Some towns don’t allow any place for you to sit down. The respectable citizens don’t want poor people hanging around, so they remove the benches, even at bus stops. It’s a shame. I picture old Walt Whitman walking around town, bullshitting with people, flirting with men and women alike, teasing out the juice of life, getting weary on his feet, plopping down on a nice wooden bench with wrought-iron arms. Sitting is a way of life, walking and sitting.
I picture Old Walt sitting there, a hoary genius blended into the blur of the town, watching a skirt blow up here, a mother bending over her baby carriage over there, a bulge as a young man carries lumber for a carpenter. It’s a good thing, sitting, wasting time as we call it now. It’s good to watch the world and to think about it, and let it see you and wonder about you.
This is one of my favorite things to do, loafing on a nice bench, and I’m glad our town still has them. Some homeless families live at the edge of town, they have an encampment under the Interstate bridge, and the townspeople mostly are unaware of them. I’d be one of them except I was lucky enough to have inherited some stocks that I am not allowed to sell but they send me dividend checks every quarter and it’s enough to rent half a duplex on a quiet street, enough to pay my bills and groceries and breakfast at Dan’s every morning. And if I’m in the mood, a couple of beers at Tony’s downtown in the evening. I am not the working type, if you know what I mean. I’m just not very good at doing what some asshole tells me to do. I am, as the song said, “a bit too leisurely” for all that.
“My” bench is on the sunny side of Easley Park, which is a grassy, wooded park just like you’d picture. It’s got some trees, a playground, baseball diamonds. The young adults jog around the perimeter and do their yoga in the grassy meadow. Parents take their children there to play. Teenagers sneak into the park to get high and to make out in the hedges or on the playground equipment. There are dog-walkers, people cutting through in a hurry to get somewhere on the other side, we get the occasional no-gooder, and the random do-nothing, like me.
People sometimes sit and chat with me, and I am always delighted by these opportunities. I can usually get somebody’s story out of them, and it often ends with both of us having a good laugh. Lately I have been joined a couple times a week by a young couple with a four-year-old. The man is some kind of administrator of something or other who works from the computer at home most days, the wife is a sparkling beauty, and the kid is a brat. Sorry, you gotta call ’em like you see ’em. Mikey’s an undisciplined, tantrum-throwing brat. ‘
I see where he gets it. The mom does what she can, but the kid’s father is sullen, moody, humorless. If you’re a kid and that’s your dad and you want his attention you have to take extreme measures, that’s all I’m saying. I’m actually kind of surprised that this guy even agrees to go on walks with the family. He doesn’t seem to enjoy it at all. He stares into the distance and checks the time on his cellphone every few minutes while the kid grumbles and eats dirt.
The mom is a different story. Her name is Cynthia, or Cynth, and she is cheerful and friendly in a way that sometimes seems a little effortful for her, like she would rather be home with a book. She is smart and funny but sometimes you see the corners of her eyes tighten up for an instant, or she’ll look at the ground, thinking, and you know there is more to her than meets the eye.
And let me say that what does meet the eye is fine indeed. She wears what we used to call “housedresses,” which are plain, unglamorous dresses, not intended to, you know, go clubbing. It used to be something that a housewife wore, when women called themselves housewives, she could do her chores and still look presentable if someone came to the door. Oh yeah, back then you could knock on somebody’s door without getting shot. You see those dresses in old movies and I don’t think they were meant to be, back in the day, but today they are definitely a sexy look for a woman. It projects the feeling that she is confident in her appearance, that she is respectable and happily married and all that good shit, and also there is an implication that she would tear your fucking head off in bed. Which I mean in a good way.
I’m beginning to turn a little gray around the corners of my beard and my sideburns; I don’t think this is even called “middle age,” I am just a grown-up man, no longer young. I have my morning routine of shaving, showering, putting on clean clothes, combing my hair neatly, and heading over to Dan’s for some eggs and coffee. I shine my shoes, I iron my clothes, I keep my apartment tidy. There are enough hours in the day for all that and some serious loafing, too.
