by David Cain

“Mmm. Pretty titties.”

Theresa turned suddenly, jolted by the voice from behind. Three men sat on a green park bench, their backs turned, their heads moving in slow synchronization as they watched a woman approach. Theresa rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the book in her lap.

“Excellent complexion,” spoke another voice in a controlled whisper, “healthy tan, slight curves. Probably a runner from the tone of her legs.”

“Look at those legs,” said the first man, rather excited. “Imagine those mammas wrapped around your waist. I do believe she needs a ride on Mr. Johnson.” He chuckled lewdly.

“Hair’s a tad dark and I think her breasts are a little flat. I like a perkier bosom.”

“Fuck, Ed, all they need’s a good suck. I’d make those boobies percolate.”

“Nice top, but I don’t like the shorts. No hug.”

“No way, Ed. You can’t tell me you care about her clothes. The whole idea is to get them off anyway.”

“The clothes she picked out to wear tells me things about her. It all goes into the calculation, Brian. She’s wearing shorts, better than pants, less than a skirt, conservative cut which subtracts from her tendency to let loose, running shoes, ankle socks with a little pink ball at the back. I think she has an athletic bra on, which would account for the flattened breasts.”

“I’d fuck her silly.”

“Eight point three,” Ed said with an air of finality.


“Tight assed bitch,” said the third man. “Look at that shit. All she thinks about is her fucking body. You can’t talk to a woman like that unless you want to conversate about shin splints and the high you get from torturing yourself for twenty miles.”

“I don’t want to talk to her,” said Brian. “I just want to fuck her.”

“All right, you’ve got a point Richard. Take her down to an seven point nine.”

“Shit. Do yourself a favor and let her run that little butt away.”

Theresa shook her head, unable to continue reading. She leaned back to feel the blaze of the sun warm her face. The leaves beyond the slope of hillside rustled with flickers of green silver.

“Out!” screamed the high pitched voice of a child.

“No way!” retorted another child. Theresa smiled and stole another glance at the three men on the bench. The young one, Brian she supposed, pushed a lock of his sandy colored hair away from his face, drawing Theresa’s attention to his forehead, gleaming beneath a receding hair line. Theresa smirked.

“By a mile!” squealed an angry child.

Theresa noticed a handsome man coming down the path, tall and lean with a full head of dark curls cascading down to his broad shoulders. She sighed as he turned off the black asphalt and sat down to lean against the thick trunk of an old oak. Theresa stared as the young man unzipped his blue satchel and withdrew a thick volume.

“Do overs!”

“No way!”

“Wow,” said Brian. Theresa turned to see. A small woman with huge breasts came bouncing over the crest of the hill. “Momma.”

“Too big,” said Ed.

“No such thing,” said Brian. “Tell me you don’t dream of sucking titties like hers. Squeeze them together and titty fuck the girl.”

“Ugh,” said Richard. “She’s a whiner.”

“I knew this one chick, Missy, with big bazooms like those and she loved having her titties fucked. Pointy nips. She always wanted me to shoot my wad on her face. Big eyes.”

“Six six.”

“With an ass like that?”

“Six five.”

“Ed, look at that ass. I’ll bet she’s a wicked witch in the sack.”

“And I’ll bet you’ve got a little dick,” said Theresa under her breath.

“She could be my ex-wife’s sister,” said Richard, disgusted. “Big hairy snatch and no imagination.”

“You’re twisted, man,” said Brian. Theresa smiled, considering the understatement.

“We pick Tad,” said a child on the field below.

“Kristen,” said another.


“Chris.” Giggles erupted into rollicking laughter.

Theresa watched the man beneath the oak as he turned a page of his book, wondering what he was reading. The book was cloth bound, no dust cover, just a pale blue volume with a glimmer of gold embossing. Theresa felt her nipples tighten, deciding the book was probably fiction, hoping against spies or adventure. Horror would be all right, although she preferred something with a vampire. Maybe something classic, rich with allusion and poetry. Theresa stretched her lean legs out, ticking her bare thighs with the thick carpet of grass. A warmth flowed between her legs, watching him read.

“Mommacita,” said Brian.

“Beautiful, beautiful skirt. Look at those hips gyrate.”

“She is fucking hot. I can smell that pussy from here. I’ll bet she’s not wearing panties.”

“You’re dreaming.”

“I’m telling you. No bra, either. Look at that jiggle.”

“She’s a slut,” said Richard.

