Catching A Look

So, it's quarter to six and I'm finishing up my Saturday morning jog

through the park when I hear the whistle--and when I say whistle, I'm referring to a classic cat-call, perfectly executed, that pierces the early morning fog like a spotlight aimed straight at my ass.

"Lookin'

good!"

I spin without slowing and flash a middle finger at my ogler, shirtless and stretched into a yoga pose on a patch of grass just off the path. He cranes his nick to grin at my tits, unabashed.

Fucker.

I jog on, flushed with annoyance. I mean, I

do

look good. I have a fantastic ass. I work hard to keep it that way, thank you very much, and my skin-tight sweat pants make sure that the world knows it. I am, if I do say so myself, one sexy motherfucker, and I appreciate being appreciated.

But a

cat-call? Seriously?

Show some fucking class, mate.

When I finally get home, I head for the shower, still hot and bothered. In

all

the ways--the memory of my shirtless ogler is stuck in my head and it's starting to have less and less to do with his commentary and more and to do with the imagery of our encounter. I pull my sports bra over my head and close my eyes: I can picture him like he's standing in front of me--his chest, with just enough curly brown hair to mark him as masculine but not enough to obscure his perfectly sculpted abdominals, the faint wet gleam of sunlight off the skin of his shoulder, his own thin tracksuit bulging over his muscular thighs. If the situation had been reversed...

Suddenly self-conscious, I realize that I've started to absently stroke my own erect nipple.

No,

I tell myself,

you'd be able to come up with something far more clever.

Satisfied with this course correction, I mentally embrace the heat that's been slowly building between my legs, looking myself over in the mirror, tugging on my nipples until they stand out, spike hard, from the smooth slopes of my breasts, then sliding my hands down my sides to slip out of my pants and bikini bottoms--soaked now with more than just sweat.

That's right,

I tell myself. Y

ou're smart *and* sexy, and you could make that fucker beg if you really wanted to.

My shirtless ogler, on his knees, staring up at me with naked need. My lips part at the thought.

All

my lips. I let out a soft moan as I drag a finger through my eager slit and up to my hard little button.

I'll have to give this a little more thought...

I think, but then I lean back against the cold tile of my bathroom wall and set to work on my clit in earnest and I don't think about much of anything at all.

In fact, I don't think about him again until a week later,

when I'm out jogging again. The early morning air is cool and damp with fog. It feels great on my flushed and sweaty skin, and my nipples are hard with the chill. I can feel the texture of my bra as they shift against the fabric with every stride. Running always turns me on a bit, and as I come closer to the spot where I'd encountered him I begin to wonder what I should do if he's there again.

I can think of one or two things...

Stop that. He may have been attractive, but he's also a dick. It is with a mixture of disappointment and relief, then, that I finally reach the spot and find him absent. I'm all alone.

I stop for a moment, breathing hard, calves aching. Sweat drips down my chin, rolling into the cleft between my breasts. The grass to the side of the path is matted, marking where someone has recently been. I stretch out a bit a look around, trying to convince myself that I'm not really standing here looking for that man, but of course that's what I'm doing.

And suddenly, it pays off. There, in the trees, a flash of red where red should not be.

Are those...track pants? Could I possibly be so lucky?

Only one way to find out.

I make my way through the undergrowth, prowling with what I tell myself is cat-like stealth. The foliage gives way and a small pool comes into view, a bend in the creek that is all but invisible from the trail. My breath catches in my throat. Those are indeed his track pants, carefully folded over a branch. Those are his sneakers on the rocks, socks and sweaty white briefs folded carefully on top of them. I know this, because he is standing waist-deep in the creek, back turned towards me, laving himself, splashing water against his chest and up over his shoulders, up into his groin. I watch him wash for a moment, admiring the bulge of his trapezius, the smooth plane of his latissimus, shifting under his glistening skin. Water runs down his back in rivulets that collect just above the crack of his ass, and I allow my gaze to sweep down the curve of his gluteus. The creek is clear as glass. I can see everything.

I collect myself, draw in a breath, and execute my cat-call

perfectly.

He spins around in surprise, and locks eyes with me above my knowing smirk. To his credit, he does not feel compelled to immediately cover himself, so

now

I actually

can

see everything.

"

Lookin'

good!"

