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Beachcombers

Beachcombers
By R.W. Clinger

ISBN: 9781611520040

$1.99

20 reward points

GENRE: Gay Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 6,429 words
RATING: flame rating 4

Sontimore Island, within Lake Erie, just isn’t the same this year for environmental biologist Wayne Dixon. He analyzes the water for safety: chlorine levels, oxides, currents, temperatures, toxins, and bacteria and plant life. But his job is soon forgotten when a sexy young guy named Tab arrives on the island and Dixon's sexual urges become untamable.

Tab Fuller is blond and reeks of class, money, and sex appeal. He’s a charmer, inquisitive, and always gets what he wants. Nothing is out of reach in his world, particularly the strange and sexy man who studies the lake's water.

But Edith, Tab’s aunt and owner of Sontimore Island, must protect her wealth and her nephew. Will she force Dixon to choose between his job and Tab?

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

    That next night was sticky with a light wind. The beach was infused with the fragrance of lilacs, which were probably planted on top of Sontimore Hill along the Fuller mansion. I assumed their aroma blew down to the lake. The heat index was well above ninety, which left me bare-chested, barefoot, and sporting nothing more than a pair of Adidas workout shorts the color of the midnight sky. I decided to relax on the bungalow’s compact patio with a longneck bottle of imported beer. There, I took in the sound of the lake and its rising tide. Night waves rolled into the shore and lapped hungrily at the sandy beach.

    He was out there within the confines of the darkness watching me, though, wasn’t he? Perhaps he was in the tepid and choppy lake, bare-bottomed and skinny dipping, shaft-hard and ready for my scientific skin to kiss, lick, or fuck him. He could not hide from me, I knew: the island was far too small for that type of cat and mouse adventure. Nor could I hide from him.

    In the reaches of the bungalow’s yellow-dim light that spread over the beach, I imagined his shadowy figure standing in the rising tide: muscled torso, thick shoulders, and hourglass-shaped frame. How far away was he from my seated pleasure? Twenty yards? Thirty yards? Maybe even forty yards? I certainly wasn’t skilled enough to determine such close-to-midnight distances. My skill was more about the water itself, when the tide was high, and its condition.

    Curiosity found me and I set my beer aside, stood, and called out to the lifting tide, “Tab, if that’s you, show yourself!” I sounded wealthy and of the elite, but wasn’t. In truth, monetarily speaking of course, I lived from hand to mouth on my government-supported paychecks. I was not as fortunate as the beachcomber and how he had obtained his millions.

    There was no sign of the beach boy following my command. I was sure he was out there in the lake, though, hidden in those tumultuous waves, which caused a boner to raise under my Adidas workout shorts. The cotton material between my legs became a tent, proving that I knew that Tab Fuller was playing a toying game with me, and that he was hidden by that lapping tide and midnight’s blackness.

    I walked to the three cobblestone steps that separated me from the beach and called out to the tide and its masculine inhabitant, “Tab Fuller, I know you’re out there! Come and get what you want from me already!”

    He slowly exited the darkness, escaping the lake’s waves and current. Awestruck, I took in his chiseled core. His pecs and abs glistened with lake water. His blond curls were damp. The young man’s shaft was six inches limp between his legs. Somewhat hidden behind his cock were his two balls, which were covered in spirals of wet hair. A greedy, boyish, and playful smile accentuated his handsome face as he stepped over the sand and brought our worlds closer together. His smile surely stated he was delighted to see me, that I was turning into a fine player of his mysterious games, and that he secretly desired my flesh to meld with his own.

    Of course I expected to see him; runaway pets tended to find their owners, didn’t they? I greeted him on the sandy beach, exiting the bungalow’s rear patio. And face to face, entwined by the hot wind and the melancholic tempo of the rising tide, I said, “You came, beachcomber.”


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This book was published on July 01, 2010.