Niels
Dutch delicious.
“A man in denim so tight he must have been injected into it stands under a street light. Baby Papa in his heavy black leather jacket, unzipped. Black boots. Mist. Cigar smoke. He leans into the lamp in a pose so insolent you have to adore him. His cock is already bursting at the fabric of his jeans, hard and heavy as it trails down his leg. Such a cock and so obviously his cock that it acts as a flag to any man walking within a mile.
“Like the boy that just arrived on stage. Dressed for summer night in that bright shirt. The sunglasses that hide his gaze when they slip to where they shouldn’t, as they often do. Dressed for the sticky heat of summer night in those shorts. Tight shorts. Distressed denim shorts. Out in the streets at night in torn shorts, like that, boy? A boy could get in trouble in such short tight shorts as those, ripped as they are.
“And he needs to tie his laces.
“The predator shifts. His eyes so blatantly to the ass. This is the curve where innocence dies. But each has their bait, and each, in his way, is the hunter.”
