The air was cool and scented with sweat and leaves. They were hidden by the night, further concealed from the jogging path by the bushes. It was quiet out, except for the sounds emanating from the threesome. They could have had all of Central Park to themselves, it was so still. But Jong knew better. Out there, somewhere close by, something was watching them.

The boy breathed faster. His heart raced. He was almost there, moaning. Sighing. He was close.

Jong placed her petite hands on either side of the kid’s hips. She sucked him into her throat and moaned with encouragement. The boy bucked and Jong tasted the first shot of salty fluid. The kid let his head fall back so he faced the ceiling of leaves and groaned. “Oh yeah. Yeah, suck it. Suck me dry.”

Suddenly, the kid was yanked out of her grip and thrust onto the ground, yelping at his unseen attacker. Jong spat out white paste, drew the back of her hand across her mouth and watched. With speed that made the assailant almost invisible, it rolled the boy onto his stomach. For his part, the kid kicked and shouted. All for naught. Jong knew the man-child hustler would never fight off this attack. She never saw anyone who could.

The boy was spread-eagle on the carpet of thistles and leaves. He stopped screaming and Jong heard them crunch. The kid must have sensed something big was about to happen because his breathing quieted and he strained to look up, behind him. He couldn’t see what was on his back, pinning him down, but Jong could.