A Sunday Afternoon Walk

It was a beautiful fall,
Sunday afternoon.

I was walking along the open space,
Down by the creek,
Crunching the leaves,
Under foot.

Enjoying the day.

Smiling to myself,
Day dreaming.

Stepped over a log,
Pushed through the willows,
Ducked under a branch,
And —
Saw her.

Standing,
Next to a blanket,
Spread on the ground,
As if prepared,
Waiting —
For something.

Perfect,
That’s what she was.

No other word fits.

Couldn’t help it.
I stared.

My eyes,
Caressed her.

Blond brown hair,
With a streak,
Of blue.

Tight white blouse,
Barely containing,
Breasts,
Highlighting,
Perky nipples,
Showing,
Clearly,
No bra.

Blouse,
Loosely tied at her waist,
Just above her jeans —
Painted on.

She shifted,
From one foot,
To the other,
And smiled.

I licked my lips,
Nervous,
Sweating,
In the presence,
Of such a wonder.

She turned,
Pirouetted.

I sighed,
Drew in a breath,
Let it out slowly.

Facing me again,
She raised her left hand,
To the top button of her blouse,
Her fingers,
Unbuttoned it,
While the fingers of her,
Right hand,
Slipped open,
The button,
At the top of her jeans.

Her eyes went from mine,
To my body's rising reaction,
To the blanket,
And back to my eyes.

As she smiled,
She added a wink,
Licked her lips,
Whispered,

“I’ll let you play with mine,
If you’ll let me play with yours.”