The first pale fingertips of light were beginning to creep their way across the grey sky. Everything was still and calm, waiting for the day to begin.
It was Harry’s favourite time of day; he felt like he had the whole world to himself for those few precious hours, before the raging traffic, the vociferous commuters, the shriek of other people’s children started up all over again
The sound of leaves rustling softly filled the air. Not even the birds had started to sing yet, but Harry knew it wouldn’t be long until the dog walkers began their rounds. He savoured these last few moments alone in the park.
Then he heard the creak of the gate and felt the anticipation surge like fire in the pit of his stomach. He forced it down, but it was like suppressing a belch and he could still feel it burning uncomfortably inside him. He pressed himself back into the undergrowth.
Perhaps it would be that young woman he’d seen on his recce last night. He pictured the way her winter coat followed the contours of her body, the soft curl of brown hair against the skin of her neck.
Harry let out the tiniest groan.
Or maybe a young runner, cheeks just beginning to flush, skin tight lycra and breaths coming faster, faster.
The sweat trickled down the side of Harry’s cheek.
Footsteps on the path now, getting closer. Harry reached for the edges of his long coat. Timing was everything - too soon and she would run before she’d seen it properly, too late and she might pass him altogether.
The rustle of a waterproof. Probably not runner, definitely getting nearer. Harry listened out for the sound of a dog He’d had trouble with dogs before - not insurmountable, but forewarned is forearmed, especially if it was a big dog off the lead.
Breathing now, hot breath coming quick, clouds of steam in the icy air. Any...second…
Harry threw himself out of the bushes, eyes closed tight, and flung open his long coat in a movement he’d perfected over years. The rush of adrenaline as the winter morning air wrapped itself around his member, the moment of anticipation as she took in the tumescent glory of him.
He waited for the screams.
But none came. He sensed her presence on the path in front of him, but she was just standing there. Frowning, Harry opened his eyes.
There stood a thin, short balding middle-aged man bollock naked in an open brown coat staring open-mouthed at Harry, his failing erection drooping sadly against his leg.
Both men stared at each other for a few seconds before sheepishly belting up their coats, seedily tucking themselves away, and turning to hurry off in opposite directions. The cold air no longer felt like an erotic thrill and Harry was chilled to the bone.
He looked over his shoulder at the retreating form of the other man, a picture of shame and disappointment and squalid desperation and suddenly realised he might have been looking at himself in a mirror.