Straight, onto the bridge

"Which way should we go?" you ask Ellen.

"Well, if we go right the path follows the river through open woodland. Left starts out through this overgrown abandoned orchard. It's a little longer, and probably quieter, but I wouldn't go there at night. Or we can cross the bridge. That way the path kind of goes between people's back gardens and the river. Sometimes I see people working on their roses or putting in new flowerbeds. It's a little quicker, and it goes by a few shops before it gets back to Widley."

"How about across the bridge?" you say. "I like seeing what people are up to."

"Yeah, me too," Ellen says. "And I always like going on the bridge, 'cause it's one of those cute old covered ones. Last time I went this direction, I was walking with Amy and Sherah. Sherah kept laughing when she looked at one of the gardens, because she said that it was like someone was making jokes in the language of flowers."

"What did she see?" you ask.

"I forget exactly," Ellen says. "Maybe I'll remember when we go by the same place."

You walk the last few steps down to the bottom of the hill. As you change stride on the flat, Amy's hair ribbon slips around inside your pants. You touch your upper lip with your tongue and taste the slight saltiness of Sherah's juices that Amy rubbed there. You inhale her scent. Your cock stirs and Amy's satin ribbon tugs gently on your shaft.

At the bottom of the hill is an old covered bridge, a relic of Widley's days as a farm town. The roof makes a cool shady spot on a warm day like today, and the widely spaced roof posts don't block the view up and downriver.

"You know, this is the first time I've been on a covered bridge," you say. "Can we stop and look at the water?"

"Sure," Ellen says. "I'm not in a hurry to get back."

The two of you go to the upstream rail and look into the smoothly flowing river. After a little chatting about the area around Widley, you decide the time is right to ask a serious question.

"So are you seeing anyone special here at Widley?" you ask Ellen.

She laughs. "No, nobody special," she says. "Amy got worried about me and actually fixed me up with dates a couple of times. She has this philosophy that if you aren't getting enough, you get hard to live with. From what Amy got like when she was cramming for exams, I can see where she got the idea. It was fun going out with the, with the guys she picked, but I didn't like them well enough to hang onto them."

You catch that little hesitation. Did Amy pick out a girl for Ellen?

"So were you dressing up for me today?" you ask Ellen.

"Well, sort of," she says. "I thought you'd be appreciative at least. The guys at Widley don't try very hard. It's been ten years since we went co-ed, but they're still kind of outnumbered."

"You look lovely," you say. "Especially in that dress. The Marilyn Monroe spin was a nice touch."

She laughs. "She stood over a steam grate, silly. I was doing Paula Abdul," she says.

"Or Wonder Woman?" you ask.

Ellen cracks up. "Stop it!" she giggles. She steadies herself on the bridge rail.

You put a hand around her waist as you stand side by side. She hesitates. You get the feeling that she's trying to figure out the gentlest way to back you off. Then she puts her hand round your waist.

"Don't say anything," she says. "Don't get any ideas. Let's just watch the river."

To tell the truth, you're not sure what you want yourself, but it feels really good standing next to Ellen, holding her by your side, and watching the river.