The park where I’m walking the dog is the shape of a lozenge, and will take perhaps twenty minutes to walk around, or maybe five minutes to jog. Today is a chilly but sunny October morning, the leaves have begun to fall, ushering in the arrival of Autumn. I’m strolling along, no rush, and with my hands in my pockets, enjoying the sun’s warmth on my face, and being entertained by the antics of Daisy, my Labrador. It’s a good day.
I plan to do two or three circuits this morning, and every so often I need to look behind me, to check where the dog is; she’s usually happily snuffling around in the leaves. This time though, I look back, and there is a runner coming toward us, a woman. As she approaches, she smiles at Daisy with a broad, beautiful smile. Seconds later, she passes me, about three feet away. The first thing I sense is her scent—not a perfume but a fresh, clean, natural fragrance as if she’d only just stepped from the shower. I allow myself a glimpse of her as she almost silently passes by. She's probably in her mid-twenties or early thirties, about 5’6”, a gym-fit physique, and dressed in a black long-sleeve running top, black leggings, and white running shoes. She has ear buds, presumably playing music. My eyes are irresistibly drawn to her beautifully shaped buttocks, encapsulated by the thin material of the leggings.
And all too quickly she is gone, a tantalising, fleeting moment.
I continue my stroll, kicking the odd conker along the path for fun, thinking about work and the tasks for the rest of the day. A few minutes later, I make out the light footsteps of an approaching runner. I turn my head instinctively to see that it’s the same woman as before, completing another circuit of the park. I catch the same fresh scent on the breeze as she passes, my eyes are drawn again to the beauty and shape of her behind. This time I notice how her perfectly formed glutes form a deep, smooth convergence as they disappear between her legs, and how her hamstrings define the subtly muscular shape of the back of her thighs.
All this gorgeous, sensorial information is processed in a split second. Daisy is a little ahead of me this time, and as the woman passes, she puts out an arm to playfully wave at the dog.
The woman half turns her head to me and calls back, “What’s her name?”
I am instantly befuddled and for an instant I actually can’t remember it.
“Erm… it’s D...Daisy,” I stutter. Her beauty has reduced me to a shy schoolboy, asked by the most beautiful girl in the year for the time.
The woman continues her run around the park, but this time I keep watching her as she jogs with a regular and elegant running style, her small ponytail bobbing in rhythm with her action. My imagination begins to take hold as I continue past the main gate and the cafe. This woman is so sexy, so friendly, and obviously confident in her own skin. I imagine what it might be like to have a conversation with her, but what would we have in common? Minutes pass as I daydream a rather predictable sexual fantasy, but even so, my penis twitches in my jeans approvingly.
After a few minutes, any other erotic thoughts quickly disperse as once again I hear the same pattern of steps behind me. This time I half-turn to make eye contact, and smile. She beams back at me, her perfect teeth a dazzling white against her full lips, her skin a healthy glow, her dark eyes dark sparkle with health.
“Sorry, I meant to say, it’s Daisy,” I repeat, even though I was pretty certain she’d heard the first time.
Then, after a few paces, she comes to a halt, her arms swinging as she comes to a stop. She reaches for the smartwatch on her wrist, pulls out her ear buds, and stuffs them into a tiny pocket. She then bends over a few feet in front of me, and with her hands on her shins, she stretches down even further. Her beautiful behind is now exaggerated in its definition, I can see the clear outline of her buttocks and the gorge in-between her legs. A delta of sweat has formed at her crotch. She breathes in, straightens up, exhales, and turns towards me with her hands on her hips. Her cheeks are flushed but glistening in the morning sunlight.
“Hi, I’m Emma,” she says, and then she looks at Daisy.
“Your dog, she’s beautiful,” says Emma. “May I stroke her?"
“Sure,” I blurt and call Daisy over.
Daisy is instantly at her feet and Emma squats down, one thigh slightly lower than the other, which makes her leggings stretch over her visible mound, forming a subtle camel-toe. The dark patch of sweat extends from the back to the front. As I stand looking down at her, I notice she has styled her dark hair into a knot, leaving a few strands free that help define her cheekbones. The soft shape of her breasts, clearly outlined under the tailored running jacket, creates a seductive athletic profile. As she pets Daisy, I can see on one of her fingers the glint of a silver ring, and a matching thin silver band on her wrist.
“She obviously likes you,” I say as Daisy nuzzles and licks Emma’s neck. She giggles, stands up, and looks me straight in the eye, her expression quizzical, smiling and friendly.
“Hi, by the way, I’m James,” I say.
I am entranced by this vision of loveliness. My attention is so bound up in this exchange and the proximity of this beautiful, playful, perspiring and sexually confident woman that I don’t notice that the sun had rapidly disappeared, to be replaced by scowling grey rainclouds. In fact, sprinkles of rain are already settling on my face before Emma says, with another of her giggles…
“Oh no, it looks like we are going to get wet,” She then points across the now deserted park to the café on the other side.
“See you there, you can buy me a coffee.”
I muster a half-pronounced “okay, sure, of course.”
And with that she smiles, turns and continues her run around the perimeter.
In a slight daze, and with growing anticipation, I set off across the park towards the café with Daisy. It takes around ten minutes. From a distance, I can see that the café lights are on, the sky has darkened further, and the rain has begun falling steadily. As I approach, I can just see through the fogged-up windows that Emma has already arrived at the café and that she and another person are having what seems like an intense conversation. It’s as if they know each other, but disagree on something. They stop the conversation when they see me approaching, so I cannot really be sure.
