Down by the River



This city, while full of the impoverished and sprinkled with some middle-class families and abandoned buildings has some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen. There’s literally nothing to do besides enjoy the beaches and parks, parking-lot-pimp, and walk or ride your bike to hang at your people’s crib. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to do much of either while growing up, and the sheltered life caused deep-rooted issues that I could never get a handle on.

My dad was a single parent. His wife, our mom, died from breast cancer a few short years after they adopted us. The area we grew up in was a little rough, but I didn't understand why we couldn't hang with friends or do normal kid stuff. We found random things to do at home, like create court cases. I'd always be the lawyer, and we'd dress Trav up to be the defendant. I remember our favorite character to dress him as was a robust old man who was always caught harassing the neighborhood kids and screaming at them to go home and do homework.  We'd stuff a pillow under his shirt, make him wear suspenders and tie a white pillowcase around his head for gray hair.

My brothers and I were so tight and always had a ball together. We'd all agree to this day that our dad could have been a bit more lenient. Get this, I couldn’t stay home by myself or with them until my senior year in high school, so it was an unfortunate no-brainer why I let loose in college. I wasn’t crazy, though. I knew if I went off the deep end while under my dad's roof  I’d be either locked up in juvenile or beat down. He worked at the juvenile center and was known for his strict demeanor. My friends just knew he had cameras all over the house to watch our every move. Trying to tell them otherwise always turned into a laugh fest, ‘cause they believed that, while cool sometimes, he was crazy.

I remember sitting on our front porch and watching kids ride their bikes or walk with their friends past our house. The sight of their smiles and playful behavior was depressing because I never got to experience it. We had a basketball rim in the driveway, so every now and then we could have people over to shoot hoops. He’d even put dogs on the grill sometimes and give everyone popsicles, but for me, that wasn’t enough. I was grateful to live a life where I was always fed and clothed, but I hated my life. Something inside of me wanted more closeness, more love. I needed so much more.

True, my friends smoked weed and drank liquor, but that’s not what I wanted. I just wanted to be around them. I wanted to laugh and crack jokes and cry on their shoulders when life was stressing me out. I appreciated their vibes at school and always felt wanted. Besides, what kid wants to be cooped up in the house all day with their siblings, watching cartoons and old TV shows? I couldn’t wait to graduate from high school, go to college and transition into the real world. I was ready to be on my own, not because I was in a rush to be a grownup, but because I knew I'd be in charge of my freedom. I was ready for the freedom to grow and connect with new spirits. I needed to be unchained and feel loved.

***

I had only applied to southern universities due to my love of marching bands. However, I couldn't go. My dad said that I had no support down there and I ended up going to a school in-state. My first year at the university was nothing but heartbreaking, yet glorious at the same time. Campus life was nothing like I had ever imagined. The people dressed and spoke differently. Like, hood lavish. I felt like a Martian who was visiting earth for the first time.

If I can be transparent, the females were stuck up. I was raised to speak when walking into a room and when others speak to me, but the females on campus were rough and rude. The men, though? Honey chile! The men back at home were cool, but these guys were like swag and masculinity wrapped in a polished black box with a big red bow. I wasn't even attracted to a specific type of man at that point, so most of them, as long as they were clean with decent teeth, looked good to me. They wore Cartier glasses and thick leather coats with fur hoods in the winter and white tees with jeans or cargo pants in spring and summer. Just fine, as fuck!

I took a particular liking to a light-skinned guy named Andre who stayed in the dorm connected to mine. He was cool and laid back and smoked weed often. My first time smoking was with him, his roommate and friends. I kicked it in his room almost every day and spent the night a few days out of the week. He was the second guy I had ever had sex with, and I quickly became addicted to him and his lifestyle.

I wouldn't consider smoking during the first few months of kickin' it with Andre. They would always ask if I wanted to blow, but I wasn’t about that life and kept turning down the offer. I was still wrapped up in my books at that time and could be found in the basement or laundry room with my music playing while doing homework.

I remember they were smoking one night, and I was stressing about an English exam that was coming up. I knew I’d pass, but for some reason, I was on edge and needed to relax. Andre either sat on his bed or stood by the TV during their smoke sessions. I walked up to Andre by the TV and acted as though I was going to change the channel. I took the blunt, kissed him and began to smoke. Don’t even ask if I choked, 'cause you know my ass did. There was ¾ of the blunt left. They made me smoke it by myself and then gave me two shotguns from the second one they rolled. Not only did I smoke, but I also had half of a bottle of MD 20/20, the orange jubilee flavor. If I wasn’t a rapper before, I was at that point. One of his boys recorded me freestyling. We would listen to it and laugh during many smoke sessions after.

