Lakeside Park

Most certainly I wouldn't have known what to say if someone had told me all this when I was twenty-three. I was just past forty and still didn't know what to say, so there was no reason that Justin would, either.

But I was grateful for him all the same. I was grateful for the man holding my hand and listening as I explained how my life had tumbled around me. I was grateful that he had tattoos and piercings and a baggy hoodie that was completely unlike the put-together business attire my husband usually wore. I was grateful he was so different from anyone I knew, from the friends who I'd have to tell I was getting divorced, from the people who would whisper and gossip and stare.

He may not have known what to say, but I didn't need him to say anything. I just needed him to be.

The night passed around us as we sat. Eventually, Justin's thumb started moving across my knuckles again. When it did, it was like a switch, and I drew myself a little closer so I could lean my head against his shoulder. Nerves rolled in my stomach when he didn't move, and my mouth was open to apologize when I felt his cheek brush the top of my head as he relaxed against me.

I probably shouldn't have enjoyed his closeness so much, given he was practically a stranger, but as I listened to the steady sound of his breath, I closed my eyes and pushed those worries away. For a while, all that mattered was his hand enveloping mine and the softness of his hoodie beneath my cheek and the darkness shielding us from the rest of the world.

"Being an adult sucks," Justin said suddenly.

"Yes," I replied, my eyes still closed.

"I never really understood why my dad left," he said, his voice so vulnerable that I opened my eyes again. "Like, I just didn't get how someone could just stand up and walk away from it all, no looking back, no concern for all the damage they were doing. But now I'm sitting here ready to tell you to just fuckin' stand up and walk away from it all because damn, Liz." He squeezed my hand again. "You know you can do that, right? You can just... walk away. If you want to, you can do that."

A light breeze stirred, leaves rustling in the willows around us.

"I know," I said. "But I have nothing to walk to."

"What do you mean?"

He couldn't see my face, so the sad smile that crossed my lips wasn't for his benefit.

"This is my whole life," I said. "I haven't had a job in almost twenty years. I never went to school. All I have to show for the past two decades is my daughter and a town that knows me as the person who'll call the cops on people being in the park after ten p.m."

"You have a hell of a lot more than that," he said. "This town is what it is because of you."

"I don't think you can make a living by calling town hall three times a week to complain about the overgrown trees on Drum Farm Lane. Besides, I'm forty. I'm..." My voice caught in my throat.

"You're what?" he pressed.

"It's too late to start over."

He snorted, my head jostling slightly with the movement. "It's not too late for shit. I mean, fuck. You want a career? There's a ton of shit you could do. Be a realtor. You could sell anyone on this town. Or go work at town hall and get the trees on Drum Farm Lane fixed yourself."

My laugh came out sounding watery. "You make it sound so easy."

"It is easy. You're forty, Liz. You're not like, a year off of death's door or something."

"But it's a lot easier to say those things when you didn't waste twenty years of your life with someone," I said. "Sure, I can start over. But that doesn't change--"

My voice cracked again and I shook my head.

"Doesn't change what?" he asked.

"If I could go back, I'd do it differently." A tear slipped out of my eye and down my cheek. "I should have gone out and had fun and gone to school or something. Instead, I settled down with the first guy that came along thinking I was so ready to be in love and get married and have a family. I mean, I love my daughter more than anything. I just wish I'd lived a little more before I'd had her. Maybe I'd be a better mom."

"Don't say that," he said harshly. "Every kid thinks their parents suck at some point. Doesn't mean you're a bad mom. You tried your best. Give yourself some fucking credit for that."

"But--"

"No buts." The grip on my hand loosened, but before he let go, he turned so we were facing each other. The dim light from the sky reflected off his eyes just enough that I could see the passion in them. "You tried. And yeah, it didn't work out, but you know what? Now it's time to try something else. It is not too late. My mom never said any inspirational shit growing up, but I had a teacher once who said the best time to plant a tree is ten years ago but the second best time to plant a tree is today. So plant your fuckin' tree, Liz."

My throat was tight with emotion, but not in a bad way.

"You're right," I said softly. "I just--"

He touched my knee, holding my gaze in the darkness. "You're gonna be sad. That's okay. You're gonna wish things went differently. That's cool, too. Be sad. Be upset. You got every right to be. But don't let it stop you from getting back up and doing better. Look at you, you already started! Today it's being out in the park past ten p.m. Tomorrow, you... I dunno. Do something else crazy."

