South of Bixby Bridge

Author:Winfield, Ryan [Winfield, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Birch Paper Press
Published: 2011-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

PAUL DISROBES and steps down into the steaming spa water. I guess Paul is smaller than I am because his shorts are tight. I toss my robe on a chair and get in the water quick. We sit across from each other, our arms along the spa edge. I’m reminded of a couple birds I see drying their wings every morning in the marina.

The pool area sits between the Champagne Suite and the main lodge on its own private terrace overlooking the valley. A few paces away from the spa, Tara swims laps through mist rising from the heated pool. The rain has stopped but fog lowers from wispy clouds and licks at the wet hills below us.

Paul smiles. Now this is living, he says.

Yeah, it sure is, I say. Do you come here a lot?

Whenever the mood strikes us.

Paul runs his hands through his thick damp hair. Then he says,

I look like a fucking bank executive on a mental health retreat, here. Look at you! You look like my tanned tennis coach. You been on vacation or something?

Yeah, to Sacramento. Hey, about Benny—

No business today, stud, he says. You’re here as our guest.

There’s a splash from the pool and Tara pulls her lean topless body from the water. She strolls toward us with complete comfort. Her ivory white skin is broken only by dark nipples on firm teardrop breasts just big enough to fill a wineglass.

I stare at Tara as she steps down into the spa. Paul stares at me. Tara glides over to Paul and French kisses him. Then she looks over her shoulder at me and says,

I’m glad you came, Trevor.

Yeah, I’m glad I came too—this place is gorgeous.

A young masseuse stalks toward us carrying a clipboard. She’s a cute Eurasian and her waist is no bigger than one of my legs. She must be 90 pounds soaking wet. She asks if I’m Trevor with a tone that apologizes. Before I can answer, Paul says,

Take good care of my man here. Have fun, sport. Meet us at the lodge at eight. I’ll leave the room open so you can dress for dinner.

I climb out from the spa, trying to act cool even though my shorts are so tight my hard-on is obvious. I shrug on my robe, avert my eyes from Tara’s breasts, and follow the masseuse.

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