Run in.

Molly heaved stable breaths as she dipped into the bench like it was the second coming. Tossing an arm across the top of it, she glanced at her watch, wiped a drop of sweat from a chestnut-colored strand of hair, and frowned.

"Damn," she tsked, "so close..."

12.45.003 shone on the screen. The fit young urbanite slung it, along with the arm around which it was wrapped, across the other side of her person, blowing air through her cheeks. Her breaths whittled into a slow, deep rhythm. Upward she stared, soaking in the moderate breeze; the whistle of the birds. Her two firm legs lazily, but stalwartly, sprawled forward, though not without retaining a modicum of modesty. It may have been a three-mile jog she just finished but she still was the spitting image of your local neighborhood Hepburn-lite girl next door and it emanated through her every pore.

Sweaty or dry.

She slid one hand down to the make of the bench, absently picking at it. Old slab of wood, but still sturdy. When was it originally made? 40s? Maybe Reagan era?

No one knew the little details. No one really cared..

Molly did. Never didn't.

It's what she owed her fitness and career devotion to:

A meticulous sense of attention to detail. An overachieving will. A...

A...

...a shadow, suddenly, fell over her. She immediately whipped her face sideward, only to balk back a slight ways away.

Staring down at her was a plain-looking young man, plastered on him a just west-of-friendly smile. Below pulled an unattended erection against the fabric of his sweatpants as Molly shot it a somewhat ambivalent look, noting how pent up it seemed to be.

Hung suspended in a near 90-degree angle, pointing right at her, as it was, she couldn't not take notice.

As subtle as china.

"Kiss it," bore down the voice of said stranger.

An eye flashed up to his face. "Kiss that?"

Nod. "That."

She looked at the protrusion, again, then up at him. "First time we meet, I don't have a clue who you are." She raised a presenting hand. "And the first thing you say to me is, 'kiss it'?" One finger pointed at said subject. "That?"

"Yep." The man closed in on the woman, pulling his knees a little further apart. His nether-regions were now only a few turns away from a graze of the nose. From this range, Molly was able to see a splotch of sweat on his shorts. Looked like someone had just gone out for a jog themselves. Molly calmly remained where she was while he egregiously flaunted his fabric-straining dick in front of her face, invoking a faint musky radius. "This. Kiss it. Show me the slut you are."

Of course, it is at this point that, were this a self-narrated moment of epiphany, Molly would turn to look at the camera, lips curt, and mentally project, 'I know what you're thinking. This is utterly inhumane and I should show this man a piece of my mind -- by providing him a sharp slap to the cheek. And I will.'

And it would be true. That, sensibly, would be exactly what she would do.

But instead, a twitch tugged her lips. A warmth rose to her face. The woman's thighs twitched, clomping together as she stretched her neck sensuously, eyes sliding over and across the stranger's face.

She wasn't usually 'casually receptive.' But the way this dork was saying it -- she couldn't lie. There was something appealing about it. Oddly, normally, adorably appealing.

In fact, she was near certain the fleeting thought of giving it a smooch herself blinked past not a second before.

Wait, no, that wasn't true. She abhorred the idea. She was a sane person. Sanest of sanes; what the fuck did you think?

...and yet.

And... yet.

Molly hitched a breath, shoulders twitching up, as she drew her face close, until she was doing something she had in no nearby vacancy of her mind conceived she would find in her journal by the end of today, but alas, how fate finds its way. With both lids of each eye not quite closed, she moved in closer. And then closer. Until, finally, her lips were pressing upon the man's pants-covered groin. It was a proper smooch; not too drawn out, but also more tender and impressed than any kiss of a crotch deserved to be.

One might wonder why she was doing this, and her answer would be blunt. It was an innocent thing to do. Completely right. Completely cheesy.

And a little sexually daring, too. In a way that moved the inner chambers a bit. A way she had little time for herself, these days.

Yes, that's exactly what an innocent thing innocently was.

"Happy?" She looked back down, and sniffled. "Your... privates have an interesting aroma to them."

"Sorry," replied the guy, erection in her face, without an iota of embarrassment. Probably shouldn't have been surprising. "I've been slacking a bit on the showers. And change of underwear. Hope you don't mind."

The jogger instantly scoffed. "Not mind? Don't you know how many germs and dead skin you carry with you to sleep? The bacteria? The potential health complications? How can you neglect your body like that?"

"Then blow me clean yourself," the dick dude blatantly retorted.

Molly's heart tittered as if pierced with a round of Cupid's arrows.

"Oh, and give me a handie. And get your face in it. Like really in it, if ya can bother with that."

THWACK!

And that's a home run, Babe.

Hell was freezing over, and Molly couldn't find the will to leave. Not the least of reasons being because her blood seemed to be going everywhere but to her head or either knee. Was she not a grown adult woman? Did she not win a gymnastics tournament last year for the alleged mettle? Then why did her inside voice just squeal like a stray elementary school opera singer?

Tch.

Cleaning his dick grime with her mouth? Sucking up that dew and grit like a dog?

That was so...

TCH.

So...

EURGH.

So...

"...cute," she heard herself muttering under her breath, before flushing a near-cherry red.

For the first time in a boyishly long time, she felt... butterflies. About being in such an adorkable situation. Over such a groin-tingling request.

Maintaining her composure Molly tugged at the waistline of her new acquaintance's sweats. After some resistance, with one firm pull, the ridged lining snapped down, and the young fella's shaft flung out, an allegorical Apollo. Following an idle linger, she nuzzled the shaft with the bridge of her nose, giving it another tender kiss, then buried her sniffer into the black jungle of his base.

"Fuck yeah."

"Tch." In a resigned tone, she continued, "This BJ is on the house, but just so you know... I don't mind it much."

Following a few more strong strokes of the rod's throbbing body, Molly opened her mouth wide. The penis patiently awaited, a stopped train before her tunneling embrace. A standoff of spaghetti western caliber if ever one was there.

And a second later, choo-chooed between both her supple lips in a scrumptious bite of raw, unattended manmeat.

Molly enveloped a good inch or three of the young man's sweaty dick on first impalement, which was something to commend; she was far from the biggest fan of fellatio, lest this spontaneous act of quasi-public cocksucking be misconstrued. Cocks? No. They were never appealing to her. Never lick-able.

But this was different.

Her tongue slurped up the blood-engorged underside of the lil' john, and with the power of oral suction, vindicated the promised process of oral polishing.

A grunt of approval emerged from above. "Heck yeah, girl! Eat that cock! You know you want it." The young man's hand came down to caress her crop of hair, and Molly's throat nearly locked up.

It had been a long time since she expressed such pining. This was primal and carnal and filthily sensual, but most livid of all, deeply nostalgic. Awakening a girl in her that she hadn't seen in years. It tendered her loins with a snuggling warmth. And it felt absolutely...

...right.