They were walking in Hoyt Arboretum. The Arboretum was a big park blanketing the west hill of Portland, wooded in parts, with trails, and then open with small meadows. She was trying to dare him into taking her. She had slipped back to a school-girl voice of taunting, teasing. She'd challenge him, with statements that begged for action, like, "I bet you'd never...." She said, she'd bet he'd never messed around outside. And he said, "sure I have," and she'd say, "oh, kissing doesn't count, I mean like actually fucking, right here where anyone could come by on the trail..." Oh sure, he'd say, bluffing She kept raising the bet as they walked, and he had no option of backing down. She knew this game from school, and so did he. A guy cannot let a girl call him chicken. "So you're saying you'd fuck me here, right in the grass?" He was already hard, thinking about it. He nodded. "Prove it," she said.
So he grabbed her and pulled her off the trail and peeled off his shirt and unhitched his jeans. He spread his flannel shirt out and laid her back on it. She still had her shirt on, but it was open and her breasts were bare. He felt wild, taking her outside, potentially in plain view if another hiker were to come by. He knew they had to be fast, and she wanted it hard and aggressive. He yanked off her purple panties and used them to bind her wrists. She loved a little bondage. Pushing her legs up to her chest, he positioned himself to enter her.
What happened next surprised even her. She'd dared him to fuck her in the grass. He'd misheard.
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