“You going to be okay? Want me to float you a loan?”
“No! Jesus Butch, I can take care of myself.”
He was silent a few beats. “I didn’t want to bring this up, but have you considered selling the house?”
I gritted my teeth. “No Butch, I have not considered selling the house.” Forget about royalties from Tyler’s band. They were nonexistent because of a legal clause entitling only the existing band members to payment. Tyler’s home in Twentynine Palms, which he had purchased as his retreat, was the one thing of value I owned. The place was probably worth around four hundred thousand dollars. And I wasn’t selling it. I had a flock of real estate agents—vultures—begging me to at least rent it out. “It will be so popular with all the tourists who want to stay in Tyler Priest’s home,” they’d said. “We can get top dollar.” I keep telling them in no uncertain terms to leave me the fuck alone. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with the house, so there it sat, a lonely, vacant home that used to be the getaway for Tyler when he wasn’t touring with his band. I didn’t want the last place I’d seen my brother alive to be violated by letting a bunch of strangers live there. It was the last connection I had to my brother, the one link that was pure Tyler. He had put me in his will as recipient of the house, which was paid off free and clear.
Butch said, “I don’t want to tell you what to do—”
“Then don’t,” I said with more force than I meant. “Sorry Butch, I know you’re trying to help.” I knew my financial situation was dire and didn’t need to be reminded. What exactly did I have? Let’s see, I had a truck that was maybe worth fifteen grand on a good day, a pretty impressive collection of porn that was worth … well, I guess you’d have to ask who’s buying to get that dollar amount, and my quiver of surfboards, which was definitely never going to be for sale.
Butch asked, “So, what’s up with you and Holly? You’re with her every day ending in Y.”
I smiled. “Maybe I like her.”
“And maybe you don’t?” He snorted in laughter. “Seriously, I’m impressed. I think she could be the one. When do I get to meet her?”
I bit my cuticle. “Soon.”
“So, do you like her? More than the gaggle of girls you’ve paraded under my nose for the past umpteen years?”
“Maybe.”
“Jax Priest, are you in love?” His tone was teasing.
“Now don’t go getting all carried away. We just started dating.”
“Why? Love doesn’t come around that often,” he said.
“It’s like this. I think we could be good together, but I want to take it slow.” How could I tell Butch what I was really feeling? That every time I sunk my throbbing cock into Holly, I thought of Rosalyn? That it was unfair to Holly and that I didn’t care? I did like her, but my screwed up reminisces were making it difficult to separate my emotions. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Why would you? Does she like you more than you like her?”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “Can we not talk about this stuff right now? The waves look killer.”
“Okay, man. Go get some good ones for me. I’ll be sitting here at the shop while you’re playing pro surfer.” Then his voice softened again. “Sorry man, get out there and have fun. I’ll catch you later.”
The phone rang and thinking it was Butch again, I barely glanced at the caller ID before accepting the call. But it wasn’t Butch. It was Sandy Farnsworth.
“Well, hello handsome,” she said, her voice sultry. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me. If I didn’t know better, I would think for sure that you didn’t like me anymore.”
“Oh, um, hi Sandy.”
“What are you doing today?”
“Just down at Salt Creek getting ready to surf.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m at the Ritz-Carlton right this very second. I got here yesterday with some friends,” she said. “I tell hubby that I need a couple days off now and then, and he doesn’t care.”
I started to feel impatient with the conversation because the waves were good. “What’s up?”
“So, you’re going surfing now? I’ll walk over to the window and wave.” There was a moment of silence and then she said, “You know babe, I think today would be an excellent day for you to walk on up to the hotel after your surf session and have a little session with me.”
Here we go again. “I don’t think so. But I am flattered.”
“Oh come on. Just once. What’s it going to hurt? You’re already here and everything. What’s one hour out of your life going to cost?” She laughed a low laugh. “I do know what one hour is going to pay.”
“I have to go. But I do appreciate the offer.”
“Oh, come on, Jax. I’m feeling extra happy today. If you know what I mean.”
“You are a sexy lady. But I’m not your man.”
“I say you are.”
