INTERLUDE Read online

  The figure was clearly male, tall, bronzed from head to toe, dressed in skimpy bikini swim trunks. Tom’s heart beat a little faster just inspecting the photo. The man appeared to have placed himself deliberately in the shot, turned squarely in Tom’s direct view of the model posing against the backdrop of the blue ocean.

  Tom scratched his head and set aside the photograph. He couldn’t turn that shot into his editor. His curiosity was piqued as to who the man could be, and he felt all too aroused at the man’s sheer audacity to place himself in his photo layout. He simply had to find out who he was. Maybe he could do that tomorrow. He was shooting more photos of the models on the same strip of beach. Now that the man had shown himself - Tom would be on the lookout for him.

  The gentle breeze was warm, the sun brilliant in yellow light, the sky blue ocean splashing up in rolling whitecaps to caress the white sands. Tom began setting up his camera, positioning his tripod so the models were between him and the ocean. He had surveyed the surrounding beach upon arriving and hadn’t spotted the handsome male in his picture, but he was on alert should he suddenly appear. Perhaps he lived in one of the beachfront properties lining the coast and had merely been out for a stroll when Tom was photographing the models. Tom quickly disregarded that theory. The stance displayed in the photo was much too masculine, too demanding in quality. No. His appearance had been deliberate.

  Tom tried to disregard the sexual arousal the thought brought to his body. The thought held such daring that he stifled a shiver of longing despite his fight for control of his emotions. All night long he had envisioned the taut, tanned, male physique posed on the beach, his face aimed right at the camera lens. What did it mean - aside from the obvious intent to sexually stimulate his body?

  Tom began the day’s shooting, photographing a tall blond beauty in a pink bikini, but he found it difficult to concentrate. He was so intent on looking over his shoulder and scanning the beach. Then, just before he gave the word to break for lunch, he spied the object of his search. There he was, walking on the sands, a little way up the beach. Tom put down his camera, ordered the models to go have their noon meal, and headed up the beach to intercept the male figure.

  Their eyes met, held. Tom stopped on the sand, devouring the exquisite male body with his eyes. His chest was magnificent, muscled pectorals lightly sprayed with black hair, tiny dark rose colored male nipples, and a hard washboard stomach tapering into trim taut hips. He wore very brief red bikini trunks that just barely covered his well-endowed crotch. Tom’s prick stirred between his legs.

  A smile encapsulated the man’s face as he roamed his gaze over Tom’s body, traveling from the curious, sensual expression on Tom’s face, over his T-shirt and Bermuda shorts, ending at his leather sandals. Then he poked out his right hand, waiting.

  Tom joined hands with him, pressing his warm palm against his, feeling the touching action send a shiver of excitement racing up his arm then ricocheting into his cock.

  “You were in one of my photos yesterday.”

  “Yes. I wanted you to notice me.”

  “Then it was deliberate.”

  “Extremely.” He smiled slowly at Tom. “I’m Larry. You’re on lunch break. Come have a drink with me. I live over there.” He motioned over his bare right shoulder toward one of the impressive beach houses.

  Tom introduced himself, fell into step with Larry as the pair walked toward Larry’s beach house. They were silent, though they exchanged fevered glances numerous times as they walked along. Tom felt so aroused by that he could hardly keep his hands off Larry. His body was so exquisite. He wanted to shoot miles and miles of footage of him on the beach, in the twilight ... naked. The last part of his thought jarred his nerves. He wanted to be intimate with Larry. He wanted a sexual relationship with him.

  The beach house was cool and dim, the noise of the surf held to a minimum. A white ceiling fan spun lazily above a white covered divan and over-stuffed chair, a wide deck branched off the large room opening onto a private section of beach. Larry poured martinis into stemmed glasses and carried one to Tom on the deck.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Larry encouraged. “Have you been a photographer for very long?” He inspected Tom over the rim of his glass, holding his gaze with his sultry green eyes.

