The driving rain beat a brilliant staccato on the roof of the old sedan, inhibiting the man's attempt to identify the woman coming out of the building across the street. Raindrops blurred the windows and transformed the passers-by into mottled bursts of color and light from the streetlamps above.
He cracked the driver side window a few inches to take an unobstructed look at the woman across the street. She wore a heavy raincoat, zipped up tight, and struggled to get her umbrella open in the gusting wind. He admired her hands, her hair, and her legs. Not bad at all, he thought, but it's not her.
He had waited for this moment for quite awhile, so he can wait here all night if need be. She is in there, and she will come out of that door. Tonight he is ready. The rain has come, and he is ready.
He had followed her home from work three times since the weather began to change. It was crucial to know every step of the walk home, and to see if she always took the same route. She did, and now he knew that route intimately. Two days ago, he bought a ski mask, and a gun.
Waiting, and listening to the sound of the rain on the roof, he began to fantasize. He reached down, and began to gently rub his swelling prick. He imagined her stroking his cock with her knowing hands, gently sliding a hand below to cradle his balls, as she placed her lips on the head and gently probed the tip with her delicate pink tongue.
Pants open now, and fully erect, he reached into the glovebox, produced a small bottle of hand lotion, and applied a small amount directly onto his throbbing cock. The sensation quickly intensified as he stroked his glistening dick up and down. He imagined her looking up at him with his cock in her mouth. He can visualize her full red lips sliding back and forth over every inch of his glistening meat, lips parting slightly as she opened for the downstroke, and sucking gently as she pulled back toward the throbbing tip. Squeezing tight, he imagined her tight pink pussy enveloping him, granting him passage, deeper and deeper with every stroke.
Almost there, he gripped his shaft and reached for a handkerchief. With a soft groan he erupted into the fabric, and admired the glistening pearlescence in the ambient light. He hesitated for a moment, and conjuring her clearly in his mind, he dipped a finger in, and closing his eyes, put his finger in his mouth. His mind racing, thinking of her. The rain droned on.
Suddenly she appeared at the building's entrance, looking optimistically for a cab, but knowing they would all be downtown at this hour. Soon, she accepted her fate, crossed Fulton St. and headed south through Golden Gate park. She hoped that the driving rain had driven most of the freaks into shelter. Though she had never made the journey at such a late hour, she was confident. She was always confident. That is what attracted him to her.
He watched her walk down the street until she was almost out of sight before starting the car and slowly pulling away from the curb. He followed her toward the park, pulling ahead for a bit and then waiting for her to walk past. There was a brief moment when he thought she might go around the perimeter of the park, rather than through it, and watched her struggling with her decision. She looked into the shadows, debating whether she should walk the extra mile and a half around the perimeter in the pouring rain.
Watching from the car, he began to panic. If she went around the park, his plan would be ruined. The last three days had been like clockwork. She went right through the park before, but it wasn't pouring rain, and she wasn't two hours late getting off of work. His fingers were crossed.
Her decision made, she crossed her arms against the cold, and headed south into the park. She followed a path off of Park Presidio toward Strawberry Hill.
"That's my girl" he muttered, and sped down the presidio with devious intent.
She was thankful that the dense canopy of trees offered some shelter from the rain, but the darkness and the silence of the park was frightening. There was virtually no moonlight because of the heavy clouds, and the mist that usually hovered a foot or so above the grass, has swelled into a dense fog that blurred the intermittent lampposts into a ghostly pale luminescence.
She could barely see twenty feet ahead, and all the sounds seemed muffled and distorted. Her own footsteps seemed to echo back from all directions, and a few times she thought she heard other footsteps besides her own. Heavy footsteps.
"Hello!" She called out, immediately regretting it.
No Response. She crouched low to the ground and listened carefully. She heard nothing but her own racing heart. Standing quickly, she hurried down the path toward the bridge.
Approaching the bridge, she began to relax a bit and scolded herself for letting her imagination get the best of her. She was over halfway home, and the scariest part was behind her.
"CRACK!!"
Freezing at the sound of a branch breaking, under a large foot, she knew this was not her imagination. She heard a scraping noise, and the sound of footsteps coming closer. Fear gripping her, she ran blindly into the fog toward the bridge.
