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“Who’s the picture of, your son?” he asked.Malcolm leaned over and pulled the frame closer. “That’s Jerry, my son, and his girlfriend. She’s his fiancé, they’re engaged now.”John looked the picture over. “Good looking kid. Looks fairly big.” The picture showed a large young man of about college age, tall and heavily muscled through the chest, wearing a Speedo swimsuit and swim goggles around his neck, with one hand holding a large trophy of sorts, and the other around the waist of an incredibly busty blonde in a lime green bikini. He was soaking wet, and they were standing by the side of an indoor pool. He was also as bald as a cue ball.“He is,” admitted Malcolm. “You tried on one of his shirts earlier. He’s a senior at the University of Indiana, on the swim team,” he explained. “We think he’s stopped growing, but he stands around 6-3 or 6-4.”“I suppose that explains the goggles and bald head. Does that really cut his times down?”Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. I personally. “Pops?” I answered. “Whaddya mean, “Pops”? I’m only 43!” I said defensively. “Don’t go getting all riled, honey,” she said. “The younger guys look at our boobs but the Dads always watch our backsides and you haven’t looked up at a face since you came in. What would you like to eat?” “I’ll just have a salad and some unsweet tea,” I said, disgruntled. “Yep; I saw that coming. Be right with you, Pops,” she said as she floated away. When she returned to bring me my drink later I tried to get her to apologize. “You know, we middle aged guys are better tippers if you stroke our ego a little.” She sat down in the booth across from me and leaned toward me, smiling. “Honey, the paycheck covers my bills but tips won’t get you stroked. I’ve had perks you can’t leave on the table.” She leaned back, proud of her statement, so I encouraged her to continue. “Really?” I asked, with all the sincerity I could muster. “Yep.” She beamed. “I’ve had lots of nude photo shoots, done a couple adult.
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