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I have been meaning to tell this story for a long time but have never taken the time to write it all down. I wanted to retain it for my own purposes, as part of a diary that I have never really given much more than a half-hearted attempt at maintaining. But with a couple of vodka and tonics in me tonight, I realized that I had to tell it, partially because it is true, but mostly because I think I might actually have the balls to write it.

My name is Jurgen and I live in the Northwest. I have had a pretty fun sex life with some interesting partners, but this particular occurrence marks the most erotic and sensual experience I have ever had the pleasure and luck to experience.

A few years ago I started running to stay in shape. As I got to my thirties, I realized that nothing less would keep the bulge at bay. Needless to say, having started so late, I was not the greatest runner and still am not a triathlete and ironman I am not, either. Perhaps more of a wooden man, given my stiff legged gait and burning red cheeks as I get up to speed. Nevertheless, I started running.

I am not married but am lucky to have had a few long-term girlfriends. Back when this particular experience occurred, I was trying to rid myself of rather a bad relationship with a clingy career gal with success on her mind and visions of a waterfront home brimming with kids. She was funny and pretty, but not what I’d call sexy. I discovered after a while that I was really looking for someone sexy, someone who wore sexy clothes, wore dark and musky perfume, drove a sexy car and said sexy things. Unfortunately, my gal did none of these things. Not ugly, just not sexy. Are you with me so far? OK.

So off I shuffled down the road every couple of nights that fall, jogging along at a respectable but not record-setting pace. I paced out a route through my neighbourhood that took me out 15 minutes, first quickly down a steep hill, then a little uphill, and then back 15 minutes, slightly downhill almost all the way home. The last long block was straight uphill and a killer for me. I managed to make almost a routine of it and was getting pretty chuffed with myself. The route took me through an entirely residential neighbourhood that was decidedly middle class.

It was a mix of single family housing and duplexes. A few unwed mothers and retirees gave the streets a little downscale but comfortable air. Into this atmosphere I strode for several months, rain or shine, all fall and winter. Slowly, after a month or so, I began to recognize some of the residents around the area, and even garnered a smile or two from some of the old folks who took their evening constitutional about the same time as I took my run.

Right near the “summit”, as I called it ­ the slightly up-hill turnaround point where I began my descent back home, there was a small yellow house with a meticulously kept front garden. The lawn was always well trimmed and a profusion of flowers spilled out underneath the front windows and along the path to the sidewalk. Even in the winter, there were blooms. Although I’m not much of a gardener, I still admired the place every time I went past and got used to glancing at the yard as I went by. It was on the up-hill side of the street, slightly raised from the sidewalk, and sometimes when I looked up I saw figures inside the house, but rarely someone outside.

The following spring, I started to notice some kids toys in the front yard when I went running by. Not often, but now and again. I figured it was a young couple with very young children, given the miniscule size of the tricycles and other playthings that infrequently were scattered around the yard. Then, one Friday in the early spring, while the sun was setting late enough for there to be light in the evenings, I saw a young woman on her knees digging and weeding in one of the flower beds under the front windows.

As I ran by, she didn’t look up at all, despite the fact that there was no-one else on the street but me huffing by ­ she was totally engrossed in her gardening. Despite her ungainly position, I was momentarily transfixed ­ my gaze rooted on her form. Without a doubt, she was the sexiest little thing I had ever seen. Now, admittedly, I couldn’t see her face, but her incredibly shapely rear-end was crammed into a pair of shiny black spandex tights, and it was pointed straight at me.

Her upper body, bent over the dirt and weeds, was covered by a sleeveless red fleece top and I could see that it’s fuzzy bulk covered a very petite form. Her hair was dark and short and a little spiky. Her butt was so unbelievably cute that I almost stopped, choked, mid-stride. But I kept moving, and mindful of her neighbours and privacy, padded on by. I couldn’t get her out of my mind all the way home. I can’t explain why.

When I got home and was showering off, I realized that my mind was still totally occupied by her, and I was hellaciously aroused by the very thought of her ass. I found myself stroking my dick güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri as it thickened between my legs in the shower. I was more aroused than I had been in months with my girlfriend. You’d think I was pretty sex-starved to be idly fantasizing about a woman whose face I had never seen, but the very thought of her was entrancing me. Crazy.

