I perch on the Miracle Bench every Sunday. High on that gravel hill, under the massive parasol pine. Pond sparkles below. Distant sea haze. Retired folks repainted it bright. Flowers, birds. Legend says singles meet soulmates here. I’m 32, virgin, desperate for love. Routine calms me. Months pass. Alone.
Autumn Sunday. He’s there. Skinny guy in black. Greasy hair strands. Binoculars glued to the pond. ‘Harles!’ he mutters. Heart skips. Not my dream prince. But I sit. ‘Mind if I join?’ He nods. Talks birds nonstop. Blue eyes pierce. Smells my perfume. Asks why I’m here. I confess the legend. He shrugs. Lends binoculars. I fumble.
The Awakening: Tension Builds on the Bench
He admits shyness. No girlfriend. Panics with girls. I coach compliments. ‘Nice mouth.’ Bold. Then blunt: ‘You dress like a granny. Hide those big tits.’ Shock hits. But truth stings. We bond weirdly. He offers shopping help. Crazy. I agree.
Saturday city streets swarm. He picks outfits. I dodge. Deal: Try three or ice cream. First dress: Summer floral. Zip sticks. Call him in. He gawks. ‘Hot!’ Zips down slow. Sees my ass, white panties. His breath hitches. I feel it.
Next: Sheer blouse. Bra shows. ‘Ditch it.’ Crazy. I do. Tits free. Nipples poke. He bursts: ‘Fucking perfect rack. Never seen better.’ Heat floods me. Tight jeans next. Squeeze in. Pin-up curves stare back. Body on fire. Forbidden thrill pulses.
Lingerie shop. Red sheer set. His hard cock brushes my hip whispering. Panics me. Try? Heart races. Buy blind. Drive home tense. He confesses desire. ‘Wanna fuck you.’ Virgin walls crack. ‘Come home. Fuck me.’ Words tumble out.
The Act: Raw Passion Unleashed
Apartment. Bedroom. Nounours flies. Kiss explodes. Tongue invades. Hands everywhere. Clothes rip off. Fingers probe pussy. Wet gush. Thumb on clit. Orgasm rips. I scream, squirt, soak sheets. Shame? No. Pure rush.
His cock limp. Panic. I suck. Salty, warm. Grows thick, veiny. He mounts. Pushes in. Tight stretch burns sweet. Fills me full. Pumps hard. Tits bounce. Pussy slurps. Clit grinds. Second cum shatters. He pulls, sprays hot cum on tits, sheets.
We fuck nonstop. Twenty-four hours. His babble silences with kisses, handjobs. Not love. Lust addiction. He dresses me sexy now. Cooks. Bird spots for trips. Family later. Kids quirky.
Annually, bench ritual. He birds. I wait prince. None comes. Hand in hand home. Secret thrill: My weirdo owns this pussy. Society blind. Here, I confess. Transgression fuels me.