The park at midnight was meant to be empty. That was the whole point—escape from flat, clear my head, avoid human interaction.
She ruined the plan completely.
She came jogging past just as I was sitting down—all long legs and sports bra, blonde ponytail bouncing, AirPods in, completely in her own world.
Then she saw me and stopped.
"The fuck you doing out here?" she demanded, pulling out an earbud.
"Sitting. Thinking. Not being murdered, hopefully."
"Bit creepy though, innit? Bloke alone in the park at midnight?"
"Says the woman jogging alone in the park at midnight."
She considered this. "Fair point." She didn't leave. "Mind if I sit? Need to catch my breath."
"It's a public bench."
"Cheers for the permission." She sat down, started stretching. The sports bra was working overtime. "I'm Taylor."
"James."
"James. Nice. Very sensible name." She bent forward, touching her toes. "What's got you sitting in the dark looking moody then?"
"Shit day. Needed to think."
"Thinking's overrated." She sat back up, looked at me properly. "You know what's better than thinking?"
"What?"
"Not thinking." She grinned. "I have ideas."
Her "ideas" involved pulling me off the bench and behind a large oak tree that provided reasonable cover from the path.
"This is insane," I said.
"Probably." She was already pulling up her sports bra. "You complaining?"
"No."
"Then shut up and touch me."
Her tits were small and perfect, nipples already hard from the cold. I took one in my mouth and she gasped.
"Fuck—yes—that's good—"
She shoved down her running leggings, revealing a tiny thong that I pushed aside.
"Fingers first," she breathed. "Need to be ready."
I found her wet, ready, eager. She moaned as I worked her, one hand braced against the tree.
"More—need more—"
I dropped to my knees, buried my face between her thighs. She tasted like salt and desperation.
"Oh fuck—right there—"
She came on my tongue, shaking, barely staying quiet. Then she pulled me up, yanked at my jeans.
"Inside me. Now."
I lifted her—she was light, all athletic muscle—and pressed her against the tree. She wrapped her legs around me, guided me in.
"Move—please—"
I fucked her against that oak tree, the bark rough under my hands, her moans barely muffled against my shoulder.
"So good—harder—"
She came again, biting my neck to stay quiet. I followed seconds later, pulling out at the last moment.
We cleaned up with tissues she had in her running pouch ("Always prepared," she said), and sat back on the bench.
"Well," she said. "That was better than running."
"Different kind of cardio."
"Better kind." She pulled out her phone. "Number. I run this route every Tuesday and Thursday."
"Same time?"
"Same time." She kissed me quickly, then stood, stretching again. "Might need a regular cool-down buddy."
"I'm very good at cooling down."
"We'll see." She winked, put her AirPods back in, and jogged off into the darkness.
I walked home feeling significantly better about life.
Best park visit ever.