Well let me tell you, I just couldn’t get her off my mind. I finally concocted a few half-baked fantasies about her that aroused me so much that one night alone in bed, I came without even touching myself, which is something that had not happened to me in 15 years.

Each time I ran past her place I would scan the yard and the dark windows for a peek, but for weeks, it seemed, there was no sign. Then, one Sunday afternoon, when I was out for an uncharacteristically early run, her yard was full of people. As I jogged past, I could see her standing at the bottom of her front steps holding a small child in her arms and a bundle of toys in the other. She was talking to an older woman that I took to be her mother, and another child was playing with an elderly gentleman.

As I jogged by, the boy was yelling “Grandpa, grandpa, catch-me” and flailing a spurting garden hose in the air. The yard was full of the aftermath of an afternoon of play ­ toys and garden furniture everywhere. But I was not concerned with this. Time stood still, and my casual glance became a lingering stare as I took the young woman in. Her face was pixie-like, shining and pert. Her shapely eyebrows framed a pair of large elfin eyes of a colour I could not determine. Her cheekbones were high placed but not huge. Her lips were bobbed and red, the very essence of bee-stung ­ not too thick and not too thin. Absolutely stunningly beautiful.

Best of all, she was smiling as she spoke and her face was illuminated. She looked young and vibrant, and I had a hard time with the picture of the child in her arms, as she looked too fit and vibrant to be a mother. There was, however, no question that the child was hers. The same pixie-like features and pursed lips. That must be the daughter, I thought. I took as much of this in as I could in the short seconds as I loped on by on the sidewalk. The old lady turned to glance at me momentarily but the young lady didn’t even flicker an eye at me. She was engrossed in her conversation and the young child in her arm. Her chest was hidden from view, but I saw that she was again wearing black, skin-tight spandex tights with a tight white singlet on top. I couldn’t see her breasts as they were obscured by the child’s form, but I had seen enough.

I was breathless and my eyes clouded over with spots. I couldn’t believe it. She was gorgeous. An absolute darling woman-child. My actual fantasies had not cooked up as beautiful a face as I saw that afternoon. I ran back home in a thick haze. My mind conjured up a thousand billion scenarios that would justify running back to her house, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I showered in the same half-blind fog and found myself erect and throbbing as I soaped under the warm jet of water. I masturbated my thick wang and wished desperately that she was there with me. I imagined that I could even smell her there with me. As my come spattered on the glass shower door, I was absolutely drained with desire.

Over the next week I ran every night except one, trying to catch her out front of her house again after work. Finally on Friday, fate smiled on me, and I did catch her as I ran by. She was walking down her path to the road. She was dressed in a slim black shift and heels. She was walking towards a car with her keys out, fumbling in her black purse. Oh my god, I was quivering. She had a tiny amount of makeup on, just enough to slightly accentuate her eyes (deep brown) and her shiny red lips. The timing was perfect, as I ran past the front of her path. She glanced at me, and slowed her gait slightly to let me run past. Time stood still for a second, and finally, finally, I had a chance to look into her eyes as I passed.

“S’cuse me”, I said.

“Hi there”, she said. And smiled at me. Right at me. I kept my cool and didn’t hold her gaze, but smiled politely back at her. Oh man, my heart rate TRIPLED as I ran away, DYING to turn around and give her one more look. But I didn’t dare. As I turned the corner at the top of the small hill, I tossed an innocent glance over my shoulder and saw her getting into a little green Acura. It was then, ex-ACTLY then that I realized I was in love with her. The stupidest thing ever, I know. Love. A love based on three glimpses and four words. But, what can I say? I know it, and if it’s ever happened to you, you know it too, don’t you. “S’cuse Me.” I had said. “Hi there,” she had said. Then: WHAM. In Love, I was. Capital “L”, baby.

Now: I had seen her up close, heard her cute little voice, and best of all, smelled her. She was wearing a perfect perfume ­ a little musk, a little citrus. I couldn’t güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri place it, but knew I’d smelled it before. It was a young person’s perfume. ‘I’d figure out which one it was’, I thought, as I floated home, panic stricken that I had left my own sweaty odour wafting behind me as I ran past.

