We master the art of accidentally meeting. Today it is in the park around the corner from your office. It is windy and I keep one hand on my skirt–not sure yet if I want you to know how even when I was getting dressed that I thought about fucking you.
There is almost no one around us, but still you start the charade. “How strange to see you here,” you say, loudly. Then almost in a whisper, “I’m hard already.”
“I needed the fresh air,” I reply, letting go of my skirt, wanting the wind to lift it enough to show you what I’m not wearing.
We walk along the cement path, talking about nothing. Making sure to mention our spouses, our kids. It’s almost as if speaking about them proves what is happening between us has nothing to do with them.
Your hand moves to my back and moves me from the path toward an enormous willow tree with branches that touch the ground.
We slip between the branches and the trunk, hiding from the few joggers and strollers in the park. “I can’t stop thinking about your cock,” I say.