First Day of Spring

From his apartment across the street, Lou Lookey scanned the steps of the museum with his spotting scope for the day's specimen count. Half a dozen pigeons. A pair of alabaster legs extending from cutoff jeans ending in Chuck Taylors. Two soft drink cups, one spilled on the granite cascade. At the bottom of one classical column, gym shorts, smooth balls, head of a cock. Eight hot dog wrappers. Back in the shadows of the portico, a couple necking. Her hand rubbing hard cock straining denim. Seven sparrows. Leaning against the back wall at a landing farther down the steps, a reader, face hidden by book, knees up, skirt open, flash of white panties. Lingering. Wet spot, trace of mound form. Three bottle caps. Two tickets to the museum pushed by the breeze. Near the entrance, leaning against a column, a translucent blouse, no bra, soft curve of breast in sun, set off by shadow behind.

Mira May felt the sun warm her tits. She leaned against the stone column. Felt the heat reflected off the granite landing up her skirt. Radiant cunt opening to the sun stone. Couple necking in the shadows. Sparrows skittering for crumbs. Down the stairs she stepped. Toward the park. Lunch break walk. Scattered fluffy clouds. Sky blue sky. First day of spring. Nipples bouncing against soft silk.

Lou Lookey watched her turn the corner of the granite wall and disappear down the paved path lined with green grass, into tunnel of deep green leaves.

Two women pushing double wide strollers. Chattering in Spanish over towheads. Tight ass in turquoise spandex brushing by and down the path ahead. Headphone chords dangling from ears. Blonde ponytail bouncing behind. Bicyclist on the road in work clothes, lunch pail hanging from one handlebar. Whistling. Sunlight coming through green canopy. Three schoolgirls on a bench giggling over some secret. Walker Wells pursued his lunchtime peregrination in the park. Squirrel running from the path, up a tree trunk as he approached. Turning to scold. A couple on the grass in a sunny opening. Her leg over his pelvis. Her headed resting in the crook of his neck. His hand softly caressing the curve of her ass.

Sonia Sunderling felt the sun on her back and her boyfriend's fingers lightly caressing her ass. The green grass glinted with sunbeams and moved softly slightly in the breeze. She moaned into his neck. Felt his cock hardening under her bare thigh thrown over his pelvis. His hand moved up her back. He traced her spine, her erogenous zone, from the nape of her neck to the crack of her ass. She wanted to mount him right then. She saw them fucking in the sun in full view of passersby. She pushed her tits against his chest and sighed. Kissed his neck. Heard birds chirping. Wondered what they were. Traced his pecs with her fingers. He smiled.

Walker Wells wished he was on the grass under her. Felt his cock swell. Watched a Frisbee soar across the meadow. A lanky dude shirtless and shoeless in dress pants lunging to make the catch. Spinning for a forehand throw straight and flat back across the meadow. Caught by a young woman, short hair, tight t-shirt, short skirt, running flat out barefoot toward him, laughing. Spilling head over heels in the grass. Coming up with the catch.

Ring of a bike bell behind him. He stepped aside. A billowing skirt passed by, a smile, "Thank you."

Mira May felt her naked body moving under her light summer skirt, silk blouse. Her feet nearly naked, too, in sandals. She imagined herself naked. Two men in business suits with sandwiches lifted halfway to their mouths, frozen in the hot sun. She knew they followed her with their eyes hidden behind cool sunglasses.

Damian Docket saw her emerge from the shadowed walkway, underneath the arch of tree limbs. Saw her legs backlit by the sun through the sheer cloth. Watched her come toward them. He was paralyzed. John Johnson stopped talking, too, when he saw what he saw. As she came closer, they saw the gap between her legs, the fuzzy curlicues of hair, and the dangle of pussylips. They stared unabashedly behind shades. Her breasts swayed beneath silk. Her hard nipples pointing ahead. She smiled at them as she walked by. Looked down at the bulges in their pants from behind her own shades.

Deep in the shadows of the green trees, Tomas Torrentino leaned back against a granite glacier erratic, saw the moving stream of people flickering by, walkers, bikers, strollers, in the distance behind the screen of leaves, as the man who had himself just emerged from the shadows took his aching cock into his mouth. He looked up at the broken pattern of blue sky, green leaves, brown limbs. He looked down at the man's black mane. Felt immersed in warm mouth. Tug on scrotum. Moaned to the woods.

