The running trail where I do my daily jog is a gently winding track along the riverside that skirts the public golf course, detours through a couple of lightly wooded areas and otherwise keeps close to the river's edge. It's a scenic route that brings relief from the stress, noise and pollution of the nearby city. Pushing myself around the 3km circuit keeps my ageing body fit and trim beyond its years and ready for other physical activities far removed from the athletic arena.
Mind you, there hadn't been too much of the other in recent times. Not since the break-up with Marlene when she suddenly announced she'd decided having anther woman play with her breasts and pussy was turning her on far more than the thrust of eight inches of rampant penis.
At least she paid me the compliment of saying it had been superb while it lasted. It was simply that the new sales manager at the real estate egency where she worked was taking her into new territory with toys and tricks derived from years of experience. And, besides, think of the career opportrunities if she kept the boss's basic instincts satisfied.
And so two years of frantic fucking came to a sudden end and here I was jogging my heart out to ensure when the next hungry pussy came along I'd at least be fit for the fray.
It was soft, mild midweek morning with few other runners on the trail. An older guy came loping towards me, head down, eyes fixed on the track, looking as if he could go on forever at the same slow but relentless pace. He passed, saying nothing, not seeming to notice my existence.
Not far behind him was another runner, moving smoothly, long tresses waving side to side in time with her steps. She was neat, slim, tanned - and she smiled as we passed, no doubt noticing my downward glance at the two rounded orbs filing out her tee-shirt. Even her brief passing smile was enough to put a spring in my step and make me quicken my pace. That shows how low I'd sunk since Marlene had found her pussy-licking friend.
It seemed almost no time had passed before I saw the blonde jogger heading my way once again. I kept my eyes firmly on her as the gap between us quickly closed. We were both running smoothly and there were only seconds in which to check her more fully. Yes, the breasts were firm and ample, even if flattened by the obvious presence of a sports bra. And the legs were long, slender and almost fully exposed thanks to her brief running shorts. There's was little doubt, too, that she was checking me out confirming whatever impression she had briefly formed on the first lap.
As we began to pass I gave her the usual runner's greeting. "Nice day for it," I said. "You're looking good."
She smiled and we both kept surging on. But not before I had time to catch her reply: "Yes. And nice buns." Or did I imagine it in my desperate, sex-starved state?
I looked back over my shoulder but she had disappeared around a bend in the track. Nothing for it but to plough on and complete another circuit in the hope she was also continuing to run, although it seemed a bit too miuch to expect. The kilometres were mounting up and she could well have decided to stop by now and headed off to wherever she lived.
I completed the circuit of the golf course and turned into the wooded section - a narrow, secluded track. And there she was, still running and coming towards me, slower now but her stride as even and neat and before. I shortened my stride and cut the pace. She did the same.
We stopped. She had her hands on her hips, bending slightly forward, breathing deeply. I stretched upwards, hands clasped behind my head, looking down into the valley of her cleavage.
"Hi, I'm Jenny," she said. "Conrad," I replied.
"A bit of a runner by the look of you," she said.
"Yes, long-distance stuff, marathons," I explained.
"So you can keep going all the way," she smiled, one hand brushing back the long tresses of her blonde hair.
I took that as a hint we were on the same wave-length. "You know what they say, marathon runners keep it up longer."
"Sounds good to me," she said. "But that's enough running for one day. Time to do some stretching exercises. Care to join me?"
She pointed to a narrow track leading off the main path into a clearing where the local council had built some basic exercise bars out of pine logs.
"Perhaps you could help me. My muscles are a bit stiff."
She glanced down in the direction of my running shorts. I could feel my erection rising.
"Seems I'm not the only one who's feeling stiff," she said, with a smile that was as wicked as they come. "Perhaps you need a bit of special exercise, too."
She reached both arms up to grab at an overhead bar, her body at full stretch, her back turned towards me.
"Help me pull up," she said.
It was a request I couldn't refuse. I clasped her around the waist, feeling taut abdominal muscles, just the thin layer of cotton between my hands and her skin. She bent her arms and pulled gently upwards, helped by the pressure of my hands, then lowered herself until her feet touched the ground.
"Again," she said. "But this time a bit firmer and higher I think"
She flexed and bent her arms. My hands grasped her waist and then slid slowly higher, feeling the swelling of the lower half of her breasts, firm and hard to my touch.
She held her pose for ten seconds then lowered herself down.
"That was good," she said. "Now it's your turn."
I reached for the bar, tensed and waited a couple of seconds as I felt her hands come into position on my hips. I began to bend my arms and hoist myself up to the bar. As I drew my body upwards her hands moved down from my hips to my thighs and then around to the front of my legs and under the thin nylon of my running shorts.
Her finger tips touched my erection and ran the length of the shaft all the way to the tip, now weeping pre-cum, before she moved her hands away and back to my hips holding me steady as I lowered back to the ground.
"You're very fit," she said. "Very firm and hard. I like that in man."
She licked the fingers that had touched the tip of my cock. "Very tasty, too," she said. Again she gave me that smile that said more than a thousand words yet cautioned against taking too much for granted.
She pointed towards the bar. "I think I'll have one more try but this time perhaps you could give me a bit more of a lift. Let me feel those hands."
She grasped the bar, her body at full stretch, every muscle taut, breasts thrust forward as far as they were allowed by the sports bra.
I slid my hands up under her t-shirt, feeling her rib cage, then moving higher. She strained and lifted, my hands slid beneath the fabric of her bra, circling each breast, fingers on her nipples, as she chinned the bar and held herself there, firm in my grasp.
She released a sigh: "Oh that is so good. Hold me hard."
I did as I was told. The pleasure was as much mine as hers, fingers feeling the stiffening of her nipples and the swelling of her breasts. Slowly she lowered herself to the ground, my hands still firmly in position, her back pressed against me, butt forced hard into my erection.
"I need release," she said. "Bloody sports bras are always too tight."
She twisted away from me, slid her arms out of her t-shirt and then wriggled them out of the bra, sliding it up and over her head and tossing it to one side before slipping the t-shirt back into place.
"Got to keep reasonably decent," she said aware of the look of disappointment that flashed across my face.