RIFLEMAN

Christian sat on a lounge chair by the pool, wearing only a towel. I knew he was wearing nothing but a towel, because the towel was open, revealing everything it was meant to hide from my gaze. The king stroked himself majestically, leisurely, intently studying the unknown creature in his pool. I looked down. The thin, light-colored swimsuit had been chosen with the intention of sexual provocation and now concealed virtually nothing. His taut nipples stood out like polka dots, and their dark areolas were visible through the damp fabric. His panties were less see-through, but there was simply no room for imagination, a small triangle in the front, a tiny one in the back, near the tailbone, and everything else was string.