He starts, slightly, in recognition.

"You're the girl from last week."

I incline my head, playing the haughty ice queen, though my act is perhaps hampered by the impish gleam in my eye.

"I suppose this is karma."

"I suppose so," I reply, triumphantly, then (genuinely curious) "Why are you naked in the creek?"

He grins, awfully sly for a man in his position. I make a point of staring at his dangly bits, still in full retreat from the cold. He wilts, confidence slipping, posture shifting unconsciously away from my gaze.

"I usually work out early, then have a dip here. I like how clean the water is. I only ran into you last week because I was out later than usual." He's broken eye contact now, looking down. Discomfort has settled on his shoulders like a weight.

"I'm sorry about that, by the way." He adds, more than a hint of chagrin in his voice.

I say nothing for a moment, the thrill of victory fading in the face of his vulnerability. I rally and looked him in the eye again.

"You should be," I say, "but I think we can call it even." I take one last lingering look just to drive the point home, and then, with mixed feelings, I turn away to leave.

"Hey, wait up a sec," he calls, and my heart leaps--just a little.

Traitor.

I wait.

"Do you--" he starts, pauses, rethinks. "Are you into yoga?"

"A bit," I say, over my shoulder.

"You wanna work out with me sometime? I--" but again he loses the words.

"Yeah, sure," I reply, turning back to face him. "Next Saturday?"

"That'd be great!" His face is genuinely alive. "I'm an instructor, I'd love to show you some stuff!"

I arch an eyebrow, smirk returned.

"Not that, you know. If you want. I'm...not really as much of an asshole as I'm making myself out to be." He grins, sheepish. "I'm Tim, by the way." He extends a hand, then realizes I'm not going to wade out into the creek to shake it and wilts a bit.

"Abbie," I say, " and good. And I'll see you next week." And with that, I turn and leave.

I won't pretend that the anticipation failed to make me hot,

but when Saturday finally rolls around, I play it cool. We meet on the grass and he greets me like a gentleman, all professional and fully clothed--a fact which leaves me just a teensy bit disappointed. He takes me through some poses (I actually do benefit from his instruction) and refrains from staring at my ass even once, though I secretly kinda want him to. I do not refrain from checking

him

out, as much as his tight teeshirt and track pants will allow, but I'm really imagining him as he was in the creek, gleaming wetly in the sun.

And then it's an hour or so later and he's wrapping up our set and I realize I'm not ready to be done.

"Wow," he says, "you were great. You looked great. You feel good?"

"I do."

It's true. I feel good. Limber. Ready, like a well-oiled machine. I'm also sweaty as hell.

Everything

feels slick, my clothes are soaked right through. He notes me picking at it and flashes me that grin that I've been seeing in my sleep.

"Bet that creek is sounding pretty good right now."

"You have no idea."

"You should give it a shot."

I hesitate for a moment. The thought is undeniably tempting.

"...No...no. I'd better go. Thanks, though. I really had a good time. You're a good instructor."

"Well thank you."

Say something.

"I'll just be, um, leaving now. Enjoy your creek."

Not that! Ask for his number or something!

"Sure thing," he says. "Take care."

"See you around sometime?"

Lame!

"Yeah," he smiles. "Sounds great."

I turn reluctantly and head down the path, awkward and keenly aware of his eyes on my back as I go. I want to stop, to say something. I keep kicking myself.

Stupid! Why are you so bad at this?!

But I'm committed now, and I just keep walking. I hear him sigh quietly before he turns and heads off through the brush.

I'm standing in front of my car by the time I realize I've forgotten my keys. They're in my belt pack, which I can picture clearly, lying on the grass by the path. How could I have left it?

Perhaps so you could go back for it?

Whatever the reason, I am certainly now going back for it. As I trudge back up the path, though, my steps grow lighter even as my breath grows heavier. I can't stop picturing him, washing himself in the creek. Cold, clear water flowing down his chest, over his taut abs and down and

down

before dropping in tiny crystals back into the calm mirror of the water. I picture myself catching one on my tongue, wondering how it'd taste. Sweet with a hint of salt.

