Beach Slut Pt. 02

Story

Chapter Two - Lewis

Trisha had discovered that the narrow road wasn't intended for vehicles but for walkers, joggers, and cyclists. It had been modelled on more famous beaches further down the coast.

In Trisha's opinion, the modelling hadn't succeeded, but Puerto Seguro was only popular with artists and people who thought they were artists. So far as Trisha was concerned, she currently qualified for inclusion in the latter category.

She had told this to Geoff on one of the rare occasions, they had dinner together. "It's a quaint place, and I fancy renting a studio so I can sit down and write the novel everyone is supposed to have inside them."

Geoff looked up from his steak with salad. Trisha thought Geoff had lost a few pounds but hadn't said anything in case he was ill. Trisha wasn't good with illnesses, either her own or other people's.

"What would this novel be about?" Geoff asked eventually. He could see Trisha as many things but not as a writer. In his opinion, she lacked the discipline he thought a writer would need.

It was time for Trisha to improvise. She had given the idea some thought, even going as far as finding out what books were currently popular.

There was a bookshop just off the Beachwalk with the cunning name of Bookworms. Trisha had discovered that a bookworm was someone who read the books they bought.

Neither Trisha nor Geoff fell into that category despite having converted one of the house's day rooms into a study complete with three walls filled with shelves that were, in turn, filled with books Geoff had bought wholesale from a library anxious to free up space.

Geoff further converted the study by including a sixty-inch television with cinema sound. Geoff's viewing preferences were far from Trisha's, so they rarely shared the study. In truth, Trisha rarely showed any interest in the study or its contents.

"Detective novels always sell, but I know nothing about police procedures, poisons and the like. I thought something with a female lead struggling to turn the family business around whilst her sister schemes against her."

"Sounds like every daytime soap not set in a hospital," Geoff replied as he sliced through his steak.

Trisha didn't know if Geoff was joking or just being unpleasant by ridiculing her. "I thought I'd use my family name as my publishing name ..."

"It's called a nom de plume." Geoff interrupted her. "I think it's French by origin."

"Are you taking the piss!" Trisha snapped back.

Geoff looked both hurt and surprised. "NO, I wasn't. I think it's a great idea, better than drifting through each day. Is this why you wanted the computer? By the way, where is it?"

"You know about the computer?" The technician must have blabbed; Trisha was furious.

"I pay his wages; of course, I know." Geoff's reply was almost sarcastic. "You should have just bought a new one out of your allowance. Where is the laptop?"

Trisha took a breath and told Geoff about the apartment she had rented, somewhere she could use while working on her novel. It sounded plausible, but Geoff hadn't made his millions by being stupid.

"Sounds like a good idea." Though the salad had gone, Geoff pushed his plate away with some uneaten steak. Normally, Geoff would have finished the steak and left the salad.

"Not hungry?" Trisha asked. She hadn't cooked their meal. She ordered from a local firm, and the most Trisha did was reheat or microwave.

"Full enough. I'll speak to my IT people about providing you with a top-of-the-range kit, not someone's cast-off." Geoff finished the glass of wine he'd allowed himself whilst Trisha was on her third. "I just have a couple of calls to make, and then I thought we could have an early night."

Trisha had to get Geoff to repeat what he'd just said.

***********************************

As arranged, Ruth met up with Trisha at the beachside Brew House. There were a dozen small tables set against the edge of the beach. Each table had a parasol and a couple of chairs. It was almost lunch, and the two women indulged in iced coffees.

Trisha had brought her friend up to date on the Curtis situation. He was close to becoming a nuisance, and Trisha needed advice and a distraction, but first, she related the tale of her early night with Geoff.

"He came to my bedroom wearing only a pair of shorts and stayed the whole night!" Trisha revealed. "It felt very strange to wake up beside my husband."

"He is taking something?" Ruth suggested thinking of Viagra or something recreational. She couldn't see Geoff doing drugs; he was too conservative.

"Not that I know off, and there is more ..." Trisha hesitated. Ruth might be her best friend, but some details were awkward, even with your BFF.

Ruth tore her attention away from the hunk building something out of the sand on the beach. "Like what? Did he suggest anal?" Backdoor sex was about the only thing Ruth couldn't imagine Trisha trying.

"NO!" Trisha pulled a face. "He's more ... more ... adventurous. He was a missionary man unless I made a suggestion. Now he wants to try things ..." Trisha was feeling flustered. Talking to Ruth about the sex with Curtis hadn't felt that personal, but discussing what she and Geoff had done only two nights ago was difficult.