When I wasn’t in my books, I was with Andre. We liked each other, but I could tell that our relationship was based on sex. That was confirmed after his girlfriend, who unbeknownst to me, came to visit him after hearing that he was messing with a girl on campus. I went to his room that day as normal, but he wouldn’t answer the door. I could hear a female yelling and crying. One of his boys was coming up the hallway and pulled me away from the door. He just shook his head, and I could tell by the look on his face that he felt bad for me.

"Aye, don't even worry about it. They aren't even together. She just showed up, mad that he is with you."

Niggas lie for each other. I always knew that, so I didn't believe what the hell he was saying. My sad ass just walked away crying. I ignored Andre's calls and texts after that, but he always tried to make eye contact with me whenever we saw each other in the eateries or the dorms. He wasn’t my boyfriend, but that was the first time I experienced a heartbreak. The sad part is that I wanted to call my dad and vent to him, but unfortunately, we didn't have that type of relationship. I just took the loss, held in my feelings and moved on.

***

I went back to my hometown with my dad for the summer and got a job as a hostess at one of the local restaurants. The regulars grew to love my perky, friendly and positive attitude and the male patrons loved my smile and thick petite figure. Work was great, and I was making enough money to party during the summer and still save for the next school year. My brother and sister-in-law bought everything I needed for my first year of school, but I’d be taking care of myself next year.

I was scheduled to be off this particular Saturday, but I picked up some OT as usual. I was awakened by the smell of cinnamon waffles with butter and syrup, bacon, sausage and eggs and the sound of my brothers playing the video game in the family room. I ran down the stairs and scarfed down my food to make sure I had enough time to burn some CDs before I left for work. The plan was to parking-lot-pimp with my best friend Roger that night after work, so I had to have some bangers. He was into the southern rap artists, his favorite being Gucci Mane.

My dad and younger siblings were headed to Chicago for the weekend to spend time with our older brother and his family. It was a last minute decision, and unfortunately, I was already added to the work schedule. I finished burning my CDs and quickly got dressed for work. I’ve always been insecure about my weight, but my uniform, red company button-up, and black slacks fit me nicely and accentuated my curves. Guys often tried to flirt with and tip me, but as a hostess, we couldn’t receive tips.

My shift that day was one I’d never forget. Charles, one of the regulars, wasn’t his normal chipper self. A 50-year-old white guy, Charles always ordered the breakfast special. Scrambled eggs with Swiss cheese, wheat toast, turkey sausage and bacon with a tall glass of apple juice was his daily order. In fact, it was the only thing he ever ordered. Like clockwork, he’d come in at 10:00 am and sit on the middle stool at the bar and chat with me and the other hostess Veronica until his food became ready. His favorite server Sherry always had his meal ready for him at 10:58 am on the dot per his request.

I think Charles was in love with Sherry. Her fire-engine-red hair, baby blue eyes, and constantly pursed lips seemed to have pulled his attention away from the other female waitresses. He said she reminded him of his late wife. The other servers weren't happy about the favoritism he showed Sherry because he tipped very well. She looked very similar to the other servers, however, her personality is what attracted him to her.

It was as if the restaurant manager had a specific type of female he wanted serving his patrons - red-head or brunette with a short thin frame, blue eyes, and thin lips. Apparently, he didn’t care about the variety of the hostesses. I’m black and thick, Veronica is white tall and skinny and the other hostess Brenda is black and looks like she hadn’t had a good meal in a few weeks.

Sherry gave Charles his food, and instead of him grinning childishly at her he kept his eyes glued to his plate.

“What’s goin’ on suga foot?” Sherry asked.

“It’s been a long week, and I’m absolutely tired,” Charles stated with a sullen look on his face.

“Excuse me, Sherry.”

Charles got up from the table and went into the men’s room.
Sherry walked from behind the bar and over to my hostess station.

“Jersey, any idea what’s going on with Charles? He hasn’t even made a comment about my ass today.”

“I’m not sure. He hasn’t said a word to me since he came through the door.”

