I have been meaning to tell this story for a long time but have never taken the time to write it all down. I wanted to retain it for my own purposes, as part of a diary that I have never really given much more than a half-hearted attempt at maintaining. But with a couple of vodka and tonics in me tonight, I realized that I had to tell it, partially because it is true, but mostly because I think I might actually have the balls to write it.
My name is Jurgen and I live in the Northwest. I have had a pretty fun sex life with some interesting partners, but this particular occurrence marks the most erotic and sensual experience I have ever had the pleasure and luck to experience.
A few years ago I started running to stay in shape. As I got to my thirties, I realized that nothing less would keep the bulge at bay. Needless to say, having started so late, I was not the greatest runner and still am not a triathlete and ironman I am not, either. Perhaps more of a wooden man, given my stiff legged gait and burning red cheeks as I get up to speed. Nevertheless, I started running.
I am not married but am lucky to have had a few long-term girlfriends. Back when this particular experience occurred, I was trying to rid myself of rather a bad relationship with a clingy career gal with success on her mind and visions of a waterfront home brimming with kids. She was funny and pretty, but not what I'd call sexy. I discovered after a while that I was really looking for someone sexy, someone who wore sexy clothes, wore dark and musky perfume, drove a sexy car and said sexy things. Unfortunately, my gal did none of these things. Not ugly, just not sexy. Are you with me so far? OK.
So off I shuffled down the road every couple of nights that fall, jogging along at a respectable but not record-setting pace. I paced out a route through my neighbourhood that took me out 15 minutes, first quickly down a steep hill, then a little uphill, and then back 15 minutes, slightly downhill almost all the way home. The last long block was straight uphill and a killer for me. I managed to make almost a routine of it and was getting pretty chuffed with myself. The route took me through an entirely residential neighbourhood that was decidedly middle class.
It was a mix of single family housing and duplexes. A few unwed mothers and retirees gave the streets a little downscale but comfortable air. Into this atmosphere I strode for several months, rain or shine, all fall and winter. Slowly, after a month or so, I began to recognize some of the residents around the area, and even garnered a smile or two from some of the old folks who took their evening constitutional about the same time as I took my run.
Right near the "summit", as I called it the slightly up-hill turnaround point where I began my descent back home, there was a small yellow house with a meticulously kept front garden. The lawn was always well trimmed and a profusion of flowers spilled out underneath the front windows and along the path to the sidewalk. Even in the winter, there were blooms. Although I'm not much of a gardener, I still admired the place every time I went past and got used to glancing at the yard as I went by. It was on the up-hill side of the street, slightly raised from the sidewalk, and sometimes when I looked up I saw figures inside the house, but rarely someone outside.
The following spring, I started to notice some kids toys in the front yard when I went running by. Not often, but now and again. I figured it was a young couple with very young children, given the miniscule size of the tricycles and other playthings that infrequently were scattered around the yard. Then, one Friday in the early spring, while the sun was setting late enough for there to be light in the evenings, I saw a young woman on her knees digging and weeding in one of the flower beds under the front windows.
As I ran by, she didn't look up at all, despite the fact that there was no-one else on the street but me huffing by she was totally engrossed in her gardening. Despite her ungainly position, I was momentarily transfixed my gaze rooted on her form. Without a doubt, she was the sexiest little thing I had ever seen. Now, admittedly, I couldn't see her face, but her incredibly shapely rear-end was crammed into a pair of shiny black spandex tights, and it was pointed straight at me.
Her upper body, bent over the dirt and weeds, was covered by a sleeveless red fleece top and I could see that it's fuzzy bulk covered a very petite form. Her hair was dark and short and a little spiky. Her butt was so unbelievably cute that I almost stopped, choked, mid-stride. But I kept moving, and mindful of her neighbours and privacy, padded on by. I couldn't get her out of my mind all the way home. I can't explain why.
When I got home and was showering off, I realized that my mind was still totally occupied by her, and I was hellaciously aroused by the very thought of her ass. I found myself stroking my dick as it thickened between my legs in the shower. I was more aroused than I had been in months with my girlfriend. You'd think I was pretty sex-starved to be idly fantasizing about a woman whose face I had never seen, but the very thought of her was entrancing me. Crazy.
Well let me tell you, I just couldn't get her off my mind. I finally concocted a few half-baked fantasies about her that aroused me so much that one night alone in bed, I came without even touching myself, which is something that had not happened to me in 15 years.
Each time I ran past her place I would scan the yard and the dark windows for a peek, but for weeks, it seemed, there was no sign. Then, one Sunday afternoon, when I was out for an uncharacteristically early run, her yard was full of people. As I jogged past, I could see her standing at the bottom of her front steps holding a small child in her arms and a bundle of toys in the other. She was talking to an older woman that I took to be her mother, and another child was playing with an elderly gentleman.
As I jogged by, the boy was yelling "Grandpa, grandpa, catch-me" and flailing a spurting garden hose in the air. The yard was full of the aftermath of an afternoon of play toys and garden furniture everywhere. But I was not concerned with this. Time stood still, and my casual glance became a lingering stare as I took the young woman in. Her face was pixie-like, shining and pert. Her shapely eyebrows framed a pair of large elfin eyes of a colour I could not determine. Her cheekbones were high placed but not huge. Her lips were bobbed and red, the very essence of bee-stung not too thick and not too thin. Absolutely stunningly beautiful.
Best of all, she was smiling as she spoke and her face was illuminated. She looked young and vibrant, and I had a hard time with the picture of the child in her arms, as she looked too fit and vibrant to be a mother. There was, however, no question that the child was hers. The same pixie-like features and pursed lips. That must be the daughter, I thought. I took as much of this in as I could in the short seconds as I loped on by on the sidewalk. The old lady turned to glance at me momentarily but the young lady didn't even flicker an eye at me. She was engrossed in her conversation and the young child in her arm. Her chest was hidden from view, but I saw that she was again wearing black, skin-tight spandex tights with a tight white singlet on top. I couldn't see her breasts as they were obscured by the child's form, but I had seen enough.
I was breathless and my eyes clouded over with spots. I couldn't believe it. She was gorgeous. An absolute darling woman-child. My actual fantasies had not cooked up as beautiful a face as I saw that afternoon. I ran back home in a thick haze. My mind conjured up a thousand billion scenarios that would justify running back to her house, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I showered in the same half-blind fog and found myself erect and throbbing as I soaped under the warm jet of water. I masturbated my thick wang and wished desperately that she was there with me. I imagined that I could even smell her there with me. As my come spattered on the glass shower door, I was absolutely drained with desire.
Over the next week I ran every night except one, trying to catch her out front of her house again after work. Finally on Friday, fate smiled on me, and I did catch her as I ran by. She was walking down her path to the road. She was dressed in a slim black shift and heels. She was walking towards a car with her keys out, fumbling in her black purse. Oh my god, I was quivering. She had a tiny amount of makeup on, just enough to slightly accentuate her eyes (deep brown) and her shiny red lips. The timing was perfect, as I ran past the front of her path. She glanced at me, and slowed her gait slightly to let me run past. Time stood still for a second, and finally, finally, I had a chance to look into her eyes as I passed.
"S'cuse me", I said.