  Tom sucked in a steadying breath. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. By all signs of the matter, Larry was equally hot for him. He swallowed the martini, then sat the glass on the deck railing and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

  Larry stood from his perched position on the deck railing, led the way into the house. There was little need for further conversation. Tom understood the reason behind his intrudence into his photo shoot yesterday. Larry strode into the bedroom, peeled off his bikini swim trunks, and lay down on the bed, a giant hard-on towering in his crotch.

  Tom joined Larry on the bed. He began running his hands over Larry’s beautiful body. His palms were demanding as they skimmed along his flesh, traveled along his inner thighs and found the hot stick of flesh anxious to be grasped.

  “I’ve thought about you all night,” Tom confided.

  “I want you to photograph me with your camera,” Larry said, wrapping his hand around Tom’s hard cock. “I want you to pose me like you pose your models, take sexy pictures of my cock, then set your tripod up and join me in the photos. We’ll fuck on camera. Can you do that?”

  “Oh yes. And I will. But first, I want you. Turn over.”

  Larry rolled to his stomach and splayed his legs. Tom parted his ass cheeks and gazed longingly at his round rosy orifice. What a brazen period the sixties were that one could walk along the beach and find one’s self a lover to bring home, unabashedly.

  Tom wet Larry’s asshole with the tip of his tongue, breathing in his male scent; he prepared for entry. He clutched his cock in his right hand, pushed in a little ways, savored the tightness, the heat, pushed in further, began to thrust, in, out, in, out. His belly began to knot as orgasm raced along his limbs. He worked his rod faster, deeper, thrusting quicker. Orgasm - beautiful orgasm! He groped Larry’s tight ass cheeks, savoring the feel of his flesh inside his warm orifice.

  Momentarily they switched places, except Larry requested Tom to get on his knees and hands so he could reach one hand between Tom’s legs and stroke his cock back to erection while he fucked his asshole. Tom was so turned on by Larry’s display of candor and his fantastic body he had little trouble getting it up again. Had it not been for the brevity of the lunch hour, Tom would not have left his new lover that day, but remained with him on the bed, coming and coming, and coming, until all his semen was splattered on the sheets.

  Tom found it difficult to keep his mind on photographing the female models all through the afternoon hours. Sex with a man was so different from sex with a woman. There were no strings attached. No commitments that needed to be made—just the sensual bliss of the sex act to be savored, exchanged, experienced as though it were so natural in every way. He released a shuddering sigh, hardly able to keep from thinking about the photo session he had planned for that evening with Larry.

  At long last, the day’s work came to an end and Larry came down to the site to help Tom carry his photo equipment up to his beach house. He, too, was anxious to spend time with Tom and to have his picture taken by a professional.

  Tom began setting up his camera in the living room. First he would pose Larry’s suntanned body on the white couch, place a light behind the structure, illuminate his muscles and chiseled planes. Then, after a series of beefcake photos were taken with Larry in swim trunks, he’d have him disrobe, capture his full beauty, photograph his cock engorged, zooming in on its smooth round knob. He felt so turned on just thinking of it.

  Larry took his place on the sofa, stretched out his body full length, propped his head on one hand on the arm of the structure, pulled his right knee up, opening his crotch. The thin covering of spandex on his cock only served to make it look bigger then it already appeared in its ere
ct state. He aimed a sexy smile at Tom peering through the camera lens at him.

  Tom began snapping photos of Larry, touching his body every time he adjusted his pose. Finally the moment arrived when he peeled away Larry’s red trunks and feasted his gaze on the thick stick of flesh Larry had been concealing. Tom fell on it with his mouth, unable to resist the urge any longer. God! Larry was such a turn on!

  Larry lay back on the couch, his legs open, his eyes on Tom’s head clasped between his thighs. He thrust his hips, lunging upward into Tom’s hot wet mouth. He groaned deep in his throat as he began to unload and savor the exquisite orgasm Tom gave him.

  “I have an idea,” Tom suddenly said, spitting out Larry’s spent flesh. He rose from his knees at the couch and moved his tripod and camera closer. He aimed his lens at Larry’s limp rod and began snapping pictures.

  “Oh, that just turns me on all over again!” Larry wiggled around on the couch, assuming a series of new poses. “Capture the moment I get hard again, will you?”

