"Damn," she thought. "What am I doing here? This is way too weird."
It was not just a little bit weird - well that depends on your perspective and she did have some experience in differing points of view - but it was secretly exciting and she knew it. No, it was not that it was really weird; bizarre and confounding were better descriptions but in either case she mused how both loving and hating it made it even more enticing. Nonetheless, there she was, sitting on a park bench, exactly as he instructed, waiting for him. Not that there was anything unusual about meeting in a public place, this was the recommended way to meet a man from an on-line dating service. She did not worry about recognizing him. What she was dreading was what she would need to do next.
They had met online and had immediately hit it off. Both were ripe for an encounter and both hopeful that this little tryst could lead to more. She knew what he looked like, they had been corresponding via email for several weeks now and he had sent over several pictures of himself. None of them were erotic in nature, they had not been photo shopped excessively other than a little cropping here and there so as separate himself from the group or to highlight more of a close-up. She, however, being overly shy and conservative had not posted any photos on the site. He had not asked her for one. As she wriggled across the weather beaten wood slats of the park bench, she wished that she had done so. Now, the burden of the recognizance rested in her hands, or more appropriately, her legs.
"He must have had it all planned from the beginning," she thought to herself angrily. She was very specific about looking for a man who would take charge and be the lead and now she wondered how the roles had been reversed. He certainly seemed to fit the part; confident, articulate, funny and sugar coated with a taste of romantic eroticism. Since she knew what he looked like and he had never seen her, he proposed this little game in which he would recognize her. It sounded kind of fun and thrilling on paper, but here she was and she could feel her bottom twitching as she prepared to give the signal.
On paper, he had become her knight in Shining Armor. He had been writing to her lengthy emails full of passion and creativity. With his words he would spin pirouettes of sunshine on even the coldest and drabbest of days. She found herself becoming obsessed with checking her email, first several times a day and then hourly. She wrote back, if only to exclaim her delight or to pass along what seemed to be the most mundane of occurrences, and he took her words and transformed them into a story or dug deep to find a nugget of goodness or truth in her words. The notes were almost always romantic in nature, but there was this undercurrent, this dynamic tension in his words and she felt herself bent and swayed. His words were written for her, she was his Dulcinea, without her his pen would dry and the passion would tumble aimlessly through the vast internet desert. This is what he had told her, or at least she thought. It was why he never asked for a photo, she surmised.
In time, she became bolder in her writing. Erotic fantasies lain dormant under the snow, white as vanilla, now began to melt, and fanned by the warm breath of his words. Often she would just start a little story, give him just a few hints and he would take the cursor and run swiftly through the fields of imagination, her baton became his pen. She could almost feel his hot breath on her shoulders as she sat at her computer screen; the warmth would cascade down her body, coating her skin in perspiration, her wetness tugging at her loins.
Here she was, at long last, on the park bench reliving the stories, ready for fantasy to meet reality and nervous as hell. She hoped he would like the outfit she had chosen. Although she requested of him to instruct her in the proper attire, he refused and told her simply to wear something appropriate. "He has no idea how hard it is to select the proper attire," she found herself complaining, "I have never met this man, I do not know what he likes." Under her breath she knew what the real problem was; she desperately wanted to please him, she desired his approval and wished to portray herself accordingly.
She settled on a summer dress, not too proper or too revealing. It had a nice flow in the breezy spring air; its fabric was refined but the cut contained a touch more casual than an Easter dress. The front scooped across the top of her breasts with just a hint of provocative and the dress fell about two inches above her knees. Although tight fitting around the bodice, at the waist tiny pleats allowed the dress to flow across her hips and down her legs. This is where it would be really important, and she was pleased as to how roomy it felt as she walked from her car to the park bench.
It was what she had selected to go underneath that really made her proud. For too long had her selection of underwear and lingerie been a private pleasure, one that even though was not shared with others, it was one that always reminded her of her feminine nature. Thongs and blue jeans, corsets and business suits; she loved harboring these little secrets, and now there was this man who had asked to peek in her secret closet.
"Maybe I should practice before he arrives," she thought and was thankful she remembered her sunglasses. The park was not particularly crowded this afternoon, she started to squirm on the bench and began crossing and uncrossing her legs. When the coast was clear, she uncrossed her legs slowly; opening herself and feeling her dress hike up on her thighs. Wider now, she flayed her legs and felt the spring breeze rush up her thighs. It was so naughty and daring; she grimaced at the thought and felt the subtle thrilling sensations overtake her. This was the game he wished to play and she was playing it for him. The thought of exposing herself in public was wildly thrilling; she fantasized about exploits in far away and romantic places but had not the courage or the self confidence to tease and flirt in this way, until now. Sure, she had given sexy strip teases for lovers in the past, but only in security of a closed room.
The breezes brushed across her stocking tops and she knew that her panties clearly exposed. She looked down and could see a spot of wetness developing in the middle of the sheer fabric. Looking up, she confirmed that the coast was still clear. Closing and crossing back her legs, she withdrew her vulnerability and waited.
An adolescent boy walking his dog appeared down the path. He did not take much notice in her, his eyes followed the motions of his pet as it walked, stopped to sniff, and then bounce forward again. This was not him, she felt as if she could pick him out from a mile away, but perhaps she could stand to practice a little more she thought to herself. As he approached, she became emboldened and slowly crossed then recrossed her legs as her hand pressed the pleats of her skirt. Turning slightly towards his approach she slowly opened her legs just a little and feigned a stretching motion as she tried to unobtrusively allow her dress to hike up her thighs.
This is hard work," she thought to herself and wondered how those brazen tarts could ever muster up the courage to perform in such a manner. The electricity of the thrill was building in her and becoming momentarily frighten she looked away and then in a sudden act of daring, twisted herself back around and opened her legs wide so that her thighs and panties were clearly visible.
His quivered a little in his gait and tried not to be overly obvious in his stare but she could see that he had seen her. The dog paid no attention and the young man wished that his dog had at least the common decency to stop to sniff here but chose instead to scamper by.
