They come to bird feeders all through southern Ontario. Just not mine. Or when I had one. Nor have I ever seen one while on a hike.’ ‘So the hunt is on.’ ‘Absolutely,’ she said with a smile, ‘we are hunting for Bunting.’ Within about three paces she said, ‘Oh look, Goldfinch.’ She did it again. What I couldn’t figure out was how she would see the birds before I could. I was watching too. Actively trying. It was weird. It was as if she was conjuring up the birds. ‘You can tell by their song,’ she said smiling. I didn’t even ask a question. I didn’t even formulate one in my mind. There was something very weird with that lady. ‘Every species has a song which is as unique as their feathers,’ she said and then she added, ‘your Peterson guide will give you at least a clue of what that song is. And I believe there’s an i-phone app for that too.’ She could identify the birds by their song alone? Suddenly I tuned myself into the sounds of the forest as we walked along. She was right. There. He exhaled sharply. She slid her hand up and down his hardness; slowly. The twenty, carried up and out of his pants by the motion, dropping to the floor. Up and down. Up and down. She could not believe how wet he was getting, his dick was dripping gooey moisture from its head like a drooling child. She was getting wet too, but this was something else. She let go of the hem of her shirt and it inched up. She could feel the cool air from outside drift between her thighs and her moist pussy. She used her now free hand to undo the snap in the front of his pants, temporarily letting go of his cock to help unzip him. She pulled his underwear down and tucked it underneath his smooth balls. His wet, shiny cock bobbing and dripping freely; exposed. She returned her hand to him. Milking more wetness from his head and dragging it slowly down the shaft. More slow, languid strokes. She looked up into his face, but his eyes were closed. He still held the pizza box.
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