Hot Dad On Playground

I sit on this bench at the playground and watch the vultures surround you. "HDOP" Hot Dad On Playground. My husband came up with that one, likes to declare he's it when he comes here with the kids. But he's not here today.

You are. HDOP. Standing there, needled by the three moms who have come here together. The ones who laugh just a little bit too loud and come off just a bit too desperate for any kind of male attention, let alone your attention. I call them the Ashleys. I watch you cast your eyes over the playground, hoping to catch anyone's kid in a fight, a fall, some kind of diversion.

It's like this every Tuesday. Every Tuesday we are all here at the same time and do the same thing: I sit on this bench with my black jeans and black jacket and black soul with my best Resting Bitch Face to avoid social interaction. I eavesdrop as the Ashleys spill endless boring stories about their boring lives that they are sure you are absolutely interested in hearing. They are all practically crawling around you like cats in heat. "Save me" they all seem to say.

Eventually they herd up their progeny to head for lunch. Apologies are made for having to leave you alone here, with eyes rolled toward me. Because I am not an Ashley. I'm not anyone.

They walk away, exaggerating the wobble of asses clad in yoga pants that never yoga. The lead Ashley, she's got a fantastic ass, I'll give her that.

But you never watch them go. Because every Tuesday, you walk over and sit down next to me.

I can feel my face flush as you cross in front of me, the scent of you washes through me and tightens my chest. It's the stink of that old coat you won't give up, your laundry detergent, your skin. I can smell you by just thinking about you any other time.

You plop down beside me and let out a heavy sigh.

"Bad today?" I ask, an exaggerated look of sympathy on my face.

"They were nearly climbing me! Oh! Oh! And look at what the blonde one managed to slip into my pocket!" You hand me a business card with a condom taped to the back and a bright red set of lips over the front. I know right away that condom is too small.

"Oh my god, she propositioned you with her leggings business card? That's so weird. But ballsy. And her name is actually Becky." I am deadpan.

It's all just so perfectly hilarious, we just kind of stare at each other instead of laughing. The leaves dance by us in the fall breeze. In the background, our boys are gleefully rolling in the sand, screaming. I have to pull my eyes from your gaze.

You make me feel like I'm 15. You make me feel like making bad decisions. I nervously kick my cons in the dirt under our bench.

Every Tuesday.

"How's that project you're working on?" I ask, tucking my hair behind my ear and finally looking at you again. I don't hear a word you say in return. I honestly don't even care. I sit here beside you, pressing my thighs together to calm the swelling, the aching. You've made me soak my panties just by being near you.

I think you realize I'm not paying attention. Maybe my squirming is too obvious. You look off for a moment at the blur of activity from our boys. "They'll be fine, huh?" you say, more a declaration than a question.

Then, "Hey Ry, you got this? We are going to take our walk now." Ryan is older and homeschooled. He can probably parent better than either of us at this point, anyhow. He'll be fine with my two. This won't take long.

You take my hand as we head toward the walking path and a bolt of electricity shoots up my arm and blossoms in my pussy. It's almost painful to touch you.

We slip through the bushes to the back of the brick equipment building. We are isolated by tangled overgrowth. You push me up against the wall and lean into me with a particular and unusual urgency, I can feel your cock already hardening through our clothes as you grind into my pelvis. Your face is unbearably close to mine. You look me in the eyes intensely, then graze your lips over mine without kissing me. Your breath is like fire.

"Why the fuck do you always wear jeans?"

You suddenly grab me by the waist and push me up on the tiny ledge where a window once was, now bricked up itself. The perfect height for this, forcing me out at the perfect angle. My asscheeks will hurt from the crumbly edge for days and I will love it.

You hurriedly unbutton my jeans and yank them down, taking my panties with them. I lose a shoe in the process, my pants left dangling on one leg. The sudden exposure to the cold air lights my pale skin with goosebumps. Your hands sneak up my shirt and under my bra, icy cold fingers rolling my nipples.

You unzip your pants and unleash yourself from your boxers, sliding your cock between my silky lips, pushing the head against my clit. As you lean forward, you finally kiss me, slowly, your lips so warm against mine. You wrap your arms around me and sigh, hugging me tight, breathing me in.