I shudder, but not unpleasantly. I give myself a little mental slap, but it doesn't help. The heat that's growing between my thighs is a sharp contrast to the chill of the morning air, and I know I'm not just going back for keys. My feet beat a path straight through the bushes, not trying to disguise my approach this time, though he turns around in surprise when I crunch out onto the pebbled bank.

"Oh! Oh, it's you. Startled me!"

He lets out a breath. He's reflexively pulled his arms across his chest, but his cock is dangling beneath its curly thatch, much as I rememebered it, if somewhat less...reduced by the cold, this time. Droplets scatter like diamonds from its tip, and I catch myself before I lick my lips. I catch this all in the moment before he relaxes. I am focused, taut. A huntress with blood in the air.

"Thought you were going home?"

My eyes are locked on his, now, and I take a small step forward.

"I changed my mind." No sense mentioning the keys. "Figured I'd try your creek after all."

"Oh, yeah." He cracks a smile. "Fantastic. Here, I'll pack up and leave you to it. Gimme a minute." He takes a step.

"No, that's alright."

He stops, mid-stride, and catches my eye with a look like a deer in the headlights. I take a long slow look, up and down, appraising him at length. Following the play of light along his curves like I'm a sculptor whose just finished...art. Because he is art, smooth humanity chiseled from hard stone, glistening in the sun. Each muscle a frozen exposition, coming together in a crystalline verb.

Fuck!

He is exposed, and I can see in his eyes that he feels it.

The moment stretches as I savor his sudden vulnerability.

"I'll just join you."

The spell is broken and he barely catches himself, slipping just a little on the slick rocks of the creek bed. I mark a point in my favor when I catch his cock giving a little spasm, despite the cold. He stands there looking confused, and I slowly start to strip off my sports bra, looking him in the eyes.

Watching him watch me.

That's right. Look!

I slip my arms through the straps one at a time, then pull the bra over my head and off, flinging it onto the bushes behind me with abandon. I realize that the grin on my face is more sultry than superior and that the cold air is not the only reason that my nipples are standing at attention. I note with thinly veiled pleasure that he is staring at them, unabashed. It calls to mind the vivid fantasies that have plagued me all week, of nimble fingers and soft tongues and sharp white teeth.

I catch his eye, and he flashes me a grin, teeth bright white in the morning sun. The fog is gone and the air is warming. I am warming, and it is not at all unpleasant.

You are going to fuck this man

.

I know, right?

I turn and stretch languorously, pulling myself to the tips of my toes and thrusting my arms in the air, stretching and bending backwards until I can just see the tops of the trees behind me, and then I bend over forward, legs together, giving him a view of my ass as I slide my yoga pants slowly down my long, smooth legs. I can practically feel his gaze boring into my backside, sweeping along my thighs and man-handling my mound through the thin fabric of my bikini bottoms. I can't wait to get that man's hands on me.

I finally turn around, and I'm rewarded with the sight of his eyes, locked on my body, pupils dilated even in the now-bright sun, his chest, hair fluttering with each rapid, shallow breath. His cock, now firmly erect, glistening just above the surface of the creek. It begins to twitch as I tug my panties playfully down, first off one hip, then the other, revealing my own dark thatch. I don't shave, but I do keep myself neatly groomed. I let them slide down my legs, shifting a little to keep them moving, then kick them to the side with one toe. Making sure he gets a good view in the process. The cool air tickles me intimately.

The water, however, is a shock--frigid cold against my heat. My nipples turn into chips of ice, deliciously painful. A shudder wracks my body as I brush my fingers over them, and it's not from the cold alone.

"I see what you mean," I say, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. "Very refreshing." I splash some water up under my arms for show, and it runs down my chest, over my tits. My nipples, impossibly, harden even more.

He laughs, softly. "Want me to get your back?"

Wordless, I turn around, and I feel the current he makes as he moves to stand behind me. I can feel his heat faintly in the water. He runs his wet hands over my back, businesslike. A gentleman, despite my obvious overture and his obvious desire.

"You really are very attractive," he says.

"Attractive?" I ask "I was hoping to rate a 'fucking sexy' at least."

He laughs, a rich genuine sound from deep with his belly. The water vibrates with the force of it.

"You really are fucking sexy," he says. "Unbelievably so, in fact."

"That's better." His hands have moved up to my neck, no longer a wash but a massage. "You're not so bad yourself."