“My favorite flavor,” said Brian.

“Nine point two.”

“Twelve point twelve, with a bullet,” countered Brian.

“She could be prettier,” said Ed. “Her face, I mean.”

“You don’t fuck a face,” said Brian. “I do, but you don’t.” Brian fell off the bench, laughing. “Your wife still won’t give you a blow job?”

“Like Mags is going to change.”

“That marriage would be over, if I were you.”

“Yeah, well, there’s more to it than getting your dick licked.”

“I don’t know,” said Brian, sitting in the dirt, tossing up dust clouds with his hand. “Living with a chick is hard enough.”

“Harder than you know,” said Richard.

“Shit,” said Brian. “You just need a woman who knows how to satisfy. The rest is words and sleeping.”

“Right,” said Richard. “I’ll ask you about that in ten years, boy.”

“I’d die smiling after ten years of that twat.”

“After your ten minutes of love, she’d be off looking for another guy and you’d be snoozing in dreamland.”


“Ha!” said Richard.

“Michael’s on our team,” said a child in the field.

“Then we get Jerry.”

“I’m not playing on Cindy’s team.”

“Who wants you?”

“You know what I like,” said Richard. “A woman who can just hang, you know, spend some lazy time doing nothing, like this. The women in this city are all looking for something. I’ve got to get out of this up-tight place.”

“I’m going to LA,” said Brian. “This fall, a buddy of mine is moving down there and I’m going to stay with him and find a job.”

“Worse,” said Richard.

“Wait,” said Ed. “What about that one?”

“Where?” asked Brian.

“There,” said Ed, nodding toward the south. Theresa watched as another woman came into view.

“You’re kidding me,” said Brian.

“Oh well,” said Ed. “She looked good for a moment.”

“You guys are so full of shit,” said Richard. “Like you can tell anything about a woman half a mile away.”

“The whole package includes the wrapper,” said Brian, “and if she doesn’t fire my afterburners, what’s the fucking point?”

“What is the fucking point?” asked Richard.

“Hell if I know,” said Brian, “but I have to get my rocks off.”

“Don’t get married,” said Ed. “Seven three.”

“Shit,” said Brian. “Don’t marry Mags, you mean.”

“I’m telling you. But don’t mind me. You’ll find out.”

“I know better,” said Brian. “You just have to score the right babe.”

“No such thing,” said Richard. “I knew one I thought was right, but then she married an accountant and moved to Jersey.”


“Andy was fine.”

“Accountant? Head for numbers, eh?” Brian laughed hard. “Giving head for numbers,” he sputtered.

“Yeah, yeah. I got stupid when she dumped me and I married Jackie on the rebound.”

“Did she give head?” asked Brian.

“Nope. I wouldn’t let her. Nasty woman.”

“You were stupid.”

“We all are.”

Theresa picked up her purse and dusted a few blades of grass from the red pattern embossed on the back of her thighs. She shook her head as she glanced at the men on the bench and started up the slow incline of the hill. The children below laughed happily as they kicked a red rubber ball over the dusty diamond. Theresa took slow steps toward the oak tree. Nervousness spread through her breast as she tried to feel casual. She tried to talk herself out of continuing, but something pushed her forward.

“No way!”

“It was out of bounds!’

“You’re out!”

“No way!”

“Excuse me,” Theresa said as she drew near the handsome man. He didn’t even look up. “Excuse me,” she repeated. Sultry blue eyes finally glared at her, seemingly annoyed by her intrusion.


“Do you have the time?”

“No,” he said abruptly, frowning and looking back at his book.

“Oh,” said Theresa, blushing deeply. “Sorry.” He said nothing.

Theresa made her way back to the asphalt path and deliberately walked toward the bench. “What does he know?” she asked herself. “Stiff.” The three men sat quietly, watching her. Theresa looked at the soft bubbling clouds above the distant horizon, avoiding the eyes fixed on her approach. A few crude terms drifted softly through the breeze and Theresa felt herself smile. Richard sat stiff and cocked his head sideways. Ed, a large man, his white oxford clinging to the sweaty bulge of his male breasts, seemed to be turning numbers through his head. Brian almost drooled, talking obscenely. Theresa felt each step as she walked past the three judges.

“What pretty titties.”

“Nine point seven.”

“Almost,” said Richard. “Almost worth the heartache.”

“Fuck them all,” Theresa said with a smile, strutting proudly. “Fuck them all.”

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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