"It's been a long week," you whisper. You missed me. I can tell. This hug, this is new. This is good. This is scary. Maybe this is too much.

I wrap my legs and arms around you, giving you a full body squeeze as I run my fingers through your hair. I am at least glad to be your reason to relax.

As you hold on to me, you move your hips, stimulating the entire length of my labia in tortuously slow strokes. I am so wet that I've soaked both of us. I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me.

"Now?" It's a statement and a plea.

You pull back and look at me with a grin. Running your hand over the back of my thigh, you push my free leg up against me, kissing my knee. And then a shift. I stifle a cry of relief as you slowly sink into my cunt, filling me up, pushing in far enough to hurt just a little. You flex to pulse your cock, and my walls clench down around you.

I dig my hands into the ledge as you begin to pick up speed, your thrusts eliciting childish whines from my throat, an attempt to stay quiet. My back is rubbing against the brick. I can't wait until spring, tank tops, scratches on my back. Going home marked.

There will be other Tuesdays.

I slide a hand between us to rub my clit. I'm surprised at the size. It's more engorged than I've ever felt it. The things you do to me... You grunt as my muscles snap tighter.

I decide to try something new. Something daring. I'm almost nauseous with excitement.

"Tell me..."

You kiss my neck as ask me, "What?" rhythm unchanged.

"Tell me I'm better than her."

You pause and look at me hard, a myriad of emotions crossing your face in seconds. Your brow furrows. Suddenly you grab my neck, squeezing, pinning me to the brick.

A bolt of fear runs through me. I've pissed you off, gone too far. What have I gotten myself into? My heart races in my ears and I begin to feel dizzy. I grab at your arm.

There's a searching in your eyes. Then a kind of pain, a realization.

"You are and will always be better than her." I can tell your answer is not at all about what we are doing.

You sigh and lay into me harder than you ever have before, grunting with passion, rage, a kind of grief. The adrenaline from relieved fear releases within me, rushing right to my swollen cunt. I can feel myself building up and you can, too. It's as if I can feel every detail of your dick as I tighten and ebb, squeezing you rock hard. I hold back a scream, biting my lips as I cum on you in spasms so hard my entire body is twitching, my pussy pulling at you, so tight you can barely move. A string of obscenities spill from your mouth.

You are making noises I had yet to hear. Animalistic growls mixed with higher pitches. I will so easily drum these noises up in my imagination when I'm thinking of you later. It's a vibration that moves through my body.

I can feel your balls tighten ass they slap against my asshole, the head of your cock begins to throb. You're about to pull out, but I tense my thighs and hold you to me. You release my neck, hitch up both of my knees as far as possible and pump me in earnest. The guttural moan you make as your cum sears my insides is going to stay with me. I will think of this later. And often. Even with him.

You stop and lean on me, both of us breathing heavily, gasping for air. You hold onto me until your cock softens a bit, kissing me. You are languid, like honey, your lips puffy and soft.

You turn away from me and pull up your pants, the clink of your belt sending shivers through me. I rush to grab some tissues from my pocket and clean up as best I can. I wasn't prepared for much of a mess. Usually you shoot off into the grass, if not my mouth. I pull up my jeans and rummage through the weeds and leaves for my shoe. You've turned toward me now, but you have yet to look me in the face. You are the nervous one now, eyes darting all around, cheeks flushed.

My body is still buzzing as we step wordlessly through the bushes and back to the path. Back to our boys. Back to the real world.

We stand at the edge of the sandbox and give the five minute warning. It is five agonizing minutes of silence. I sweep my fingers over my throat and it's like bursts of glitter through my body. I can feel your jizz running out of me and I start to giggle.

"What?" you ask, half laughing and somewhat incredulous, finally breaking the quiet, finally looking at me again. I just bump you sideways and claim nothing, calling my guys over to leave.

"Next Tuesday, then?" you ask.

Yes. Every Tuesday.

You watch me walk the entire way to the parking lot.

I don't even know your last name.