I reach up and take his hand. He's taller than me by half a head, so it's easy to pull his arm across my chest and settle his hand on my breast. He sets to work immediately, kneading my soft flesh, running circles around my taut nipple with one calloused thumb. His cock is fully erect, pressed up against the small of my back. I can feel its firm length pulsing against me, and I mewl softly. He leans forward to kiss my neck, and I arch my back obligingly, stretching to expose the long sweep of my throat to his eager mouth, stretching to grasp his short sandy hair in one hand, pulling him closer, stretch to reach behind, between us, to run my hand down the length of his shaft and run my fingers through his thatch of thick hair, to close them tightly around his sack and roll his testicles between them. His breath catches, and his teeth convulse on the skin of my neck, bringing a sharp, pleasant pain. He pinches both of my nipples hard, and it is exquisite. I release a throaty yelp, and reciprocate with a hard squeeze to the base of his shaft. I want that fucker in me so bad I can practically taste it.

As if sensing my thoughts, he spins me around with a growl. I barely have time to lock my arms around his neck before he's picked me up, hands spreading my ass cheeks wide, spreading the lips of my pussy and exposing me to the icy water's intimate caress. I scream, but it is a good scream, and it turns to a giggle as he lifts me clear of the surface and I wrap my legs around his chest. I squirm against him, trying to grind my sex against something, anything, as he carries me towards the shore, but all I get is a tickle from his chest hair. He laughs, and I laugh, and he buries his face in my breast and sucks my nipple hard into this mouth, turning my laugh into a moan of pleasure. I pull his face from tit and look him hard in the eye.

"Get your fucking cock inside me," I murmur, soft and breathy and (I hope) commanding as hell.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and, to my great surprise, he does so. Right there. Standing right in the middle of the creek, both of us dripping wet, he holds me in position with incredibly strong arms (that yoga pays off) and then pulls me right down onto his cock. All the way.

Oh, fuck yes!

I dig my nails into his back, lean back in his arms and let out a throaty yowl of pleasure. He holds on gamely, pistoning my pussy like a fucking machine and I do what I can to help, but, frankly, I've never been fucked like this in my life and I have no idea how it's supposed to work.

Suddenly, I realize that he probably doesn't either. His breath is rough and ragged, face bright red, tendons in his neck taught and strained. I pull him close with my legs, relishing the feel of his cock, twitching slightly in time with his racing heartbeat, as it comes to rest deep inside me. I bend down and whisper in his ear,

"Let's go lie down."

He nods, panting softly, and (to his credit) does not put me down, but instead carries me--cock still throbbing deep inside me--all the way to the shore. He kneels, and lays me down on the grass by the bank, my hips still raised and supported by his. The blood rushes to my head, and my vision swirls with spots of color. He gazes down at me, face soft and kind, and runs his hands over my tits as he catches his breath. I arch my back and wriggle against him appreciatively, encouraging him with soft breathy moans and the slow rhythmic squeeze of my pelvic muscles on his cock. After what seems like an eon (but was probably only a few seconds) he lifts my legs, sliding his hands up the back of my thighs to the back of my knees, then leans down pressing my legs up against my chest, flattening my breasts. He leans over farther, compressing me so much I can barely breathe, until his mouth is directly over mine. I can feel his breath on my lips, and my eyes are locked directly on his. I cannot move, trapped by his weight, paralyzed by the anticipation of the moment. His cock is poised, resting with the tip just inside the first inch of my pussy. He licks my lips, and I try to pull my head up, to kiss him back, but he pulls away slightly and thrusts down violently.

Holy shit

. His cock drives down and down until I am sure he has split me right in half, but I have never felt so utterly complete.

This lasts for a lifetime, nearly half a second, and then he is a piston, driving me higher and higher and harder and faster. I lose myself in the rhythm even as I feel him losing control, building towards his orgasm with the uncritical focus of a rutting bull, and I am not at all surprised to feel myself building as well.

"

fuck, fuck, fuck,"

I whisper, a mantra barely audible against the slapping of flesh, the pounding of my heart. Each beat fans the fire building in my core. My legs are spread wide now, and his face hovers above mine, our eyes locked, each thrust crashing into me, reverberating through my whole body before converging on my engorged clit, where the whole of my nervous system seems to have taken up residence.