In the Dark

Beth was feeling nervous, yet determined. Sitting here, in the driver’s seat of her rather nondescript Ford fiesta, she deepened her breath to clam herself down. How long must she wait?  Frustrated, she opened the zip of her bag, the strap sitting over the opposite shoulder, and felt inside for the three objects, two quite elongated, and removed one. It was a sheathed knife, with a sharp 10cm blade and a good leather grip. She slid it partly out of the sheath, catching the dying light on the blade, then suddenly thrust it back in and placed it back in the bag. She then slowly placed her fingers around the other long object and a knowing smile pulled her lips tight, whitening them beneath the bright red lipstick. She went over her intentions in mind, handling the object in the bag, almost taking it out, then dropping it and closing the bag with renewed commitment.  Elizabeth Sudbury, at 23 years old, was 5’ 11”, mostly due to her long legs, with longish, dark brown hair, presently left to fall down her neck at the back and as far as her n*****s at the front. She was presently clothed in a slightly cropped white, floral patterned top, with thin straps, hardly hiding the fact that her 34C breasts were not hindered by a bra. She also had on a black miniskirt, reaching to mid-thigh, that that hid the strapped leather underwear she had on – for good reason. She slid her hand between her thighs, feeling that there was a little moisture and admitting that what she was about to do was also kind of exciting.  Beth was brought out of her reverie as she noticed a man, probably late thirties, making his way along the path. She’d chosen this spot deliberately as, for some unknown reason, the council had built the small car park and the public toilets here at the side of the playing fields away from the housing estate, and in a large enough dip that she would probably not be seen. This area was not well used. As she watched, the man turned slightly and headed for the gents. This was it! Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten as she slowly released it, then opened the door and stood there for a second in her black, strappy, high-heeled sandals, then quietly closed the door, straightened her clothing, unzipped and removed the knife, and made her way after the man.  As she reached the open doorway, she realised there was only a small amount of natural light with which to see. No matter. She stepped inside, slowly unsheathing the knife and, as quietly as possible, moved toward the urinal, where the man was busy relieving himself and humming some tune off-key. Still unnoticed, she straightened behind him and snaked her knife-holding hand round, using his own arm as a guide, heard his gasp, guessed his stream of urine had suddenly halted, and whispered into his right ear “I don’t think you want to move. At all!”