Dough’s Fantasy

He was standing under his favourite tree, lost in thought- again.

It had been his chosen spot since he moved to this area some years ago. First of all the tree was huge and old. The mossy ground around it was soft under the soles of his trainers. Hidden behind the bushes he would stand here for hours at a time, thinking and watching the world go by.

The joggers on the track below to be precise, just passing by or stopping at the rail for some light stretching.

He had named every regular, every female regular, imagined their lives, their bodies without clothing.

It was late already. The woods seemed empty, the sun was setting and it got dark. In the dim light he could see one more coming down the the path. Sally, he had named her. She had shown up three or four years ago. First he had thought her young, a mere teenager. Mainly because of her slender figure and her underdeveloped breasts. But she had not changed over the years and he came to the conclusion that she might be in her twenties.

As usual she was dressed in shorts and a tight fitting black tee, her long black hair bound to a ponytail.

As with her age, her story had changes over the years. From being a girl at high school to some college girl he now fancied her to work in a shop. Something fancy, dressed in a tight fitting skirt, a blouse. She had no particular times, sometimes he had not seen her for weeks or month, then she was back. One day he would talk to her, ask her out. Just as the others. One day, but not today.

She stopped at the bridge across the dried up river and leant against the railing and started stretching.

Noiselessly he stepped forward for a better view. Her shirt clung to her body. She seemed more exhausted than usual, her tiny breasts heaved with her heavy breathing.

The snap of a branch made him look down the path.

A guy was coming her way.