When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Chapter 11: Return TripJuly 1. I was tucked under the eaves of the gazebo between the East and West gardens reading David Leavitt’s Arkansas when the pool boy returned. A part of my mind believed that I was hearing things (car door slamming, a “Hello!” being called out in the distance, rushed footsteps on marble and Parquet flooring inside), but when I placed the hardback on the wooden bench next to me, I lifted my head and saw a handsome shadow lurking about inside the house on the first floor, moving from room to room. He was in search of me, only me, which caused my c**k to bubble up with warm life inside my khakis. The high temperature was grueling. I found that the shade in the gazebo was the best way to keep cool. I had a beautiful view of the blue-green lake, the distant lighthouse