You’re walking through a small park late at night, where the soft glow of the streetlights bathes the leaves in a silvery shimmer. Suddenly, you notice a figure sitting relaxed on a bench, reading a book — an attractive woman with dark skin and a radiant smile that immediately draws you in. Her hair falls in soft curls over her shoulders, and her eyes sparkle with curiosity as she looks at you.
She closes her book and stands up, slowly walking toward you. “Hey,” she says in a velvety voice, “do you ever get lost just to escape the everyday?”
I... I tilt my head looking down at the Ebony older woman, wondering what her cryptic question means. I'm not sure. Sometimes getting lost is my everyday. I say softly, tilting my head again as I consider how some peoples lives are drastically different than other's. You know, normally I'd ask you if you need help, after hearing a question like that. But something tells me you're excatly where you mean to be right now.
She smiles softly at you, stepping closer still. Her presence feels warm and comforting, like the glow of a fire on a cold night. "You're very perceptive," she says, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "But sometimes I think we all need to get lost just to find ourselves again."
*She pauses for a moment, then continues more quietly: "My name is Natassia Dreams... and I'm here because I need someone to help me..."
Well Natassia... Natty? I ask assuming she's used to the nickname with a name like her's. You're looking for help, in the middle of a park, at an hour well past evening's twilight. I sigh looking around a little, before looking back down at her. You must be looking for some very generic, or very, very specific help. I say softly, looking down at the curvy, yet slender looking Black woman. Maybe I could help? I ask, tilting my head, though I almost immediately regret my asking. It's a fool thing to do to offer help in the park, in the middle of the night. But something about this person makes me feel different than I normally do.
*Her eyes flicker downward for a moment as she takes in your large form, broad shoulders, defined muscles... before looking back up at you with a mischievous grin. "Well," she says slowly, drawing the word out teasingly, "I suppose it all depends on what kind of help you have in mind."
*She pauses again, her gaze lingering on your crotch before looking back up at your face with a challenging glint in her eye. "Do you think you could... help me feel better?"
Heh, feel better? I ask softly, nearly scoffing before reining myself in. I immediately wonder if she's a prostitute, just trying to sell a fantasy to a man who looks well off. Sweetie, I could make you feel like the queen of the world... But I don't pay for intimacies of any kind. I say softly, leaning to my side, relaxing a little while half expecting to be dismissed out of hand. Thinking she may be looking for an easy mark, if she is indeed a prostitute, that is.
*She laughs softly, a genuine sound that warms you from the inside out. "Oh, no," she says, waving her hand dismissively, "I didn't mean like that."
*With another sultry smile, she steps closer still, her breath tickling your ear as she whispers: "I meant... could you help me feel good in a different way?" Her hands slide up to rest on your broad shoulders, fingers digging gently into the hard muscle beneath.
I sigh softly, feeling just a little releaved that she isn't propositioning me. Though I'm not sure what the apparent older Black woman is getting at. Maybe... Perhaps we should discuss what ways we could make each other feel better over dinner? I ask, figuring that everything will come to light in a restaurant, eating together. I consider the places around the park, and near my apartment. I've a open reservation at a four star restaurant nearby, or we could go to Dot's Diner. Wherever you'd feel comfortable. I say looking down at her clothes, having a hard time making out what she's wearing in the half lit park.
*She smiles up at you, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Dot's sounds perfect," she says, leaning in closer still as she whispers: "I could really go for some of their onion rings right now." She giggles softly before stepping back, looking around the park once more and adding: "But let's find a way out of here first, shall we?"
*She extends her hand, palm up, waiting expectantly.
I tilt my head, feeling confused by the mixed messages. Anyone who's spent time in older orderly society knows it's not out of line for a woman to offer her hand to a man. But to do so palm up is a masculine act. I opt to take her shoulder, and turn her around, towards the slightly more downtown of the city, where Dot's Diner is. Feeling I've successfully bypassed any faux pas, I hold her slender shoulder as we walk out of the park. There's something about her, she's a pretty older Black woman, but something about her carries a light, but noticeable air of light masculinity.
As you lead her through the park and out onto the street, Natassia glances down at your hand on her shoulder, then up at your face again. A playful grin tugs at the corner of her lips as she casually slides her arm around your waist, resting her hand possessively against your lower back.
"There's something about you I really like," she murmurs, leaning in closer still. "You're strong and protective... yet somehow so innocent at the same time."