This piece is longer and more elaborate, so I'd like your opinion, or a vote would be nice. I'd like to acknowledge Secretsxywriter, whose work gave me inspiration.
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Three, two, one, GO!
Lanny swung off the platform, grasping the overhead bars. She quickly recalled the sensation of her hands on the rounded steel, the pinch of skin on her palms and the pressure on her fingers. She swung herself along the overhead ladder hand over hand, as she had done so many times before. The weight of her nineteen-year old body was more than her hands had been used to however.
She reached the next platform. Her friends cheered and urged her on. She stepped onto the suspended beam. The trick for speed was to run and not use the handrails, but the beam's erratic movement, as well as its creaking, pinching chains, made this difficult. She remembered this as much harder than it looked. But she made it. Now up the boards.
This was a wooden slope made of boards laid crosswise, too steep to climb without using the rope that hung down the ramp. Lanny's hands smarted from the overhead ladder, but she could still haul herself up to the next level. She was panting now.
This next challenge was a large spiral tube, tilted downwards. It had always reminded her of a giant's trampoline spring, big enough to climb inside, stretched then frozen (as often happened to giants in the stories she used to read). The trick here, she remembered, was not to crawl but to bear-walk on hands and feet. But her adult size made this extremely challenging and she kept hitting her spine against the upper tubes. Probably a good thing I'm wearing tights, she thought as she felt her skirt riding up. Halfway round.
The oversized steps, so hard those years ago, were now easy for her strong lean legs to climb, as was crossing the wobbly bridge. It still made the best noise, an almighty clattering . But she now had a bit too much speed when she reached the fireman's pole. She grabbed the pole and locked her legs round it. Her momentum pushed her pubic bone against the steel pole just as she started to slide down. A tingling flood of sensations and memories washed over her.
That brief instant of weightlessness. The friction warming her hands. The recollection of hours in junior school, spent climbing, running, chasing, breathless fun. And another kind of breathless... connected with her panties getting stretched up just inside her by the pressure of the pole. A stronger recollection...
Twelve years old. A bright sunny day. Almost too hot to play. The asphalt warmed her shoes, the steel poles were like the oven door when good things were baking. There were only a few kids on the bars. A new kid was guardedly watching her sizing up the different activities.
She had noticed him when he arrived. He had exotic olive skin, a shade different from the tanned Anglos of the class. He had dark curly hair which tended to hang over his eyes, dark eyebrows above a straight nose, generous lips for a boy. He was quiet and thoughtful, especially when so new to the school. He spoke with a slight accent and used some unusual words, like 'exclaim' or 'wistful'. Clearly from some faraway place, yet his name was Danny. Lanny was fascinated by him. She secretly watched him whenever she could. She knew how he rested his pencil on his soft lips when he paused and stared into space during writing time. She wanted to touch those lips - a thought which surprised her. She wanted to touch his springy hair as well.
On this day he was the one watching her. She felt somehow challenged, so impulsively she tried something new.
She leapt up to the overhead ladder bars. Getting used to the feel of her hands on the rounded steel, she started to swing, feeling the pinch of skin on her palms. Then instead of going along, she swung across the line of the ladder, almost facing Danny so her legs were kicking towards him. She swung herself backwards and forwards. At the top of the swing she bent her legs up over the bar and they moved easily down each side, pulling her up so she was sitting astride the pole. The movement worked better than she expected.
Danny seemed impressed: he watched the whole thing without blinking. Or perhaps it was the expression on Lanny's face above. As she looked down at him, warm tingles were coming out from between her legs. They felt great; they seemed to be stronger when she stared at his lips, or those strong eyes of his, or his beautiful curly hair. Her breathing changed. She rocked on the pole slightly and the tingles were stronger again. They stared at each other for how long? She had no idea, not a clue.
A second had passed in current time. She got to the base of the fireman's pole. Playground Rules allowed you one step across the woodchips to the squares.
'The squares' was a large steel grid stood on its side, six squares high by eight across, giving it its name. The rules required you to climb one end, go along the top row, cross over and go down the opposite side. Lanny's chafed hands complained, but she was having too much fun to stop. Up one end, shuffle along, swing legs over, twisting as you go. With a flurry of skirt fabric she was down. She was allowed two steps to the flying fox platform. On the deck she grasped the handle overhead and launched herself. The little truck raced along the rail, screeching and rumbling, and crashed into the plate at the far end. Lanny was expecting this and let the momentum send her legs flying up in front of her. She felt the air up her legs and inner thighs, adding to the tingles from the pole. She landed confidently on the platform and threw out her hands like an Olympic gymnast. She felt the familiar breathless excitement and the sense of her body moving well. The circuit was complete when the flying fox hit the plate.
"WOW! That was great! Eighteen seconds!" Her friends were clapping. She was a little surprised however: she'd got better times when at school. Perhaps her body asking for more of that touching had distracted her.
She gazed around the playground. It was her old Catholic junior school, attached to the church. She was back in her home town, with friends from the city, where she now lived and studied. She wouldn't have called herself religious, but she had loved her schooling, and now recognised the spiritual respect it had taught her. She believed in God, so when a devout friend insisted on going to church that Sunday, all four of them made a morning of it to see the place that had told Lanny God approved of self-pleasure...
God loved Lanny. She knew this deep in her being, in every throw and step she took. The one nun still teaching told her. The Masses told her. The songs of a Friday afternoon, classic oldies accompanied by the teachers on electric organ and guitar, they told her absolutely. A happy life in a happy family and a happy school, it was obvious to her. And she loved Him back, loved His creation, His gifts to her of mind and body. She even thanked Him for sending someone as fascinating as Danny to observe.
So, when she straddled the monkey bars and found this wonderful tickling sensation between her legs, she thanked Him for that too. Childishly she associated it only with the bars, another wonderful sensation, like the terror of being so high on the squares, or the rush of the flying fox. A few years later she read about boys and girls "pleasuring themselves" and she made the connection. Fortunately the article she was reading emphasised masturbation as natural and normal, so she seemed to sidestep the guilt that afflicts so many on this topic. She started to explore herself, discovering even more wonderful, tickling sensations. She never doubted that, if she was a loving God's perfect creation, something that felt so good must be right.
Her college friends had burst out laughing when she explained this one night, very drunk, with re-enactments of significant - and more intimate - scenes. She was sincere none the less, and they were good-natured, so they accepted her very individual theology. The devout one, Andrea, was in tears. "Thank you, so much. You don't know what this means to me. You've freed me. Oh, thank you!" That sobered everyone up that night. For a moment, anyway.
Who was that? Someone, half-familiar, was watching from across the playground. Messy curly hair, hanging over the eyes, a straight nose, generous lips... no. Not possible.
She strode over the grass towards the man, who held her gaze as she approached. The strong eyes, maybe heavier-lidded now, below weathered cheeks. He had a slim build, a hardy, survivor look to him. He wore a leather jacket with big scuffs down one side, possibly after coming off a bike the wrong way.
She stopped, still in the school grounds. He stood in the street, not aggressively, but not backing away. Silence, except for the familiar rustling leaves. They recognised each other.
