Malcomb sighs in irritation as he walks through the neighborhood park. He just knows that fucking mime is going to be there mimicking him. Again. The guy never imitates anyone else. Always him.


The fuck off.


It’s creepy as hell when someone does that.


Gritting his teeth, Malcomb trudges along the way warn down by his twice daily walks. He has a car but with his work literally across the park from his town home why bother unless it’s raining? The fucking mime is a good reason.


Turning the corner, Malcomb takes pause. The mime is by by the bench with his back to him. The obnoxious black and white stripped shirt stands in the night. Sighing he continues on readying himself for his twice daily annoyance.


Coming up on the annoying mime Malcomb’s breath hitches in anger as the mime turns towards him. His brow furrows in confusion. The mime isn’t wearing his usual white mask of makeup. Instead the mime stood looking at him with firm gray eyes. Striking features once hidden by a frosting layer of makeup now stood out under the park’s light pole. His customary black hat lay on the bench, wonderful shoulder length white blonde hair almost glows in the harsh light.


“You’re late tonight.” The mime’s mouth quirks in a smile.


“I had to work late.” He found himself replying. His earlier anger and annoyance seems to have disappeared in the true face of this man.


The mime smiles crossing his arms over his chest leaning against the light pole. His long lean body calls to Malcomb. “You look tired.”


“You could say that.”


The mime nods to the bench. “Why don’t you have seat? Take a minute to relax.”


He found himself obeying the mime without thought. He sat with his elbows hooked on the back, his legs slightly spread. The mime stands in front of him looking down a wonderful straight nose at him. Gray eyes look him over a few times. His cock tightens in his dress pants.


He does nothing as the mime straddles his lap grinding his ass against Malcomb’s aching cock. “You get on my nerves.” He found himself saying.


The mime’s deep throaty laugh sends a wanting pulse down to his balls. “Don’t you know? Mimicry is the best form of flirtation.”


Whatever he wished to say dies on his lips as the mime kisses him. His hands automatically move to roam over the other’s body. He’s always wanted to have sex on a park bench.