The Park

The air is strangely chilly for a summers night, a full moon hangs in the inky black sky, accompanied by hundreds of dazzling stars, you almost get lost in them as you step along the cobblestone trail that winds through the park.

In truth when you picked this place it hadn’t been for the scenic view, it was well known that the park was an easy hookup spot for students, with it being located in the very center of the city with many large bushes and trees to obscure the view of outsiders.

Walking through the park at night, it feels like a world all in itself, the city outside May as well not exist, all that’s left is you the stars and soon; your teacher.

It appears you’ve gotten here first, with no sign of Ms Baxter anywhere around the playground, which is just as well, it gives you some time to think, something that will be in short supply once your meal arrives.

You take a seat on one of the swings, gently using your legs to sway you forward and back as you stare up into the night sky.

You think back on your life, the person you were only a couple of day ago, the person who so desperately clung to who they THOUGHT they were that they were utterly disinterested in anything that could challenge that, it’s hard to decide whether you should laugh that you could have been such a person such a short while ago or to mourn all that lost time.

How many futas hit on you growing up? How many years did you waste pining after some girl who had no interest in boys at all?

After all who could blame them, you know now just how irresistible they are, you know that no “Man” alive could ever compare, not in terms of raw power or what they could bring to the table.

More then a few philosophers have said that humanity as a species are driven by sex and reproduction, if that’s true then naturally futas would rise to the top, stronger, faster, smarter, and with the sex organs to reproduce with anyone, it’s so obvious now.

Then your thoughts turn to the M.I.F and you just can’t help but be gripped by a deep feeling of pity.

They don’t understand but how could they? Their very creed restricts them from gaining prospective, they make some fair points but their greatest quality is the very thing that weighs them down, slowly drowning the movement.

They are zealous to their very core, the only way to agree with them is to be exactly like them, they don’t associate with sympathetic futas or even males who have been with a futa creating an echo chamber where growth and debate are smothered in their crib.

You’re interrupted from your internal monologue, this moment of pseudo intellectual introspection by the sound of someone on the path, you slouch down a bit, half wondering if it’s her or another couple.

Sure enough, what rounds the bend of trees is none other then your teacher, Ms Baxter wearing something you had grown to expect from her.

In all the time of knowing her, you’ve known her to wear two things, sundresses and mom jeans without much variety outside of those two camps.

The moons light highlights her body perfectly, the wind gently catches the hem of her dress causing it to flow almost cinematically.

As she approaches the details come into focus, the dress she wears is noticeably nicer than her other clothes, maybe it’s new…?

She wears dark flats that match her dress, and her hair has been let down, running down her shoulders like a waterfall as black as the night sky, all that’s missing is the stars.

If you didn’t know any better you’d have swore that she looks dolled up, her lips are painted a deep rosy red with an extra bit of shading around her eyes.

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose a soft, slightly shy smile graces her lips.

“H.. hey… fancy seeing you here..?” She offers, trying to maintain some level of friendly professionalism, but this isn’t a random encounter in the produce section, no, you both know exactly why she’s here.

You give a small smile, staying where your seated as she approaches, still gently swaying yourself back and forth on the swing.

“You know.. um… me and my daughter used to come here all the time… she uh… hehe… she really liked the swings too…” she says, making friendly conversation but there’s a certain sullenness in her words, a certain sorrow.

You reply, not wanting to dig deeper for fear of ruining the evening, settling for a polite but meaningless “Oh.. that sounds nice”

After all, this is your first time hearing about Ms Baxter having a kid.

She gives a small chuckle seemingly thinking about those times, her and her daughter at the park, the irony must not be lost on her.

“You want a push..?” She asks, a seemingly innocent question but you can tell there’s something lying beneath that friendly smile, not malicious… no, something else.

“Yeah, that sounds nice actually” you state, stopping your swaying to allow her to get into position, her hands gently holding your sides.

There’s a moment of silence, both of you taking in the moment, there’s a stirring sensation in your panties as you feel her hands on your body, that delicate touch with which she held you at school.

She takes a step back before proceeding to push, stopping a small distance forward, allowing you to swing in a small arch, forward and back, forward and back.

Every second swing she pushes again, topping you up on momentum as you enjoy the cool summer wind gently brushing your face with each motion.

The atmosphere of the park is quiet, gentle, much like your teacher in fact the only sound that could be heard is the soft creak of those old metal hinges that have been left exposed to the sun, snow and rain since their construction all those years ago.

Eventually she speaks, having found the silence satisfactory. “So… you said that you were reinventing yourself… what should I call you..?”

You let the question hang in the air a moment while you mull it over, she makes a good point, if you’re not Doug, who exactly ARE you?

A male name doesn’t quite fit anymore, not with the way you look, the way you think, no, the name maketh woman after all.

“I…. I don’t quite know… I haven’t given it too much thought… I.. if I’m being honest..” you say slightly cringing at the thought, you’ve went through the trouble to change your entire state of being but it didn’t occur to you to pick a name?

“Lucy..?” She offers, nonchalantly.

“What..?”

“Your name, maybe it can be Lucy? I always thought that was such a pretty name…!” She says, audibly smiling.

“Hmm… no… that doesn’t quite fit…” you reply, slightly touched that she’s taken it upon herself to help you.

“Hm… Debbie..?”

“No… too similar to Doug… I’ll think about it whenever someone says it”

“Ooo Phoebe is nice!”

“Eh… every Phoebe I ever met was… well… not the kind of person I wanna be…” you say, though you can tell she doesn’t quite get it.

“How about Josephine? That’s a respectable name for a respectable little lady~?” She says giggling playfully as she pushes you again.

“What? No way, that’s an old lady name” you state coaxing a giggle from Ms Baxter in return.

“Hehe… yeah.. yeah it is…” she concedes.

The next 30 minutes or so pass like this, her pushing you while rattling off names progressively getting less and less serious.

Eventually the speaking came to a stop in its entirety, a comforting silence falling over the park as she stops pushing you, allowing you to slowly lose momentum until finally, you too, came to a stop.