For many Americans, the Fourth of July is synonymous with freedom—a day off full of fattening food and pyrotechnics. And for me, one fateful Independence Day about five years ago, it was also a day for metaphorical fireworks—in the form of one of the best public quickies I’ve ever had.
For the past decade or so, I’d always had to work at my job in the entertainment industry on America’s birthday, so I’d usually miss out on all the festivities in exchange for a measly holiday pay bump. But for once, the Gods of Scheduling smiled upon me and the Fourth happened to fall on “my” Saturday, giving me the day off. My first Fourth off since the Obama administration?! I practically vibrated with excitement.
As I weighed my options (pool party, beach day, etc.), a group chat buzzed in: “Hey! It’s a long shot, but in case you have the holiday off this year, wanna join us for a picnic in the park? Best place to watch the fireworks in the city.”
Ooh, yes—I’d been dying to wear my new sundress! We have a winner!
The park, dotted with oak trees and turning from gold to pink in the late afternoon sun, was awash in stars and stripes. Red, white, and blue clothes and little handheld flags choked the landscape. My sage green sundress stood out like a sore thumb, but I didn’t care—I looked hot as fuck in it.
Navigating our way through the star-spangled crowd, my picnic basket and I finally found my group of friends. Hugs were given, compliments exchanged, and a hot dog shoved into my hand before I even knew what was happening. After weeks of nothing but stale office life, it was pure bliss.
As some of my dude friends moved on to the subject of sports, I took a moment to tune out and do some people watching. Most of the scenes playing out on the blankets surrounding me were ripped right from a Normal Rockwell painting—parents wiping barbecue sauce off of a toddler’s face, friends posing together for a selfie—but one face stood out. A redheaded hottie caught my eye—killer smile in a blue flannel shirt, freckles dusted beautifully across the bridge of his nose, and eyes so deep-blue, they almost looked brown in the fading light. I never caught his name, but for the sake of storytelling, let’s call him Ben.
I tried desperately not to stare, but he must have felt my gaze—within moments, he broke from his conversation and looked right over at me. Normally, I’m not a shrinking flower, but I was embarrassed to be caught ogling. I pretended to go back to my friends’ conversation, but within seconds, I checked over to see if I had thrown him off.
Nope: Ben locked eyes with me and gave me a little mischievous smile. My heart started racing; I felt like I was in trouble—but the good kind of trouble. Like, he-wants-to-see-me-naked trouble. And damn if I wasn’t game to see just how much trouble we could get into together.
I could feel my cheeks flushing with excitement. I tried to play it cool and coyly tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, but I’d forgotten I still had the last bite of the hot dog in my hand. A warm smear of mustard and grease streaked across my cheek.
“Shit,” I muttered, blushing even harder as I scrambled for a napkin.
“Hey, are you all right?” My friend looked worried as I rubbed off the condiment. “You look like you’re miles away.”
Laughter met my ears from Ben’s direction. I glanced over; he smiled good-naturedly, having clearly caught my blunder, and shrugged in a whaddayagonnado kind of way. Nothing is more charming to me than a man who finds my lack of coordination endearing.
I smiled. “Not as far as you think.”
Ben and I continued stealing glances at each other as dusk settled over the field, but we both kept chickening out of actually making an approach. Cute as he was, after a good half-dozen sessions of eye-fucking with neither of us able to slip away, I figured it wasn’t meant to be and tried to enjoy what remained of my day off.
Night fell and the stars began to peek out. The fireworks were about to begin and the chardonnay was hitting my system, so I excused myself to use the ladies’ room not too far off the field. When I turned the corner around the branches of an oak tree, I nearly ran right into Ben.
“Oh! Hey!”
“Hey,” he grinned. He was taller than me—which, at 5-foot-9, not every man is, so I love it when I come across it. “I, um, I wanted to say I really like your dress.”
I beamed and leaned back against the trunk. “Thank you. It’s new.”
He took a step closer to me. “You’re, uh...you’re not here with anyone, are you?”
I shook my head. “Just some friends.”
“Oh, good. Good.” He put a hand up on the trunk near my head and leaned his weight against it, his whole frame leaning into mine. “I didn’t want to be stepping on any toes.”