"Like what?"

"He's never been keen on giving me oral, but last night ... I had almost to beg him to stop!" Trisha shook herself. The memories were stirring her lady parts.

Ruth was quiet. Trisha could have sworn that Ruth was blushing if someone with a tan could be blushing. Trisha knew that Ruth was no prude and oral sex wasn't that big a deal.

She had expected oral from her boyfriends before she had met Geoff. She had put his lack of interest down to a generational thing. Women of Trisha's age took great care of their pubic gardens, whilst she believed that women of Geoff's age didn't.

The hunk was stretching, revealing a fine set of muscles that drew the attention of both women and stopped the conversation about Geoff's oral conversion.

"I bet he's got some lead in his pencil," Trisha murmured loud enough for Ruth to hear.

"Veteran pencil, those aren't highlights in his hair!" Ruth answered.

"Reeks of experience!" Trisha continued murmuring whilst shifting herself on the chair. She wasn't wearing much, a halter top and a pair of beach shorts that left little to the imagination. "Nothing ventured ... EXCUSE ME!" She called out, waving towards the hunk.

"Why don't you try something obvious." Ruth chuckled.

***********************************

The hunk looked in their direction, pointed to himself, and stepped across the ten yards between them.

"What can I do for you, lovely young ladies." The voice was sun-soaked and carried more than a hint of suggestion. The hunk's face wore enough wrinkles to suggest both age and experience. He was probably an inch over six feet and carried no surplus weight.

Trisha pointed to the sign beside the hunk's deckchair. "That you?"

"Lewis Gregory, artist?" The hunk bowed. "It certainly is, how can I be of service?"

It took Trisha a moment to understand what he was talking about. "You draw people or just do sand sculptures?"

"Draw? Line, sketch, or even cartoon if that's your preference. If you want reference's go along to the Paintbox. I exhibit some of my stuff there." Lewis pointed down the street in what Trisha assumed was the direction to the Paintbox. "Just say Lewis sent you, and they won't hassle you ... that much!" he smiled, revealing a full set of white teeth.

"We might just do that. How do we get in touch if we like what we see?" Ruth asked. She had been the silent partner for long enough.

"Through the Paintbox. I have a studio, or we could sit on the beach. I'm amenable to either."

He was easy to like, Trisha thought. Lewis had that confidence that some men possessed, which advertised he was a guaranteed good time.

"Photo, can you work from a photo?" Ruth pressed.

"Prefer not to. You can't get to know your subject from a photograph. You can see the bone structure and the eye colour but nothing of your subject's persona. You only get that when you draw your subject in the flesh, so to speak."

Trisha noticed that Lewis didn't colour after he had delivered the innuendo. This wasn't the first time he'd chatted up women on a beach. "By the way, my name is Trisha; we might just pop along to the Paintbox?" She glanced towards Ruth for confirmation.

"Don't mind me," Ruth added, feeling just a little ignored as Trisha and Lewis flirted with each other.

Trisha took the very obvious hint. "And this young lady is my very best friend, Ruth."

Ruth delivered her best: no teeth smile. "Nice to meet you, Lewis. You live round here?"

"My studio is also my home, and I've lived around Puerto Seguro long enough to know that you young ladies are new to our sleepy little town." Lewis sank onto his haunches. "Can I ask what brings you to Puerto Seguro?"

The two women exchanged glances before Ruth answered. "I'm just a day tripper, but Trisha here ... she has rented an apartment while writing her great novel."

Trisha blushed, quite an achievement given her tan. Ruth had succeeded in a single sentence to make her sound slightly ridiculous.

"It's just an idea." Trisha tried to smile.

"Nothing wrong with having an ambition." Lewis agreed. "I started wanting to be a rock star until I discovered I could draw better than I could sing or play guitar."

"I read somewhere that boys joined bands because of the groupies." Trisha teased, now ignoring Ruth.

"There was also that." Lewis grinned.

"So, do artists also have groupies?" Trisha returned Lewis's grin with a smile.

"Of course, but they are called artists models."

***********************************

Entering Lewis's studio was akin to entering the lion's den. Trisha understood that even after Ruth had warned her against the visit.

"He's just an old letch. You're better off sticking to the likes of Curtis. At least Curtis hasn't made it his life's ambition to shag anything with a pulse!"

"Curtis has got time, besides. Lewis amuses me." Trisha had retorted, and the two women parted as less than friends.

***********************************

The studio was an anonymous block of a building. It had been constructed for a starter business; now, the floor space had been given to Lewis's studio. The natural light came through the large display windows and a skylight.