The café is an old converted cricket pavilion with a painted timber-clad exterior. I climb the steps and open the door, wipe my feet and step into the warm interior. Inside is a wooden floor covered with an assortment of worn rugs, and I inhale the fug of ‘old shed’ created by the dampness bought in from outside. There is a long counter at one end of the room supporting an espresso machine, a water boiler and a cake display cabinet. There’s a mixture of tables and chairs of different styles dotted around. Framed pictures and posters adorn the painted walls and an assortment of lamps, and dozens of second-hand books sit on the shelves. At the other end of the room is a large partition, with what I guess are storerooms behind.
Apart from Emma, the café is empty, apart from a tall, elegant woman behind the counter, whom I assume is the person Emma was talking to. She is older than me, and is folding newly laundered tea towels into neat piles. She has dark hair pulled abruptly back into a ponytail, expertly applied make-up, including deep red lipstick, and large hooped earrings. I’d describe her as eye-catchingly attractive, in a Trinity/Matrix kind of way, and she immediately strikes me as someone who does not suffer fools gladly. She wears a black polar-necked jumper, knitted tartan mini-skirt, and black stockings or tights. I cannot see her shoes. I immediately notice that her jumper is tight fitting and extremely flattering, defining the smooth profile of the bra she wears underneath, and which helps to shape her breasts to a beautiful slightly pointed form. Her hands are elegant, her fingernails painted with dark red nail varnish, and on one slender finger is a silver single ring. On her wrist is a single silver band.
Undoubtedly she is another strong, confident woman, instantly attractive, but in a very different way to Emma. In fact, this woman isn’t the kind of person I’d expect to see behind the counter of a cafe, or even in a park café at all.
Emma turns to face me, smiles at Daisy and beckons us over.
“Ha ha, you got wet.” she chides in her playful way.
Emma takes Daisy’s lead from my hand, softly brushing my fingers as she does so, and proceeds to kneel down to dry Daisy’s wet coat with one of the newly laundered tea towels. This is understandably annoying for the other woman and, irritated, she snatches the towel away from Emma’s grasp, replacing it with a used hand towel from under the counter. It is only then that she looks at me.
“Emma tells me you are James,” she says.
The woman’s voice is precise and enunciated, she speaks deliberately with no hint of an accent of any kind. Her eyes are piercing, dark, and look straight into mine, as if sizing up my soul. Her hands are firmly on her hips which enhances the prominence of her breasts and her tapered waist, her legs are slightly apart creating a silhouette that is powerful and arousing. As with my encounter with Emma, I find my mental capacity completely diminished by the presence of these incredible women.
“Um, great to meet you.” I mumble pathetically.
She looks back across at Emma who is now standing up and leaning forward against the counter, her breasts resting on her arms that cross her abdomen, her beautiful behind slightly raised, one leg crossing the other, and smiling at the exchange. She tilts her head slightly and nods. Bella looks back at me, her gaze as straight as a laser.
“I am Bella.” she says.
The rain is now torrential. The rumble of thunder and the white noise from the rain on the roof, creates a sense of warm shelter. Daisy has now settled down into a corner. For me though, the presence of these two women means the atmosphere is dense and charged with an almost kinetic energy.
“There’ll be no customers now, I will close for the day,” says Bella suddenly, looking at Emma.
She strides across the room to the front door with all the panache of a catwalk model, her hips slightly swaying, arms to the side, and looking straight ahead. I now see that she wears expensive looking, black, high-heeled shoes which produce a crisp, confident ‘clack’ on the wooden floor as she walks. She turns the door key, pulls the bolts closed, and turns the sign so it reads OPEN to those on the inside.
She then turns to me, “You’d better get dry, follow me.” Her voice is commanding, hypnotic.
Dutifully I follow Bella as she struts toward the partition at the end of the room, each step in those shoes is like a small gunshot. Behind the partition are WC’s, a cloakroom and stores. Beyond that is an extension room piled high with boxes of the supplies a café needs; racks of coffee, tins, packets and crockery, some picnic rugs.
Suddenly, out of sight of the main room, Bella spins around and pins me against the wall. With splayed hands, she digs her fingernails into my chest, and with her face an inch from mine, she pushes violently against me. My cock is instantly alerted as her thighs thrust hard against my groin, an electrifying display of dominant intent. Her hot, sweet, breath mixed with the scent of her lipstick is deeply arousing. With her fierce, penetrating stare, she seems to be challenging me, testing me.
She says with a low, forceful voice, “Emma is not for you. When the rain stops, take your dog and leave.”
With that, she withdraws one step, and not taking her eyes from mine, takes a hand towel from a pile and tosses it toward me. Bella struts back to the main room to Emma, leaving me aroused, confused and just a little bit scared.
I tell myself I should leave now despite the rain, because whatever is going on between Emma and Bella it does not include me. However erotic and arousing the prospect of any sexual contact is with Emma, or for that matter with Bella, it surely cannot end well. I start to dry my hair with the towel, and return to the main room to collect Daisy.
There, the imposing figure of Bella is beginning to prepare the espresso machine. Two white cups are face down on the warmer. She is entirely focused on the grinding of the coffee, adjusting the water pressure, and beginning the milk preparation. The grinding and hissing from the espresso machine, and the white noise from the heavy rain outside, is almost deafening. The presence of these two incredible women is a multi-sensory overload. I’m finding it difficult to think.