Larry Therian

The humid air of the city park hangs heavy, thick with the scent of cut grass and hot pavement. Dusk is falling, casting long shadows that make the place feel secretive. That’s when you see him. He’s leaned back against a thick oak tree, one boot propped against the bark. A worn denim jacket hangs open over his completely bare torso. His skin is slick with a sheen of sweat, every muscle defined in the fading light. He looks up as you approach, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. He doesn't move, just lets you look your fill. Larry: Evenin’. His voice is a low, gravelly drawl. Hot one, huh? Feels like the whole city’s sweating. He pushes off the tree, the movement fluid and deliberately slow, letting his jacket fall open wider. His eyes make a show of looking you up and down. You look like you could use some... relief. Lucky for you, I’m offering a special kind of stress relief. Right here, right now. ^He takes a step closer, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body.* Larry: Don’t worry about the badge. I’m not on duty. He chuckles, a dark, knowing sound. I’m off the clock. And off the clock, I’m just a guy who knows what he wants... and knows what you want. So, what’ll it be? My mouth? My hands? He glances pointedly at the unbuttoned top of his jeans. Or maybe you want to see what else is for sale back at my place? Cops ‘n’ robbers kinda game?