A shady stretch of path made Walker Wells shiver slightly in his short sleeves. The first day of spring, not summer, though it felt like it in the sun. He picked up his pace. A dark-haired man stumbled as he emerged on to the path. Wiped his mouth and crossed the street. A moment later another man appeared at the same spot. He walked toward Walker with a smile on his face. Nodded a good day as they passed.

Mira May felt the cool shade raise goosebumps on her arms and legs. So she hurried through the shady stretch. Found an open bench in the next sunny patch. Sat and leaned back. Closed her eyes. Let her body soak in the heat.

Jenny Jones watched the woman in the summer dress lounge in the sunshine, as her boyfriend softly tickled her pussy with his fingertips. Golden sun draped cloth sprawled on form against the green backdrop. A bicyclist passed by, a blur of red and blue between them.

Mira May heard the whir of the wheels approaching. The slight Doppler effect of the hum of spokes as the wheels came close and then passed by, with a rush of breeze that went up her skirt, between her legs, tickling her ass and labia between bare thighs. She sighed.

Across the horizon of the Daily News, which undulated slightly as the cyclist rode by, Stanley Lector watched the young man in seersucker with his hands between the girl's legs on a blanket in the grass by the edge of the woods. He felt his own woody pushing against the cage of tighty whities under his pinstripe. A squirrel ran across the path and looked up at him. A cloud passed briefly across the sun. A man in a short sleeve shirt, loose black pants, suede shoes, a quizzical look, emerged from the shaded path into the sun. He, too, saw the couple on the lawn and smiled. Stanley Lector saw the curve in his crotch straining the cloth as he approached. They nodded to each other. And Stanley Lector admired his ass as he continued down the path. The squirrel, which had squirted away, came back to look up at him again.

Walker Wells wondered what made men so friendly on such a day. Most likely it was the same thing that made his cock swell loose in his loose pants on a loose walk on a sunny day. He wondered what it would be like to step off the path into the woods to relieve the pleasure building in his loins. He saw and felt his hard cock in his hands. Wondered if there might be a man back there in the shadows who would take it in his hands or his mouth or his ass. He laughed then as he thought again of the man emerging from the woods wiping his mouth. Or maybe a woman. He saw the couple lying in each other's arms at the back of the lawn. And ahead on the path a woman on a bench with her body open to the sun, her eyes closed. He slowed down as he approached, admiring the line of her breasts barely covered by the sheer white silk. Her legs spread under the light summer dress.

Walker Wells imagined standing astride her. Taking his hard cock from his pants. Offering it to her mouth. Holding her head against him, as the sun warmed his back. He felt his cock twitch.

Mira May felt the sun on her breasts and warming her crotch through her dress. Her pussylips softened and spread. The red warm orange of the sun through her closed eyelids. Footsteps approaching on the path. Fingers tracing the wetness between her legs. A hand holding the languid weight of her warm breasts. Squeezing the nipples pushing against silk. A warm cock between her lips. She licked her lips and tasted the underside of the tip's silky salty slick. She moaned.

Walker Wells heard the woman sigh softly as he passed by. What a day. She lay splayed. He felt his body pressed on top of hers like the warm sun. His cock up inside her warm wet.

"Hey," he heard a voice. "On your left."

A bike brushed by, too close. He watched it go, into the shadow, then out into the sunny path beyond. He paused and then pressed on.

The passing bike woke Mira May from her reverie. She opened her eyes and watched a slim waisted man, a nice ass in loose pants, broad shoulders, lit by the sun, amble away down the path after the bike. He turned to look back. Smiled. She watched him go, past the shadow, into the light beyond. Felt herself coming down. Pushed herself up. Followed him back down the path toward the museum.

The spotting scope scanned the steps. A lone pigeon. A man in a suit talking into his cell phone. Gesticulating to three sparrows picking over a sandwich crust.

A short black skirt. With nothing under it. Legs open. Bare pussy.

Lou Lookey stroked his cock.

A long finger lazily tracing pussylips then pushing between them. Then slipping out slowly, rubbing the smooth nub of clitoris quickly.

His balls tightened. A little shudder in the scope as bare thighs closed on the hand between. Cum rose suddenly, spurted on to the floor under the spotting scope, view knocked askew.

Lou Lookey tried to find the black skirt again. Found it headed down the path at the bottom of the stairs toward the park. A man in loose pants coming the other way, a hard-on swaying in his loose pants, the end of the rod bouncing against a wet spot on the dark cloth. Behind him on the path, the woman in the translucent blouse front lit, bare tits swaying under silk. The scope followed her climb the stairs, the line of bare ass under summer dress, the gap between her thighs, a ray of sun reflecting off something moist.