Kamila faces the sun from the overlook, her eyes narrowing to a squint as she takes in the valley below. She likes to stand here for a moment, catching her breath, admiring how far she's come--not just on this run, but in life sometimes. This is my little spot for my little moment of zen, she thinks, remembering a quote she scribbled inside her planner.
When she's disciplined, when she's that version of herself--the good girl, the maintained one--she makes it up here daily. More often, though, three times a week is her reality. And that's okay. It has to be, she often tells herself.
She's run this route dozens of times, maybe more--a well-worn escape from the gym's fluorescent hum and the quiet discipline of the library. Sometimes it's nice just to be outside, she likes to remind Joey, her fiancé, when he asks why she wasn't going with him to the gym.
She thinks of him now as she stretches, one foot braced against the weathered white wall at the top. From here, the whole valley spreads out before her, rooftops and winding streets softened by the golden haze of late afternoon. The old overpass has always been a high point--for runners catching their breath and lovers stealing a moment in the dark.
She remembers when Joey brought her here in his car after dinner on one of their first dates. She loved the way he talked about the town and teaching with such passion as they ate ice cream.
She loves this hill, and she loves that she first climbed it with him.
She brings her leg down and gives her laces one last tug before starting her descent. The hill has a solid grade, steep enough that she can really pick up speed--a thrill she's earned after six months of steady training. She pops her headphones back in, the beat syncing with her breath, and takes off, her stride smooth, strong, effortless.
The sweatband keeps stray strands of dark hair from her face as she runs, framing features striking and familiar--like a movie star you swear you've seen before. She's stunning, yes, but there's something more, something in the way she smiles and adjusts her ponytail. You can almost catch it. Effortless but deliberate, refined yet down-to-earth.
She moves with the confidence of being watched. Her workout gear hugs curves that demand attention. Beneath her snug sports bra, the soft swell of her curves rises and falls--a quiet, undeniable allure she never has to try for.
Halfway down the hill, as she rounds the wide bend, an old Chevy truck rumbles toward her and then slowly past. A sharp honk cuts through her music--not the impatient kind, but the kind that comes with grins from teenage boys leaning too far out the windows. She catches the look they give her, the unspoken Damn, and lets herself enjoy it for what it is. She's not running for them, but still... it feels good.
Running into the driveway, she slows to a walk for a short cooldown through the garage, then quickly moves through her stretch and recovery routine in the den. Finishing, she stands up straight, reaches for the ceiling in one last stretch, then pulls off her sports bra as she heads into the bedroom.
Clothes from the morning are strewn across the floor--she and Joey can be little tornadoes when they're hunting for the perfect outfit. Walking to the nightstand, she puts her watch on the charger, getting ready to take a shower.
A quick check of Instagram shows a weightlifter from New Mexico liked her selfie from earlier, and a little spark of satisfaction flutters inside her. Not that she doesn't love Joey--it's just... he was so hot, as she told her friend when he first followed her.
She wonders where Joey is at that moment.
"Joey?" she calls out gingerly. "Are you home?"
She hears rustling in the office.
"Hi, sweetie. How was your run?" Joey's voice comes muffled from behind a wall.
A moment later, he floats into the bedroom like a warm breeze, shirtless, smiling at her from the doorway. She smiles back, happy to see him, and moves in for a hug. As he pulls her close, she feels the outline of an erection pressing through his thin shorts.
"Someone's been masturbating, I see," she teases with a sly smile and a flick of the wrist.
"Maybe. Poquito."
"A little, huh?" she said. A spark of electricity shoots straight to her pussy. Something about hard dicks... she just can't get enough. She should shower, but she's already a Slip-and-Slide down there, and he's already hard, so really, it just makes sense.
