Page 22 of The Key Holder

“You’re moving pretty good in the water.” Ford changed the subject, as if he knew I was about to ask him about his recent romantic history.

“I’m not putting any weight on it. I don’t have to.”

“A few more days and you’ll be back to a hundred percent.” Ford leaned back, getting his hair wet again.

“I think I’d like to go for a swim every day,” I said. “This is nice.” I pushed off the sandy bottom and leaned back, floating on the surface.

After a few moments, Ford said, “You’re lucky.”

I looked at him, losing my buoyancy. After my toes touched the sand and I found my footing, I asked, “Why?”

“Because if you weren’t hurt, I would’ve tackled you just now.”

“Oh really? Tackled me? You’d do that to someone peacefully enjoying the lake?”

He cocked his head. “It’s not like you couldn’t fight back.”

“Are you challenging me to an in-the-water wrestling match?”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s a deal,” I said without hesitation. At this point, I’d do pretty much anything to get my hands on his body. Maybe he’d eventually like it?

“I’m gonna lay on the shore for a while. Get some sun,” Ford said. “You coming?”

I would if I could, bro.

The June sun was absolutely baking me and it felt wonderful, especially after the rainy spring this year. I was floating now, the edible having taken full effect, and happy. And relaxed.

Ford and I were lying in the short grass just offshore, side by side surrounded by the sounds of nature. Every now and then, the purr of a boat would come and go, reminding me that we weren’t alone, and the subsequent waves lapping the shore would crescendo and fade.

I turned over, face up, and let out a deep breath. My self-consciousness had long disappeared. If he saw the cage through my suit, so be it. That meant he was looking at my junk and if he commented, he’d be admitting checking me out. How would he explain that?

I glanced over at Ford and stared. At some point, he had pulled his minuscule swimsuit up into his crack, revealing pretty much all of his very plump, round buns. Squirt some icing on those and I’d eat that.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d eat mine. I almost asked but thought better of it, opting for a more serious question. “You know why I’m here. Now it’s your turn to spill.” I watched his back tense, his butt flex, just a little. There was a reason, and he was going to tell me. “Come on. I showed you mine, now you gotta show me yours,” I teased.

Ford rolled onto his side to face me, propping himself up with his elbow. He was smiling. “Honestly?”

“No, I want you to lie to me. Of course I want an honest answer.”

Ford chuckled at my reply, and said, “Fair enough.”

There was a pause.

“Well?”

“Just trying to figure out where to start.”

“At the beginning.”

“You’re such a brat.” He sighed. “It’s kind of similar to why you’re here.”

Oh really. “Go on,” I said.

“I’m not satisfied with the men I’ve been dating. They all seem to want one thing.”

“Just one thing? Is it your dick?”