  “Yes! Yes! That’s exactly what I have in mind,” Tom replied excitedly. “Keep moving and continue to get it up.”

  “Oh! This will be just like one of those documentaries. Don’t you suppose? Maybe we could invest in a movie camera. Maybe we could even -”

  “Yes! Yes! Maybe we can make our own movies! I could develop the film footage in my dark room,” Tom said, growing ever so excited. “You’re an excellent subject to photograph.”

  “Thank you, Tom. And as you can see, I’m fully erect again.” Larry patted the couch beside his bare body. “Isn’t it time you joined me and we really captured some action on film?”

  Tom set the camera for a series of timed shots, then joined Larry on the couch, letting Larry be top man first so all his naked beauty could be caught on film. He positioned himself on his knees and hands, turning his rump toward the camera. The timer was due to snap the first picture in a matter of seconds.

  The timer went off, the camera catching Larry’s stiff cock as it pushed against Tom’s rear orifice, then clicked a second time when Larry began pushing inside, a third time when Larry was halfway into him, and a fourth click when Larry buried his cock to the hilt.

  The couch shook as Larry momentarily satisfied his lust inside Tom’s orifice. Then the second series of timed shots began, capturing the beads of sweat collected on Larry’s back and buttocks, his limp cock as it slid out of Tom’s asshole, the milky white semen clinging to his cock and hairy crotch, and the fourth shot of Larry turning fully into the lens to display his sagging cock and large hairy balls soon after orgasm.

  Tom went to the camera to make adjustments, setting the timer and loading new film. Larry got up to mix drinks, returning to sit cross-legged on the couch, martini in hand.

  “I’m so glad I spied you on the beach, Tom. I really like my picture taken. I guess I’m just a ham at heart.”

  Tom laughed and joined Larry on the sofa, seating himself cross-legged also and accepting a martini.

  “The camera likes you,” Tom said, toasting his new lover with his drink. “I really think we should go with the moviemaking idea.”

  “Yes. And a little later, after we’ve tested the water with our idea, we could hire another actor or two, form an entire production company.”

  “Yes. Choose a name for ourselves, become incorporated.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Larry exclaimed, filling their glasses again. “I bet we could get rich.”

  “Yes. Then we could travel, see the world.”

  “Have sex on the French Riviera. I’ve always wanted to go to France.”

  “Really?” Tom questioned. “My magazine is sending me abroad next month. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Oh yes. I’d love to go with you.” Larry stroked Tom’s thigh, trailing his fingers into Tom’s lap. He ran one fingertip along Tom’s erection, smiling. “And perhaps when you’re not busy with work, we can take some more photographs of each other, plan our future business as film stars.” He gave a big sigh. “And before we come home, perhaps we can make love on the beach.”

  STAR STRUCK

  We met by happenstance, actually. I was supposed to take a small fishing party out for the day—one of those tourist teasers designed to show off the area and tempt retirees—but at the last minute, I was sent to fill-in for the captain of The Fancy Lady, a boat as close to a yacht as Tom Dawson, my boss and owner of the Bay Shore Marina, could afford. I had no idea who I would be piloting for until I arrived and spied the limo just unloading. Excitement zinged through me when I spied movie star, Lance Murdock getting out of the back seat.

  I had long admired Murdock. He was an actor who played confident studs who always got the girl, could shoot his way out of any dangerous situation, and never got a scratch in the process.

  “I must be dreaming,” I muttered to Tom when I entered the office to pick up the keys for the boat.

  Tom winked at me. “And he’s all alone. He wants to sail out to Destiny Point.”

  My eyebrows shot up on my forehead. Destiny Point was where Lance Murdock’s lover, Lana Sullivan, died last summer. Personally I believed Murdock killed her, but then, I have a suspicious nature. Nevertheless, I was suddenly a little skittish about being alone with the guy—famous or not.

  “Maybe John could take him out,” I suggested, leaning in close to Tom so Murdock couldn’t overhear.

  “Don’t be a pussy. The guy was never arrested for murder. The woman drowned.”