I started giggling. "Like what? Sit on top of the picnic table instead of on the bench?"

"Hell yeah, Liz!" He took my arm and wouldn't let go until we had moved to the top of the table, our feet resting on the wooden bench beneath us. "There ya go. Carpe the fuck out of that diem."

There were still tears in my eyes and on my cheeks, but he drew a smile out of me like it was nothing. "I'll be a rebel punk in no time."

"Totally." I could hear the grin in his voice. "And then you know what you should do next?"

"What?"

"You should hook up with Mr. Halliday."

My mouth dropped open and I felt my eyes bulge. "What?!"

Justin practically cackled. "Yeah. You wanna live it up a little, so you should go crazy and have a wild rebound fling or something. And why not complete the set, you know? Go big and do something you'd never have even considered before, and on top of that, there's a little payback for Monica and a big 'fuck you' to your ex."

"Oh, yeah, right," I snorted. "And a huge 'Oh my God, Mom, you've ruined my entire life' from my daughter."

"Oh, right," he said. "I forgot she was fuc--"

"And I'm still married," I interrupted hurriedly.

"You're separated. He's an ex."

I smiled sadly. "Even still, this is all assuming George Halliday would even want to hook up with me. Just because his wife is a cheater doesn't mean he is. And she..."

"She what?"

The memory of what Scott said to me in the garage would last forever. I knew that, as much as I didn't want to think of those words, that I'd never forget them. I hadn't repeated what he'd said to Justin, but that didn't change the fact that they were burned into my mind.

And as much as part of me knew that it wasn't true, that what he'd said was out of anger and hate and hurt, it didn't change the fact that the man I'd spent most of my life with thought I was too unattractive to be faithful to and too crazy to have another baby with. The details didn't matter; the specifics of what he wasn't attracted to anymore didn't make any difference to the fact that Monica Halliday was beautiful and curvy and sensual, and I was... not.

"She's very pretty," I finally said to Justin. "George would be crazy to want anyone else."

"You're very pretty, too."

My face burned and I laughed unintentionally, a high-pitched, disbelieving sound.

"I bet all the older women love you," I said, trying to control my voice.

"Not really," he said. "I mean, Alice McGrady straight-up puts her purse under her shirt when I walk by her and that blonde lady with the three boys looks at me like I may actually be possessed by a demon."

"Well, I appreciate the flattery, then."

"It's not flattery," he said, almost offended. "I don't bullshit people. You are pretty and everyone thinks so."

"They do not," I replied flatly.

"Uh, yeah, they do," he insisted. "Look, I just said I don't bullshit people so I... I'm not gonna like... you know what people say. You're the by-the-book, follow-the-rules lady. But everyone also says you're a total--"

He stopped suddenly and I was fairly certain his eyes had gone wide.

"Total what?" I asked, confused.

For the first time, Justin sounded unsettled. "Uh, just like... like really pretty."

I raised an eyebrow, which apparently, he could see.

"Look, it just sounds a little, uh... vulgar, maybe."

"I thought you just said you don't bullshit people."

He sighed. "You can't, like, guess?"

"Hmm, let's see," I said sarcastically. "I'm a total... buzzkill? I'm a total... narc? I'm a total bitch? I'm a total--"

"MILF."

My mouth dropped open. It took a moment to process the word--well, acronym, really--and realize what he was saying. If he'd agreed with any of the examples I'd said, I wouldn't have been remotely surprised. I'd been called worse things to my face and far worse things by Scott that night. But a... that? Truthfully, I wasn't sure if I was flattered or offended.

Part of me thought I should be offended, that I should protest that there was far more to me than my looks, that I wasn't some object to be labelled and defined based on my appearance.

And part of me remembered that Scott had made me feel less than worthless because I didn't have the same body I did when I married him twenty years earlier.

Still, I didn't quite know what to say.

"What?" I whispered.

"You're a total MILF," Justin repeated. "Trust me, there's a lot of... I mean, not to be like, tasteless, but people talk and... fuck, this is... look, the point is that you're hot and I'm not the only one who thinks so, okay?"

