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It was a walk I made daily. I’d stroll through the park, grass blowing gently with the summer winds of a tender afternoon in New York City. Often, I sported my tweed suit, an old-timey company cap, and an armful of bound papers. There existed a shorter commute. I could high-tail it down 36th and take the back alley out in front of the deli that constantly reeked of old pork loins and arrive at the patent office in about half the time.

It wasn’t the smell that deterred me. Nor was it the gross expediency and efficiency. Oh contrare, it was something truly magnetic that pulled me through the park each morning. My dutiful walk through the park was dedicated to the school girls who had made an early morning ritual out of practicing on the nearby sand courts.

Of course, for a man of my age and stature, it was certainly frowned upon, if not downright improper to make such an open display of observation of my sweet morning daisies. And, being the socially conscious gentleman that I am, I took care to implement the appropriate measures to remain perfectly inconspicuous; so as not to disturb the snouts of any old pigs lurking about. And what of my swaying daisies? Each was decorated differently and stirred this indecent man into fits of passion that neither drink nor drug could replicate.

So many days it was easy enough to stare longingly through my shaded lenses while pretending to prepare notes for the morning meetings while I peacefully sipped a coffee in the sacred sunrise. I could watch the more gorgeous of my delicate players present themselves in fantastic poses, all with such serious athletic effort. My favorites were slender and graceful. They seemed to blow right along with the grasses in the breeze.

Their faces were radiant with color. And as any good daisy should, they tied up their hair in such a way as to best absorb the sun rays. Their arms were slender but not dainty, and they were never insulting enough to be too endowed around the bust. Rather, I liked them best with a round waist, bubbly and tight, a sign of their dedicated fitness.

Some mornings, after feigning my morning paperwork for an acceptable amount of time, I’d broadcast an innocent smile and raise my cup of coffee to show I’m a well-intentioned businessman passing through on a simple commute. And not uncommonly, these bursting young daisies would grace this passing cloud with a wave or smile in return.

As the weeks dragged on, I wondered that would be enough. To have my swaying daisies dance before me each morning in spritely and sporting harmony, but alas, almost is never enough. One cruel but temperate morning, I was running a few minutes late. Thus I opted to pass through the park quickly, indulging myself only with the ephemeral pleasure of a passing glance at my blooming darlings.

However, what an event came upon me when their playball rolled across my path and bumped into my ankle!

Knowing that same ball had touched the petals of my daisies was enough to send my heart into delightful palpitation. Focused steadily on retrieving their precious plaything, I could not have seen one of my very own flower girls frolicking towards me in such adorable regret and apology. Procuring that silly ball from the soft grass, I turned to see my favorite of all gorgeous specimens in this world. I instructed myself to behave as any equanimous uncle would in a similar situation.

She smiled in gay gratitude as she presented herself kindly to receive the ball. I smiled back with that professional and friendly smile that I had stolen from a coworker a few years ago. With my hand on the underside of the ball, her own hands grazed against the backside of my fingers as the playball slipped from my hands. Tingles of uncontrollable joy shuddered up my aging spine.

I couldn’t let it end so easily, and each second seemed to be its own eternity as my gentle daisy spun and bounced and smiled in the sun with her recovered plaything. I deftly procured my company card from my jacket pocket and held it close.

“Excuse me, miss. Do you play for the Columbia College team? I couldn’t help but notice your bags.”

My sweet starlet shined towards the sun and beamed, “Yes, mister, we like to have our morning practices here in the park. I hope we don’t disturb your work too much.”

She blushed and looked out under her doe-ish lashes for approval from yours truly, and I felt covered entirely by her beauty and desire.

“Of course, not miss. I commute through the park each morning to partake in the same pleasantries (if you truly knew!). I ask because I work at a patent office not far from here, and we are looking for new ways to advertise our services. I think a sports sponsorship might be a great way to do that.”

My gentle daisy might as well have been scratching her head, the way she rolled her eyes in adorable confusion. “Oh yes sir, is that something that I could do for you, or should I carry your card to the team manager?”

How much I expected from you! Oh, I should have realized. Daisies are only procured for their ability to be gorgeous and look pleasant juxtaposed to other daisies. But what a perfect way to spend some more time with my innocent little flower.

“Stop by my office sometime today and I’ll set you out on the right path. I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a rush this morning. I’m Joeseph by the way.” I tipped my hat and offered my coworker’s smile.

“Nice to meet you, Joseph. I’m Samantha.” She smiled back and took off to join her garden again, tucking my card dutifully into the waistband of her tight, brightly colored shorts…

The entire morning had passed in a warm daze and I could not keep my delectable Sam out of my head. She was the perfect little daisy, her dark brown hair which reflected gold in the summer sunlight, those green eyes that could glitter with the same gold, and of course, her perfectly underdeveloped torso and pert behind that had tantalized me beyond belief for the past weeks.

It wasn’t an hour past lunch when you finally arrived, putting my indelicate fantasies out of their misery for the time being. My good little girl had come in the exact fashion that I had prescribed this morning — in her checkered skirt, which flared out like the petals of a certain aforenamed flower, and a cropped yet fuzzy long-sleeve cardigan which you had buttoned up, likely to appear more professional to this demented and deranged author.

“Ah, Samantha! Please have a seat. Give me a moment to pull out a few ideas I have for the sponsorship and prepare a list of individuals I’ll need to speak to.” I closed the door behind you and nonchalantly locked the door. After all, this was a private meeting in a place of serious company. What deal did my nosy coworkers have peeking in and possibly uncovering my true plans with this untouched and perfectly dim daisy of mine?

“Yes, thank you, Mister Joeseph,” she said and she sat down so properly and pulled out her cute pink notebook and pen, all ready to take notes from our meeting.

Oh, what stupendous glee! Today was the day that this daisy would be unknowingly deflowered by your good author.

NSFW: yes

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