## A (very) memorable walk in the park (M/f)

Post by OldTUGger » Tue Jan 21, 2014 5:42 am

“I love your guitar playing, but I don’t want to hang out in the house all day, Jake,” Elizabeth said. “Why don’t we go out for a while?”
“Sure,” I replied, cradling the guitar by its neck and leaning it against the sofa.
“Let's walk over to the park. After all, it’s such a pretty day.”
“Hey, that sounds good to me. Mind if I bring my camera? I’d like to get some nice pictures of you before I head home for the summer.”
It was the Sunday before final-exam week at the university we both attended. By the following weekend my junior year would be finished and I’d be back home getting ready to start at my summer job.
Elizabeth was my first serious girlfriend.
Wait -- first serious girlfriend? Junior year of college?
Yeah, I was a late bloomer -- a skinny, geeky brainiac with pop bottle-bottom glasses. High school was rough. Girls treated me in much the same way they would have treated a jar of radioactive medical waste, i.e., they kept as much distance between me and them as they possibly could.
And then, during my senior year, a bit of a miracle took place. My coordination improved dramatically. I put on 25 pounds of muscle and, much to everyone’s surprise, cracked the starting lineups on the basketball and baseball teams.
My dating life improved, but only a little. I might have been an athlete, but I still wore those gosh-awful black-rimmed birth-control glasses, and my ears still stuck out like the dive brakes on an F-104 fighter jet.
In college things got better. A couple of manual-labor summer jobs packed even more muscle onto my frame, and by the time my sophomore year rolled around I had rounded into my physical prime -- 6-foot-2, 190 pounds, broad of shoulder and narrow of waist. Metal aviator frames rendered my glasses more girl-friendly, and a longer hairstyle disguised the protruding-ear problem.
I started dating. I had a couple of steady girlfriends, but nothing really serious until, a week into my junior year at college, Elizabeth caught my eye.
We were a bit of an odd couple. She was a wisp of a girl, 5-foot-4, maybe 100 pounds, with short blonde hair and a captivatingly pretty face. I was a big ol’ jock. She was a city girl attending the university in her hometown. I was a country boy from a tiny mining community three hours’ drive away.
Still, we hit it off, and by the holiday break we both had fallen very much in love. With summer break looming, the last thing we wanted was to be apart. So, on that Sunday before finals week, we strolled to the nearby park and wandered around, holding hands, enjoying the spring sunshine and savoring each other’s company.
Her pale blue eyes sparkled; the sun played on the golden bangs that hung almost to her eyebrows. Her scoop-necked blouse afforded me a most pleasing bird’s-eye view of her upper chest, and her denim short-shorts displayed every inch of her slender legs.
From time to time, when the backdrop was suitably scenic, I had her lean against a tree or sit on a stone wall and snapped a photo of her. We climbed the hill that overlooked the park, found a semi-secluded grassy spot and sat down to enjoy the view.
She leaned her head against my shoulder and sighed contentedly. I slipped my arm around her and pulled her close. She slipped her left hand under the hem of my t-shirt, slowly reached her fingers toward the nascent tuft of hair on my chest…
And started tickling me for all she was worth!
“Hey! Stop that!” I chuckled.
“Make me!” she countered.
I grabbed her wrists, pulled them behind her, crossed them and held them there with one hand. With my other hand, I reached down and began untying the shoelace on one of my sneakers.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Wanna bet?”
I freed the lace and went to work tying her hands. For the record, the 52-inch cotton laces on Converse Chuck Taylor high-tops make terrific binding material. Elizabeth squirmed a bit, but offered only playful, token resistance. Within a couple of minutes, her wrists were secured with genuine Mark I, Mod-Zero Boy Scout Handbook square lashing.
“Are you finished?” she asked, an impudent smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Not quite.”
I reached down and undid the bows on her sneakers’ shoelaces. I took the lace ends from her right shoe, looped them around her left ankle and tied them off. Her right ankle got the laces from the opposite shoe.
“There. Your shoelaces were untied and I fixed them for you,” I said triumphantly. “You know, I could tickle the snot out of you now, but let’s just call this a truce.”
“Some truce. More like I’m a prisoner of war,” she pouted.
“Ah, but according to the Geneva Convention, I must treat my prisoners well,” I said as I inclined my head toward hers. She smiled and we kissed.
I held her there, bound and cradled in my arms, for a good long while. We chatted and kissed and watched people pass by. No one seemed to notice that the cute little blonde snuggled up to the big guy was tied up, or if they did they had the decency not to stare.
All good things must end, and eventually I untied her wrists and allowed her to free her ankles from their imprisonment. We strolled back to her house and spent the remainder of the afternoon watching TV and singing the songs I played on her guitar.
Our courtship lasted more than a year, but eventually we drifted apart. The tie-up game we played that afternoon was, by all indications, a product of the moment. I tried to bind her hands one other time a few months later, but she wasn’t in the mood and rebuffed me.
We did have that one special afternoon, though. And I hope, nearly 40 years on, that she remembers it as fondly as I.

### Re: A (very) memorable walk in the park (M/f)

Post by wrapmetightly » Tue Jan 21, 2014 4:41 pm

Great story! Romantic.