Cynth must be in her middle or late twenties. Her hips and breasts fill out her housedresses in a most appealing way, escort and I love to see that family coming or going, just for the visual effect of watching her walk in her dress. She and I have had some good talks about the news of the day, the weather, small-talk, with her sourpuss husband sitting there. It is always generic, socially acceptable stuff, which I am usually not interested in but, you know, a pretty girl can make a boring topic interesting.
It was a Tuesday, about ten in the morning, and I had stretched my legs with a walk around downtown before I settled on my bench. It was springtime, sunny, just what you’re looking for in life, and I look up the block and my eyes alight on a delightful figure striding down the sidewalk. I watched her bounce as she walked, and after she’d covered half the block I realized I had been watching my young friend Cynth.
I had never seen her by herself before, and my first thought was to worry that something was wrong. In fact my first thought was that her asshole husband had done something abusive, had yelled at her or even hit her. But as she approached me she smiled, and she looked well put together — very well put together, if I may opine.
“Hey, Theo,” she called as she came closer. “What ya doing?”
“Nothing,” I said, “Same as always. And what about you? Where’s the rest of the crew?”
“I told Donald I needed to take a walk,” she said, sitting down on the bench beside me.
“Well it’s a beautiful day for it,” I said, sticking with the formula.
“Yep.”
We sat for a couple of minutes. I felt like she wanted to say something but I did not have the inclination to hurry her. We watched some kids playing, well I mostly watched the mothers but that was our scenery.
Finally she spoke. “Theo, you always seem so peaceful and so relaxed. How do you do it?”
“Well I don’t have a job to fluster me,” I said. “For one thing.”
“I suppose that helps,” she said.
“Things getting a little tense at your house?” I asked her, knowing the answer — who wouldn’t be tense living with that surly husband of hers?
She didn’t answer at first. I could feel her looking at the side of my face. “Yeah, I guess so,” she finally said. “No different than usual, but sometimes it gets to me a little bit.”
She shifted and said, “Theo, I’m supposed to be taking a walk, you want to walk with me a little bit?”
“Sure,” I said. “That’s what I live for. Walking. And sitting.”
We got up and she took off like a bat out of hell. “Whoa,” I hollered after her. “What’s the hurry?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “Just trying to get some exercise.”
“Slow walking is exercise, too,” I laughed.
“I should learn to slow down,” she said. Seems like people are always on a self-improvement kick. As if things could be better than this, right here.
“To me, a walk is as much about looking at things as it is exercising.”
“Show me how,” she said, and she put her arm through mine. She smiled at me and it was almost too much. I felt like a fucking thirteen-year-old again. Her forearm was so smooth and dainty against mine, it made the hair on my arm stand up. She was wearing a kind of sundress, I guess, not exactly a housedress but a comfortable-looking summer dress with straps, pretty short in the legs and pretty low in the top. Lots of skin but not trashy in any way. a very respectable and attractive young-mom dress.
We shuffled slowly along a dirt path into the park. Cynth said, “Sometimes I see you watching the women in the park.”
“Busted,” I said. “It is one of the joys of my life.”
“So why don’t you have a wife or girlfriend?”
“I have a couple of girlfriends,” I said. “I don’t see them very often. Don’t really like the responsibility of it, if you know what I mean. I don’t like it to get too serious.”
“I understand that,” she said with a sardonic laugh. “The responsibilities can take the fun out of it.”
Now, I can’t explain this, but then life doesn’t always make real good sense anyway. We were in a sort of wooded area with oak trees towering above us, and I reached my arm around her waist and pulled her to me and kissed her. I figured she’d slap me, but it was just the opposite. She melted into my arms, opened her mouth to me, and joined me in one of the sexiest, warmest kisses I have known in my life.
We broke it off and I held her, then we turned and continued strolling without speaking. It didn’t seem that anything needed to be said. We made a circuit around the park, arm in arm, then separated when we got near the street, out of caution more than shame. We arrived at my bench and she sat with me.
“Theo,” she said, “Do you live near here?”
I nodded toward Justine Street. “Right over there, about half a block,” I said.
“You live alone?”
“Yup.”
“Do you think I could come visit you there sometime?” she asked, timidly. “Maybe tomorrow?”
