EPISODE AT HERRING OVAL They sat on a bench, in the mild Autumn evening, on the gentle slope overlooking the small oval, the surrounding boulevards whispering in the near distance. Close to the city centre, the botanic gardens were a dimly illuminated series of groups of trees and shrubbery, occasional curators cottages visible. The oval was cut back into the rising slope, with a railing between the benches and the playing area, steps cut into the rise allowing access. They sat slightly apart, a basket with a bottle and glasses between. He was tall, strongly built, his close cropped white hair visible in the darkness. He wore shorts, T-shirt, running shoes. His face was expressionless, his body still. She was slight, blonde, her lips a bright red against her pale skin. Her dress slithered across stockinged thighs as she crossed her legs, a gleam of thigh visible. Her eyes were heavy lidded, idly moving across the oval, her mouth slightly curved in a half smile. Time slid by, he sipped red wine from a large, fine glass, she stretched her legs, moved slightly. Two people emerged from the dim light on the oval, moving slowly, steadily towards the boundary, the benches on the slope above. A man and a woman, medium height, she full of figure, he slight, both dark haired. They slowed, stopped a few feet from the railing, in front of the bench. The blonde woman looked intently, smiled, crossing her legs. The man on the oval twitched slightly, the women’s eyes connected. The tall man on the bench watched, detached, activity commencing in his deepest regions. Time flowed, the only sound the hiss of distant traffic, the breeze rustling. The couple moved closer to the rise, now only a few feet from the bench, their eyes almost level with the ground where the bench was positioned. The woman on the bench was now moving slightly, legs rocking slowly, knees apart, heels back and forth in the soil, hands by hips, lips occasionally parting slightly. The man on the oval intent on her, her flashes of thigh. The blonde woman’s hands moved to her thighs, the dress riding upwards, thighs now constantly visible, perhaps a darkness at the top. Then; carving through the vibrant air, a low, strong voice, the man on the bench: “Why don’t you join us?” The couple made no response, but slow movement towards the steps began, continued. They stepped onto the rise, moved to the bench, sat between the man and woman, with dark haired man from the oval next to the blonde woman on the bench. “I’m Mike, this is Margaret”. The tall man spoke again. “I’m Maria, this is my Mike”. The dark haired woman’s voice was musical, slightly accented. Quietness, stillness, except for the blonde woman’s continued slight movements, her hand now moving on her upper thigh. Closely seated, contact was slight between them all, just at the hips. Relaxation came, legs stretched, male and female strangers feeling gentle, insistent pressure, thigh to thigh, warmth, want, question, answer. Mike turned slightly towards the tall man, looked at him, received his message, touched his body. He responded, breathing quickening, made contact with the swelling of her breast. Large, soft, firming. They were all aware of the interaction occurring, the quickening. All were moving now, touching, being touched. Margaret’s’ dress high, thighs visible, legs apart, the hand of the new man touching the flesh. She moved, leg going to his thigh, his hand out of sight between her splayed limbs. She was now moving in his groin, hand stroking, releasing. His dark penis appeared, curved, the head a broad blunt shape. She made a little sound, lips remaining open, drawing towards it. “Why don’t we see you in the shrubbery?” The now thick, slightly hoarse voice came from the tall man. He was side on to the new woman, his hips moving, her hand stroking. His erection apparent, ominous. The look passed between familiar eyes, messages sent, considered, nervously decided. The blonde woman stood, dress recovering, paused, moved deliberately to the opening in the shrubbery. Her glance back before passing from sight was for the dark haired man only, the invitation unmistakable. He followed. The two bodies left on the bench were now intertwined, lips engulfing, clothing moving, hands going to intimate places, remaining, sustaining. The tall man’s penis was now standing vertically through the opening in his clothing, the woman moving around it, touching, brushing, her tongue slipped into view, briefly touched the slit. Small rhythmic sounds began to come from the heavy foliage, the slight mewing of the woman, the occasional grunt from the male. The man on the bench heard with sick excitement, his penis growing to almost unbearable need, the dark haired woman now engulfing it. shesfuckingshesfuckingshesfuckingshesfuckingiwanthertoiwanthertoiwantherto….. He felt a hard nipple, soft flesh, smelt new musk, the sex the sex the sex. He moved, took the woman’s hand, lifted, led her to the entrance to the darkdarkdarkdark……….. They entered, under the darkness of the foliage, found the primal ritual. The dark haired man was leaning against a low branch, legs apart, clothing at his knees, penis clawing high. The blonde woman’s mouth was moving up an down its glistening, red lips folding in and out. She was making the deep guttural sounds of sex, knees buried in the soil between his legs, dress at her hips, stockings and thighs moving, hand moving in her groin. The tall man and the dark haired woman watched, transfixed. The sordid act exacerbated in their minds by tumultuous inner thoughts, aroused more than ever before. Watching them, watching them, then turning to each other, connecting. The tall man scooped the dark haired woman into his arms, laid her on the soft layer of leaves, reached beneath the dress, she responding, anticipating, widening. He lowered onto her in a swift movement, between her legs, knees rising, his hand on his hardness, guiding, moving, pressing pressing, enteringenteringenteringentering. GODIMFUCKINGTHISPERSONMYWOMANISSUCKINGWATCHINGSHESBEFUCKEDIMHEARHERCOMINGWHILEICOMEINTHISWOMANWHILESHESGETTINGTHESPUNKOFASTRANGEROHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH There was nothing now but the sex. The sex. The tall man lying between the wide stretched legs on the leaves, heaving, contracting, fuckingfuckingfuckingfucking…….. They were spent, soaked bodies locked, limbs mixed, tension inconceivable. Hearing returned from a far place, realisation, awareness, sounds came. Their heads turned to the sounds, the heaving deep sounds of rutting animals. The other man still leaning back, the blonde woman now squatting on his body, legs around, her shockingly visible sex receiving the slick dark column of flesh again again again again again, the first showing of the mushroom head to the total absorption of the root. Her arms were around his neck, mouth wide on his, sounds coming from deep within them, constant movement amplified by the bough flexing. It was wonderfulanimalisticwantedneededwickedsordidnownownownow ONANDONANDONANDON……., the tall man aroused again, in the place still near the sex of the dark haired woman, the phallus asked, the vagina wanted. Again. Again. This hadn’t happened since the first times with the blonde woman, all those years ago. Hardness into wetness, hardness into wetness, hardness into wetness. For a little time, the four bodies writhed, shook, trembled, arched, torrented all the fluids. The ones against the tree spasmed, muffled shrieks came, then the blonde woman slid down the hill of flesh to the ground, looked to the tall man still moving, watched as the act concluded. Still. Still. Still. No words. Unexplained time trickling. Movement, clothing adjusting, figures disengaging, exchanging exotic closeness for familiar flesh. Disbelieving smiles, nervous sounds, uncertainty. The dark haired man and woman moved to the opening, arms around, a quick look back. The tall man and the blonde woman together in the darkness, close, touching. The final generous smiles, loving, appreciative.