On the Path

Ritchie didn't seem to have the same fire for sex anymore after I had Jamie. Jamie was our second child. When he was born last year, he joined his older sister Katie. I thought I must have got fat and saggy being pregnant with Jamie. When I looked in the mirror, I knew it was true.

I started exercising in the morning. If I got out on the bike path early, Ritchie was home with the kids before he went to work, and I had the path all to myself. I started roller-blading, and I loved it. In a couple months, my hips had slimmed down and my legs looked pretty good. I did some upper body work with a program on TV in the afternoons when I put the kids down for their naps. Even my tits were coming back, maybe not riding quite so high as they had when I was twenty, but swinging free, full and firm. By the middle of the summer, I could look in the mirror and like what I saw.

We had a warm spell in early spring, and roller blading is a hot, sweaty workout. I started wearing nothing but skin-tight lycra shorts and a muscle T-shirt from Ritchie over my running bra. We live in one of the newer suburbs. There aren't a lot of houses along the bike path. I hardly ever saw anyone else using it at 6:30 in the morning when I was out there. But then they started working on a new division about a mile down the path from our house. There were crews of hot young studs working on that site every morning when I rolled by. I don't know if I started dressing for them, but I found myself hoping each morning that they'd see me.

One morning, there were three of them mixing mortar under the trees, not more than twenty feet off the path. They looked up as I whizzed past. "Hey babe," one of them yelled when I was a few strides past them, "you got anything on under that T-shirt?"

I don't know what possessed me. I looked back over my shoulder and grinned, then flipped up the bottom of my muscle-T in the back and showed them the brief nylon running shorts covering my buns.

They loved it. I heard them whistling and clapping as I rolled on out of sight. My heart was racing and thumping in my ears, and I could feel my cheeks burning from the excitement of showing off like that. I was astonished at my boldness. I tried to laugh it off as some crazy impulse, but I was quite disappointed when they weren't near the path on my way back home.

After Richie left for work that morning, I put my blading outfit back on and took a good look in the mirror. The guy was right. The muscle-T did hang down over my shorts. You couldn't tell if I was wearing anything under the T-shirt, or not. I slid the shorts down and kicked them off. No difference. I tried to simulate my skating stride. The shirt behaved and kept me covered. I stood there and looked into my own face. What the hell was I thinking!

Well, whatever it was, the thought wouldn't go away. I was distracted all day, and I hardly slept that night. When the sky first began to get light, I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom to get ready for my morning skate. I stripped out of my nightie and looked at myself naked in the mirror. Not bad. Then I put on my running bra and T-shirt and looked again. I was covered. That was all I needed. But I wasn't quite ready to go that far. I slipped back in the bedroom and found an outrageous pair of thong panties. Back in the bathroom, I put them on and took one last look in the mirror, turning to check it from all angles. It was fine, but I wouldn't be flipping up the shirt with that underneath.

I was in a fog skating down the path that morning. I couldn't seem to think of anything. The only sensation I remember was the hem of that T-shirt gently touching my legs with each stride. When I got near the construction site, my heart was pounding - and not from exertion. The boys were there again, and, again, they stopped and watched me pass, contenting themselves with a couple appreciative whistles. Once again, they were not near the path on my way back.

I wore the same thong for a couple days, with pretty much the same results. It was getting to be routine. One morning, they didn't seem to notice me when I rolled by. I coudn't quite admit it to myself, but I felt frustrated. The next morning, I did it. I threw the thong in the wash as I went out. I was bare-assed under my T-shirt.

The breeze felt wonderful on my naked crotch as I zipped along the path. The old excitement was back. I rolled up to the construction site with the familiar thudding of my heart and burning cheeks that was my new sexual high. The boys were there, and they looked up, but they didn't seem any more excited than they had for the past few days. I was shocked and confused. Here I was practically naked, rolling right by, and they hardly noticed. But, of course, they couldn't see my nakedness. Why should they notice? What was there to see? I was thoroughly deflated.

The next morning, I stood in the bathroom and slipped the T-shirt on with nothing underneath. Without the running bra, Richie's T-shirt was borderline obscene. My nipples were hidden by the widening of the straps that came over my shoulders, but it left plenty of white rounded boob showing at the sides and in the scoop neck. I couldn't wear that. Could I? I tried a few skating strides to see how it looked in motion. It still nominally covered, and I thought the swaying motion of my boobs was pretty sexy.

I walked out into the hall, hardly knowing what I was doing. I put on my skates in a fevered trance, and didn't come out of it till I'd nearly reached the construction site. The knot of excitement that burned inside me was almost making me dizzy. As luck would have it, the boys looked up almost as soon as I was in sight. It took them no time to notice my outfit, this time. They stood and stared as I came up to them. My cheeks were on fire and my eyes misted over, but the high was worth every bit of my embarrassment.

