I'm almost to the turn off for the swinging bridge trail when I hear the footsteps of a runner behind me. I've started to have to fight tears of frustration and would rather not have anyone else see so I don't turn around. I keep going at my almost-jog. The runner slowly catches up with me. I see as he passes that it's the driver of the little black Mazda. I keep my eyes straight ahead so he won't notice me. He's even with me for a few seconds and I can't resist. I turn my head to look. He's wearing a grey hoodie sweatshirt and blue running shorts. He's listening to some kind of music and seems to be in that odd 'runner's zone.' Red hair that could almost be called auburn in low lights, blue eyes; I think he's attractive. He passes me and I feast my eyes on his retreating form. He turns down the bridge trail and is all too soon out of sight, hidden by trees. He'll be finished with his run and long gone by the time I get back to my car.
I put the runner out of my mind with some difficulty. I need to get rid of my own problems. Thinking about him and remembering that flash I had in the parking lot of my digging my nails into his ass as he thrusts his cock into my wet and willing pussy is not going to help. I'm still walking at a borderline jog. Remembering how confused I was when Anton left me and thinking about today's conversation with my mom keeps my pace as fast as I ever go.
I'm just about five yards from the bridge when I step on one of my shoelaces. It'd become untied during my frantic walking. I trip on it and go sprawling on the ground. I hold out my hands to try to keep from hitting my face on the gravel of the trail. I feel the small rocks digging and cutting into the meat of both palms and my left knee. I land a little on my left side, scraping my left elbow some. The light material of my clothes is no protection from the pea gravel of the trail. It rips over my elbow and knee. I'm going to be bruised later. For now I need to clean up as best I can. I brush the rocks out of my wounds and walk slowly to the bridge so I can sit on its wood instead of the evil gravel of the trail. I can already feel little trickles of blood tickling me as they run down my leg and arm.
I get to the bridge, glance across it as I start to sit and freeze where I stand. The runner is on the bridge, about halfway across. He's leaning on the guard rail with his head tipped back, his left hand holding the left leg of his shorts up and his right hand stroking his cock! Oh my god! I'd never seen anyone masturbate in a public place before. I stand transfixed, my eyes glued to his hand as he slowly strokes his cock all the way from root to tip. He switches hands, stroking with his left and his right going to the waistband of his shorts, pushing them off his ass and right hip. He takes his left hand off his cock for the second it takes his right to push the shorts off his left hip and to his knees. They fall the rest of the way down, forming a blue cloth puddle around his ankles. His left hand has gone right back to his cock, stroking a little faster now.
He's mostly in profile to me, only turned slightly away. I ease off the bridge and back into the bushes at the left side of the trail. My panties have started to feel restricting. I can feel the familiar ache in my pussy as it tells me it wants to cum. I can even feel a little wetness start to seep out of me, something that rarely happens. As the runner begins to make a little noise, I slide my right hand into the waistband of my track pants, under my panties and through the shaved lips of my pussy. I watch as the runner switches back to his right hand, stroking faster and making shallow thrusts of his hips, almost involuntarily. I dip three fingers of my right hand into my pussy to collect the abundant juice there and bring it up to my clit. I start to rub furiously, so turned on by the sight of an attractive man stroking his cock out in the open that I can't think.
He's switched back to his left hand now. I envy him the ambidexterity. I only have enough control and strength in my right hand to make myself cum from just fingers. I use my left to hold my pants and panties out of the way. The runner seems to be getting close to cumming. I don't want him to yet. I want to cum with him but I'm only about halfway there. He switched hands one more time, pumping his (curved!) cock so fast his hand is almost a blur. I decide to wait for my own orgasm. I take my hand out of my panties and raise my fingers to my nose. I don't like my taste but the scent of my juices is always an indicator of how turned on I am or if I've already cum.
I watch as the runner hunches over slightly and the first rope of thick white cum spurts out of his cock. It'd take an earthquake to get me to move now. I'm leaning very slightly forward, my eyes wide and still on his cock. Another spurt, then another and another jet out of his cock. After four hard spurts, one last, milder one dribbles from the head of his cock. I keep watching as he brings his right hand to his mouth and licks his own cum off his fingers. I think it's a little odd but still convenient cleanup. As he bends down to pull his shorts back up, I see the sun gleam slightly on the puddle of cum he's left on the bridge.
