Because I was an experienced lover by nature, unable to help myself among and behind the oaks, pines, and maples, I became overwhelmed with Tacoma’s sunbathing and the pulsing fragment of erection within my khakis. Skillful with my right hand, I tugged down the khaki’s zipper, pushed my hand through the boxer’s piss-hole, and rubbed the extended stem of pulsating need inside. Fingers touched veins, erection, and pubic hair beneath. Two balls firmed at my touch, and my fingertips became wet because of the afternoon perspiration that built up there.