There was a feeling in my chest that was familiar but faded, a sort of lightness that was reminiscent of something I used to feel, a reminder that was being prodded awake as I stared at the dim moonlight glinting off the hoop pierced through Justin's lip.

"You think so?" I asked.

He apparently hadn't realized what he'd said.

"I... uh..." he said. "I mean, yeah, I... but I don't... I'm not gonna... ah, shit."

I pressed my lips together, the lightness turning to a bubbling sort of delight. Through the darkness, I could just make out the expression on his face, though I filled in some of the details myself; namely, the pinkish tinge I imagined was on his cheeks. He looked equal parts nervous and embarrassed, though there was a hint of wariness as he shifted slightly away. I remembered his insistence and concern when I'd first stumbled into the picnic area that he wasn't going to do anything, that I was safe, that he wasn't going to hurt me.

It tore at my heart that he was so concerned. And it made me certain that I was safe.

"Maybe you have a point," I said quietly.

"I... uh, yeah." He cleared his throat. "What, uh... what point is that?"

I smirked. "Maybe I need to have... what was it? Wild rebound sex?"

"I think I said 'fling,' actually," he said. "But that's mostly what I meant."

"Right. I should do something totally crazy that I would've never done before."

"Exactly."

"Something I never would have considered. So I can live it up a little."

"Totally."

"Like having sex in public. In a park, for example."

He hesitated before speaking, his voice taking on a strained quality. "Yeah, that would be a great example."

"And you think it should be with George Halliday?"

"Well, it doesn't have to be George Halliday. It could be..." He paused and I heard him swallow. "...you know. Anyone."

"Anyone?"

"Yeah, it..." He stopped again, then let out a puff of breath. "Okay, fuck it. I gotta ask. Are we playing a game here or are you just... like, are you implying we can hook up because I don't want to start flirting with you if that's gonna make you uncomfortable but like also, if you wanna have a rebound fuck on this picnic table, I am down for that one-hundred percent, but I don't want you to feel like--"

He stopped speaking very suddenly, likely because I leaned forward, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and kissed him.

I didn't put much thought into it. I couldn't put much thought into it. Mostly, I didn't want to put much thought into it. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to be with someone who thought I was... whatever. Pretty. Hot. It didn't matter. I wanted the echo of the things Scott had said to me to go quiet, to become just a memory instead of an open wound.

It might have been sudden, and I probably should have thought it through a little more, considering Justin was closer in age to my daughter than he was to me and I'd only just met him and there was the whole thing with my entire life crashing down around me just a few hours earlier, but I didn't.

I wanted to live a little, and Justin wanted to make that happen.

There wasn't even a second of uncertainty before he was kissing me eagerly. I couldn't hold back a smile as his mouth captured mine and his hand moved to the side of my face. He brushed my hair back, then cupped my cheek.

It was sweet, and it was tender, and I loosened my grip on his hoodie so I could pull myself closer to him. He shifted, twisting on the table to close even more of the gap between us and sliding his other arm around my waist so he could hold me as we kissed. His hand left my cheek, light fingers trailing down my jaw to my neck and making me shiver as they traced a careful pattern along my skin.

"You okay?" he mumbled against my mouth.

"Mm-hmm."

He lingered against my mouth, his thumb following the path his fingers had just taken. "You can tell me to stop if you're not."

"I'm okay." My lips brushed against his lip piercing as I spoke. "Are you?"

"Oh hell yes," he said, and I was laughing when he deepened the kiss again.

Everything about him was so different. Certainly, the hoop in his lip made a difference, though it wasn't nearly as prominent as I'd expected. I could feel it, but that wasn't what made his kisses stand out. It was that and more; it was the softness of his lips and the shape of his mouth and the feel of his breath against mine. These were not lips I knew; these were not the same lips I'd spent twenty years kissing.

He didn't know what I liked; he didn't know that when he touched my neck like he had, it would send electricity shooting through me. He didn't know that when he slipped his tongue into my mouth, I would squirm just slightly because my panties were already starting to get wet. And he had no idea that when his hand tentatively moved from my waist to my ribs and I opened my eyes to see his pleading silently, I would move my hand on top of his so I could guide it up to my breast.

