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I’ve been jogging this trail every morning for months, and every morning, I see the same things. The hummingbird on the bird feeder by the fountain. The mom with the pink stroller. The couple getting coffee on the bench by the pond. And, my favorite sight of all-Orange Hat Guy.

Tall, tanned, a modern Adonis in tight jogging shorts and an obnoxious orange hat, he slows down on the trail, smiling and waving as he passes. His long legs carry him past me in two strides, but before he’s out of sight, I turn and catch a glimpse of his ass in bright blue shorts. It’s so firm, a girl could bounce a quarter off his firm cheeks.

Oh, did I mention that he is also my step-daddy, Cole?

It's a game we've been playing for months now whenever our schedules align and we are both home for the day, pretending to be strangers passing by each other on our usual morning route. Only this route was pre-planned; even the hot sex in public.

It's taboo, sure, but part of the thrill too.

I catch myself drooling over a daydream of him and I behind a bush and break my stride. I slow down to a brisk walk, catching my breath-our sign that I'm up for some naughty fun. I take a seat on the grassy hill and watch as other joggers and park-goers pass me by, pretending to be none-the-wiser about what's about to happen next.

I love roleplaying.

Orange Hat Guy, aka Cole, takes a second lap and spots me, waving at me as he jogs over. He reaches me in moments and gestures to my outstretched leg.

“Everything all right?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just needed to take a breather.”

“Catch your breath yet?”

“Why?”

“I was hoping you’d join me for a lap,” he says, cocking his head toward the trail.

“You were?”

“Of course. A little competition is good for you.”

“Competition?”

“Let’s race. The loser buys lunch, and the winner gets to choose where.” He offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet, laughing as I stumble. I tumble into his arms, and he pulls me close to his sweaty chest.

“Do you always fall face-first into men you’ve just met?”

“Depends where my face lands,” I say with a shrug. “It’s not every day I fall face-first into a silver fox hottie on the jogging trail.”

Cole laughs. He pulls off his signature orange hat and runs his fingers backward through his sandy blonde hair with wisps of gray forming on the side. He shoots me a winning grin and jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

“Save the flattery for lunch, loser.”

I laugh as he pulls the hat back onto his head. Cole takes off down the slope, and I follow close behind. He has a head start, but I quickly catch up to him.

I watch his ass bounce as I close in on him, his cheeks firm and round beneath the deep blue fabric. It makes my core clench and my mouth water. I’m suddenly very aware of my nipples rubbing against the inside of my bra. It makes me hot, and my core clenches again. I let out a small, low moan, and he turns his head around to face me.

A cheeky smile is plastered on his chiseled face as he hollers, “Keep up if you can!”

He takes off down a side trail, one I’ve never been on. It has a steep grade, trailing down toward a secluded part of the lake. Lined with trees and bushes, it’s beautiful and far enough away from the rest of the park that no one can see us.

This is part of the fun... finding new, exciting places to fuck and pretend like we don't live in the same house. We’re so far from anyone that no one could hear me scream, and it turns me on.

We make one lap, two laps, three laps around the lake until he and I collapse behind a bush, laughing and panting. I lost the race by a long shot, but I’ve never felt more energized. My core muscles are tight in more ways than one. Drenched in sweat, every nerve in my body feels electric.

I roll onto my back, holding my hand to my belly as I recover from one hell of a run. My stomach is taut and spasms as I take long, deep breaths.

Cole rolls his head to the side. Our eyes meet and he grins. Sparkling white teeth peek out behind full pink lips.

“Fuck, Pink Shorts, you really know how to give a man a run for his money,” he says between ragged breaths and jagged gasps.

“You call me ‘Pink Shorts’?”

“Well, I figured names aren’t important when you’re on a jog. Yeah?”

I hadn't realized he'd given me a name like I had. Part of the thrill of role play is never speaking about what happens on our runs.

I roll my head over to look at him. Sweat soaks through his thin gray t-shirt, sticking to his chest and abs. I can see every well-defined muscle in his abdomen. His tanned legs stick up, knees bent, and the outline of a thick cock sticks out through his shorts.

I try to stop staring, but the shape of his dick draws my eyes in like a magnet. I can see the length and swollen tip. It jerks slightly as he exhales a shuddering breath. He pulls the hat off and runs his hands through his hair again. He’s even hotter on his back than he is from the front.

I pull myself back to the conversation. “I call you ‘Orange Hat Guy,’” I say.

It’s his turn to laugh. “You do? Why?”

I point to the hat beside him. “Pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

He grins. “You’re right, Pink Shorts.”

“I’m always right.”

It’s quiet for a moment between us, and then he rolls onto his side and faces me. He looks me over, eyes lingering on my chest. His eyes trail over my breasts and down my exposed belly toward the waistband of my shorts.

“So, is there a Mr. Pink Shorts?” he asks. There’s a spark in his eyes, something that seems like mischief and desire rolled into one cocky smirk.

“No. Is there a Mrs. Orange Hat?”

“Not for a long time,” he admits, lying. His eyes travel over the curve of my breast again, and the tip of his pink tongue darts out, licking his lips.

“How long?”

“Long enough, I’ve forgotten how nice a pair of tits feels in my hands.”

I gasp, pretending to be affronted. “That long?”

“That long.”

“Then, let’s fix that.” I sit up and scoot over to him. He pushes himself up on his elbows, watching me curiously. I take his hands and put them over my sports bra, letting him cup my tits.

“That’s nice,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “But, how about you show me the real thing?”

His fingers slide across the fabric until they reach the zipper pull between my breasts. They linger there, waiting for permission. I nod, and he lets his hand do all the talking for us. He tugs down the zipper in one quick motion, freeing my bare nipples.

“Goddamn, where have you been hiding these?” he groans as if he hasn't seen them so many times before. He pushes the bra to the side, hands latching onto my sensitive breasts, and palms them with his calloused mitts. “Fuckin’ beautiful, Pink Shorts.”

Orange Hat massages my breasts until I’m a mewling puddle beside him, the center of my shorts soaked in more than sweat. He kisses my neck as he releases one nipple, pressing it down my belly until he reaches the waistband of my shorts.