I knew so much about Charles. He quickly became the dad I wish I had. With only conversing with him for one hour, five days a week for two weeks I grew to learn a lot about his life. His mother’s name is Margaret Anne, and she suffers from congestive heart failure and Alzheimer disease. He has three sons, one is single and childless and lives here in town, and the other two live out of state, both with a child of their own. His oldest son Greg is married to a black woman, a doctor I believe. Charles would show me photos of his two grandbabies every day and gleefully say how much he loves and misses them.

Charles would talk about how much he loved fishing down by the river. Sometimes he and his best friend Roger would take Roger’s dog Butch and they’d spend hour fishing, drinking beer and catching a breeze. He once told me that if I ever needed a placed to go to clear my head and temporarily run away from the world the river would be the best place to go. He proposed to his late wife down by the river. They were married for almost 30 years until she died unexpectedly of a heart attack two years ago.

Ten minutes had passed, and Charles hadn’t returned from the bathroom. He was such a social person, so his time away from the bar alerted Sherry, myself and several other staff members.

I knocked on the men’s room door and called his name.

“Charles, your food is getting cold honey. Are you ok in there?”

He didn’t respond, so I knocked once more. I grew up with two brothers, so I had no problem with entering the men’s room. I pushed open the door, and there he was, on the floor in front of the sink, lifeless. My cries caused the manager and Sherry running into the bathroom. She fell to the ground by his body and tried to resuscitate him. After a few minutes, we knew he was gone. The manager called the ambulance from his cell while Sherry and I cried hysterically just outside of the door.

The ambulance arrived shortly after I found Charles’ lifeless body. There was blood on the sink and the ground by his head, indicating he hit his head on the way down. Two police cars and a fire truck also showed up. The medic hurried us out of his way and checked his pulse, confirming that he was gone. Everyone was crying and asking what happened, but the medic was not able to determine the cause of death at that moment.

I walked behind the medics as they took Charles away in a black body bag while the crowd stood in disbelief. The scene reminded me of an episode of Law & Order, police everywhere. The news had traveled fast because the parking lot was full of cops, regular restaurant patrons and others who were in the area that had rushed to see what happened.


The manager decided to close the restaurant for the day, and by the time I walked back in to grab my purse there wasn’t a soul inside. I walked over to Charles’ spot at the bar and sat in his seat, focusing on the décor and photos on the walls. There were pictures of famous musicians, athletes, and politicians that had visited at one time or another. Many of them were repeat visitors and in multiple photos. They’d make visiting the restaurant a priority anytime they were in town. The manager was in every single one of the photos. The restaurant, while small and quaint, had a large sense of family. All of the patrons were treated as a member of the family and were greeted and treated with respect.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, let out a loud sigh and thought about Charles and his visits to the river, wondering why my dad never took us there to fish. I was in no mood to be at home, so today would be a perfect day to go and sit by the water.


***


It was about two o’clock when I got home. My dad, brothers, and sister had already left for Chicago. I quickly showered and threw on some short light-blue jean shorts, a fitted purple tank, purple and black gym shoes, and a purple sun visor but not before spraying on some scentless mosquito repellant. I was no fool. The mosquitos here are savages, and me choosing to visit the river meant a full-course meal was on its way.

I stood in the mirror and gave myself a once over. Super thick, and my simple outfit hugged me in all the right places. I grabbed my over the shoulder water bottle bag, tossed the small can of bug spray along with my pocket journal, wallet and cd player in my black fanny pack and headed out the door.

The river was only about a thirty-minute walk from my house, so I wasn’t worried about walking by myself. Especially not in the middle of the day with everyone out enjoying the weather. I received all kinds of whistles and “hey baby” comments. Two white guys even stared out their car windows at my thighs while I was crossing the street at a stop light. The baby oil and bug repellant gave my thick muscular legs a nice glow.

"Hey baby, you ever had some white chocolate?"

"I'm allergic!" I yelled while grinning and rolling my eyes.

"Damn girl, we could have had a sweet time."

I ran track and was in band in high school, so I stayed active. I even played basketball and lifted weights in my free time during my first year at the university to keep my body in order. I’ve always been thick, but well put together.

I reached the river’s edge in 25 minutes flat and stood there to admire the scenery. The city, while impoverished has some of the most beautiful parks and beaches in the state. I pulled out my pink flip phone and took photos, focusing on the purple and yellow flowers and the beautiful birds in the trees. I’ve always been a nature girl. My family once went on a camping trip up north with my dad’s then-girlfriend and her two sons, but I spent most of my time there dipped off, somewhere enjoying the crisp mountain air and the beautiful view of the valley below. There is no artist with an eye as good as God’s. The area was breathtaking, and I promised myself that wherever I choose to settle down can’t be too far from an area just as beautiful.

