It was what I was here for.His ride turned out to be a nifty black Audi A5 convertible. I slid, already tired although it was just past noon, into George’s Tavern on the fringe of the small beach town, dressed for business—cobalt-blue silk biker shorts over a red-silk thong jock, white boat shoes without socks, and white mesh athletic muscle T above—to show off the great late-summer tan underneath. Gay sex . Just these two houses up there look down into this beach. He’s an old guy. “Want to see an ID?” Both the question and my response openly revealed that we were negotiating here—and what we were negotiating about.The man’s eyes went to the barman who’d served us the drinks, and Pete murmured, “He’s fine,” which seemed to settle that. You need to be out of here. He grasped my knees with a strong, but gentle grip, and pulled my thighs apart, bending my legs and setting the soles of my feet down on the wide towel. Thrust . On the nudist beach.”“That’s the plan, yes,” he said, “where, if you have good tan lines, I’ll worship them and fuck you on the beach.”“Sure, why not?” I said.
