I’m sitting on a bench, writing a story on my tablet, with my legs stretched out in front of me on the upholstered seat. It’s not a bench meant to be outdoors, this one has a padded back, armrests, and seat, more than comfortable enough to sit on and relax or stretch out on and take a nap. I frequently do one or the other, and sometimes both. The location of the bench is hidden by a quirk in the architecture of the building that hides it from the view of just about everyone, and is further screened by a row of tall potted plants.
A woman slips through the small gap between the plants and walks over to the bench. Her dress has a fitted top, showcasing a modest curvy chest, displaying a bit of cleavage through the lace-edged deep V in the front. The hem at the bottom of her dress would be brushing the floor except for the glossy platform stiletto heels she is wearing. She looks at where my feet are resting, and I bend my knees, keeping them flat on the cushions, creating more space for her to sit down if she wants to.
She takes my movement as an invitation, sits at the other end of the bench, and takes out her phone.
We sit that way for a while, keeping to ourselves but not ignoring each other. We discreetly check each other out without making it obvious that is what we are doing. It’s easy for me because of how I am angled, with my tablet resting on my legs facing her. All I have to do is glance up from the screen.
She's sitting with her back in the corner where the armrest meets the back of the bench with her feet stretched out in front of her, and all she has to do is turn her head slightly to look at me, which she does several times. The next time she sees me looking at her, she slips her glossy shoes off, and the seam running across the front of her pedicured and polished toes comes into view, confirming that her legs aren’t naked.
Her body shifts toward me as she brings her feet onto the bench, tenting the bottom of her dress over her raised and bent knees, and hiding her feet from view as she places them behind my bent knees. We sit that way for a while, until she slips her hand between the back of the bench and her bent knees, and adjusts her skirt a little, then slips her hand underneath it.
She takes my top foot and removes my sock, then spreads her knees slightly and guides my foot between her legs to the inside of her thighs. The bottoms of my toes are pushed against the nylon covering the leg that's resting against the back of the bench.
Neither of us is moving. I'm just leaving my toes where they are.
She's the first one to move, pulling my foot closer to her until my toes are resting on the edge of the lace band at the top of her stocking.
I curl my toes, rubbing them back and forth along the edge where the lace ends and her naked skin begins. She’s not satisfied with that and pulls my foot higher, until my toes are resting in the crease where her thigh meets her hip. Then she waits for my move. I move my big toe away from her leg and over toward her other leg, but don’t go that far, stopping when I don’t encounter any fabric covering the skin between them. My toe explores the area, running over the smooth bare skin until it lands on a small bump. She presses against my toe, and I flex it, rubbing against the pea-sized shape.