I shook my head. “I’ll talk to you later, Sandy.” Not wanting to be rude, I added, “I’ll wave to you from the lineup.”
I donned my wetsuit, grabbed my board and trotted down the hill to the beach.
The waves were overhead that day, and I quickly got into a rhythm. Paddle out, get into a priority position, turn my board around, take off deep and drop into those gorgeous Salt Creek tubes. A lot of the other surfers knew me because surfing’s a small community. We took turns with waves, but the less experienced surfers deferred to the veterans.
As I sat on my board staring out at the horizon, one of the surfers from the pro circuit paddled over to me and said, “Hey Jax, heard about the cutbacks at Mystic Seaweed. Sucks. Sorry about that. Hoping I’m not next.”
“Thanks, dude. Life in the big city,” I said, whipping my board around to drop into the next wave.
I was in the zone with my surfing, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my plan for the future. If I was going to excel as a big wave surfer, I needed to spend as much time as possible surfing in the locations where the contests were held. The waves at Salt Creek, Swami’s, and Black’s Beach in San Diego were great, but they were no substitute for the larger swells. And that meant traveling to Dungeons in South Africa, Pico Alto in Peru, Punta de Lobos in Chile, Pe’ahi in Maui, Punta Galea in Basque Country, Spain, and of course, my favorite of all, Mavericks in Half Moon Bay, California. If I stayed where I could afford it, I’d be the best Mavericks surfer there was. But if I wanted to be the best there was period, I’d have to travel. Northern California I could drive to, but all those other locations? If I was going to train there it would be on my own dime. My own nonexistent dime. Airfare alone to South Africa was around a thousand bucks one way. But I was determined to be the best on the circuit. I was more fired up than ever after getting the axe from Mystic Seaweed.
As I straddled my board at Salt Creek, the sun blazing down from an azure sky, a few seagulls wheeled overhead. The multimillion dollar homes built right on the cliffs overlooking the ocean seemed to stare at me, and my gaze strayed to the Ritz-Carlton. It had a fancy restaurant that overlooked the lineup at Salt Creek, a five star spa, and heck, you could even get a massage in a cabana set up for you in the garden area. The sound of the waves crashing in the background would fill your ears as an attractive masseuse kneaded the knots out of your weary body. Too rich for my blood.
Sandy.
I wondered what she and her friends had been doing on her getaway at the Ritz. What exactly would she want me to do to her in exchange for that thousand-dollar-an-hour payout?
I caught another wave, my left hand stroking the inside of the barrel as I crouched down on my board and enjoyed the eerie peacefulness you only find while gliding through a tube. The ocean water was an especially vibrant shade of turquoise that day. Strands of seaweed formed a moving panorama under my board as I rode, the scent of salt was thick in my nostrils, and the air clean.
Back in the lineup, I combed my hair away from my f
ace and thought about my predicament. Sandy was right there at the Ritz, not five hundred yards away. How many women had I had sex with over the past years? A lot. I’d lost count of how many. How many had paid me to have sex with them? None. Ridiculous, right? I had sex for free because I loved it. Okay, loved it is maybe too tame a term to use. Sometimes I wished I could rein in my sexual urges.
But I had a theory that sex made me a better athlete. I’d heard the saying that football players should never have sex the night before a big game, but it’s not true. I remember reading in one of those glossy men’s magazines that testosterone levels are at their highest in a male right after orgasm, and testosterone is one of the main things that makes a great athlete. It made me feel a little better about what I thought was sometimes an embarrassingly over active sexual drive. Being a basketball fan, I considered two of my favorite athletes, Kobe Bryant and Wilt Chamberlain. No wimpy sex drive there.
What did Sandy and her friends want? And what harm could it do to simply walk up to the Ritz right after surfing and at least talk to Sandy? Maybe have sex with her one time? It would pay half my rent and stock Blue-ee up with enough food to last him a lifetime. But in thinking that way, I knew I was playing with fire.
I thought about Holly. She could be the closest thing I had to a girlfriend since Rosalyn. I really did like her, and no way did I want to hurt her. But, I reasoned, I wasn’t married, hadn’t even used the term girlfriend when talking about her.