I felt my head swimming with how close his body was to mine, how at ease he seemed, how much I wanted to lean forward toward him in kind. I didn’t normally move this fast, but something about his lips, asking and inches away from mine, pulled me in. I tilted my head up to meet his mouth with mine and…
BOOM! Red beams lit up the sky and the ground shook with the force of the first firework. I wheeled around at the sight and sound, startled, and inadvertently backed into Ben. He grabbed my arms in surprise as we both looked up. I could hear the sounds of people nearby rushing back from the bathroom to the blankets, but all my focus was on where Ben’s skin met my arms. I wondered if he felt the goosebumps popping up beneath his strong hands.
His warm breath was in my ear, and then, suddenly, his lips kissed my earlobe as the second firework went off, showering golden streams of light. I leaned into his kiss, his lips trailing down my neck as his hands rose and cupped my bare shoulders.
“Are you enjoying the show?” He growled into the curve where my shoulder met my neck.
I playfully shrugged. “Seen one show, seen ’em all.”
“Good.” He turned me around to face him again, the next pyrotechnic flash lighting up his face. “Because I can’t wait another second to kiss you.”
His mouth pushed into mine, both our bodies pressing up against the tree with the hungry force of it. Oh, fuck, he was gonna make my knees weak if he kept kissing me like this. I broke away and went to work on his earlobe, scanning the area to see if anyone could tell what dark deeds we were up to in this dark corner. We were still in a public park, but everyone had moved away from the trees and the bathrooms to take in the show. Good, because I wanted to take in this anonymous thrill as much as I could.
Ben’s excitement pushed through his jeans and into my hip. I brought down a hand to grab the round of his ass and drive his hips further into mine, evoking the most delicious groan from his throat. He brought a hand from the back of my neck to cup my face and kissed me hard again. Then that hand went roving down, down, down as the fireworks kept popping in the sky, until he grabbed my thigh and hooked my leg up around his.
“Ooh, aren’t you naughty,” I whispered.
“I ain’t done,” he muttered as the hand disappeared up my skirt and went to work.
I gasped—both with pleasure and in surprise at our own recklessness. We were still in public, after all. But the shock dissolved into pride as he whispered his approval of how wet I was. I couldn’t go back to my friends now—not without trying to see this through.
“Fuck. Fuck me,” I whispered. “Fuck me now.”
More fireworks went off in a flurry while a patriotic country song blared from some mega speakers off in the distance.
“Really? Are we doing this?” Ben’s tone was surprised but excited.
I nodded. “Before I change my mind or the show ends—either way, we gotta be fast.”
We briefly broke apart while I pulled off my panties and put them in my pocket (another reason to have dresses with pockets, people) and Ben began to unbutton his jeans.
More pops and a piercing cry startled us and we backed against the tree trunk again. A young mom walked a few feet past us towards the parking lot, soothing a shrieking toddler.
We locked eyes again. “Condom?” I asked.
“Way ahead of you.” He pulled it out of his back pocket.
As he wrapped it up, I could hear the “Star Spangled Banner” start up over the speakers. That could only mean one thing—the finale was upon us. We had to work quickly if we were going to pull this off. I didn’t get a chance to really see his cock, but he lifted me up and settled me onto it like he was a goddamn pro. Oh, and he was thicker than the average man. God, this was a holiday miracle.
We rocked harder and harder into oblivion, emitting sounds that were almost primal in nature, sure that they were drowned out by the thundering explosions in the sky. Then, when it was all nearly too much—when the law-breaking and the grip of his hands on my thighs and the sweat on the back of my knees and the heat of his breath on my neck was too much to take—I threw my head back into the trunk and came so hard, I was sure I was going to have trouble standing. My orgasm pushed him over the edge, and with a cry and a shudder lost into the fizzes and booms of the night, he came too.
Quickly, I pulled my panties back on, gave him a thank-you kiss, and made for the bathrooms like I had originally intended (both to clean up, and to make sure my cover story was true). By the time I got back out, the redhead had disappeared into the smoky night.
I had to admit, I was proud of myself—I’d managed to pull off a quickie in the park and become my own private spectacle. Talk about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—am I right, Founding Fathers? Thanks to this holiday miracle, I had discovered the true meaning of Independence Day: getting absolutely railed in a little green sundress. God bless America.
Jennie Roberson is a comedic actor and screenwriter currently living in Los Angeles. She also writes and conducts interviews for Bisexual.org. When she’s not busy writing the next Great Queer American Novel, you can find her bingeing Star Trek, kicking ass at her local axe-throwing league, or dreaming of her future cat army.