I ended my photo session and walked up the trail that led to the fishing areas of the river, passing a few families and solo fishers who were enjoying alcohol, food and their catches. Charles always told me that the summer season is the perfect time to catch catfish. He fried some up the Wednesday before he passed and brought it in for us to try. I hadn’t come across a white person who seasons their food, but a lot of his relatives are married to black men or women who could throw down in the kitchen. I was shocked that the fish was as good as it was. He even brought in some Red Hot sauce for us. It was finger-licking good!

Charles’ blue eyes, brunette hair, and perfect skin stayed on my mind as I sat down on a bench and stared at the glistening dark teal water. I liked to be by myself, so I was at the furthest end of the fishing area which was closed off by a tall brick wall. I was completely blocked off from the other fishers by hanging tree branches and shrubs.

I always took a journal with me, no matter where I went. Writing was therapeutic for me. When I wasn’t daydreaming, I was writing down my thoughts and creating short stories in my mind that I’d replay over and over again until the fantasies felt real. Today’s journal entry was about the value of life.

Dear, diary,

How does one find the real value of life? Do you base it on your own experiences, those of others or both? If God created us above all things, even the angels in Heaven, why did he not instill in each of us a deep understanding of how precious life is? How is it possible for someone to take a life with no regard to that person’s family and without remorse? How is that there are so many impoverished people without a place to stay or food to eat? How is it that people are dying of diseases with known cures? Why is the human so fucking selfish? Why weren't we created perfect, like our Creator? There’s so much beauty in the world, yet turmoil stains the canvas that the Creator painted. The paintbrush is in the Creator’s hands. Why not control each drop of paint? The cost of individuality, free thinking, and free will is pain and struggle. I’d rather the world be full of perfect puppets.


***


I noticed a blue SUV had pulled up in the parking spot behind me as I finished the last line of my journal entry. I closed the book, put it back in my fanny pack with my purple pen and paid close attention to the gentleman who stepped out of the driver side. He was alone. I’m very cautious of my surroundings, so I kept my gaze on him. A few people out here had their music blasting, so I wasn't sure if they’d hear me scream if he were to tie me up and toss me in the trunk.

A middle-aged dark-chocolate man with low-cut black hair met my gaze and caused a feeling of comfortableness when he didn’t look away from me. We had a ten-second stare down that seemed to go on for forever. His alluring brown eyes, while not as light as mine, had me in a trance. I came to my senses and quickly turned my gaze back toward the water as he smiled. His teeth seemed to be perfect from far away. His dark skin glistened in the sun. There’s just something about dark-chocolate skin that sent me into a frenzy and made me feel like dark-skinned men were created just for me to enjoy gawking at.

He walked around to the back of his vehicle. I cringed and imagined him bringing out a knife and rope to tie me up with. He pulled out a small black cooler, a large white one, and a fishing rod. I'm pretty sure he heard my sigh of relief after I realized he wasn’t here to snatch me up and take me to his basement to torture me. Boy, do I have a strange imagination.

He began walking over the bench where I was sitting. I stood up and walked closer to the water to avoid being close to him.

“Excuse me Ms., is it okay if I sit here?”

He stared at me, bewildered at the blank expression on my face.

“Uh, sure. I don’t own these seats.” I replied sarcastically.

He let out a chuckle and proceeded to set up his things.

“I normally bring my out my boat and fish right on the water, but I guess it won’t hurt to sit next to a pretty lady and enjoy the scenery?”

I ignored his statement and pulled my cd player from my fanny pack. The only album I cared to hear today was Tupac’s All Eyez on Me. I put in my headphones and pressed play for Shorty Wanna Be a Thug.


The lyrics blasted through my headphones, and I almost forgot that he was still watching me.

"I bet you got it twisted you don't know who to trust.
So many playa-hating niggas trying to sound like us.
Say they ready for the funk, but I don't think they knowin'.
Straight to the depths of hell is where those cowards going.
Well, are you still down nigga?"


I felt a tap on my shoulder that jolted me right out of my seat and made me snatch out my headphones. I quickly turned around, frightened and pissed that my jam session was interrupted. He took a quick step back.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m about to light up my cigar and wanted to make sure that you won’t be bothered by the smoke.”

I stared at him with a look of irritation, but he stood there, fine as hell, smiling and unbothered.

