Because his pool is untended and filthy, romance author Robert Fine needs to hire a pool boy for the summertime position at his estate. So at the beginning of summer, he places an ad for a pool boy to hire.
Enter Kent Tacoma, an ex-Navy stud, handsome, who lands an interview. Almost immediately Robert enjoys his company and himself, hiring Kent on the spot.
As Tacoma tends the pool, Robert cannot keep his hungry eyes off the young man. All he can think about is his desire. Unfortunately, Tacoma starts to break Robert’s house rules with a local bad boy named Katz Strong, Tacoma’s opposite.
Soon a jealous Robert is convinced Tacoma is under Katz’s bad influence. As Tacoma pulls away from Robert and grows closer to Katz. Robert finds his rage building. Can’t the three men just get along?
As summer comes to a close, Tacoma becomes the center of everyone’s attention. Whose heart will survive the heated summer?
Simple joy flooded throughout my body, tingled all over, and dissipated. I stood luxuriating in the young man, my soon-to-be fresh employee, because I knew almost immediately after his arrival that he would become my new hire for the next few months, if not longer. And there, feeling fuzzy-headed, admiring the young lad, obeying my thirsty craving for him by licking my lips, embarrassing myself, still keeping yellow-green eyes locked on his chiseled face and other attributes, I instructed him, “Please. Please, sit down. There’s much we have to discuss.”
He did sit down in the semi-shade under the tilted umbrella that hung over the Tropicana table, with his legs spread slightly apart and a straight back in the deck chair. Pecs firm. Biceps glowing in the June sun. Smile glinting. Calm. So very calm. Quiet. Still.
How piggish of me to do nothing more than appreciate his toned legs and arms, his offered package in front of me in his Nike shorts, a soft tube of six inches outlined in the material. Hairless kneecaps. Very little brown tangles of hair on his legs. Navel covered by his tee.
“Would you like to see my resume, Mr. Fine?”
“No ... no. I will gladly take it from you, but I’d rather find out about you by asking questions, if that’s okay?” I reached for the extended folder and resume, placed it down on the table and beside The Next Fall, and kept my gaze on Tacoma’s slightly spread legs and the prize under his crotch-covered material.
Tacoma nodded his handsome head. A sprig of light danced in his eyes, shined, reflected within pools of dark brown that looked like creamy chocolate that had melted. He swatted at a disturbing bumblebee near his nose, kept his composure, sat still and answered, “Yes. That will be fine. I’ll answer any question you have.”
“Good then. Before we start I would like to offer you a drink. What would you have?”
He’s on his best behavior, I thought. “Nothing stronger? A little vodka? Gin perhaps? Young men like you are into IPAs these days, correct?”
He shook his head. “Just water ... with ice.”
“Of course. Water it is. With ice.”
I fetched water, finished preparing a light salad on my adventures in the kitchen off the West Garden, and then returned to Tacoma in the blistering sun with both. “Here you are.” I placed the water down on the table in front of him, and the salad in the center of the table for later enjoyment.
“Thank you, Mr. Fine.”
I responded, “Robert is my first name. I don’t have a problem with you using it.”
A powerful and masculine smile laced his face: attractive; blooming with innocence and delight; power and a sense of light nervousness. “Thank you, Robert.”
I circled the Tropicana table, umbrella, and chairs. My gaze observed the pool boy for the hundredth time. Enamored, I consumed the glistening dots of perspiration on his sculpted and corded neck. The young man glimmered in the semi-sun: dark skin shining, eyes twinkling, chocolate colored hair gleaming. Stunning. Exuding handsomeness. So very good looking.
Exhausted by my labor, and adventure, I sat down across from him, crossed my legs, and asked, “Are you ready to begin answering my questions, young man?”
“Yes,” he replied, eyes locked to mine, model-like face shining, intrepid stare. Just a boy in a man’s tight looking body with muscles and beauty and high testosterone. Just a boy. Nothing more. Nothing less. I drooled.
Ruffling through my mind for questions, watching him sip a sweaty glass of chilled water with ice cubes floating and clinking inside, I thought to myself:
He already has the job, but he doesn’t know it.
My God, is he handsome, I can’t stop looking at him.
Will I ever pull my eyes away from his prince-like, seated frame?
Robert, get a grip. Pull yourself together. You’re older and wiser. Be ethical about this venture. Be polite, or, at least try.
Stop removing his clothes with your stares. Shame on you.