For a second escort bayan I thought about the fact that she was married, but then I pictured that piece of shit she was married to, and then I had half a thought that maybe I could actually help her marriage a little by, you know, helping take some of the pressure off.
“That would be real nice,” I said. “I usually have breakfast at Dan’s around eight, and then after that I’ll put on a pot of coffee and you can stop by and have a cup. And whatever else is on your mind.”
She said she’d be there around ten. We talked a little more and then she got up and left.
I don’t know who lives in the other half of my duplex. I never see them, never hear them, there could be decaying corpses in there for all I know, which is perfect for me. My apartment has a little front porch with a couple of chairs. It’s set back from the street, with hedges along the front, but I can see the neighborhood pretty well. Better than that, it’s hard to see into my property from the neighborhood, which is how I like it. The next morning after breakfast I put on a pot of coffee and sat on the porch reading the morning paper in the cool spring air, glancing up occasionally. And sure enough, about one minute to ten, here she comes. Her sundress was flowing around her, and her body had a kind of radiant way of bouncing when she walked. She was too wholesome to get catcalls but she turned plenty of heads around town.
We went inside and I poured her a cup of coffee. I have a linoleum kitchen table, probably seventy years old, and matching chairs with the original upholstery, all of it like new, yellow linoleum. I take care of it. We sat at the kitchen table. She had cream and sugar, I take mine black. I was curious to hear what was on her mind.
It didn’t take long. She said, “I knew you were going to kiss me yesterday.” I nodded. She went on, “I had hoped you would. I guess I sort of set it up to happen.”
“I didn’t see it coming,” I said.
“Well it was something I have needed to a long time,” she said. “Since before Mikey was born. Since before he was conceived, even.” She laughed a little at that.
“It felt like some electricity there,” I said.
“Yes, it did.” She took a sip of hot coffee, gazed out the window. “It was good to feel some passion.”
I’m not a guy who needs a fucking engraved invitation. I set my coffee down, reached down and pulled her out of her seat. I kissed her again, not so dramatic this time, and said, “Let’s go,” and I walked her to the bedroom.
My bedroom is small. I have a painted wood dresser and as you have guessed my clothes are neatly folded in the drawers. There is a photograph of each of my parents, now deceased, on top of the dresser. The bed is made without wrinkles. The curtains facing the street were drawn but the ones facing the garden were open. Nobody can get to that garden but me; my roses are the best in town, and the light from the garden window is happy and warm.
I kissed her again and pulled her dress over her head, just like that. She was stunning. I stepped back and looked at her in bra and panties, awed. I didn’t have to say anything, but kicked off my shoes and pants, pulled off my shirt. We both got out of our underwear at the same time. I pulled the blanket and sheet back, fluffed the pillow, and gestured to her.
Cynth and I were flowing like dancers, it seemed to me, mind-reading. She lay naked with her head on the pillow, sort of sitting up, and waited for me.
As I joined her I didn’t bother to kiss her but went for the nearest breast. Absolutely divine, firm and heavy. I sucked on it and tasted a drop of milk, reminding me that she was a fairly recent mother. I nibbled on her flesh and ran my hands over her body.
My fingers went to her pussy and she moaned as I stroked it and lit a fire in her. For some reason I decided not to bring her off yet, not with my fingers, but her clitoris was hard as a rock when I finished rolling it and rubbing.
She was lying back on the pillow, her hair fanned out like a halo, her eyes closed, her skin flushed. I got between her legs and fed my cock into her pussy, one slow inch at a time. Her arms were around my back. She shifted her hips to accommodate me and to find the spot. Her pussy was tight and warm and responsive, and I began pumping at a slow rate. Maybe one cycle every three seconds, pushing forcefully and withdrawing in a controlled and powerful way, with my upper body propped up on my elbows so I could watch her face.
We might have been in that introductory phase for five minutes. My hips and thighs were strong and I drove up into her until I hit bottom, then backed up and drove into her again.
This is a perfect kind of way to fuck sometimes. I did not slam her, did not speed up when I heard her start panting. I did not change my tempo when she was moaning in my ear and pushing her hips urgently against me, craving bayan escort more of me. I also did not speed up or change my tempo when she exploded like the Fourth of July, grunting and convulsing while my cock pumped in and out of her, slow and powerful.
