Barefoot Beach Box Set

Chapter 4: Dancing Queens

Chapter 4: Dancing Queens

The party next door to my bungalow was everything I thought it would be: two bars, bare-chested waiters with suntanned bodies and tongue-wagging looks, a dozen side dishes on a sprawling buffet, heated games of sand darts and corn hole on the nearby beach, numerous grilled meats, seven different salads to choose from, and a stack of community towels for men (and the few women that just happened to attend the party) to use at free will after dipping in the Gulf.

Guests included: Ricky Maddox, a gold medalist wrestler in the Seoul Olympics; Nico Redfield, the owner of three four-star bakeries in Naples and Barefoot Beach; Jake Harding, a novelist who specialized his craft in gay mysteries; Officer Mitchell Cordowski from the local BBPD; two XXX performers who worked for Magnum Media Limited, Joey Rush and Sam Hung; Dean Polliford, a top-notch photographer; Michael Dash, a dog walker extraordinaire; and others.

Ging was already sloppy drunk upon my arrival, which was kind of fun since he was the life of any party, and proudly carried the reputation as such. He made sure all thirty-plus guests were taken care of, including me. Two hours into the festive gig and I was not without a beverage, and nor were the other partying attendees.

Nick, Ging’s beefy and dark-skinned lover, played barbecuer at the grill. He prepared steaks to order, sautéed lemon shrimp, and crafted the most appetizing chicken kabobs. Not one guest complained about his grilling skills. Instead, they seemed to rave about his enjoyed task and called him energetic, a flaming god of fire, and Mr. Beef.

An eclectic arrangement of tunes spanned the beach. Dancing queens enjoyed anything from The Rolling Stones to Taylor Swift. DJ Dee Zee Knight took requests from the bombed socialites and played what the partiers wanted to hear on the beach.

In the distance, a dozen or more men acted like mermen in the Gulf. They swam in circles like a school of fish, dunked each other playfully, dove in the water’s mystical depth and rough current, eventually surfacing. Some of the men were naked from head to toe. And two men—strangers to me—hugged and kissed within the powerful waves, connected in homoerotic lust.

The beach was littered with yummy looking sunbathers: men of all different sizes, shapes, and hues. Three were completely naked, sunning their hairless c***s and bronze-colored balls in the May sunbeams. Some guys left the party and ended up f*****g around with tight-bottomed twinks or rugged looking jocks in privacy, but nearby. Other sunbathers simply enjoyed the music, the sun, and each other’s company while taking in the party’s playful ambience and drinking strong alcoholic beverages, becoming quite blitzed.

* * * *

To my surprise I became Brayden York’s prey at the late afternoon festivities. At first I didn’t know he was present among the many guests, but then I learned of his attendance once he had hunted me down among a group of men near the sweet-scented grilling area where a discussion of upcoming vacations was being carried out. Brayden stood behind me and placed a tight palm over my right shoulder. In doing so, he said, “The time has come for us to meet again, Mr. Shawford.”

I spun around, as if on command, and studied his beautiful looks yet again, which consisted of blond curls, chiseled jaw, blue-blue eyes, and a body to die for. He was wearing nothing more than a white pair of trunks, which were snug against his middle. Every muscle was well-designed on his hairless chest and suntanned with perfection. The guy was hardcore sweet to look at, and I really couldn’t take my eyes off his stunning presentation.

Beneath his trunk was a mound of private parts. The fabric against his skin was so tight I could literally see the outline of his deflated c**k and his sack of balls. And then my eyes shifted to the line of blond hair beneath his navel: narrow, spiraling, and delicious looking. Droplets of Gulf water careened down and over his ripped chest as if he were an international swimsuit model who just happened to be sprayed down with a mist bottle. The teardrop shapes of liquid hung against the man’s firm n*****s and pecs, and sent me into a spin of delight.

What I could have done with the man in private was unthinkable. A producer of porn could have filmed our bodies in a comprised position and sold over a million copies of our contrived naughtiness. Only a video camera and a thirty-minute romance with the gorgeous man could have visually determined my lust for him.

Frankly, a handsome man like Brayden hadn’t come around in my life for a very long time and I had craved such a divine male specimen and needed him to be close to my naked skin.

Befuddled, perhaps awestruck by his presence, I said, “I didn’t know you were attending this party. Ging didn’t tell me.”

“It was Nick who invited me,” he said. “We bumped into each other at Preston’s.”

Preston’s was a local natural foods store in downtown Barefoot Beach. The place specialized in organic everything, prepared the best sushi in the city, and was big on giving their patrons samples of their products. I was not surprised to hear that Nick and Brayden shopped there, since most of the bungalow population often visited the store’s narrow aisles.

Brayden did a once-over of my body, grinned, and said, “You look good today, Ian. The sun works well for you.”

He could have worked well for me under my skin, but I couldn’t tell him that. Instead, I had to be on my best behavior, thanked him for his compliment, and said, “My drink seems to be empty. I should find Ging and get a refill.”