where the water would settle when the river had its fill. He followed the slope where the sand turned to mud. His steps fell lightly on the ground as he approached the brush away from the whispers in the shadows and toward what sounded like a party. There was a small clearing with a pagoda style hutch cradled in the center of a small pond. It had a walkway (bamboo maybe) that extended out over the water from two directions. Three guys were standing under the dim light talking. One of them looked his way. A sinewy boy about twenty years old talking with two older men in their fifties he guessed. "I don't even want to know" he murmured and snapped like a soldier at attention when his eyes met the strangers.

A sign read those caught exposing themselves would be prosecuted. Another warned against staying in the park after it closed and to watch for suspicious behavior. Was he suspicious? "No I'm not." What was he? Just a guy walking along the edge of a pond?

Fish darted in silence under the murky green as shadows forming figure eights and random shapes. He straddled a rock path and sidled toward a picnic area taking a couple of swigs. The clearing gave way to a few stone tables and he took one of them, propped his feet up on the bench and rested his tired hips on top. The edges were rough like his hands. He could see the stones that caught the light like tiny mirrors woven into the skin of the concrete and imagined that he was the table, course, rough and ugly all over except for a little part of him that shined. His cock shined he thought, it got hard fast and could shot the length of a sleeper sofa. If nothing else he'd always have libido.

~

Christoff watched closely from where he stood and liked the curve of the ass he saw. The guy on the table stirred a familiar desire in him because he looked hard like brick. Christoff had been to gay bars - more than he had fingers on one hand to count though he'd never admit it. He couldn't remember why he'd ever gone. He never said anything to anyone, and was always ignored. They were all so amplified and dramatic, so different than he was. He had always wanted to be the kind of man that shopped at Wal-Mart with his kids and farted at the urinal with no apology or shame. Instead he hunted those types of men in the forest preserve.

'Take a breath and just go for it' he thought. No matter how many times he thought of approaching someone, he always felt the same fit of nervousness. The guy looked depressed and probably needed to talk. He was likely straight which was OK. He was mostly attracted to the straight ones. You couldn't tell always, sometimes a gay guy would open his mouth and his voice could destroy everything.

Christoff stepped out of the trees where he could be seen and asked for a light, then a cigarette, both of which the Mexican gave him then lit one for himself. Their fingers touched and lingered for a microsecond. The question begged to be asked, 'you just hanging out' but nothing was said. The two looked at each other in the contempt of silence with nothing to say. Moments passed.

"Nice night."

"Yeah. I guess it is."

The