“Baby, touch your toes…baby come on!  Touch your toes!”
The words slurred out of your mouth at the same speed the sweat dripped off my brow.
I let go of the chain linked fence I was using for support and mercifully hinged at my waist.
I buried my hands into some soil and cedar chips, six inches, two fists length, between my ankles.
You grabbed tighter onto my waist and created friction by tucking your ring fingers between the folds of skin where my hips met my thighs.
You thrusted harder and pulled me closer, pummeling yourself deeper.
“Tell me you love me. Tell me. Tell me I am yours.” I moaned and patiently waited for your response.
You remained silent.
You pulled out as I attempted to catch my breath on the stagnant dense August air.
One hand remained on my hip as the other used my elusive female ******* to bring yourself to ******.
We were surrounded by the trees, that shaded us from others by night and protected the playground of the catholic grade school from the sun by day.
But alone in our mini paradise, encased by bushes, standing inches from grass, on top of rocks and dirt, you released yourself onto my back, in an attempt to feel closer to me in that moment.