Now I realize what you’re probably thinking: ‘Uh-oh. Stalker Boy. She’s in danger’. But it wasn’t like that. I was as harmless and innocent as a 12 year old, so fearful of appearing like a slavering lunatic, that I was far too afraid to approach a woman like that. No, I would worship from afar. As it happened, I didn’t have to wait too much longer for another look.

Weeks later I was running every second night, hoping to catch a glimpse, but all I’d seen was her back disappearing into her front door, her head driving by me in her car, and her kids running around the side of the house. I’d seen no sight of a man around the house, and let me tell you that did much to fuel my erotic fantasies. Unfortunately, my work took me on a three-week sojourn to Europe and then the East coast, and I had to settle for memories of my little pixie’s smile. My relationship with the Frumpy One was on hold as I had been spurning her company for a while. The trip helped a little, but resulted in countless voicemails and emails while I was away.

After I got back, I went running the first night I arrived, a Saturday. I was feeling vibrant and confident after a particularly successful set of customer meetings, and was enjoying the stiff warmth coursing through my muscles as they stretched out after the three week hiatus I had given them. As I approached her house, I saw that she was in her yard with a few people. Her house faced south west, so if she was going to have a sunset barbecue, she had to have it out front. There were about 12 people in her yard, the majority being women. There was a lot of laughter and they seemed to be having a good time. A small ghetto blaster was playing some jazz quietly.

There was no sign of her children or any other kids for that matter. As I ran past, I glimpsed her standing near her flower-bed beneath the front window. To my disbelief, she caught my eye as I ran past and raised her wine glass to me, smiling. As I approached the point at which it would no longer be polite to stare at her, I managed a stunned grin and a small awkward wave. A couple of women around her turned quickly to see who their host was waving at, and I heard her speak again through the throng: “Oh, he’s always out running…” and then I heard no more.

I couldn’t believe it. She sounded as though she’d seen me a lot more than twice. Wow. Suddenly I felt a tiny, tiny bit more connected to her. I had to learn more about her!

About a week later I was running past again in the pouring spring rain, when she was getting out of her car, a briefcase in one arm and a newspaper held over her head. She was wearing a business suit with a short skirt and dark blazer. She looked up as I splashed by and laughed out loud at me. I turned my head towards her and spoke: “What?” I laughed back at her. “Are you crazy. You must be a nut.” “Its not that bad,” I managed to spit out, before I was past her. This brief interaction kept me smiling all the way home despite the deluge. Man, I HAD to get to know this babe. Little did I know, that our relationship was about to change radically.

As the spring became full-blown summer I saw her more and more often although we didn’t speak at all. Once or twice I saw her long enough to exchange a smile or two, but nothing more. I never saw her with another person other than the lady I believed to be her mother and, infrequently, her small children. She seemed active, and once or twice I caught her with a tennis bag and gym gear. The best part was that she almost always wore spandex tights when she was working in her garden, that gave me plenty of opportunity to view her stunning little ass from a wide variety of angles. As the weather warmed, I caught her again in the singlet that was white and skin-tight.

Her breasts were firm and high on her chest. Not big, but nicely rounded and often flattened slightly by the stretchy fabric of her top. Once I saw her in a mindblowing sports bra as she leant on her bumper doing up a running shoe. She was leaning towards me and her cleavage was thrust enticingly forward at me. It was enough of a view for weeks of masturbatory fantasies. I imagined my cock plowing between those globes, spattering my seed all over them. I imagined a lot more too. She kept herself nicely tanned and seemed to grow a golden olive brown as the warm summer weeks progressed.

One evening, as I jogged toward her house, I saw her in the front yard. From a distance, she seemed to be struggling with an errant child. She was bent over, facing toward me, backing up along the front path by her flower-bed. As I got closer, I realized she was dragging a huge bag of topsoil toward the corner güvenilir bahis şirketleri of her house. By the time I got to the edge of her lawn, I had slowed my pace. My heart pounded in my chest, and my mouth went bone dry as I spoke: “Hey,” I croaked. “Can I give you a hand with that?”

