ACDC-132 Fooling Around

Excerpt: Fooling Around

Chapter One

The hot sun beat down on the white sand beach. Naked bodies baked beneath the French Riviera skies and Bob Garland turned over onto his stomach. He was getting a hard-on and that could be embarrassing to him because it was not a woman who was causing the sensation in him. It was the ass of a young Frenchman who was lying on his stomach just inches away from Bob.

The round, firm buns of the young man’s butt were what was turning Bob on. He didn’t understand it. But it was happening. He had never in his life even thought of fucking another man.

What was happening to him?

Bob squirmed and turned away from the young blonde Frenchman just as a perfectly beautiful young woman came running across the sand, her long blonde hair wet with the sea.

“Philippe, you lazy son of a bitch,” she cried. “Come into the water. It’s glorious.”

Bob watched her flop down on the sand next to the young man whose butt had aroused him so much. “They’re together,” he thought.

The young woman was exquisite.

Bob felt the thickness of his hard-on increase as he looked at the young woman’s body. She was as perfect as her mate.

The two of them looked like young blonde gods.

Bob Garland was in Cannes for the film festival-a journalist covering the event for the arts magazine that was fronting the money for this trip. He could never have afforded such a luxurious sojourn on his own. Not on his salary.

But here he was, basking in the hot French sun, surrounded by nude and mostly nude sun bathers. Most never bothered-like the young man she had called “Philippe”-to enter the azure blue sea that lay out like a cheap whore for all to enjoy.

“Pardon, monsieur,” Bob heard the mellifluous voice of the young woman say. He turned.

“Do you have a cigarette?”

Bob grinned at her. She returned the pleasantry.

“Certainly, miss,” Bob said, fumbling in the beach bag that lay beside him. He proffered the pack to her, one cigarette extended.

“Thank you,” she said demurely lowering her eyes. “May I also take one for my brother?”

Her brother!

So they were not a couple, Bob thought to himself.

“Certainly, miss.”

“Thank you. You are a fine gentleman.” Not so fine, Bob thought to himself. If you knew that I had been getting turned on by the thought of fucking your hot little brother.

The young woman was wearing a yellow spandex bikini. She might as well have been as nude as her brother for all the skimpy garment covered. Her well-rounded, pendulous breasts were barely contained by the strained and stretched fabric that clung to her like wet glue. It was almost as though the garment had been painted onto her voluptuous figure.

The tiny bottom part of the bikini barely covered the honey-colored bush that framed the triangle of her love nest. Bob felt his cock throb as he reached out with his Zippo and lit the cigarette that dangled from the young blonde French woman’s succulent lips.

“Merci,” she murmured and slipped the cigarette into the lazy lips of her beautiful young brother.

Of course, they are brother and sister, Bob thought. Just look at those eyes. The two of them had perfectly shaped almond eyes, colored a pale green. It was a startling effect, especially against the bronzed flesh of their young bodies. And the blonde hair that fell nearly to both their shoulders framed the angelic faces of this pair of French sea nymphs-one male one female.

Exquisite! Bob thought. Perfectly exquisite, like two Dresden dolls.

The girl may have been twenty. The boy younger-maybe eighteen. Bob himself was twenty-five and felt like a jaded old whoremaster in the company of these two. But there was something sensual to the look of the girl and her brother. Something incredibly innocent and yet not so.

A couple of little devils, Bob thought. Probably fuck like minks.

“You are here for the festival,” the young woman stated rather than asked.

“Yes,” Bob admitted. He must really look like a tourist, he thought.

“You have the look of a critic,” she offered.

“Not guilty!” Bob defended himself. “I am a journalist, yes. A critic, never.” The young woman laughed, a laugh that carried the echo of sea sirens in it.

God, she would be a hot fuck, Bob thought. A really hot fuck.

“Would you care to join us for a drink later?” the young woman asked.

“I certainly would,” Bob said, realizing at once that he sounded over-eager.

“Then, until later,” the young woman said. “We are at the Maison dAviles. Five o’clock.” With that she leaped to her feet and ran down the beach toward the sea.

Excerpt From: Anonymous. “Fooling Around.”