Fiction: Parking.

I'm imagining a beautiful sunny May day, warm even for the season. We're walking in the park, maybe we'll rent bikes and go for a ride. I stop to lean on a tree to take a rock out of my sandal. It's cool here, so we linger. You kiss me behind my ear, where my neck is beginning to sweat and the hair curl. My face is close to yours and we begin to kiss. Lightly, at first. I can see you're looking around at who is watching us. Being a weekday, it isn't too crowded. I rest my back to my tree. Now you can only look at me. The bark is rough. We keep kissing. Your tongue is deep in my mouth. My hands are under your shirt. Modesty flees. I slowly inch my own skirt up in front. I unzip your fly. You're still feeling self-conscious. You say that people can see us. I say good. I say I need it. I say I have to have it. I say I'll take it. I'm licking your throat, sucking your ear. My wanton lust goads you on. I'm excited by this. You know this immodesty is uncommon for me. You like that you cause this. You like what you make me want. I pull you close and you push my panties aside. I am soaked, drenched. You moan. I spring your cock from your shorts. I stand on a tree root with one foot so I'm open to you.

I quietly gasp when you thrust inside me. If we were alone I would moan, I would laugh, I would crow with the pleasure of it. But we're here in the park. You're fucking me against a tree. I keep quiet with the stupid idea that it matters. As though it isn't clear what we're doing.

You can't really pound me, but you can grind hard. My clit rubs against the fabric of my bunched up skirt, your shorts. It will be really easy to come. We haven't fucked all day, so you shoot hot and fast into me. You don't say anything, but your mouth is agape and your eyes are intense on mine. As you're coming, I do too. The tree bark scraping my back, the exertion of standing: it's intense and I can't separate pleasure from pain. Just that every part of my body is involved. Like when you stretch upon waking and it isn't something you're doing; it's happening to you.

We pause and disentangle ourselves. You pull a leaf from my hair and brush off my back.

Saturday in the park with you.