The stranger doesn’t turn. His stride shortens for one step but that’s the only indication he’s heard me. A smile sneaks across my mouth, twisting as I try to stop it from blooming into a full laugh. I’ve got no class. I’m perving. Hidden behind sunglasses, squinting in the sunshine, I’m availing myself of the unexpected addition to an already stunning view. I usually go for long, lean athletes. This guy is stocky but he’s definitely an athlete. Muscles upon muscles, layered and sculpted to perfection. His gait is long and easy. He’s about my height but built like a brick outhouse, as my pop would have said. A very attractive one if the rear is anything to go by. He has huge calves, thick flexing thighs, and tight butt cheeks rounding out his shorts decadently. How would my hand go curving around those gluteus maximuses, or is it maximi in pairs? I’d need both hands for sure. They twitch, palms sweating, fingers wriggling, eager to close in on their target. He’s alone and heading towards the dive shack, like me.
