I had lost another bet and was now wracking my brain as to how to pay the price. You would think I would have learned not to make bets with my husband. It was a silly bet, as is usually the case, but I was so sure of myself this time that I had agreed to stakes much higher than I would normally consider. If he proved himself right yet again, I agreed that I would fulfill a sexual suggestion from him with no arguments or reservations. I knew him well enough to know his suggestion might push near or exceed my envelope of comfort. But I also knew he would not ask me to do the football team at the college where I work.
Well damned if he didn't prove himself right yet again! It can be very frustrating living with someone like that. He asked for some further time to think about what he wished me to do and I agreed to the delay. The suggestion arrived by e- mail while I was at work Monday morning.
You are to witness an ejaculation. The man involved may not be your husband. You may be as creative as you can manage in fulfilling the terms of this task. You have my permission to use your own judgment in what personal involvement you wish to invest. I expect a written first-person report within a week's time.
Hmmm _ yes that sounds like my husband. Now the question was, how to get this done? The obvious method occurred to me without much thought. I could put on my sleazy need-to-get- laid outfit and hit the club Friday night. Granted, I am in my mid-thirties but I'm certainly not dead. With considerable effort on my part, my body has held up well. I had little doubt that I could get picked up _ but perhaps there was an easier way.
There's a quiet park on a hillside just a short drive from where I work. It's called Crest Park and is enough out of the way that not many people go there. I like the place, however, and would sometimes take my lunch there on fine spring days. I'd been there on Friday, quietly reading a book, when I noticed a young man, likely a college student, catching some rays near his bike. I had seen him there before and began to wonder what he might do for entertainment if he thought he had the place to himself. I waited eagerly for lunchtime to arrive and made my way to the Crest.
Luck was not with me that day. There was no one there other than myself. I ate my lunch, hoping company might arrive but no one joined me so I returned to work. Tuesday was a wet miserable day. I set aside thoughts of bets and men and concentrated on finishing the finals pages of a report. Wednesday was more promising, with clear skies and warm temperatures. I drove to Crest park once again and quietly moved down to the clearing where the young man usually spread his towel. He was there this time, but as chance would have it, so was a young family. They were setting out a picnic lunch as the two boisterous young children ran in all directions. I decided to enter the clearing in any case and laid my blanket out where the young man could watch me and perhaps wonder. I decided I would try once more tomorrow before adopting a different plan.
Thursday was my day. The weather cooperated again, sunny with a warm breeze, and I quickly spotted his bicycle propped in the usual location. I took the opportunity and quietly made my way along side the clearing and hid in the tall grass near where he was sunning. No one else was in the park that day. He remained unaware of my presence as I settled in and crossed my fingers. He had stripped to his biker shorts and was lying face down on the towel he had brought with him. While I was anxious for something to happen, I confess that just looking had its appeal. As I said, he appeared to be college age; I had fifteen years on him at least. His body was nicely sculpted, the strong legs you would expect of serious biker but with broad shoulders and a well developed upper body too. I wondered perhaps if gymnastics or swimming was his other sport. Despite the fact that it was only mid May, he'd come here often enough during peak tanning hours that his back and legs were nicely bronzed. There was a thin sheen of perspiration visible, likely from the effort of riding up the steep hill. I began to perspire myself _ whether from the heat of the day or whether from the heat of this illicit activity, I cannot say. Maybe this is why men become peeping Toms. I was getting a charge from the power of invading his privacy without his knowledge.
His biker shorts were black and likely made of spandex or lycra, judging from the way they molded to his buns. Bun watching was one of my favourite activities. If he was a television program he would have been on in prime time. The material was tight enough to display the cleft of his ass and the phrase my husband sometimes used popped to mine: Hmmm _ no panty lines! Nice, nice, nice.
I waited patiently, and in due time he obliged me by rolling over onto his back. I had a brief panic attack when I thought he may have seen me, but he settled down and I raised myself up to continue my stakeout. Much as I had enjoyed the look of his buns, I had no complaints with the new view either. His legs were straight out causing his equipment to bulge nicely through the thin material of the shorts. He had stretched one hand behind his head, the other resting lightly on his flat washboard abs. I felt myself moisten and clenched my thighs together to focus the sweet familiar tingling I was beginning to feel. If I could only project similar thoughts to him: Come on baby _ give yourself a little caress. Lightly drag your fingers across that nice package. It would feel nice _ give yourself a lift for the day. Come on fella, help me out.
I thought along these lines for quite some time but was not getting through. I had only an hour for lunch so decided to take the initiative. I snuck pack out to the entrance to the park, retrieved a blanket from my car and headed back to the clearing. I pretended not to notice him but did set my blanket out parallel to his, a little behind him, about ten yards away. I had worn one of my favourite summer dresses that day. It ties at the back and then flares out. It comes to mid-thigh, is made of thin cotton and buttons in front from neckline to hemline. I turned my back to him and took my panty hose off, deliberately peeling them down my legs more slowly than was necessary. If he was looking, he would have seen a lot of my legs as I bent over. The breeze must have been a co-conspirator that day, as it briefly lifted my dress in a most obliging manner. The brief shot of air was cool against my damp crotch. With my back still turned, I quickly undid a couple of buttons at my hemline before laying down on the blanket. I lay face up and covered my eyes with my jacket _ partly to shade them from the sun but mainly to give him the opportunity to study my body as well.
Within moments I felt the wind again raise my dress and push the thin material up my legs. I lazily straightened out the hem trying to leave the impression that it was too nice a day to be concerned with modesty. I repeated this effort twice more, each time taking longer before reacting. Finally I let the breeze lift my dress unhindered. I was not sure what he could see of me, but I watched him from beneath the edge of the jacket and was pleased to see he was studying me intently. It seemed that the right thoughts were now getting through to him. His cock had stiffened somewhat and was better outlined in his shorts. I looked carefully and could detect movement as his penis stiffened further and moved to straighten itself.