I made my decision. I can’t say it was the best decision I ever made. But it wasn’t the worst.
When I got back to my truck, I called Sandy.
“Well, hello handsome surfer boy,” she breathed into the phone. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Um, why don’t I come up to the hotel, and we can talk.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “We’ll talk. I’m in room 405. Wear your wetsuit, baby. Pull it down around your waist and tuck your surfboard under your arm. I’ll be waiting.”
My hands shook when I knocked on the door of room 405. How many times had I been the one to knock on a woman’s door when I knew she was waiting for me, her panties wet, her body on fire waiting for me to ravish her? I told myself this was no different. Part of me even believed it.
When she opened the door, Sandy was just as sexy as I remembered her. More so this time because of the gold bikini that was so small, it made me wonder why she’d even bothered. The bikini top was pulled down so low that I could see the ridge of her luscious brown nipples. Her long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders and back, contrasting with the creamy white of her complexion. She put both hands on her hips and said, “Hello Jax.”
I ignored the lump in my throat and walked into the ocean view room which, sure enough, had a perfect view of the surfers catching waves at Salt Creek. The guest rooms at the Ritz-Carlton were the ultimate in luxury, with shimmery silver bedding, deep, soft feather beds, and understated artwork on the walls. A mess of condoms sat on the nightstand.
“You, surfer boy,” she said, ushering me into the room and locking the door behind her, “are looking pretty goddamn sexy today.”
“Um, thanks.” My sweaty palm gripped my board.
Sandy’s gaze traveled up and down my body. “Why don’t you sit down?”
I twirled around. “Can I put my surfboard here?”
She wouldn’t take her eyes off me. “Wherever.”
What was I supposed to say? “So, how’s your son?”
She smiled. “Fine. Why don’t you sit down?”
My gaze shifted to the partially open sliding glass door. “How about if we check out the waves?”
Her voice was gentle. “How about if you sit down.”
I cleared my throat. “Let’s walk out on the balcony and—”
“Jax! Relax and sit down. I won’t bite. Well, maybe just a little.”
I propped my surfboard against the wall and took a deep breath. “So, how does this work?”
“Sit down.” She motioned to the plush bed. I sat and Sandy sat next to me, curling her legs into a lotus posture underneath her. “How this works is that we meet here at the Ritz when I’m in the mood. And I pay you a thousand dollars cash for every hour we’re together. My friends will too.”
A thousand bucks cash. My head swam with the possibilities. I swallowed hard. “And if we go over an hour?”
“Then it’s another thousand. And sometimes my friends and I might want other things.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing you wouldn’t enjoy. Things like fine dining downstairs or maybe a date at another location. I don’t know yet. Like I was telling you, I’ve got a group of friends who are going to think they died and went to heaven when they meet you.”
“I’m not a professional.”
“Oh, you’re plenty professional for me. I have an eye for these things.”
“So, what do you want me to do?”
“How about we start with this?” She unfurled her legs, then straddled me, her legs curling around me. She kissed me. Her mouth was warm and tasted of expensive champagne. I pulled her head to mine, my fingers running through her silky hair. My heartbeat sped up, and I could already tell this was going to be one of the best jobs I’d ever had. She unclasped her bikini top and rubbed her breasts against my chest. I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of the skin-to-skin contact, her flesh soft and creamy.
She pulled away, her eyes glazed with need, a smile on her sweet lips. “Yeah, baby, I love the way you kiss.” She hopped up and sashayed over to the dresser, reached into a drawer and extracted ten crisp one-hundred dollar bills. I stared at her bare breasts, flat stomach, and that tiny bikini bottom. I couldn’t wait to rip it off. “Let’s get the business part of our pleasure out of the way. Then we can get on to the fun.” She laid the bills on the bed. “Now peel off that wetsuit.”
Luckily, I’d had a lifetime of experience getting out of a wetsuit with speed. Sandy let out a gasp when she saw me naked. I moved toward her, our eyes locked, and I peeled down her bikini bottoms. She kissed me deeply, her hands in my hair, on my back, moving over my butt, her warm hand grazing my hard-on.
