Then Rachel started talking about birth control. What a downer. Mark was so nice to me, and never made any sort of move that made me doubt that he was treating me with Christian respect, and then Rachel just threw that in there. I mean, I suppose that I could go on the pill, just in case, but, dear Lord! what if my father ever found out? I gathered up my shower stuff and headed for the floor bathroom. It was early, so I had the bathroom to myself when I got there, which was a relief. My hair still looked pretty good, but I washed it anyway, and I still had Monica’s cream rinse with my stuff, so I used that, too. Maybe I shouldn’t have, because my dad will be picking me up this evening for a weekend at home, and he might notice. Everybody said that my hair looked good up in a ponytail, and I guess that’s how I’ll wear my hair today, since Mark seemed to like it, but I’ll have to take it out before dad gets here. Oh, my gosh, I still had the clear nail polish on, and I don’t have any. He would run behind her, watching her rear jiggle each time her foot hit the pavement. The man was glad that he too was fit. At a certain point in the run the woman would stop at a park bench. There, she would do squats, star jumps, and a number of other static exercises that drove the man wild. She never saw the man slipping into the shrubbery just off the running track. In amongst the foliage, he would find a comfortable position from which to watch the morning’s fresh round of displays. Breasts rose and fell with the take-off and landing of each jump. From the occasional wince or adjustment she'd made, the man had come to realise that she did these exercises despite the shock of pain that ran through her chest upon each repetition. Her ass dropped low into each squat, almost enough to reach the pavement, before rising to a perfectly sloped resting position. Sweat often trickled from beneath the lower band of her crop top, making the man ache to touch her. On one occasion, the man.
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