait. Two days was about all I could handle, then I called and left a message, asked if she wanted to meet at the playground again.

She called me back in a few minutes. She asked me more about myself. I asked her more about herself. She was so much more open on the phone then in person. Her voice was confident and tender, sweet and husky... enchanting. I could listen to her talk for minutes and get lost in her words, let my imagination wander.

Her husband worked long hours too, a doctor to my lawyer. She loved him and appreciated his steadiness and hard work. She provided him the home that he needed to come home to, the stability his children needed.

Somehow we didn't mention the playdate again. We just talked. I called her again. She called me. After a long conversation in which we each confessed our loneliness and dissatisfaction, we agreed to meet at a hotel the next night.

I waited until the kids were both in bed. I told my wife that I had some errands to run, and went out. As I peeled down the driveway I was washed by a sense of liberation I hadn't felt since adolescence.

As planned, we met in the bar of a local hotel.

This was the first time I had seen her without sunglasses, and she was so much more beautiful than I had even imagined. Her ample breasts filled a floral, sleeveless dress. Her shoulders were strong, but still conveyed a delicacy that sparked my desire. Her brown eyes were large and inviting.

"Mary..." I said, not sure if I could say anything that wouldn't spoil the moment.

She held a white wine between thumb and forefinger. I noticed her wedding ring. It was so much larger than the modest ring I had bought for my wife, which she wore only occasionally, but she told me it was all she wanted.

"Mary... you are so beautiful," was all I could sputter out, and it was true. I wanted her with an intensity that had built up in the days since I'd met her, but much more, it had built up over years of loneliness and unmet desire.

I stared at her and she stared back, smiling. She finished her drink.

"I think we should go upstairs," she said.

When we arrived at the room, I shut and locked the door. She walked to the window and peaked at the view of the parking lot followed by a neat row of bushes and landscaped trees.

I reached for her shoulders and then kissed her--soft and tender, then deep. I pulled her hair back; my mouth wandered to her ear, her throat, and her other ear where I buried my tongue.

My right hand was in her dress, gently pinching a nipple, cupping the breast in my hand. My other hand at her back, holding her close.

We fell on the bed.

Her arms were around me, her lips parted. Her mouth was warm, her flesh salty. I was voracious.

I positioned my thigh between her legs. I pulled out a breast and began to nibble. She was panting, her fingers running through my hair.

We paused for a moment to take off our clothes and were at each other once again. My belly was against her belly, my feet wrapped in hers. The touch of her flesh quenched a thirst in my throat, filled a hole in my heart.

My throbbing cock dribbled wet lines on her thigh. She giggled and reached for it.

She slowly slathered me up and down with her sweet hand, her thumb circling my cock head.

I nibbled her areolas one at a time, almost crying in joy and relief and I lost control and released into her hand.

She laughed. "I hope you can get going again soon," she said as she wiped her hand on the sheet. She took off her ring to clean it.

"I'm just getting started," I said.

I lay in her arms for a moment, a feeling of deep satisfaction washed over me.

I moved to her thighs and tasted her flesh, savoring the salty flavor. I ran my lips up one and down the other, then approached her flower. I paused for a moment to take in the rich aroma of life. I licked from the bottom to top of her slit. Opening the folds, I searched for her button and flicked my tongue across. My arms wrapped around her thighs so I could press my face deeper and deeper into her. I lapped her again and again, tasting her succulent juice on my tongue, savoring her scent in my nostrils. I wanted to drink her down.

Pulling away for a moment, I heard her moan and knew that she could feel my passion, that it was affecting her. Her thighs squeezed my head in close. I moved in again and lapped at her with my tongue, again and again and then with my tongue at her button and inserted my finger and worked on her more until she erupted in ecstacy. Her thighs wrapped around me, hands on my head, she pressed me deep into the wetness of her sex as I felt her writhe with joy. I wanted to drown there in her wet folds.

Then we stopped and rested.

"You'd better wash your face," she said.

I cleaned with a wet towel in the bathroom and then we were back to holding each other, flesh on flesh, thighs pressed, fingers tangled, lips moving. My cock was full once again, full of life and ready to create.

So easy now, I slipped between her folds. Our ankles wrapped around each other, our fingers locked, I pulled my body above hers and rocked, rocked, rocked... pelvic bone pressing meaningfully against hers. Diving deeper with every stroke, building rhythm, I tried to reach the bottom of her.

Her sighs became groans. Her arms wrapped around me and pulled me in. I pressed purposefully against her pelvis. Her groans became cries and I lost control and released deep into her, collapsing on her sweaty chest. I felt the rhythm of her heart and her breath. Her fingers stroked me tenderly. An hour passed, and she got up, reaching for her ring on the night stand.

I knew that we would see each other again, that Mary's desire was a match for mine. Here was a woman who could match me in loneliness and lust, and who knew the value of a generous human touch.