I’m being followed/hunted again. This time it’s in Rossmyer Park. I lead Parker to the fountain and brass statue of Ben Franklin, through a narrow stone pathway that overlooks a tranquil duck pond, and into a cubicle of sky-reaching hedges and cobblestone. Here, I decide to confront the zoologist, walk directly up to him, take in his chiseled looks, and ask, “Why are you following me?”

He cuts to the chase, sounding gruff and sexy-hot, “Shut the fuck up, little bear.” He applies his palm to my hips and presses his mouth against my mouth. One of his hands removes itself from my side and falls into my summertime shorts; it finds exactly what it’s looking for.

The kiss is potent and strong-willed. Tongues tangle inside my mouth. I’m gagged by his forceful action, become limp within his strong hold, and feel dizzy, trapped by his forwardness.

The stranger is all over me, just as he has planned. My tee is pulled up and over my head and dropped to the ground. We huff and puff, intoxicated with each other, and the night. Our bodies slip together with such unexpected zest. We become like high school boys who quietly embrace each other in a secret place, sheltered by the pine and oak trees around us, hiding our queerness. It's a romantic tryst, and yet it is dirty at the same time.

I find the strength to pull away from him before he decides to fall to his knees and blow me. The back of my right hand finds my mouth and wipes spittle away. I stare at the stranger and eventually find the courage to ask, “Who are you?”

He is everything I crave in a guy. A beautiful man, his bald head gleams in the limited light. His eyes shine with modest energy, and his 210 pounds of muscle only attracts me to his sin.

“Who are you?” I ask again, nervous and intrigued at the same time.

He tells me his name, and that he’s been following me for the last month, fully interested in me, wanting to get to know me, understand me, and --

“It’s that game, isn’t it?” I ask, semi-petrified of him, but longing for his skin next to mine at the same time.

“What game?” he inquires, sharing a befuddled look with me.

My voice quivers as I say, “The Hunt. A guy picks up another guy in a place like this, takes him home, and he is seduced by two men.”

He laughs at me with his head tilted back, with his eyes closed, and with his lips completely parted. When he’s finished laughing at me, he admits, “It’s not that at all. I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken.”

I know he’s lying. I’d be a fool not to realize this, of course.

* * * *

In the fog and dim light, we face each other. He says, “You’re a biology professor at Lessor College.”

I don’t deny this. Why should I? What do I have to hide from him? I nod and reply, “I am. You probably know a lot about me, don’t you?”

Parker confesses rather clearly, somewhat catching me off guard, “I have a little book of facts about you.”

“You’re stalking me?”

“I like to call it watching,” he clarifies.

“Why?”

“Why not? You’re handsome, sexy, intelligent, and --”

“I have a boyfriend,” I cut him off.

“Rook. The police officer.”

“How do you know that?” I step away from him, although still attracted to his handsomeness.

“You captivate me. What can I say?”