  “The whole incident gives me the creeps.” I turned and looked at Murdock over my shoulder, then almost pissed my pants when our eyes met.

  “Look,” Tom said in a lowered voice. “You’ll only be gone for the afternoon. What could possibly happen?”

  “Yeah. Well…”

  We boarded the boat and I told myself not to worry. It wasn’t like Lance and I were old friends or anything. Shit. We didn’t know each other at all. Aside from my liking his movies, there was no connection between us.

  And that murder thing—well, the newspapers had a field day with the story. But the celebrities always took it in the neck—or the ass—since it was rumored shortly after the murder that Lance was gay.

  I tried to put my mind at ease. Shit. Since there were only the two of us on the boat—and it was a good-sized craft—a forty footer with double decks—I always had the excuse that I had to stay in the pilot’s house and steer. I didn’t even have to talk to the guy, if I didn’t want to.

  I set the boat’s destination toward Destiny Point and leaned back in the big leather chair at the controls. Lance Murdock was leaning on the railing at the boat’s bow, his wide shoulders bunched up around his neck as he propped his forearms on the rail. He stared out at the blue water, motionless. He appeared deep in thought—perhaps about his lost love.

  The story of the tragedy sprang vividly to mind then. Lana Sullivan was a tall, willow-figured blond with a penchant for fast cars and equally fast men. She had been Lance’s lady for seven months when she died, supposedly drowned while swimming off Destiny Point. Autopsy results said as much, however, when her body was discovered three days later, there were mysterious marks on her neck. Some folks said Lana had been strangled before being thrown into the water. I just happen to be one of those who believed the rumor.

  Often times it pays to be rich and famous, to know people in high places. Lance was never charged with anything—despite the best efforts of Dade County Police detectives who argued that Lana was choked and thrown overboard to drown.

  I sat there staring at the guy. He was my idol—as far as movie stars went, and I wished a million times I didn’t have that fear of him that Lana Sullivan’s death instilled in me. I found myself surveying his body, my gaze roaming over his back and ass.

  It has to be tight.

  The thought made me shift in my chair.

  “I’m not gay,” I muttered.

  Lance pushed away from the railing suddenly and I jumped as if he’d threaten
ed me. He glanced upward, toward the glass window on the pilot’s house, as though checking on me—seeing if I was piloting the boat. For several seconds, he stared, his hands inside the pockets of his Bermuda shorts.

  He was a handsome guy, tall, with broad shoulders and chiseled features. He had sun-bleached blond hair that grazed his shoulders. The breeze off the water grabbed the pale tresses and blew them about his neck, giving him a carefree appearance. He wore a three button Henley pullover with short sleeves and the muscles in his arms bulged beneath a golden tan.

  My eyes followed the front of his shirt, down to the waistband of his shorts, then—to my surprise—lowered to his zipper.

  There was a bulge making the fabric taut.

  I sucked in a deep breath.

  What in the world—

  Lance strode across the deck suddenly. There were lounge chairs placed along the boat’s railing and guests aboard usually sunbathed and drank beer, or sometimes, martinis, depending on how many women were on board. Women liked martinis; men liked beer.

  Holy shit, I suddenly thought. What if my movie star wants me to make him a drink? I hadn’t brought anything on board and I hadn’t checked to see if anyone had stocked the bar.

  I shrugged my shoulders. I was way too excited about this trip. I needed to get a grip.

  Lance suddenly stripped out of his shirt, pulling it over his head and messing up his blond hair. Then, to my great astonishment, he dropped his drawers and kicked them aside with one foot.

  The boat suddenly swerved.

  Lance was stark naked!

  He glanced over his shoulder aiming his green gaze at the pilot’s house.

  I tried to calm myself—tried to reconcile the situation in my mind. We were a ways out to sea and there wasn’t anybody else on board. Maybe he just wanted to sunbathe in the nude.

  “I’m not gay,” I muttered.

  My voice sounded a little skeptical, I admitted. I felt my prick stir as I stared at the naked, bronzed body of Lance Murdock.