Par Benches #01

I've been so much happier since I moved to Clarion. It's warmer, sunnier, and there's so much more greenspace. Sure, I'm stuck working this stupid retail job for four days out of the week, but it's enough to pay for my own place over six hundred miles away from my ex.

Some parts of starting over are fun, like decorating a new apartment. Other parts suck--have you ever carried a fifty gallon fish tank up three flights of stairs just to find out that your lease forbids owning a fish tank? Who knew!

Starting over is lonely. I only know a few people here, like Sarah and Monica from college. They both work in some office park and they don't live in the city proper. They're more than thirty minutes away with traffic. Anyway, we're not friend friends, you know?

Some nights when I'm trying to get to sleep, I hear my next-door neighbors having sex. I find myself inching closer to the wall, wishing I could pass through and watch--or join in. No! I'd never do that. Doesn't anyone else have these thoughts, though? I know Tommy did. I don't miss him at all but he always made me laugh with his ridiculous topics for pillow talk. He would probably provide play-by-play commentary on my neighbors going at it. Then, we'd make some type of pact whether they were "cool" enough for us to be friends with. I don't miss him.

I don't miss him.

I can tell that people are feeling me out. They're trying to determine if I'm single. Not just the other sales associates on the floor, but even my boss, Mike. Prodding for vulnerabilities, meeting any flirtation with their own escalation. I don't want to seem whorish but it feels good to be wanted. The barista I see the most during my coffee break has been eyeing me. Even the cashiers at Whole Foods flash those extra wide smiles. The women too! They probably make more money than me. Maybe I should apply to work at Whole Foods.

On second thought, if I had to wear one of those dorky Whole Foods aprons, I wouldn't be able to show off my boobs. On days like today, nobody would know that I wasn't wearing a bra. We still have a dress code. I work at a department store, after all. Since I turned fifteen, though, I've always been able to get away with bending the rules on attire a little bit. I'm twenty four now. I think I know why I get so much leeway on how I dress. Tommy used to love tracing the curves of my body. He'd be transfixed as I thrusted my legs into skin-tight pairs of dark jeans like the pair I'm wearing today.

I don't miss him.

It's my third Tuesday at work. I made a few sales which means commissions! Being the good girl that I am, I tell Mike that I'm going for my afternoon coffee break. I walk out of the chilly air conditioning to the warming afternoon sun. It's seventy two degrees in March. There's probably freezing rain back up north.

I enter the coffee shop. It's called Fango's. Kind of a silly name, definitely not what I'd name a coffee shop. There's some vaguely Italian theme to the place. All I know is that there's espresso and that as I'm walking up to the counter, today's barista is already checking me out.

"Hi boyfriend!"

He looks down, then up. What an amateur.

"May I pleasee have a-yuh--"

"Caramel macchiato?"

That's what I always get--he knows it--but I'm feeling playful today. To be honest, I'm ovulating.

"Why would I get that???"

I smirk and leave him to make the next move. It's just me and him. I've ordered the same thing about ten times. Now he has to consider that he's memorized my name, and my order, and my cup size, and the way my ass moves as I strut out of the store. He's replaying the memories and his face reddens as he struggles to think of some witty response.

He's ready to speak but I interrupt him by dramatically exhaling. My boobs recoil. His eyes drop back down and then back up. "I'll have an iced latte with whole milk!"

"Okay, and who is this for?"

He's playing dumb--interesting. I'm the only one in the store and I'm not going to remind him of my name.

"Me!"

"Mia, got it."

I walk out of Fango's and head toward Martin Park. It's about five minutes away and it's my favorite place to go when I need to escape from work or from my tiny apartment. There are so many parks in Clarion that I haven't visited yet. I have my chilly large cup of iced liquid in one hand. The only thing separating me from being a real Clarion girl is a dog leash in my other hand. I don't think my lease allows dogs either.

I find a secluded bench and sit alone. There's a piney and salty scent unique to warmer coastal communities. I'm only a few miles away from the beach.

The view isn't great from my seat on the bench. I'm staring into a thicket in the back side of the park, watching birds hover around. I've never sat on this particular bench before.

I pull out my phone and take a few pictures of the nature around me. No cars here. Click. I don't even have to drive to get to work. I appreciate the quiet and the bit of shade here. Click. I need to get back soon and make more sales. I flip the camera around and start taking stupid selfies, making duck lips beneath my oversize sunglasses, holding up my latte as if it's some prize. Click. I tilt my head. Click.

"Want me to take your picture?"

I'm caught off guard completely!

"N--no, that's okay! I'm just being stupid!"

So much for my composure and confidence from Fango's. Now I'm stammering in embarrassment as some...guy...has interrupted my photoshoot at the back edge of the park.

"You don't look stupid at all. Your lips were so full and kissable."

I was doing the duck face! Did this rando just say "KISSABLE"??

I turn toward him. "Did you just say my lips were kissable?"

He moves closer. Oh, no. He's hot. He's wearing one of those shirts from rag & bone with the deep neckline. I can see the definition of his upper pecs. He's wearing a Rolex Submariner.