Her moaning turned into a kind of sigh as the orgasm receded, and her arms fell to her side. I continued to plow into her relentlessly, and almost before the first orgasm ended she blasted into another. It sounded like she was weeping, and I thought: good. If I’m going to make women cry, I like this better than the other way.
This orgasm subsided and I felt her hands pushing up at me, steering me off her. I pulled back my hips and let my penis fall out of her as she continued to push on me.
She patted the pillow. It was my turn to lie back and watch, as she spent a few seconds kissing my nipples and then leaned over me from the side to take my erection in her mouth.
Cynth was not a woman with a lot of experience, I could tell. But she had the most important thing, which is sensitivity. She listened to my breathing, noted my movements as I responded to her. She used her tongue on the underside of my shaft, teasing, then sucked the head of my cock forcefully, like she was trying to nibble off the tip of a popsicle without freezing her teeth. Then bam her mouth plunged down my length and she swallowed all of me, to the base, in one fast move. She bobbed down taking my penis down her throat, and when she came back up her eyes were watering and she stifled a gag.
“I’ve never done that before,” she said.
“Well if you ever need to practice…” I said.
Now she bent down and began fucking me with her mouth. It was not deep, she took half my length comfortably and worked between the sensitive tip and the middle of my shaft. I had my hands behind my head, watching, and did not feel like I was going to last much longer.
I think she sensed that, too. She held my shaft in her hand and looked up at me, smiling. “This is just what I needed,” she said.
I did not say something ridiculous, but it was close.
She scooted up on top of me and took my cock into her pussy again. She moved her hips tentatively and I actually had the feeling she had not had much experience being on top. She tried moving side to side and gave that up, decided on straight-ahead hip thrusts, and lowered her body so her tits just brushed me as she moved. And let me say: I love that. Her nipples just tickled across mine, swaying gracefully, it was a beautiful thing. She figured out a way to dredge her vulva against me so that her clit was getting a lot of stimulation and it was good for me, too.
She picked up speed and began banging her hips against me until she came again. Leaning back against the pillow I could see the smile on her face as the waves overtook her and she continued to fuck me hard while she luxuriated in her orgasm.
She allowed herself a few seconds of recovery time, dropping her head against my chest while her breathing heaved. Then she began a new phase, which I took to be the closing scene of this encounter. She started working that pussy on me, grinding it, dragging it along my length, taking me deep.
She was driving against me and I could feel the brew cooking up inside my hips. Floodgates opened, circuits were turned on, cross-traffic stopped to make way for the load. And then, while she was pumping that slick vagina up and down my helpless cock, the dynamite went off and I felt the pieces of my body hurtling toward space in atomized bits of cosmic dust. I was obliterated, parts of me scattered all over the previously-tidy room, blood and guts, slobber and snot and bloody pieces of a human body sticking to the walls, brains and lungs and gory bits of my bones staining the ceiling.
I closed my eyes for a minute but did not pass out. Cynth was lying on me, her full weight relaxed on top of my lifeless body. I could hear her breathing and smell the sweet smell of her breath as she panted lightly.
We got dressed and I freshened our coffee. “I can’t stay,” she said. I nodded.
“I hope this was okay,” she began apologetically.
“Are you kidding?” I asked.
She laughed unconfidently. “Oh, okay,” she said. “I guess it was okay.”
“It was much better than ‘okay,'” I said.
“Do you think I could come see you sometimes?”
“Are you going to be able to get away with it?” I asked her.
“I think so,” she said. “It’s not bad for Don to spend some time with Mikey. And it’s understandable that I’d need to get out now and then”
“Well I don’t think you should just stop by unannounced,” I said, thinking ahead to possible unlikely trainwrecks of various sorts. “But like this, we can talk and set up a time. Is that okay?”
“That would be wonderful,” she said.
We decided it would be better if she left my apartment alone, so I finished my coffee and watched her walk out to the street. She was a classic beauty, a hometown girl who completely underestimated herself.
I had another shower and headed to the park for a nice sit. I had a book I thought I’d read today, looking up to watch the people of the town walk past.
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