(for Evan)
She didn't know his name. She knew nothing about him.
All she knew was he rode his bike every day in the park. And she'd made it a point to be there every day where she could see him.
She was older. She was 43. He was only in his 20s, probably 25 or 26.
Just the sight of his legs alone made her mouth water.
One day she'd been close to where he'd bicycled by her. He'd passed deliciously close to her bench where she sat. He'd turned his head towards her. He didn't smile. Didn't acknowledge her at all.
But just meeting his eyes... That night she crawled into bed after her shower and threw off all her clothes and lay down on her back. The room was deliciously cool in the AC against the merciless Texas heat.
She wanted him so badly.
Her long blonde hair was loose and clean and still damp. She rubbed her head into the pillow. Her tits ached. She kept thinking about his legs as she'd watch him ride his bike every day. How she could see the muscles rippling with every movement. His tight young firm ass in his shorts...
Oh God, she thought.
She spread her legs in the darkness as wide as possible. Her pussy... She was so intensely horny her pussy almost hurt. Little sharp pulses of need and lust seemed to jolt through every inch of her. She took her right hand and reached down and spread her pussy in the cool air, as if in offering to him.
Oh God please, she thought. She desperately needed to cum. She suddenly had the fantasy of him jerking off above her and him cumming not inside her like she usually craved but having him shoot his cum all over her pussy lips... To be able to see it drip from her swollen folds...
The thought drove her insane with lust and with only about three fast circles of her fingertips on her clit and her fingers tugging hard at her nipples she burst in the darkness and moaned harshly in fierce orgasmic relief and release.
***
The next day she felt tired and stressed. She decided to move to a different spot. For some reason she wanted to avoid him that day.
She found a perfect lovely secluded spot under a tree and took out her erotic romance novel and began reading in relaxation.
"So what are you reading?" she suddenly heard a deep stirring male voice question her.
She looked up into a devastatingly gorgeous male face. It was him. He was all sweaty from riding and wiping his neck with a small white towel.
Her cheeks burned in sudden embarrassment. She didn't want him to see the lurid cover of her book. It was her typical fare, a tawdry shot of a woman being utterly dominated by a man, what she had always craved sexually since she was a little girl.
She was about to stammer "Ummm..." when he stepped closer to her and looked at the cover. His eyes met hers.
"So you like to read filth, huh?" He expressed no emotion in his voice.
"I, um... Yeah, I like erotic romance."
He tossed the towel nonchalantly on his bicycle seat. "It looks to me like you need cock. That's your problem."
She was embarrassed. But wildly aroused. But she was afraid to answer him. She was deeply intimidated.
He looked into her face. "You look like a real slut with all that slutty makeup and lipstick smeared all over your face. Look like you would be great at being used by a hoard of cocks. And love every minute of it."
She felt hurt and humiliated, though painfully aroused. Obviously he didn't like her. He was insulting her. Right?