"It just looks like they hadn't been kissed in a long time, that's all."

I have no idea how he's doing this to me. He's inching closer and he's about to sit on the far end of the bench. This is not about to happen at Martin Park. I place my cup on the ground and lift both my legs up onto the bench to create a buffer.

"Oh, is that all that boys with fake Rolexes think about? Kissing girls in parks?"

Tommy had a Rolex, an "OP," though I have no idea what that meant. He taught me that one way to piss off any Rolex owner was to insist their watch was fake.

It worked.

"No--ahh--"

"Why don't you try it on and then tell me how it's fake?"

My parry worked for a few seconds. Now he's standing over me while I'm sitting up on the bench, my head turned almost ninety degrees, my right arm drooped over the back. He takes the watch off.

I can't resist. I grab it with my left hand and perform a deep inspection, at one point putting it up to my ear as if to analyze its mechanical rhythms. It's kind of cold to the touch--he hasn't been outside for long. Air conditioning. I really need to get back to work!

I stretch my left hand through the watch band and fasten it around my wrist. It's loose. Just like Tommy's was.

"I think I'll keep it. Wouldn't want you walking around with your fake watch!"

It's so easy to aggravate men.

As I start jiggling my wrist to taunt him he forcefully grabs my left arm and slides the watch off with his other hand. It really hurts as it scrapes against my flesh.

"Ow!"

In the same motion, I turn off the bench and now I'm facing toward him. My left knee knocks against his left knee. He's pretty much on top of me and there isn't enough room for four legs. He steps to the left and works his foot between my closed legs. He spills my latte. I don't care.

I open my legs a little bit, knocking against his right knee now. He does the same stomp and now both of his legs are between mine. His affixing his watch back onto his wrist. Such a stupid boy, hotness is always wasted on the dumb ones.

I take my sunglasses off and flash him a "What are you going to do?" look. It's an awkward setup and our shoes are splashed with spilled coffee in a park on a Tuesday afternoon.

He bends his legs, thrusts his hips forward, and falls into me. He braces himself with his feet, I brace him with my thighs, but he's pressing into me. We start kissing.

He smells so good. I can't resist him. But I'm in Martin Park in broad daylight. It feels wrong. I never did it outside before, even with Tommy. We never even mentioned it.

One of his arms is wrapped around my thigh. The other is clasping my back. I need it. But this is probably against the law!

This strange man is on top of me, but I'm really liking it. He starts to edge up as if he's going to lay me down on the bench. What is he going to do? Fuck me? No. I'm not fucking on this bench on my lunch break. His right hand is exploring my body. Now he's trying to unbutton my pants.

Okay--no. No. I can't do this on a park bench. I pull back and grab his hand.

"How about a blowjob instead?"

Just a blowjob today. It's just a blowjob. It's just a blowjob. My insides are screaming for his dick. Nobody is going to find out.

He's standing again between my spread legs in my tight jeans. I fasten the button to my pants while I unhook his belt and undo his pants. His dick is rock hard and it's pointing right at my kissable lips.

No more talking. He leans forward, I lean forward, and I wrap my lips around him. I start sucking. He grunts.

And maybe all he wanted to do was help me take a picture. Now his cock is halfway down my throat and I'm pumping up and down. As it gets wet I start using my right hand to squeeze his shaft. I'm really enjoying sucking this dick on the bench at Martin Park.

He's grunting heavier and heavier. I know he wants to penetrate me but there's no way I'm getting these jeans off, anyway. I start using my tongue more and he's loving it. In and out. In and out. Lips to mouth to throat.

I need to make him cum quickly so I can get back to work! In and out. In and out. Lips to mouth to--throat. There. I've got him now. I can feel him twitching as I bring it as far down my throat as it can go. I'm at the perfect height while servicing him from this bench.

I go slower but deeper. Lips--mouth--throat--throat. I'm trying not to gag on the precum. Each time I release him I let out a gasp of warm air. He's helpless.

He's starting to moan. I could make him do anything now. I could probably ask him for the Rolex back and he'd give it to me. But I keep sucking cock. I guess this is what Clarion girls do. In and out and in and out and please don't cum on my face.

I feel him building up for the release and I give him one last tickle with my tongue. That's all he needs. He cums inside my mouth and I swallow. And I swallow. I keep swallowing each new spurt of cum. It's such a funny taste when mixed with the coffee. He was worth it. He was my first since I moved to Clarion.

I didn't make much eye contact with him. Partially because his shirt was flapping in my face, partially because this wasn't an intimate act. It was just a blowjob in the park.

Sliding off the bench, I grab my sunglasses and affix them to my face. I don't help him clean up or even pull his pants up. I don't say goodbye and if he runs after me I'm going to run even faster. I hustle out of Martin Park totally flustered, yet satisfied, wondering if the encounter was real. By the time I get to the bathroom at work, it's past three o'clock. I notice semen stains on the front of my black sweater. I hope my boss didn't notice.