Girl In The Park

The sun shone beatifically as I sat on the park bench to eat my turkey sandwich. It was five minutes past noon, and I was on my lunch break. My office was three blocks away, and I was grateful to get an hour to myself, eating lunch in the park on a sunny, late-spring day, taking in the expansive green lawn before me and the still, blue pond that lay beyond it.

Movement to the side of me caught my attention, and I inclined my head ever so slightly to see the source of the movement, my eyes hidden behind dark aviator sunglasses.

It was a girl--a young woman, I suppose, no older than mid-20s, so younger than I was. She was not just any girl. She was all exquisite contrasts: skin pale and pellucid, lips crimson, eyes dark, hair ebony and thick and flowing past her shoulders in intemperate waves. Her neck, arms, and legs were slender, but her breasts pushed forward with the succulence of ripe fruit and the firmness of youth.

And what she wore! A dress that was no more than a little gauzy, creamy mini tunic, tight at the waist but otherwise loose and flowing, and held up by the thinnest of spaghetti straps running over her slim shoulders. From the way her breasts swayed as she walked I could tell she wore no bra. From the way the sun illuminated her figure, and especially the gap between her legs, I guessed that she wore no panties. She walked slowly along the curved path to my right, until she sat on the bench next to mine, perhaps 20 feet away.

Taking no mind of me, she pulled a cell phone out of a purse and looked at it.

What an ethereal, mysterious angel of a girl! I came to the park often and had sat on my bench many times, but I'd never seen her before.

I wondered what she was doing. Perhaps she waited for a lover. I shifted slightly on the bench toward her so I could watch her discreetly through my glasses. Time passed, and no lover came. Surely, no lover would keep such an angel waiting?

She shifted toward me, exposing more of the perfect, lambent skin of her thighs. Was it intentional? How could it not be? Yet her face remained impassive and her gaze remained fixed on the phone. She was dressed so immodestly for a public park. Surely everyone who saw her would see that she was naked under her dress. Perhaps her errand was professional, not personal. An escort--that seemed plausible. So at ease with the display of her body, the shopping of her ample feminine wares. If, indeed, she was a professional, was she on a break, or was she looking for business? If the latter, could I afford her?

Suddenly, she looked up from her phone, and she looked at me, and she smiled. It was only for a moment, and she turned back to her phone, but in that moment I could tell our connection was more than just professional. I detected a note of invitation, of longing. Perhaps this beautiful young sylph had been jilted or mistreated, the subject of a recent painful breakup, maybe, and was looking for companionship.

She recrossed her legs, and for a split second I had a vision of pale thighs retreating under the slight dress into shadow. I felt a tingle between my legs. She wanted my attention. I was sure of it.

It seemed reasonable to me that this lovely girl, recently spurned, might seek the arms of an older man, wise and seasoned, someone who could comfort her. Images filled my brain in a montage: the two of us walking hand in hand, out of the park, me removing her dress and making love to her as sunlight streamed through the window of my apartment. The caresses, the lovemaking, the bliss. That pale body, lying on the bed, black hair wildly strewn about. When the lovemaking was done, we would get dressed and go out to dinner, and we would run across my friends in the street, and I would show my newfound angel off to them and they would tell me how happy we looked together.

My reverie was interrupted when she stood up from her bench, and without acknowledging me she turned and walked away.

I was neither disappointed nor deterred. I would return the next day to resume our courtship.