“Well, the wind is blowing, so I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”

I proceeded to sit back down and put my headphones back in, but he spoke before I could press the play button.

“What are you listening to? It seems that you love whatever the song is.”

“I do. Tupac.”

“What?” He asked with a surprised look on his face.

“Tupac? I don’t think I’ve come across a young woman who has a strong like for him.”

“Well, I don’t like him. I love his music.”

He stared at me inquisitively as though he wanted to hear more about what I had to say.

“I’m  Randal.”

He extended out his hand for me to shake. I stood up, as I was raised to do, and shook his hand.

“My name is Jersey.”

He smelled amazing. The breeze was blowing towards my face and sent his fragrance of expensive cologne cascading up my nose. His hand, while not ashy or dry felt a little rough as if he worked with his hands a lot. His nails were clean and manicured. He held onto my hand and pulled it up to kiss it. I unexpectedly blushed and snatched it back. The blue tank he had on hugged his chiseled chest nicely and allowed for the showing off of his toned arms and slightly seasoned salt and pepper chest. He wore black khaki shorts and black gym shoes. I must admit, he was fine as shit.

“Jersey, is it? That’s a beautiful name. Are you or your parents from the east coast?”

“That's the line you're gonna use? No, I’m from here.”

“Hmm, that’s strange. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. Who are your people?”

“Sir, I was raised to not talk to strangers.”

He let out a light laugh. The look in his eyes was that of amusement and intrigue.

“I apologize. Didn’t mean to pry. There are a lot of beautiful women in this city, but you definitely stand out like a rare jewel.”

I rolled my eyes, proceeded to sit down with back to him and continued listening to my music. Who did he think he was? At only 18, I was a little naive, but that was obvious game. He smirked and began taking out his fishing items from the white cooler. I had never fished before, but I knew that the little fish he put on the hook were minnows. It was hot and the normal high humidity made the beer he pulled from the smaller black cooler look like a frozen cup of red kool-aid. The water bottle I brought with me was full of ice but was doing nothing for me. He popped the top off his beer and sat at the other end of the bench. I continued listening to my music, pretending not to notice him, but I could see him out of my peripheral licking his lips as he looked at me.

He effortlessly flung the string of the pole into the river and propped the handle in the corner of the white cooler. After about ten minutes, the pole began to move. He jumped up, grabbed the pole and put out his cigar. I stood up too and got excited like I was the one catching the fish. I watched as he walked closer to the water. For some strange reason, watching his arm muscles flex while positioning his body to reel in the fish turned me on.

He looked over at me, interested in my reaction.

“Hey, have you ever fished before.”

“No.”

“Come and grab the pole.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do!” I laughed.

“It’s cool. I’ll show you.”

I walked over and grabbed the pole from his hand. He stood behind me and placed his hand on the pole to support mine. I could tell he tried to put some distance between his pelvic area and my ass, but I still felt his manhood. My body quivered, and he paused for a second to make sure I was comfortable.

“You good?”

“Yea, I am. Just a bit nervous. I don’t wanna let the fish get away.”

“Okay. Well, we have to be quick.”

He showed me how to turn the reel handle, and after a few minutes of jerking, we caught a pretty good size catfish. It had to be about 10lbs.

“Damn, you did a good job. Now you just have to clean it!” He yelled with excitement.

“Oh, hell no!” I yelled while laughing.

We high-fived each other, and my clumsy ass tripped. He caught me like guys in those love movies catch the damsels in distress. All poetic-like and shit.

“How old are you Jersey?”

“Old enough. I’m 18.”

“Old enough for what?” He asked quizzically, testing my level of maturity.

I switched my attention to the catfish on the ground. It had stopped flopping. He reached down to pick it up and pointed its lips in my direction.

“A kiss from a princess may just bring this dead beast back to life.”

I rolled my eyes and watched him put the fish in the ice that sat at the bottom of the large white cooler.

“Do you drink? Would you like a beer or a wine cooler?”

“Do you have anything stronger than that?”

“Hmm, that’s how you get down?”

“Nah, I’ve just had a very long day.”

“Oh, okay. Care to share?”

I guess it couldn’t hurt to have a conversation with the man. Besides, I didn’t really feel like parking-lot-pimping with my best friend tonight. I needed peace and quiet after the day I had. We climbed in the truck, me in the passenger. He turned on the radio to some old school Isley Brothers and pulled out a case of beer and a bottle of liquor that was still in the brown paper bag. I felt like I was living out a scene of the movie Boyz n the Hood. He handed me the bag and I pulled out the bottle of Five O’clock.

