Today has been horrible. It's my mom's birthday so I went over to her house to give her the earrings I'd gotten her and to try to have a nice chat. It started out as a nice mother-daughter visit but then she asked the dreaded question.
"Dorothy, dear, when are you going to settle down with some nice man and give me some grandchildren? I'm 62 years old and not getting any younger. I doubt your sister Clairise will ever get married so it's up to you. You've been out in the world long enough. It's time to start a family and stay home with the babies."
"Mom, I like to be called Dottie. And I'm not ready to be married. I like being able to do what I like without having to answer to a husband. I like being able to go out without having to find a sitter for kids. Besides, I do want kids someday. I just don't see why I need to be married to have them."
"Dorothy! What would your grandma say?"
"Grandma's been gone for ten years, mom. And I think she'd accept my decision. I'll have kids when I'm good and ready but I don't think being married is right for me. Besides, Clairise is in college. That's a great place to meet prospective husbands and I think she'd make a better wife than I would. She's younger and not so set in her ways."
"OK, so you don't want to be married. What about sex?"
"Well...it's a lot easier to get if you're married. You don't have to try to find a man you might be attracted to, get to know and trust him, then find out he has three wives and sixteen kids all in different states. And you don't have to worry about protection if you're married. You have the blood tests once before your wedding, and then get started on my grandkids."
"There's no talking to you, mom. I don't see why you can't just accept that I don't need a man as a constant presence in my life. A boyfriend would be ok for the sex part but other than that I'm actually content with being single. I even like it when the kids on my street call me a crazy cat lady."
"I just worry about you, Dorothy. I don't want you to be lonely. And you can't tell me four cats is enough company."
"Then I won't tell you." I got up to leave. "I've had a mostly nice visit but I want to get to the trail and walk some before it gets dark. I'll call you tomorrow."
"You call me tonight so I'll know you're not lying out there raped and murdered."
I let myself out of her house and walk out to my car as I see my kid sister drive up in her red corvette.
"Fair warning, Clairise, she's on a grandkid rampage today."
"Thanks, Dottie, I'll try to avoid any direct answers."
I got into my car, a blue '79 Corvette I call Ms. Peacock. Clairise and I are fans of the board game Clue. She named her 'vette Miss Scarlett and she has a '72 Chevy truck named Colonel Mustard in storage. I've got a '54 Chevy truck in storage I've named Mr. Green, a '73 white convertible Volkswagen Beetle I've named Mrs. White, and a dark purple, '03, hundredth anniversary addition, Harley Davidson sportster I've named Professor Plum. Between the two of us, Clairise and I have all the suspects. I think she's planning to find Inspector Brown to complete our collection.
"Hey!" I call out to her as she's about to go inside, before I shut my door. "You never told me what your grade was in gym class last semester."
"I got an A," she says. She seems to hurry into the house and I thought I saw her blush. I was worried about how well she'd do in that class but now I just wonder how she earned that A. No matter. She's a grown woman now and can deal with her own life without my nosy questions. If she wants my advice she knows all she has to do is ask.
I get in my car, roll the windows down, turn the radio up and head for the local walking trail. I feel like walking today and maybe walking off some of the frustration I feel from the pressure my mom is putting on me to try to get me to get married and give her grandkids. I don't like going to family gatherings for the same reason. All my cousins are happily married and either have kids are trying to have kids or have a definite timeline for when they'll start trying to have kids. Sometimes it's enough to make me want to scream.
Papa Roach comes on the radio so I turn it up a little more and jam to 'Getting Away With Murder.' Sometimes I feel like trying to do just that. I pull into the parking lot of the trail as 'Come Baby Come' comes on the radio. I sit with the engine idling as the song finishes and look around at the other cars in the lot. There's only four besides mine; a powder blue mini van that looks just a few years old, a silver impala that looks brand new, one of the square bodied Chevy trucks that could be anywhere from fifteen to thirty years old, and a little black Mazda two seater convertible.