What I hadn't bargained on was a pebble on the path. If you hit it right, it doesn't take anything more than a pebble to stop your skate dead in the middle of a stride. I hit it just right, and felt my left skate jerked out from under me. I caught most of my weight on my right skate, but floundered wildly to regain my balance. In the process, my T-shirt flew up to my waist and my breasts nearly popped out the top.

The boys were stunned for just a moment. Then they cheered wildly with catcalls and whistles. I'd unintentionally given them a great show. There was nothing I could do but sprint away, completely mortified.

My mind raced, going nowhere. The feelings that welled up were so contradictory - shame and fear, and a sexual excitement that was almost intense enough to bring me to orgasm. I didn't calm down enough to have a coherent thought till I reached the far end of the path and turned around.

Then it hit me. I'd have to pass them again on the way back. Even though they weren't usually near the path on the return leg, I knew they would be this time. They might even be right on the path. Maybe they'd try to grab me as I passed. What could I do?

I was caught, and I couldn't come up with any way out as I rolled on. A couple hundred yards from the site, I peered through the trees and almost lost control of my bladder. Right at the point where I passed the three boys, there were about thirty men, the whole crew, standing around on the path.

I leaned back on my brake and slid to a stop. Fortunately, none of them had yet seen me. I stood there a moment in panic. I couldn't go forward, but there was no other way home. I thought of taking off the blades and walking home barefoot through the woods, but it was more than three miles back. Even if I could find our house, picking my way through the woods barefoot would take more than an hour and Richie'd be wondering where I was. I couldn't walk in like this if he was waiting.

I remembered a cul-de-sac back up the path. If I got out on the roads, I might be able to sprint home without too many people seeing me. I looked back through the trees at the crew clogging up the path. I couldn't go that way. I might get raped. I turned around and headed for the cul-de-sac.

Getting out to the pavement wasn't bad. I picked my way across pine needles and crab grass without taking off my skates. It was safe on the cul-de-sac. It was part of a new development and none of the houses had been started yet. I didn't really know where I was, but I had an idea of the direction I wanted to go. So long as I just kept angling to the right, and didn't cross the path, I'd be heading home.

I took a right out of the cul-de-sac on the main road of the development. There were a few houses already in along that road, but it was still early enough to be quiet. Anyone looking out their window that morning might have got an eyeful, but I couldn't worry about that.

I took another right out of the development on one of the town's major roads. Now, there was some intermittent traffic. I started looking for a side street immediately. The second car that passed me honked - a teen-age boy. I didn't need any more attention like that. About a half-mile down that road - which I covered in about 2 minutes - I found a side street, an old county road. It was narrow and the pavement was rough, but there wouldn't be much traffic on it yet. I turned right on it, knowing I'd have to find a side street off to the left now. I was pretty sure the old county road crossed the path on one of the overpasses I went under every morning.

It seemed like I was on that road forever. One old guy in a pickup passed me going the other way. I saw his eyes bulge as he saw what I was - or really wasn't - wearing. I felt the familiar flush of embarrassment tingle out from my fluttering insides and I picked up the pace. Just before the path, I finally found the left. It was a little-used side road that cut into the back of our development. I thought it would be perfect, because it would save me the danger of passing some of the other new homes in the development.

I was lucky. I only saw one other car the rest of the way, and I don't think they noticed me. Now the only hazard was Richie. I didn't want to have to explain this to him. How could I? But, again, luck seemed to be with me. I rolled down the driveway and clumped into the breezeway. I jumped out of my skates and started up the stairs. Then I heard him coming out of the bathroom.

I almost turned around, but I heard him call out, "Hi, honey. Better hustle it up. You're kind of late today." Then his head popped into view looking down the stairs at me.

I had to brazen it out.

Richie grinned when he caught on to my outfit. "Jeez. I hope you didn't wear that out for your morning skate. The neighbors will be selling tickets."

"Oh right," I sarcastically agreed. "My shorts and bra were getting pretty rank, so I threw them in the wash before I came up."

"Yeah. Good idea," he said absently as he ducked back into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He gave me a friendly pat on the rump as I passed, but the outfit didn't seem to get his juices flowing.

After Richie left for work, I got the kids up and took care of their morning routine, then settled down with a cup of coffee to try to sort out my jumbled feelings, but there was no way to make any sense of it. Any way I turned, I still felt the contradictory thrill of breaking the sexual taboo, the fear of exposure and shame, and the vague sense that the whole thing was some kind of dangerous mental disease. But the strange thing was, whatever I felt about my escapade on the path, what I was feeling most was mad, mad at Richie. There I'd been, walking up the stairs almost naked, coming at him with a sexual fever boiling in my veins, and he'd just gone about his business getting ready for work. I had needs, and he wasn't fulfilling them; not with his once a week, ten minutes of grunting on top of me. That wasn't going to do it, not by a long shot.