“Are you trying to kill me, or something?”

He let out a loud laugh but got quiet when he saw the seriousness in my face.

“Well shit, you said you had a long day. I figured you need something to take the edge off.”

Unfortunately, he was right. I cracked open the bottle and took a huge swig. My stomach growled loudly, and I realized I hadn’t eaten all day.

“Hungry? I got something for that too.”

He reached in the back seat and grabbed a few bags of barbeque chips and a foam container of fried chicken, yams, and greens he got from the soul food joint up the road.

“Perfect!” I yelled.

We sat in his truck and sipped and talked for hours. I tried to keep my gaze on the river’s waves and away from his beautiful brown eyes. I failed, miserably. The liquor began to set in; My reservations just about gone. I told him about how I found Charles dead in the bathroom at work this morning, and that I questioned God about the value of life. I ate two bags of chips and half of the soul food and downed about half of the pint of liquor. I was feeling great.

It felt good to kick back and converse with someone who didn’t know your past and couldn’t guess your future. Oddly enough, I felt more comfortable speaking with this stranger than anyone else in my life. I almost opened up to him about my lost my innocence until his hand rubbing my shoulders stopped my breath.

“Jersey, you’re a very beautiful woman. No one has snatched you up yet?”

“Nah, I’m a loaner.” I chuckled.

His hand traveled slowly from my shoulder to the back of my neck. He leaned over the center console, pulling my face closer to his. The mint from his gum, the cigar and his bottle of beer left their flavors on different parts of my lips. I tasted them all as he removed my sun visor and softly pressed his lips against mine. My phone rang three times in a row. It was my best friend. I had completely forgotten about parking-lot-pimping with him tonight.

“Is that your boyfriend? See, I knew you had a man.”

“Nah, my best friend. We were all supposed to party tonight.”

I pressed the red button and put my phone back in my fanny pack.

“Never mind him. How old are you Randal?”

“I’m old enough. I just turned 36. Why? Is this old man too old for you?” He joked.

I answered by leaning over and kissing him, forcing my tongue in his mouth. I could see he was becoming aroused as he placed his hand on his lap, stroking himself.

“Have you ever been with someone my age?” He asked.

“Age ain’t nothin’ but a number. But, nah. I haven’t.”

He pushed open his door and stumbled out. I had my door opened by the time he reached my side. He pulled me out of the truck and kissed me as we walked over to the bench. The idea of making love to an older guy and complete stranger on a park bench sent my arousal level skyrocketing. I gave no fucks that we were in a public place. Besides, it was dark at this point. The partly-cloudy night sky and the low branches and shrubs were sure to cover us.

He ran back to the truck to grab a blanket from the back seat. I snatched it out of his hands and laid it over the bench. The kissing continued as he slowly took off my clothes. He stepped back and admired my body as the shadows from the tree leaves danced across my skin.

“Damn baby girl.” He stated as he licked his lips.

He had a look of savagery in his eyes, and I was more than ready for him to devour my body. I grabbed at his cargo shorts and attempted to pull them down, but they got stuck on the way down. He laid me down on the bench and slowly undressed, but not before pulling the gold wrapper out of his wallet.

The chirping birds, crickets and rushing waves of the dark teal water seemed to mask my moans as he pleasured me beyond belief. He wasn’t old, but I didn’t think that he, at 36 years old, could handle my body better than my old thing Andre. Each stroke caused waves of pleasure through my body that felt like an earthquake as I reached my peak. My heavy breathing slowed as his lips caressed my neck and nipples.

I was thoroughly enjoying myself, but I couldn't help but question my decision to have sex in the park with a man I didn't know who was double my age and old enough to be my dad. Was I lacking something emotionally? Maybe, but I didn't really care while in the moment.

He flipped me over and straddled me on top of him, laying my head on his chest.

“Will I see you again Jersey, or will this be a fantasy I’ll never again get to relive?”

“I don’t know. I’m only home for the summer.”

I sat up and rode him slowly until we climaxed together. My head hit his chest as we laid there naked, admiring the stars.

“I’m your summer thang.” I giggled in his ear.

“Yea, you’re my down by the river thang.” He said, smiling from ear to ear.

The cool summer breeze brushed against my back as I fell asleep in his arms. Charles was right. This is definitely my new favorite getaway spot.

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