She sat down silently on the bench in the park. She needed space, but not in a way that made her feel alone. He was certain he could see sadness in her eyes, but he knew it wasn’t his place to pry, speculate, or intrude.

The need to distract herself from dark thoughts felt overwhelming. They had shared good times, but she had made the courageous decision to move on and start anew. It was painful but essential.

She felt no discomfort at him sitting there and turned to look at him. He had the satisfied expression she hoped to see in the mirror one day. She did not envy him; he was, in a way, what she aspired to become someday.

"Make me smile like you are," she said, looking at his face.

Her request was not one he had been expecting. He wanted to reward her courage, but he knew what he had to offer was not for everyone.

"The smiles I create are in my style. They will offend some and be inappropriate for others, but it is how I try to bring happiness," he explained.

His words sounded like a beautiful song to her when she heard them. Her recent past had been littered with apathy, a lack of empathy, and sadness. Fate had intervened.

Without saying a word, he reached into the bag he had brought and pulled out some typed sheets of paper. It was his latest story, and he had printed a copy to place in a binder.

She stood up and moved to sit beside him, wanting to feel him close as she read. He smiled, and she smiled back before beginning to read.

The story was simple but rich in description, and she soon found the images he painted with his words flooding her mind. The visions were vibrant, filled with optimism and joy.

The plot unfolded gradually, allowing her to pause and enjoy the escapism his words had unlocked.

She stopped reading when she reached the part of the story where the two main characters began to massage each other's bodies.

“Could you read to me instead? I'm too distracted to concentrate and may soon need my hands for something else. If you read and hold my hand for now, that would be lovely,” she said, smiling at him.

He nodded, standing up briefly to remove his coat, placing it over her legs to allow her to slip her touch beneath it away from any passing gaze, should she feel the need to. The gesture alone was a source of rich arousal as intense as words, sounds of reading, or anticipation had been.

As he described a long, slow massage over her breasts and aroused nipples, she saw visions of it so detailed that she could feel each movement as she heard him speak. When she heard him talk about her wet pleasure sending sensations around her body, it was recounting reality for her while also being a part of his story.

"I'm struggling for words here, but in case you're wondering..."

Her words tailed off as she slipped fingertips inside her knickers and held them, erotically coated, silently against his lips. She did this with a smile of pure pleasure and escalating arousal.

He spoke of deep, long kisses pulling at her aroused nipples and a touch slipping down her body in an unhurried, sensual descent. Her body responded to each movement, and her need to push her fingers deeper and faster inside was intensifying with every second.

"Swap hands with your story, please," she said with a sense of urgency in her voice.

He complied with her request at once and without questioning the motive.

As she listened to his description of fingertips slipping onto her aroused wetness that bathed her gorged clit, she was possessed by a panic of arousal. He spoke of his touch beginning to thrust as she seized his free hand, making it clear she wanted him to bring his story to life beneath his coat, which was hiding chaos beneath it.

He read. He thrust. She swung her body's force against his fingers to send him deeper. She giggled. She moaned. She began to tremble erotically.

She gripped the park bench with one hand and his clothing with the other as his touch danced, probed, and circled, pushed deeper by her movements against him.

He spoke of her trembling. She trembled. He spoke of her laboured breathing. She panted. He described her body burning with desire, and it did.

Behind half-closed eyes, she saw beautiful colours with each thrust she made on his deep touch. She heard music of untold beauty in the park's stillness and smelt the fresh fields' sweetness.

Pumping onto his touch, her head rocked out of control as wild noise tumbled from her lips. As he spoke of her body exploding into an unrestrained climax, reality brought a similar consequence: a loud scream of joyful release ringing out into the autumnal air.

"Thank you, sir. Thank you a thousand times," she cried out, his touch now exciting her most treasured of places.

His deep, fast, circling attention and powerful counter-thrusts delivered a climax of unmatched intensity for her, and it rolled on timelessly. Each wave was announced loudly. Every phase brought new heights and pictures to her mind. It was a release in every sense of the word.

"Tomorrow, I fly to the other side of the world. A new life. New adventures to create. A fresh start. You have made my lasting memory of what will forever be 'the park bench of hope,' one I will treasure forever," she said with a smile as she walked away.