This is the second of three short stories of sun, sea, sand, sex, and love that comprise Subtropical Trilogy. Trent is Not Looking for Sex as he drives home from a session watching the young surfers on Palm Beach. His route is blocked by a raised drawbridge. Waiting in his convertible for the bridge to descend, he converses with a lone surfer hiking back to the mainland. An offer of assistance turns into a lot more when the duo ends up in Trent’s bedroom.
Driving off with my imagination running wild, I’m stunned to spot a lone surfer walking towards the mainland. His still soaked shorts cling to his voluptuous ass; his bare broad back and narrow waist are beautifully exhibited as he carries his board on his right shoulder supported by both hands. At just under six feet, about 160 pounds, with light brown hair in a stylish slightly punked cut, and captivating hazel eyes, he is gorgeous. “Why is he alone?” I muse as I drive past him. He spots my candy-apple red convertible and flashes a wide smile. I give him a sideways look and smile as I drive on, only to come to a stop as the drawbridge rises to let some fancy yachts through.
While I sit there waiting for the bridge to lower, listening to golden oldies on the satellite system in my car, the surf board-toting hottie reaches the drawbridge, leans his surf board against the bridge railing and looks over at my car. “Great tunes,” he says to me. “Nice car.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “Would you like to sit for a while? There are quite a few yachts and sailboats in line so the drawbridge will be up for some time. Throw the board in the back seat and park yourself down. There’s some cold water in the ice chest behind the passenger seat.”
“Fantastic!” he says as he puts his board in back, grabs a bottle of water and hops over the closed door and plops down on the soft leather seat.
“Wow!” he exclaims as he raises his butt from the seat “It’s hot!”
“So are you,” I think as he gently lowers his ass to the seat–now somewhat cooler due to his wet trunks…