The woman lying in the bed I just slipped out of looks so peaceful. Full lips slightly parted, dark curls spilling over her forehead. Like most people, when she’s asleep – truly, completely asleep – she’s as still as the grave. She doesn’t stir as I pass through the door and float down the stairs. It doesn’t surprise me that she doesn’t notice, given that I move with absolute silence. That and the fact that she doesn’t believe I’m capable of leaving her side.
I pass through the front door, then the garden gate, ending up standing alone in the deserted street. What does surprise me is that she doesn’t feel me slipping away from her. My eyes flick to the window. Well, sometimes she feels it. Sometimes, instinct rips her from her slumber and she snaps on the light. That drags me, usually kicking and soundlessly screaming, right back to her side.
I wait for a minute or two, eyes fixed on the blind at her window. Not even a twitch. She’s in deep, so I’m free to go.
As I pass by neighbouring houses, drift along adjacent streets, I see others like me. Slipping from windows, down walls, all of us avoiding streetlamps. They’re all going places they probably shouldn’t be going, but I won’t ever judge. Not when I’m doing the exact same thing.
When I reach the park gates I pass through unhindered. I don’t even look around to see if anyone is watching me. The moon is bright, but it doesn’t matter, the canopy of leaf heavy branches overhead will shield me from the harshness of its light.
I slip beneath the first tree and, immediately, I know he’s already here. Waiting. For me. I gravitate toward him, moving swiftly over the uneven ground. He surges forward, meets me halfway. Once I’m in front of him, the wonderful thing I break away from the woman in the bed to come here for happens.
Suddenly, I don’t feel like I’m a part of her anymore. This close to him, I feel solid. Real. When I’m with her, all that matters is what she wants. What she needs. I go everywhere she goes, do everything she does, and I don’t have the freedom to complain. But when I’m here, in the park beneath the trees with him, I matter. He matters. We are all that matters.
He steps closer and I see his face in profile. The joy in his smile, the welcome, reassures me that he feels as I do. I make him solid. I make him real.
We both know that neither of us should be here. What we’re doing is wrong. I’m not the only one who left someone lying in bed, blissfully unaware of just how alone they are. But when his lips press against mine it feels like the most natural thing in the world. When his hands skim my arms, cup my cheeks, stroke my breasts, I sigh and melt into him.
Blending into the dark beneath the trees is easy for us. Hands beneath my arms, he lifts me like the insubstantial thing I am. Higher and higher until the curls of my hair skim the lowest branch of the tree and my chest is level with his face. The sensation of his dry tongue curling around my nipple would be abhorrent to her, but to me it’s heaven.
We become part of a whole as he lowers me, just a little. My hands grip the branch above me, just because they can, and I open my mouth to cry out as his cock disappears inside me. He holds me up and fucks me, nipping my cheeks, driving into my ass with long, powerful strokes. Patches of star-studded sky appear through the branches as we shake the tree, but I don’t fear their light. They shine brightly but not bright enough to expose me for what I am.
I don’t know how long we stay in the park. The only thing about time that means anything to me is that I don’t – will never – have enough of it. I do know we could stay here forever, though. Kissing. Touching. Fucking.
On my knees, his cock in my mouth. My tongue dragging up the underside as he thrusts back and forth between my pillowy lips. His hands in my hair, angling my head so that he can see more than just a vaguely round shape. Finger lovingly tracing the curve of my cheek, tapping the tip of my nose.
Then I’m on my back, calves against his shoulders, hands pressed into the damp earth as he plunges his cock in and out of my ass. There’s a thundering in my chest and it breaks my heart. I know what’s coming. We’ll have to part soon. I turn my head so he can see the shape of my pout, and he turns his so I can see him offer me a soothing, yet pained, smile.
He fucks faster. In a faint, harmless shaft of light from the moon, I see my tits moving wildly. I see his forearms flex, his smile disappears as his mouth opens in a wide ‘oh’. Every part of my being tenses, I shake, I scream silently at the leaves above us. He pulls out, shifting so the moonlight illuminates his pulsing cock… and then it happens.
She sits on the edge of the bed, blinking in the sudden light, dragging a shaking hand through her messy hair. Sweat makes her skin glimmer, a deep crimson flush spreads from her cheeks to the tops of her breasts. Breathing unsteadily, she casts her gaze around the room, looking a bit confused. And there I am, right in front of her. A long, dark stain on the wall. My hand drags through my messy hair as my head swivels and my breasts rise and fall with each heavy breath she forces me to take.
With a bashful little laugh, she lies back down, and I have no choice but to obediently stretch out along the wall beside her. She looks steadier now. Surer. Comfortable in the knowledge that she was just dreaming about fucking her lecturer in the park beneath a tree. This moment is the only time with her where I genuinely smile despite my captivity. It amuses me to think about how mortified she’d be if she ever found out what her shadow did while she slept.