He discovered those things, his hands and his mouth exploring me and finding all those secret places that made me shift and sigh and shiver, and it was amazing to be part of that discovery. I felt the slightest vibration of a moan as his hand cupped my breast through my top, just barely squeezing at first, his confidence growing as I quietly urged him on.

As he explored, I explored, revelling in the unfamiliarity of his mouth. Delight washed over me as I grazed my teeth against his lip and he returned the action; arousal flooded me as I experimentally sucked on his lip ring and he groaned against my mouth. I was fairly certain that meant he liked it, but to be sure, I did it again.

"Oh fuck," he hissed, and his hand tightened on my breast.

Yes, he certainly seemed to like it.

I played with his lip ring a bit more, flicking my tongue against it and letting excitement overtake me as his breathing quickened and he made soft, reserved noises. He kneaded my breast, his grip tightening and loosening and tightening again before he let go and cupped my cheek again.

"Promise you're sure about this?" he murmured against my mouth.

"Very sure. Are you not?"

A puff of breath brushed my lips as he laughed. "Oh, I'm fuckin' sure. This is like a freakin' wet dream. I just don't want you to think I'm like... you know."

"You're helping me live a little," I said, kissing him again. "You know. Rebel. Act out. Stick it to the man, literally."

The feeling of him smiling against my mouth was addictive. I loved the way his laughter was muffled by my lips, the way he kept trying to kiss me even though he couldn't stop chuckling. It was fun, and it was exciting, and it made me pull myself even closer to him so I could feel more of his body against me.

His laughter faded as I did, though not in a bad way; it trailed into a little gasp that softened as I kissed him harder. The arm that was still around my waist held me tight and his hand left my cheek again. This time, though, it didn't stop on my breast or my ribs or my waist. This time, it traced a pattern down to the hem of my shirt. He pinched the fabric between his fingers, fidgeting with it hesitantly before his hand slipped beneath it.

"Yes," I whispered breathlessly, and felt his smile return.

What his touch lacked in confidence, it made up for in eagerness. There was a certain clumsiness to the way his hand travelled around my back, something that wasn't quite inexperience but wasn't quite practiced. I relished it, leaned into it, adored the way he fumbled with the clasp of my bra. It was entirely new to me, a sensation I'd missed out on by getting married when I did, and I loved it.

I loved it.

He let out a victorious hiss as my bra came loose, wasting no time before bringing his hand back around me so he could slip it under the cups. I gasped as he squeezed my breast again, his palm pressing my quickly hardening nipple. He shifted his grip and I whimpered softly as the hard little bud dragged along his hand, then cried out in electrified pleasure as he pinched it tightly. Justin smiled against my lips and repeated the action, then swept his thumb across my nipple.

As much as I was enjoying him playing with my breast, I wanted more, and the way we were sitting wasn't allowing for that. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I brought my hand to his wrist.

"Sit back," I whispered as I stopped him.

"I... am?" he said.

I giggled. "More. Move back on the table and put your feet on the bench."

He did as directed, though he seemed confused until I crawled forward and onto his lap, steadying my legs on either side of his thighs. His breath caught in his throat, the reason clear as I lowered myself onto his lap and felt the prominent bulge in his jeans pressed against me.

"Is this okay?" I asked lightly.

He didn't respond, just tugged me closer and kissed me again before burying his face in my chest. My breasts jostled against his face as I laughed, held in place by the strong arms around me as he nuzzled against me.

That only lasted for a moment; almost as soon as he pressed his face against me, he loosened his arms so he could lift the bottom of my shirt up. I brought it over my head and barely had time to register the cool humidity of the night air before he was tugging my bra off and pushing his face back into my breasts. I almost laughed at his eagerness, ready to tease him playfully for the way he was completely entranced by them, but he wasted no time before taking one of my nipples into his mouth.

There wasn't much in the way of thinking after that.

He sucked on my nipple desperately before teasing it with the metal stud in his tongue. The hard ball flicked against me and I cried out, shocked by the intense wave of arousal that coursed through my body. When he did it again, I squirmed in his lap, unable to stop myself from grinding against the hardness between my legs, and he groaned in response. A large hand came up to my ribs, holding me tightly as he feasted on my breasts, licking and sucking and driving me absolutely crazy with that damn addicting piercing in his mouth.