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Leaning against the creaking gate I took a sip of water and waited for my breathing to level off. My stamina was getting better I told myself, but I was going to have to switch to a new location. The park was way too crowded to have a quiet run. Even though it was not yet seven o’clock I’d come across three people already!
It was a shame really. It was a nice place. The late autumn colours were truly majestic in the early morning sunlight – especially those around the edges of the lake. But even at this hour people crunched along the gravelly paths unknowingly insulting me with their mechanical cheery smiles.
I detested them. I loathed the falseness. The way their mouths smiled but their eyes didn’t as if they were walking and talking ventriloquist dummies. It was all a charade, like the majority of human interaction.
I longed to tell them that I didn’t need their token greetings – that they were wasting their energies. But that would involve me stopping to communicate verbally; something I hated doing.
Instead I concentrated fiercely on pushing myself that extra mile, feeling the burn and most of all, ignoring the pain. And no, I don’t mean physical pain, I mean emotional.
There were other ways to accomplish this I knew. But this seemed to be the least destructive. When life turned shitty some people sought out counsellors or turned to drink and drugs. I chose to run instead.
For one thing it is a solitary pass time. There was no need to interact with anyone unless you really wanted to – and secondly it required virtually no thought. Just will power and determination plus a certain level of fitness. All things that I possess in abundance thanks to attending the school of hard knocks.
It might sound boastful of me to say that, but to leave your entire life behind and start all over again the way I had four years ago took guts/determination… whatever you want to call it. That and something life-changingly awful to instigate it.
Pushing off from the gate post I set off in the direction of the car park focusing on nothing else beyond putting one foot in front of the other. Pretty much like life really.
By the time I got there I was completely spent, having jogged round the park four times already. Aching from head to foot and feeling like lead I sagged against the car door, panting like a blood hound. (Not a pretty sight I’m sure!)
But what did I care? I wasn’t there to look pretty. As far as I was concerned, what anyone thought of me in that direction was inconsequential
…well, most of the time.
Suddenly I took a cramp in my right leg, underneath my thigh. I hissed sharply and squatted on the uneven ground, extending my right leg slowly. This flexed the offending muscles and that combined with me kneading frantically dispersed the pain, much to my relief.
My legs still felt like jelly though making it hard to stand. I was trying my best to coax them to life when two pert looking blonde girls trotted by giggling at my lack of grace not to mention my androgynous mud spattered clothing. My lack of full make up and skin tight lycra must have been a matter of great hilarity, as they continued to laugh for almost three hundred and fifty yards.
I turned away and wondered at their narrow-mindedness. To them their looks were probably their main asset. Without them they’d probably fade into insignificance.
Isn’t that where you are? My subconscious pointed out ungraciously.
Of course not! I thought, squaring my shoulders. I worked very hard to be noticed. Just not in the same way that they did.
For four years straight I’d been working my way up through the different departments at Hargreaves and Brent, making the right contacts in order to oil the wheels of my career. Without me Hargreaves and Brent would never have signed up authors like Leonard W Corbishley or Shania Pritchard and novels like Only One Night and In The Blink of An Eye would never have made it to the top one hundred most read novels of the century.
Yes indeed, they had a lot to thank me for. And I sure as hell, didn’t get where I was by flashing my tits and wiggling my arse!
Smirking a tad demonically, I sat down in the front seat of my car and flung my trainers carelessly over my shoulder and into the back seat. It wasn’t like me to be so blasé (I lived and breathed tidiness most of the time.) But I reckoned it was most likely an overspill of confidence at the prospect of this morning’s meeting combined with an undercurrent of rebellion at encountering those perfectly preened blondes.
I turned on the radio and ironically the sounds of an ancient punk anthem filled the air. Instead of changing station as I would usually do, I pulled down the sun visor, looked in the mirror and mussed my sweaty hair.
I grinned and gave a little rebellious pout, feeling as though I was back in high school again.
What had gotten into me? I was damned if I knew. With a nervous giggle I turned the key in the ignition with a flick of my wrist and drove away revving noisily. Time to go home, get showered and claim what was mine – the position of chief editor at Hargreaves and Brent.
Once home I checked my messages (which took all of two seconds as there were none) and then headed straight for the shower. My bathroom was sparse just like everything else in my life. No ridiculous strawberry shaped shower puffs or rose petal scented body lotions lined my shelves. I viewed that sort of thing as a waste of time and money.
That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy showering. It was good to wash off, but all I needed was my soap on a rope and shampoo. Not a thousand and one products designed to render me irresistible to any man I might encounter.
I didn’t need a man in my life. I could take care of myself. And that was what I proceeded to do standing beneath the steaming shower head.
I didn’t have time for much, as my meeting was scheduled for nine thirty. It would have to be a quickie – a tension reliever more than anything else.
I sighed and worked the shampoo into a lather using the dreamy soft bubbles to soap up my body, letting my hands slide easily over my breasts and hips without hindrance. Using the soft pads of my fingers I tested the slickness of my entrance from behind.
Disappointingly the water had washed most of it away, so slipped an exploratory finger inside and swirled it around gently. I found it a haven of creaminess inside.
I decided to turn around and lean forward so that the shower head was directed over the soft swell of my breasts and nipples. That way they were stimulated too and water no longer washed away my own special brand of lube.
That felt divine. Those multiple points of contact raised my nipples to attention just nicely. Looking down I watched the water trickle from their dusky pink tips, and imagined someone crouched beneath drinking it like nectar, then suckling me tenderly with their lips and tongue.
I lifted my left breast as if to offer it. But of course no one was there. So instead I bent my head low and found my own nipple, giving it a rough little suck.
I groaned as my labia quivered in response, releasing a teasing trickle onto my inner thigh. I loved that feeling of wetness spreading from my arousal. It mimicked the feeling of warm cum seeping out from my thoroughly filled pussy. But sadly that hadn’t happened in a while and I had to admit that I missed it. I pushed a second finger between my hot, swollen lips and imagined it to be the thrust of some horny studs cock. I could almost imagine his balls slapping up against me, heavy and ripe with their delicious burden.
At that point I’d have given anything for the real thing.
“Fuck me,” I whispered splaying out my legs.
My fingers pushed in and out making naughty sucking noises. I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined what my cunt might feel like to a man – what he would be feeling as he ploughed his way into my soft, superheated, moisture laden slit. I wondered how quickly I could make him ejaculate. I licked my lips languorously at the thought of it.
I pulled out my fingers for a moment and smiled at the bead of ivory coloured juice that rolled down towards the end of my fingertips. I held them up for a few seconds more in order to let the fluid gather whilst I circled my clit lazily with the other hand.
Taking one last look at the imaginary man juice on my fingers I plunged them inside as deeply as they would go, thinking about those heavy balls pressed up against my softness, pumping me for all they were worth.
I groaned and rode the wave of pleasure, scissoring my fingers as I came forcefully.
With a wistful sigh I finished my shower then wandered into my bedroom clutching a towel about me as I thought about what to wear for the office…