A stump off the path in the woods.

Given a choice, he’d be anywhere but here.

Although quite close to the street, the thick stand of trees means the road noise is almost nonexistent. A paved pathway meanders through the woods, interspersed every so often with concrete stanchions bearing street lights. The worst of it is all the leaf mold. Tree stink. Fresh air. Cold. Who needs it. At least there’s this stump to sit on.

But there isn’t a choice.

Resting elbows on knees, deep in forest shadow, he takes a deep drag on the cigarette he’s just lit.

He hears giggling and tenses a moment.
False alarm.
Too loud, gotta be a pack.

He needs a cull, packs are dangerous. He draws deep on the cigarette and quietly strokes himself as he watches the long limbed college girls sweep past his hidey hole, never once glancing his way. After all, why would they? The world is theirs for the taking. Look at that firm flesh, so casually parading past. Teasing glimpses of breast and buttock make him stiffer than ever. He knows that he’ll never be allowed to touch; so he touches himself as he watches them. On parade. Just for him.

Then that bunch is gone, and he’s left alone again. A smile touches his lips and he drags deeply, watching wisps of smoke curl sensuously in the air above the cigarette. Watching the smoke he luxuriates in the cherished memory of that time in the elevator, the day the ice queen from the seventeenth floor got on the elevator with him.

The unattainable goddess who never registered his existence didn’t see him. They never did. As the car filled up, everyone pressed more tightly in the confines of the corporate box and she brushed her buttocks deliciously against him. Teasing his penis, she swayed with the elevator’s rise. And she smelled so good. He felt his blood rising. He knew it was impossible but he couldn’t stop.

Was it her soap or perfume or her very own girl smell? Whatever it was he tightened his grip on the briefcase and tried to hold his breath, to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

She leaned back into him and stiffened as his hardness strained into her softness. An unexpected rush of pleasure– he knew she could feel him. She froze in place, tantalizing, connected. He couldn’t breathe … blood was pounding in his ears … pounding. He closed his eyes as she squirmed, rubbing against him deliberately. He couldn’t believe it. Surely this was more than any man should have to bear. He breathed in deeply, more of a shudder as he could feel he was about to …

He bit his tongue to stop from crying out as the elevator stopped. Tasted the blood as she went, waving those buttocks saucily at him as she left the elevator with the others on the seventeenth floor. Had she done it on purpose?

As if nothing had happened. He tried for nonchalance, angled the briefcase in front to hide the painful erection from the other passengers. She’d done it on purpose. Was hurrying off to laugh about it with her friends. He was the last out on nineteen and it was all he could do to make it to the privacy of the bathroom stall to finish up. But the memory of her … it was glorious.

He breathes heavily, warmed by the memory of actual contact. The corners of his mouth twitch as he admires the memory, and savors its … deliciousness.

Footsteps. He snaps out of his reverie into the here and now. Listen. Footfalls clattering. Good. Stupid girl shoes. No giggling, no talking even. That means it’s just one. A cull. Perfect.

He smiles and rubs. Coming into view around the bend, she heads into the zone. A little plump, that’s good. Wavy brown hair, pulled back severely, tendrils escaping around the heavy looking backpack. Straps pull her sweater taut and emphasize juicy squeezable breasts. Cellphone strapped to her waist. Hell, they all have them. Not good, but what can you do. She won’t use it.

Perfect. A quick tug and the pantyhose leg is tight over his head, distorting his features. She won’t be able to recognize him. Best of all, she’ll be scared. This is gonna be so good.

He pulls open his coat, and he’s ready. It’s now or never.

His manhood thrusts forward like a sword, swelling with power as he steps out of the shadow and into the sunshine. He feels like a god.

Startled by his sudden appearance out of the bushes, the girl starts to smile an automatic greeting but she realizes right away that something is wrong. She registers stocking mask, the open coat … then she sees the out-thrust penis. His weapon of love.

He’s breathing harder now. She bites her lip, and he takes a step closer. Is she going to cry out at the sight of his power? He takes another step … she’s shaking now, bowing to his …

Startled by the snorting noise she makes– that’s so unfeminine– peering at her through the distorting fabric– he realizes she isn’t doubled over in fear, she’s … shaking with laughter. She’s snickering, spluttering … guffawing.

What the fuck? He is totally disconcerted. This is not right. He feels his masculine power draining away.

Her laughter gets louder. She lifts up a hand and points directly at his suddenly faltering manhood, still laughing, her other hand rubs the tears of laughter from her eyes and she says, “Is that the best you can do?”

This is wrong, he thinks, wrong, wrong, wrong, as her laughter gets louder and louder. What is the world coming to? He whirls around and sprints back into the safety of the trees, trying to stuff himself back inside his pants. He has to get away from this woman. The bitch. Get away from her laughter. Away. Just away.

He grabs the bicycle from its cover and runs back toward the path, past where she stands and laughs. He heads in the direction she’s just come from to get away. Out of her reach.

He throws a leg over the bike and grunts at the unexpected stab of pain generated by the impact of his sensitive bits with the bike’s cross bar. His back to that dreadful hyena, he rips off the stocking mask and stuffs it in his pocket.

Grimly gripping the handlebars he rides like the hounds of hell are after him.

When, really, it is just a little bit of laughter.

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