This story has been knocking around in my head for a while. Thanks to kenjisato for proofreading and to MikeTPK for his feedback and numerous valuable suggestions. Any remaining errors are all mine.
***
First Summer
I love to run. At 7 a.m., come rain or shine, you'll most likely find me clocking up the miles. Some days are tougher than others, but Summer certainly helped with my motivation. Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Warmer weather and brighter mornings--that makes sense,' but you'd only be partially right. In this case, 'Summer' is also a
she
.
One early July morning, as I wrapped up my run with a customary lap around the local park, I spotted a young woman jogging up ahead. The rhythm of her stride drew me in, her shapely behind swaying rhythmically with each step, accentuated by form-fitting leggings that hugged her perfectly. Flawless curves tapered in from her hips, and a sporty crop-top revealed a sliver of her toned back, emerging from the waistband of her leggings.
An unsung benefit of running is the opportunity to share your hobby with fit, like-minded, and often attractive strangers. We might pass one another, exchange a smile or a 'good morning,' appreciate the view, then move on with an extra spring in our step.
For some reason, this woman affected me more than that. It wasn't just her physique--perhaps it was the effortless grace in her stride or the way her ponytail bounced with an almost hypnotic rhythm--but something about her stirred a dormant excitement in me. As I drew closer, I could see the skin on her neck and lower back glistening slightly with perspiration. I matched my pace to hers, allowing myself a moment of appreciation, tempted to follow her for the remainder of my lap. Of course, I didn't. I chastised myself appropriately, eased past her, and headed home for a cold shower.
If I thought about her again that day it was only fleetingly, perhaps accompanied by a head shake at my past self's behaviour, or an internal wolf-whistle as I remembered her figure. But then, there she was again the next morning. And the next. And the next. We were
always
in the park at the same time, clearly both creatures of habit.
As the days went by, I noticed subtle changes in her appearance that reflected a touch of personality--colourful bracelets jingling on her wrists, her simple ponytail evolving into a pretty braid. But the morning I saw her in snug exercise shorts instead of leggings, I couldn't help but stare.
Someone's showing off
, I mused. It
was
a warm morning, but
damn
--her long legs were smooth, toned, and sun-kissed.
The leggings never returned; it was shorts from that day forward, and I had to admit, it didn't take long for me to guiltily look forward to seeing her and all the skin on display. My heart always quickened as I approached the park, anticipating our brief encounters.
You might wonder why I felt guilty at all: I was enjoying some eye candy--so what? Well, there's a little detail I've omitted: I'm married. Now, I'm not an arsehole. I took my wedding vows seriously and didn't ordinarily go around ogling other women. But there's only so much a man can handle before a simple distraction becomes an escape.
My overtaking manoeuvres continued for a few weeks until, one day, I decided to switch things up. Upon entering the park that morning, instead of turning left, I turned right. It wasn't premeditated, more of a sudden urge to change the status quo. I figured if we were running in opposite directions, we'd pass each other briefly, and it wouldn't be such a big deal. And yeah, I'd admit, part of me was also keen to see her face--all that time, and all I'd had was a sideways glance or two, as I overtook.
Usually, when running, I'm zoned out, focusing on my cadence or breathing. That day, as soon as I turned right, my mind raced ahead, trying to imagine what she'd look like. When I finally saw her rounding the bend in the distance, my anticipation peaked, the gap between us closing fast. As she came more sharply into focus, my eyes drank her in. Her familiar tight, curvy figure swerved in all the right directions, but it was her face that struck me most. Framed by blonde hair with a light dusting of freckles, she looked disarmingly sweet, almost angelic. Her large green eyes betrayed a hint of playfulness as they appraised me, counterbalancing her sense of innocence.
My heart pounded as I tried to appear nonchalant. "Morning," I greeted, forcing a casual smile.
"Well,
hello!
" Her pretty face brightened, eyes sparkling with mischief. As we passed, she slowed, spinning to jog backwards, our eyes locking as I looked back. "I like this view
even
better!" she teased, her voice lilting playfully.
Her words hit me like a spark, igniting a warmth that coursed through my veins. Her giggle lingered in my ears as I pressed forward, my pace quickening, a newfound exhilaration fuelling each stride.
I stopped at the bench by the park exit nearest to my house, where I always stretched, still flustered from the encounter. I felt a flush of pride from the attention of a cute girl, mixed with some surprise. She'd clearly recognised me.
Had she been checking me out, too? All this time?
I wasn't so much shocked that she might find me attractive--some women did, some didn't--it was more that the idea of her admiring me over the past weeks hadn't even occurred to me. In hindsight, it was obvious that after passing her each day, I'd entered her line of sight, but until that moment, my focus had been solely on admiring
her
.
How had she thought of me? Did she anticipate our encounters like I did?
Another thought struck me: all the changes I'd noticed--the extra time she'd spent on her hair, showing off in those shorts--
had that been for
my
benefit?
Suddenly, I found myself at my own front door, so lost in thought that I'd navigated my cool-down and walked home on autopilot.
Pull yourself together
, I admonished myself, shaking my head.
It was just a flirty comment.
I let myself inside, eager for a shower and to start the day.
Yet, my mind wasn't ready to settle down. From the moment I'd entered the park, knowing I would see her face-to-face, I'd been semi-aroused. Not enough to be noticeable to others, I hoped, but the more I dwelled on our interaction--on
her
--the more my excitement grew. Her sleek legs, the curves of her toned body--images of her danced in my mind, fuelled by the spark of knowing she found me attractive too.
By the time I stepped into the shower, I was hard. I tried to focus on lathering up, but you know how these things are. It had been a while since I'd had a release, and ignoring it wasn't helping--even without stimulation, it was getting worse.
My hand slid down, fingers curling around my cock. A groan slipped out, the sensation almost too much.
Christ, I'm sensitive
, I thought.
I really do need this.