As he's pulling his shorts up and adjusting everything, I ease out of the bushes and walk as quietly as possible back the way I'd come. When I see him start off in the direction he'd been going, I turn and walk/jog in the opposite direction. His route is longer than mine and I think, if I hurry, I can get back to the parking lot before he does. I don't think I'd ever walked that fast. I was practically jogging!
I'm so out of breath when I get back to the parking lot I'm starting to see spots in front of my eyes. I've got a stitch in my side that's almost doubling me over and my hands, elbow, and knee are stinging like mad from the sweat running into the scrapes. But it worked! I made it back before the runner did. I manage to hurry over to my car and dig around for a minute, losing precious time, managing to find a pen and an old fast food napkin in my glove box. I take a few extra seconds to make my note legible; if he can't read it then all my effort will be wasted.
--What I saw on the bridge today intrigued me. I'm interested if you might be. This is my email ______.
Ok, I think that's good enough to get his attention. I look up just in time to see him coming into sight from the trail. I've shut my car door already so I run to hide behind the wooden slats that conceal the door to the ladies room. I cross my fingers and hope he uses the restroom before he leaves. I have a minute to worry as he opens his car door and reaches inside. I'm peering through the slats, thankful there's no one else around. I'd rather not be turned in as a possible stalker. I'm relieved when he just opens a cooler and takes out a bottle of water. He drinks half of it in one swig then turns to head to the men's room. I back up so my feet won't be as noticeable. The slats of the concealing divider leave almost a foot of empty space at the bottom. I hear the men's room door open and start to swing closed.
I run out as fast as I can, something I never do. I lift the windshield wiper on the driver's side, place the napkin under it and lower the wiper to hold my note in place. I run back to my car and get in, closing the door as quietly as possible. Ms. Peacock has very darkly tinted windows, almost limousine dark, so I'm confident I can see the runner but he can't see me. I've parked my car facing the restrooms on one side of the lot. He's parked his car facing the road, the opposite direction. I watch as he exits the men's room and twist in my seat to watch him walk to his car.
I see a look of annoyance cross his features and know a moment of trepidation. He may think my note is just another religious flyer. When he reaches for the napkin I see a look of confused interest on his face. I start to breathe again. Interest is good. He lifts the wiper, picks up the napkin, and I watch as he starts to look a little embarrassed. He looks up and glances around the parking lot, obviously looking for the person who left the note. I shove my fist into my mouth and start chewing on my knuckles. I don't want him to see me.
Thankfully, his gaze doesn't even pause on my car as he scans the area. I start to tremble as he rereads my note. I start to fear that he'll think some loony wrote it and just toss it in the trash. The relief that washes through me when I see him fold it and get in his car with it almost makes me weak. He starts his car and I watch as the convertible top goes down. The day has warmed up quite a bit so riding with the top down won't be cold at all. I can barely make out some kind of duffel bag in the other seat. He reads the note one more time then puts it in a side pocket of the duffel. He backs his little Mazda out of the space, drives down the lot, waits for traffic, and turns left onto the road. I watch his car till it's gone, only then starting my 'vette, driving down the lot, and turning right onto the road. I'm going to check my email as soon as I get home.
Part two:
I turn on my laptop and go straight to my email. I have no idea how far away the runner lives, if he was going straight home from the trail, if he was going to work, if he had other things to do first; but I wanted to check right away just in case.
I don't see any unfamiliar addresses in my inbox so I check my spam. Again, nothing I didn't recognize. I try not to be disappointed because it's only been fifteen minutes since I'd left the trail. I look at the time on the screen: 4pm. Today is Tuesday so I didn't have classes. I'd planned to go to the trail this afternoon to be outside on such a nice day. As a teacher, the only times I usually get to be outside are either very cold over the Christmas break or very hot on the summer break. Spring break is just not long enough to enjoy much of it outside.
