The Park

The night was warm, and the calmness, enticing. I saw her immediately as I entered the park, or perhaps my eyes may have fallen on her mere seconds before, and that is what compelled me to enter. The way my mind plays tricks on me when I’m hard up, I’m not so sure. I approached her with the bravado meant solely for gods, which I truly believed myself to be. My confidence and swagger were on point. I sat down beside her on the bench and introduced myself. She turned her back to me, which wasn’t a surprise. Occasionally I had to put in the work – not often – but occasionally, and I had a line for every scenario so that never slowed me down, but before that well prepared bullshit line could escape my arrogant lips, I realized that she was crying. Again, that didn’t faze me at all. Even better I thought – a damsel in distress, and I have no problem displaying a little bogus sympathy to further my goal.

With my most sympathetic voice I asked her what was wrong. She didn’t reply, so I asked her if someone had hurt her and if there was anything that I could do. I listened for a reply and noticed that her crying had died down. I was getting somewhere, I thought. I let her know that I was a good listening and that it would help if she let it out instead of keeping it all inside. I paused and listened as the crying faded into a faint whimper. I really felt like I was getting somewhere, and was about to really lay it on thick when, without even turning around, she reached behind and groped for my crotch… Now this was new, I thought. It had caught me completely unaware, so I just sat back, astonished, as she fumbled around. Of course, I hoped that she was searching for my zipper, but I was slightly wrong. She wanted the belt buckle…and I couldn’t hold back my elated smile, as her hand fell on it.

Her whimpering became more audible, as her fingers worked the buckle frantically. I had the feeling that she was attempting to do this and do it quickly before whatever feelings or reasoning that was driving her to this, waned. But trying to manipulate the buckle with one hand was proving to be problematic, so she quickly spun around, eyes down, and confronted the belt buckle with both hands. The clasp gave way instantly. The button and zipper soon followed, and my cock began to squirm in anticipation as she reached in and pried it out. The cool breeze dancing so pleasingly around the head almost made me forget how weird this situation was, but not quite. No matter how pleasantly surprised I was at what was occurring, I couldn’t help but wonder what was driving this woman. Who hurt her to the point where she would take a strange man’s cock in her hand at a whim – to prove a point – to hurt “him” back? She probably would have done anything for him. She probably did do anything for him, but that didn’t dissuade him. It didn’t discourage him from humiliating her - hurting her – abandoning her. Now here she was, pushed to the brink, holding my cock in her hands… inciting me.

The whimpering transformed into disheartening sobs as I began to grow firm and I didn’t know what to do, which seemed absurd, but I didn’t. Nor did I know what to say, which again seemed ludicrous. Just saying nothing would have been the smart thing, but the situation had changed since I walked into the park, saw her sitting there alone on the bench, and wondered if I could say the right words to get her to do me. Now like an asshole, I was beginning to give a shit.

It began to stiffen, no doubt, but oddly enough, I just didn’t feel right. Imagine that, because I still can’t. I wanted to know why. Why was she doing this? What did she hope to gain? Who was it that she wanted to hurt?

I reached down and grabbed her hand, trying to remove it, but she just held on, tightening her grip on my shaft like an anaconda on its prey, and for a moment she remained like that, still – my knob pulsing beneath her fingers… waiting. Again, my mind lost focus. What was her plan? What did she expect to get out of this? This was all too peculiar and unexpected, all too puzzling… and yet hot as hell.

That was it. I removed my hand from hers. She paused for a moment, ensuring that my hand was far enough away so as not to pose another threat to her objective. Then she gently loosened her grip and began stroking me. At that point all that I could think about was how unbelievably, amazing it felt.

My mind simply escaped me, as if it knew that it was about to be blown. It wanted to be unbridled and free, as euphoria selfishly consumed me, trapping me in an abyss of bliss. Strangely I could still hear her sobbing increasing as she held it, fondled it, tightening her grip around its blood engorged, vein thickened shaft. She pressed her back against me as my body tensed and spazzed. Her hold was firm with the task at hand, working it with the perfect measure of influence and velocity to maximize its release. She was determined to get all she could out of me – out of it. Her intention was to make this, one of the best, if not “the” best load that I’ve ever blown, and damn it, she did just that… as she cried. I shot like it was my first time and I was chock full to the hilt… as she bawled her eyes out. I shot hard and long, almost to the point where I thought my body would seize up and my cock would rupture. All the while her broken heart continued to shatter.

I felt her ease up on it as the last drop eluded me and on cue her crying died down to a whimper. Slowly she caressed it as it began to shrink down - spent – her head resting against my heaving chest. She never raised her head to look at me. She never looked away from it. She simply hung on to it, staring at it, for a moment that never seemed to end. Then as she slowly released it, she raised her head from my chest, sliding her cheek alongside mine and kissed me close to the ear. The night whispered in awe as she picked herself up off the bench and walked away. The stars stared down in disbelief at what had just transpired, and as I watched her walk away, I had mixed feelings about what had occurred. I should have felt fulfilled, pleased – one happy son of a bitch - but as a gentle wind gradually picked up, I could swear that I could faintly hear her sobbing in the breeze. Whatever was done to her – whomever had maliciously reached into her soul and played havoc with her vulnerability - nearly destroyed her. Oddly enough she was lucky that I happened along, and helped her through this, whatever this was. I presumed that this is how she needed it to be. Was it closure that she needed, and I was there, or was it just a way of her proving that she will be fine… in time? I don’t know. I just found myself wondering that if I had set out with better intentions, then maybe I could have actually helped her, then again, maybe me just being there was good enough. Go figure.