That next night was sticky with a light wind. The beach was infused with the fragrance of lilacs, which were probably planted on top of Sontimore Hill along the Fuller mansion. I assumed their aroma blew down to the lake. The heat index was well above ninety, which left me bare-chested, barefoot, and sporting nothing more than a pair of Adidas workout shorts the color of the midnight sky. I decided to relax on the bungalow’s compact patio with a longneck bottle of imported beer. I took in the sound of the lake and its rising tide. Nocturnal waves rolled to shore and lapped hungrily at the sandy beach.
That sound reminded me of my own strange hunger for the blond beachcomber. How horny was I for the man? Did I not crave his tongue against one of my hairless and suntanned pecs? Had I not lo