I stopped in my tracks, smiling at her nervously. She looked up, having not seen me until I spoke. She smiled, widely.

“Hey there, you. Yeah, that would be great. This thing weighs a ton.”

I walked up her path, for the first time, approaching her. In the setting sun, her skin glowed. The light shone off her tights and accentuated her curves. Her top was tight and white again (what a wardrobe!) and was tucked into the top of her tights. She was wearing sandals and had a pair of soiled garden gloves tucked under her arm.

“Where are you taking it”? I asked, bending down to pick up the big thick plastic bag full of dirt.

“Oh, just around to the basement door. This way,” she turned slightly. “You’re not going to pick that thing up are you? It’s SO heavy”.

“It’s OK,” I grunted, conscious of looking like I was trying too hard to impress her. Hefting the bag into my arms I said: “Lead on.”

She stepped ahead of me, and suddenly time seemed to slow again. As she led me to the end of the path and around the corner of her house, my eyes fell to her butt. Rounded sweetly, pouting out over the tops of her thighs, it was a perfect pert little heart shape, and I couldn’t get the image of my dick plowing between those cheeks out of my head.

She led me round the corner and out of the sun, where it was much cooler. A door stood open to her basement and she led me down two concrete steps into the relative darkness of her storeroom. There were garden tools and a lawnmower against one wall, and a workbench against another.

“Where do you want it?” I asked.

“Over there is fine,” she giggled, “just don’t get a hernia on me. I don’t think my insurance will cover you.”

I dropped the heavy sack on the floor under a window and turned back toward her.

Suddenly, I was aware of an acute change in the atmosphere. She was standing right behind me and I literally bumped into her as I turned.

“Oops” I said, looking down into her eyes.

“No problem,” she whispered.

She was looking up at me intensely, with a strange half-grin on her face. I couldn’t believe it. I was standing less than six inches from the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, the object of my fantasies, and she was staring at me like she wanted me to kiss her. You know that look? It’s the look you see only once from someone. The first time you ever think that you might kiss each other, but haven’t done so yet.

It’s a magical moment that we should all cherish carefully, because it doesn’t ever repeat itself with that person ever again. And there we were, standing in that moment. I was acutely conscious of my sweaty body and my heavy breathing. My heart was pounding like a cannon, partially from the run, and partially in abject fear. That’s right. Fear. I was terrified that this whole scenario wasn’t going to play out. Cautiously, I moved toward her with my arms slightly out. She leaned towards me, and in an incredibly short millisecond … I kissed her, absolutely stunning myself with my own boldness.

I just leaned in and kissed her right on the lips ­ a short, soft, sensual caress on the lips. No tongue, no open lips, no saliva, no teeth. Not a peck, but not a slobber either. I couldn’t believe that I had done it, and without being able to stop myself, I jerked back and giggled like a child. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I did that. I’m sorry”

She was wide-eyed too, smiling in shock.

There was a moment of silence.

“I can’t believe WE did that. Where did THAT come from!” She giggled at me, hands clasped on her thighs, bent over in a cute display of disbelief.

“Holy shit. I am so sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” Her smile faded slightly. She leaned in toward me and kissed me right back, her lips parted slightly and her eyes closed.

Suddenly, suddenly, she was in my arms, and her arms were about me. I was bent over a little, as she was at least 6 inches shorter than me, but our arms were around each other. My stomach felt hollow and I was literally quivering deep in my abdomen. I couldn’t believe it. I could hear the blood racing in my ears. The kiss was long and lingering and before long her tongue flickered between her lips and tickled my teeth slightly. Her embrace grew stronger.

What were we doing? This was like out of some crazy dream. I held her tighter in response, my hands grasping the slender waist and delicate shoulder blades.

“Holy cow.” I said, as I pulled my head back. “Holy cow.”

She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. “Come here”. She turned slightly, kicking the basement door shut, then led me through the dimness and clutter to the bottom of a set of stairs. Light shone down the stairwell and I was struck still by the vision of her incredible ass swaying up the steps before me. It was all I could do to prevent myself from reaching out and grabbing her shiny spandex-covered rear and burying my face between her legs. She led me up the stairs, which came out into her kitchen.

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