Curate, connect, and discover
"They can hear us," you mutter under your breath. I hold my breath a moment, listening to clamor. From the sound of it, it's two or three teenagers who are just outside the park's public restroom we're in.
I slip my hand back around your neck, squeezing gently. With a whisper-- "stop talking, then, if you don't want them to really hear us. You know what they'll do to you if they see you like this." We knew the risk of discovery when I lead you in here. Neither of us could wait any longer to enjoy each other.
"They're getting..." You interrupt yourself with a gasp and muted moan as I stifle you with another squeeze around your jugulars. "...getting closer." Your voice is breathy, shallow. But distinctly acute of your compromised position, bent over the dingy aluminum toilet as I bruise your cervix.
"So am I. And by the way your balance is giving out, I think you are, too." My voice is too loud. You can't help but notice that the stranger's dialogue has gotten quiet. Were they listening? You hear footsteps on gravel.
It wasn't fair. You were quiet.
"Hello?" He sounded young. 18, 19, maybe?
"Come inside," you heard me say. "She'll let you."