His name is Thom and he really shouldn't be here. He really shouldn't. But three times in the week since he discovered it, he's had fun so why not? Sure there's an afternoon meeting he has to get to after lunch, but he's got plenty of time. The numbers have all been triple-checked, and the presentation proofed by no less than seven managers. With three hours to kill, Thom is looking to relieve some tension.

He's gotten pretty good at this actually, Thom has, this "cruising-for-fun thing at the park," as he thinks of it. Partly by car and partly by foot, Thom has successfully snagged the ones he's wanted for pretty decent hand-jobs, three-for-three, batting a hundred, as they say. Not that it's a numbers game. And not to be vain, but why wouldn't he? Mid-twenties, in-shape, professional, always put together, Thom, who'd kept his hair, so far anyway. And a bit of a clothes-horse. But he had to be, because they were all competitive that way at the office. "So many peacocks there," Thom's headhunter had said, and Thom had eagerly anticipated the atmosphere, and had enjoyed feathering in.

Today, was no exception. Since he had the presentation later, Thom had chosen his suiting carefully, a perfectly fitted, side-vented, double-breasted Paul Frederick blue/gray hounds tooth, a classic white french-cuff, red silk tie with complementary - but never matching, Thom hated that - pocket silk, gold watch and lapel pin. But his favorite accessory, no question, had to be the gray, red and white striped braces. Thom loved the way they, ahem, hiked everything up, especially now that ahem, "everything" was poking through the button-fly of his silk boxers, tenting his suit pants. An excellent hand-job this Dude in the Levis was giving!

The Dude in the Levis had followed Thom, first in his car. Once Thom made the right turn back there after the bridge and the Dude in the Levis had kept up, Thom was sure they were on the same page. As usual, after parking, Thom led the way down the wooded path, occasionally varying his careful attention from ensuring that his cordovan lace-ups were finding friendly terrain to looking back and making quick eye contact, likewise ensuring he was still being tracked. And he was.

So what if when Thom had stopped at his usual perch, the Dude in the Levis kept going? So what if he'd kept going much further down the path than from where Thom had gone before, just a ways before where the woods met the pond, green and with a layer of late-August algae floating on top? It was even more secluded down here by the water than Thom's usual haunt, so that was a good thing, right? Even with that hint of mildew in the air competing with Thom's subtle Yacht Man Blue scent.

Not so good was that the Dude in the Levis had stopped with the hand-job and now had both of his hands on Tom's shoulders, attempting to push Thom down on his knees. Yeah, not in this suit, Thom thought to himself. Not on your life. Besides which there are all of the safety issues, not to mention the increased risk should a cop happen to be nearby. When you limit things to a hand-job, much easier to recover in time.

"Yeah, I can't, don't, do the cock-sucking thing here," Thom says.

The Dude in the Levis guides his and Thom's right hands back down the front of Thom's pants, where they linger for a bit, the Dude in the Levis' left hand rubbing Thom's chest and back now, giving the back of the his braces a firm tug, hiking up Thom's trousers even more so on Thom's waist, his cock twitching at the sensation of the tightening fabric.

Thom smiles and closes his eyes. "Very nice," he says, but in that moment the Dude in the Levis again switches position, keeping a firm hand on Thom's waist, with another under an armpit, dragging Thom over to the water's edge, as if to toss him in. "You might need an attitude adjustment," the Dude in the Levis says.

Thom protests, "You wouldn't?!"

The Dude in the Levis smiles, lets go, agrees, "You're right."

Thom, with a nervous laugh and "Heh, thought not," makes a point of straightening himself out, tucking back in any loose folds of his shirt, adjusting his tie knot, checking his watch. Should be heading back to the office soon anyway. But the Dude in the Levis resumes his handiwork, one hand on Thom and one on himself, Thom relaxed again, aroused, closes his eyes.

The Dude in the Levis says something else that doesn't register with Thom, as the next thing he knows his chest has taken a forceful thump, causing him to fall backwards in the air, almost leaping as he goes, into the water behind them, the sound of the splash violently disturbing the late-morning stillness.

So initially chilled and bracing. So saturated and sodden. So weighted down. Ugh, that mildew smell! Thom scrambles to the surface. That mildew smell! All over him. In his nostrils. Ugh he can't escape it. His suit, covered in a layer of green silt, clings in wrinkles that stick to him everywhere. The water, up to his shins, his wingtips mini-buckets of water weights as he slowly trudges back to shore. Ugh that smell. Thom curses as he ascends "What the fu..?"

"You gentlemen all ok here?" a third voice interrupts.