Tom Clarkson sat on a picnic table in Delph Lake Municipal Park -- ass on the tabletop, feet on the bench seat, elbows on knees, and chin in his hands. The sun shone on his brown hair streaked with blond. He wore sunglasses, a black sleeveless tee, ragged cut off jeans and flip-flops. In his ears were stainless steel spear point earrings and he wore a steel chain necklace. He knew he was handsome to a fault and if he would have been in California instead of the Midwest, he would have been taken for a model or a movie star. Tom wasn’t in the park to work on his dark tan in the warm late spring sunshine. He was there for a whole other reason: sex.

Tom checked his watch: 9:55. He raised his head and looked around -- nothing. No cars, no people. He sighed and leaned back on his hands.

It’s Monday, he thought. Nothing much goes on on a Monday morning. Not this early anyway. ‘Sides the message said Monday at ten. Only five to now.

He’d seen a message on the wall of a stall in the public restroom when he’d cruised here last weekend. It was new. And Tom was always up for new contacts, new bodies to enjoy sexually, new experiences with new faces. He went back to waiting.

At exactly ten o’clock, a four-door, late model Studebaker sedan drove into the lot. Tom sat up straight and checked it out. The front door opened and an elderly man got out.

“Shit,” Tom murmured under his breath. He wasn’t opposed to sex with older mature men, but this guy looked like he might not make it to fall. I ain’t into necrophilia. That was just a bit too kinky, even for him.

The man looked over to where Tom was sitting and waved. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Tom waved back and called out, “Yeah it is.” But he didn’t get up.

The man opened the back door of his car, and to Tom’s relief, two small, fluffy dogs leaped out, excitedly jumping on their master as he tried to retrieve their leashes.

“Easy there, Sarah. Calm down, Sammy. We’re here like Daddy promised.”

Tom smiled as the man and his kids took the path to the right and disappeared into the trees.

Good, Tom mused. That path goes all around the lake. If the guy in from the message ever gets here we’ll head that way. The dogs’ll be long gone by then.

He smiled, remembering the time a couple years earlier when he had been fucking the brains out of some kid and he suddenly felt something wet and cold goose his ass. A big golden retriever had come up behind him and stuck his nose in his crack. Scared the hell out of him. Tom and the guy he was screwing barely got their pants up before a man and woman rounded the corner and called to the dog. They looked suspiciously at the two shirtless men standing together in the small clearing, trying to look casual, like they were studying the flora of the park.

Tom’s thoughts were interrupted when a big Lincoln Town Car crept into the lot and pulled up right in front of the table on which he was sitting ...

Tom couldn’t see into the car because the sun’s reflection glinted off the windshield. Nevertheless, his instincts told him this was the author of the note, so he started his seduction. He leaned back on the table and raised his head to the sun as if he were just catching some rays. At the same time he spread his legs so his ample package was displayed through his tight shorts.