The song ends so I turn the car off and get out. I'm already dressed for the trail in black track pants, white and blue tennis shoes, a light purple tank top with a built in shelf bra and a light wind breaker jacket that matches my pants. I close my car door a little forcefully and head towards the trail. As I pass the little Mazda, I notice the driver stretching beside it. I don't understand people that can wear shorts with a sweatshirt. To me it's either shorts and tank top weather or pants and long sleeves weather. Today is just cool enough to make shorts and a tank top uncomfortable. Before I focus on the trail I notice that the Mazda's driver is a redhead and as he bends over in another stretch I almost miss a step and trip over my own feet. I am definitely an ass woman and this man has a juicy one. The kind I could dig my nails into as he rode me.
I blink several times and turn back to the trail, shaking my head just a little to get the image of myself obviously having sex with the juicy assed redhead out of my mind. He looked like he was leaving so I'd probably never see him again.
I hit the trail at a brisk walk. I don't come here very often, as evidenced by my size thirteen waist, and I never run so a walk is my chosen pace for when I do come here. I'm headed for the swinging bridge branch of the trail today. I don't feel energetic enough to try to tackle the whole thing but the shorter branches just won't take enough time to work out my frustrations.
I reach for my music player but realize when I don't touch it that I've forgotten it in my car. Oh well. I don't want to waste time to go back for it. Maybe I'll be able to calm my mind faster without it. I start to think about what everyone wants from me. My mom wants me to get married, quit my teaching job, and start spitting out babies to stay at home with. My extended family wants to see me married, barefoot, and pregnant before the year is over. My sister wants me to get married and have a couple of kids. She's not as bad as the rest of the family about it though. She thinks I can keep teaching if I want to. That's what she's planning so I think she just wants me to do it first so she can ask me for advice.
I didn't make the decision to live mostly alone just out of the blue. I lived with a man from the time I graduated college until just a year ago. I mentioned marriage and kids a couple of times but Anton always wanted to wait. One night a year ago he wanted me to be home at a certain time, something he wasn't usually picky about. I thought he might ask me to marry him then but when I got home there was a taxi in the driveway that he was standing beside. What he told me made me glad I never pushed the issue of being married and having kids. He said he was tired of having to eat in every night because my teacher's salary didn't allow for eating in a restaurant all the time. He was a little younger than me and told me he was tired of wasting the best years of his life on someone who would be thirty the next year (even though I was 28 at the time). He was only 25 and had found a 21 year old secretary who was the heiress to a multi million dollar company. He wanted to have fun and he couldn't do it if he was leg chained to a frumpy school teacher.
The frumpy comment stung. I'd always considered myself reasonably attractive when I put a little effort into my appearance but when Anton actually used the word 'frumpy' it was a blow to my self esteem. I thought we had an understanding but he was leaving me because I was 'frumpy'. I didn't say anything, just looked at him in surprise as he finished his little speech and watched as he got in the cab. I walked up the sidewalk, into the house and went about the evening routine in a kind of daze. I realized that it wasn't very different without him there. But I didn't understand why he left. He hadn't shown any sign of discontent, we rarely argued and fought even less. He just usually went along with anything I wanted. And I still didn't consider myself 'frumpy'.
I remembered all that as I walked. I never thought of myself as frumpy. Sure, I liked jeans and long hippy skirts and hardly ever wore makeup; did that make me frumpy? Did the fact that I liked to wear tops with built in bras so I didn't have to wear a regular bra make me frumpy? Did my long hair that I always wore in a ponytail or braided ponytail wrapped into a bun make me frumpy? Did my glasses with their transitions lenses make me frumpy? My walking by this time was a borderline jog. I was trying to escape the memories.
I thought back on the year it'd been since Anton had left. I still liked long hippy skirts but I'd started wearing some a little shorter. I still liked tops with built in bras but I'd started wearing the kind that showed a little cleavage. I still liked jeans but I'd stopped wearing them high waisted and a size too big. Now I wore my jeans low and snug. I know I have a nice ass and have started showing it off.
My coworkers at the local college have started to mention the fact that I'll be thirty in a couple of months. I'd shamelessly eavesdropped on more than one conversation about how they wanted to plan a surprise 'over the hill at thirty' birthday party. 'Over the hill!?' I'm not over the hill yet! Just because I'm not married with children doesn't make me 'over the hill.' I was and still am outraged that people that are supposed to be my friends think so little of me.
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.
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.