Saturday's hunk revisited.

This is Yvan. He was Saturday's hunk of the day, but you only got to see the back side of him, and the front is very nice, too, don't you think? I've always liked shell necklaces on guys with bushy hair. It's that cabana boy thing. I mean, wouldn't you love having him at your beck and call? Bringing you pina coladas while you lie on your chaise lounge in the tropical island sun? Listen, you can almost hear the ocean waves lapping at the shore while sound of sea gull cries fills the air. Luxuriant palm trees are swaying in the island breeze and a steel drum band is playing in the distance. *sigh* I think I'm almost there.

That's the best part about writing. You can take your fantasies and bring them to life. Yvan walking across the sand toward you; his skin hot from the sun, his amazing body on display for your eyes to devour, and his eyes alight with desire while a wicked grin teases his lips. Oh, yeah, I'm there. . .

He enlarges very nicely, too.

Hmm, let me see now. . . . Where were we? Oh, yes. . . I remember. . . .



The first thing Laura noticed was the spicy scent of his cologne carried toward her on the breeze. Nothing overpowering; just enough to capture her attention--which was wandering anyway. The pages of her novel swam before her eyes. Even with sunglasses and a visor, the book was almost too bright to look at. Glancing up, she gazed out over the ocean, the outlines of sun worshipers silhouetted against the waves to remind her where she was.

As if she needed reminding. The signs posted all up and down the beach had warned her. "Nude bathing permitted. Adults only."

Having seen that, she should have turned right around and gone back to her hotel room to hide. As it was, she knew she was overdressed, though, generally speaking, a string bikini shouldn't have made anyone feel that way. The nude bodies she'd seen scattered about made her feel out of place, which was unfortunate, because it had taken every bit of her courage just to wear the bikini.

"Go to the islands," everyone had said. "You'll forget all about him." Yeah, right. Like anything--or anyone--could make her forget Alan.

The cad. There was no other word fit to describe a man who would have two girlfriends trying to plan a surprise birthday party for him at the same time. It was just luck that they'd each tried to book the same restaurant for the party. What a joke!

Laura hadn't been smiling at the time, but the look on his face when they'd confronted him together was priceless. Not quite worth the pain, but still. . . .

"Would you like something from the bar, Miss? A pina colada, perhaps?"

His voice was softly accented, evoking all sorts of exotic imagery in her mind, and his intoxicating scent was stronger now; suntan oil combined with hot, male body and a light cologne. Closing her eyes, the mental image of a tall, dark island boy took shape.

"Miss?" he repeated.

Reality struck home and the image vanished. "Do you have any idea how many calories there are in a pina colada?" she asked with a short laugh.

"Ah, but you are on vacation," he said wisely. "You should be having fun and not worrying about calories."

"Well, what happens on this island might stay on the island," she said wearily, "but the pounds I pack on will certainly follow me all the way home." Sighing deeply, she added, "But I might as well splurge a little. After all, you only live once."

She turned as she said this and gasped in astonishment as her eyes swept up a tan, muscular, torso to a handsome face adorned with a tangle of unruly blond hair. Lowering her eyes didn't help at all because his luscious cock and balls were right there in front of her face, so close she could smell them. In fact, if his thatch of pubic hair hadn't been trimmed, it would have been tickling her nose.

He chuckled wickedly. "Unless you would prefer something less. . . fattening."

Laura bit her lip and looked up. His laughing eyes met hers and she couldn't help but smile back at him. "Something tells me that would be a very bad idea."

His cock twitched as he shrugged. "One pina colada then," he said with a trace of disappointment. Reaching out a hand, he brushed her cheek lightly with his knuckle before turning away.

Laura lay back in her chaise feeling a heat in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. Apparently the waiters here were more than willing to provide "other" services along with the usual drinks and munchies--but she wasn't in the market for that. She was here to relax and forget. She attempted to go back to her book, but movement to her left caught her eye. She looked over in that direction and did a double take, blinking hard. There were two men fucking (there was no other way to put it) on a blanket not ten feet from where she sat.

Clapping a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, her eyes frantically searched the beach for a cop. Surely that was illegal! However, looking further, she saw another couple (heterosexual this time) engaged in a similar activity, which led her to believe that sexual intercourse was at least tolerated, if not condoned. Why on earth hadn't she noticed it earlier? "Because you've had your head down and your nose in a book ever since you saw the sign, that's why," she muttered aloud.

The two men had their backs to her. About all she could see of the one underneath were the back of his thighs, his balls, and taut penis, while the one on top had the most squeezable, muscular buns she'd ever seen. He was a hunk, too, with dark curls kissing the nape of his neck. Laura gazed in fascination as his scrotum swung back and forth, his testicles hitting his partner behind the nuts with each thrust. A rush of sexual excitement flooded her pelvis and her nipples tingled with anticipation. She had no idea that watching two men getting it on could be quite so. . . stimulating.

She was openly gaping at them when a frothy glass suddenly dropped into her line of sight, effectively blocking her view.

"Here's your drink," her waiter said.

Laura gasped and sputtered as she fumbled for her bag. "H-how much to I owe you?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I was buying you a drink, not selling you one."

Her eyes widened. This bronzed sex god was buying drinks for her? It was as though every fantasy she'd ever had had suddenly sprung to life. "You mean you don't work at the bar?"

"No, I don't," he replied as he handed her the glass. With a nod toward the men she'd been watching, he added, "Looks like they're having a good time, doesn't it?"

Laura took a sip of her drink for something to do and found it difficult to swallow. "I--yes, I guess so."

"I prefer women myself," he continued. "Dark-haired, exotic beauties--" he paused for a moment as he pulled up another chaise, "--like you."

Laura took a big gulp of the sweet, icy concoction. "Ohhh, that was a mistake," she moaned as the brain freeze hit her. "I should have asked for it on the rocks instead of frozen."

"I'll remember that," he promised. Stretching out on his chaise, he leaned back with his hands behind his head, looking more like a centerfold than ever.

This can't be real, she thought, but couldn't help noticing that his dick was a little longer and thicker now--or was it just her imagination running wild?

"My name is Yvan," he added. "And I want to learn everything there is to know about you."

"That shouldn't take long," Laura said dryly. "There isn't much to tell." It might have been his standard pick-up line, but her eyes were not deceiving her: he was definitely getting hard, and the longer she looked, the more it seemed to swell.

"I doubt that," he said, shifting his hips so that his penis lay stretched out on his stomach. It was almost long enough to reach his navel, and still growing. "Why don't you start with why you are here in this beautiful, romantic place all alone?"

"How do you know I'm alone?" she asked. "I might just be by myself for the day, or--" She broke off there, realizing that lying to him was pointless. He was smiling at her as though he'd expected her to say that very thing--a smile that was quickly turning her to mush. . . .


To be continued on Thursday. . . .