“Set that chair in front of the mirror,” she said. I was a willing employee and followed Sandy’s instructions. I set the upholstered chair in front of the full-length wardrobe mirror. She sat down and spread her legs. “I want to watch you play with me, baby,” she said. A small suitcase stood to the side of the mirror. It was filled with a selection of dildos and vibrators that she wanted me to use on her while she watched the whole scene unfolding like an X-rated movie in the mirror.
I felt heady from the idea of getting paid for sex. I knelt in front of Sandy, her pussy staring me in the face as the cool ocean breeze wafted in from the partially open sliding glass door. Sandy smiled down at me as I took in her perfect body. Perky breasts, nice ass, legs sculpted from hours of exercise classes. I caressed her inner thighs, my hands working their way closer to her luscious sweetness. She spread her legs wider. I closed my eyes and inhaled. Sandy smelled heavenly, and when the tantalizing aroma of her femininity hit my brain, my mouth watered and my hard-on twitched. Opening my eyes, my hand grazed her pussy lips, and she let out a moan. “Start with your fingers,” she said. I lightly stroked then asked her if I could kiss it. She said yes, and I moistened her sex with my mouth then gently rubbed her clit with my thumb. She removed an item that looked like a woman’s dangling earring from her sex-supply suitcase. “Fit this over my clit,” she said. It was a clamp of sorts, which squeezed her sensitive spot as blood rushed in. I swear I could see her pulsing with every beat of her heart. Blood whooshed through my ears so loud, my vision clouded. But I didn’t want to miss a second of the action. One of Sandy’s legs dragged up my shoulder, her foot finding a resting place. She had me kiss her sensitive spot then she wanted me to apply a small vibrator that looked like a pink rabbit. The batteries were strong, and when that thing came to life and I worked it over her waiting pussy, she came
in about thirty seconds. “Lick up the juice,” she commanded as a gush of love nectar trickled out of her. I happily lapped it up. “That’s perfect, baby. Yes, just like that. So good.” We went on like this with some of the other toys, and the woman must’ve had five orgasms in the first twenty minutes I had her set up in front of the mirror. Then, she said, “Stand up, I want to suck your cock.” I willingly obliged, standing next to her as she turned her head sideways, taking all of me in her warm mouth. That blow job was almost my undoing as she expertly worked my cock with her wet tongue and soft hands. My cock grew in her mouth, blood rushing to the head. Damn, that felt good. My hands gripped her head, pulling her into me. Glancing in the mirror, at the sight of her legs spread wide, my cock sliding in and out of her perfect mouth, I didn’t know how long I’d last.
After a few minutes, her eyes were glazed over and hungry, she said, “Now, I want you to fuck me.” We moved to the bed, and she bent over while I slipped on a condom and slid into her. We moved together. I closed my eyes, savoring her tightness. I rubbed her back, pulled her hair, reached around to caress her breasts, moving slow then faster. Her face was a mask of passion, her head moving side to side. When she orgasmed, her pussy contracting around my hardness, I couldn’t hold back.
She caught her breath, looked over her shoulder, and smiled. “Very nice start, surfer boy. And you say you’re not a professional.”
When I left the Ritz-Carlton with two grand tucked into my wetsuit, I thought of Holly. I would work for Sandy a short time, build up a nest egg, and Holly would be none the wiser. I didn’t want to hurt her, but we hadn’t promised each other exclusivity. Right? Right.
* * *
After that, Sandy made sure to fill up my spare time with dates with her and her lust-filled friends. There was Sandy and her best friend Christy to start. Christy had about twenty extra pounds on her that she had been unable to lose after she’d had kids. She liked romance. She wanted me to fill the room at the Ritz-Carlton with rose petals and be waiting for her on the bed with a box of Godiva chocolates. Christy especially liked the chocolates. “Tell me I’m beautiful.” I gazed into her eyes. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had,” I’d say while gently kissing her lips then her nipples. I’d pop dark chocolate into my mouth, and we’d kiss as the decadent chocolate melted.
Pleasure Point: The Complete Series Page 37
