Greens Leaves

by Kyle Mead

The sun was warm and friendly as Mike arrived at the Marina Greens that Saturday. He carefully chose the spot to spread his pallet-near enough to the "Queer's Corner" (as he mentally called it) to be noticed by the various homosexuals who regularly gathered there for weekend sunning, but not quite near enough to be identified with them.

This was the greater part of Mike's regular weekend entertainment. Mike the magnificent-with the dark good looks and excellent build-arrogant Mike, who loved to tantalize the homos with his postage stamp size bathing suit and posturings here and there-Mike the poseur who would notice one staring at him, catch the staring eyes in his own, then, with a menacing look, drop the stare. Mike the tease who got a thrill from upsetting the queens and daring them to make a pass-wishing they would, so he could have a chance to use his fists. Mike surveyed his gallery; two here, two there, a single-a group. One who stared hungrily at him, then turned away with a comment to his companion. All had covetous faces when they looked at him.

He finished spreading his pallet, then flopped down on his belly, flexing his buttocks, well aware of the picture he presented. He lay in this position for a few moments, basking in the warmth of the sun and the admiration from his audience. Presently he rolled over on his back, shielding his eyes from the sun and drawing his legs up so his knees pointed skyward. He could feel the flimsy bathing suit stretched taut, low across his hipbones, affording a tantalizing peek at his pubic arch and fine dark hairs that formed their thin sensuous line leading and pointing to his navel. He savored the feeling of the sun's fingers dancing up the edges of his belly and lingering just under his ribcage.

He stretched lazily and sensuously as would a cat, and quickly got to his feet.

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