Speedo Swagger
He remonstrated with his girlfriend, “If you’re going out jogging in those extremely tight pum-pum shorts and a sports bra, then I’m going bare-chested in my speedos.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not joking.” He dashed upstairs, reappearing moments later in cobalt blue speedos that left nothing to the imagination. He struck a pose at the bottom of the stairs. “Ready!” he said, grinning.
“You’re not going out like that,” she hissed, half scandalized.
“Oh yes I am. No argument. Let’s go!”
And they did.
As they turned onto Ancoats Marina, the usual pattern unfolded. Men’s eyes locked on her, snapping their heads to follow her jiggling bottom.
But today, the women at Finders Keepers café had their own distraction. Several nearly choked on their cappuccinos at the sight of his strut.
One woman, in oversized sunglasses, licked her lips theatrically. Another dropped her croissant.
The couple jogged on. Heads high, feet light. But now, his girlfriend was flushed for entirely new reasons.
Another Poem by Skendong: Heat Wave: Unveiling Passion Under A Blazing Sun