Lewis had allowed himself to live in a small kitchen and a loft bedroom reached by a loft ladder. The loft only covered half of what might have been a first floor.

Lewis obviously didn't waste money on his comfort, Trisha thought to herself as she wandered around the studio. There was other furniture, but they were part of Lewis's studio props.

"How do you want me?" Trisha asked. The sky was cloudless in late morning, and the rose was rising. Trisha was wearing a loose-fitting summer dress designed for disrobing easily.

"What a question!" Lewis smiled. "Just seated and relaxed. Do you need a drink to help you relax? I do have other substances if you prefer."

Trisha burst out laughing. "You are just an ageing hippy!"

Lewis bowed. "Less of the aged, but I'll accept hippy as a description."

***********************************

Trisha settled onto a long couch with a single side against which she rested. The couch length allowed Trisha to stretch out after taking off her sandals.

Lewis drew up a stool and a backpack containing his materials, save for an A4-sized drawing pad.

"How this works ... I'll make several sketches so that you can choose your preference, and I'll transfer that drawing to A3-sized paper. The transfer will take me a day or so to finish and hang. I prefer a plain wood frame, but it's your choice. After all, you are the client."

It all sounded so professional and formal that Trisha began to adjust her thinking away from a shag and to ending up with a drawing of herself.

"I haven't asked how much the drawing will cost?"

Lewis named a figure that more than surprised her. Trisha had bought artwork for the house in Ravens Peak and her beachside apartment, but the figure Lewis quoted exceeded anything she had paid.

She hoped her face didn't reveal her surprise, but she would drop into the Paintbox to check out the prices. She cursed silently that she hadn't paid attention to the prices when she and Ruth had first visited the gallery.

"You don't have to sit so rigid. Relax, it's far easier to draw a relaxed subject than one suffering from cramps or a sore bottom."

All the time that Lewis was talking, he was also drawing. Trisha could see how his eyes flitted between his drawing pad and herself. He was concentrating hard but was relaxed.

"And if your subject gets cramps, what do you do?" Trisha asked as coyly as she could muster.

"I did a masseur course way back. I think I can remember the basics." His eyes sparkled, and Trisha suppressed a quiet, delicious shudder. The thought of Lewis laying his hands on her drove Trisha's motor.

"Music, masseur and now artist, that's a varied career." Trisha adjusted her dress to show a little more leg. She had always thought her legs were head-turners.

"Add in truck driver, construction worker and gardener, and you have the whole package. I've only ever stuck at being an artist. It suits my lifestyle the best."

"You like using your hands." Trisha smiled.

"Not good at brain work, so how does an unpublished writer earn a living?"

"I'm living off my divorce settlement." The answer sounded a little mercenary, and Trisha considered it a white lie. She was almost living in Puerto Seguro, and Geoff was already becoming a memory.

Trisha's answer made Lewis pause. "Sorry that your marriage didn't work out. I have never been married."

"Geoff is a nice guy, but I discovered that his business came before his wife. He was always generous. I can't fault him there, but a woman needs to know she is appreciated."

Lewis stopped drawing. "At the risk of making a fool of myself ... Geoff was an idiot to ignore you."

Trisha blushed but didn't correct him.

"Let's take a break." Lewis put down his sketch pad and sat beside Trisha before she realised he had moved. "I tried to concentrate on drawing you ... but you make that impossible." Lewis murmured, kissing Trisha's unresisting mouth.

***********************************

Trisha shifted her position until she was above him. She rubbed her hands against his chest, feeling his muscles beneath his cotton shirt.

"This needs to come off." She whispered, tugging at the shirt until Lewis removed it.

Lewis's chest hair was sprinkled with grey; his muscles were firm, and Trisha enjoyed running her fingers through the chest hair. She could feel his cock pinned beneath her, it felt large, and Trisha could feel herself lubricating, that warm glow that announced her growing arousal.

They kissed, the urgency of the sex feeding through to their kisses. Trisha slid back far enough to loosen Lewis's sweatpants; his cock sprang into view. He wasn't wearing any shorts.

She smiled as her fingers claimed Lewis's cock. She enjoyed feeling a man's cock. Some women did, and some didn't; Trisha was in the former camp.

A gentle rub and Lewis grunted, his hands seeking her breasts. Trisha kept her dress on as a tease but allowed his hands to wander.

"You'll have to wear something," Trisha announced, taking a foil from her shoulder bag. "Allow me." She ripped open the foil and took out a red condom. "I like red." She rolled the condom down his stalk, always watching his face to take in his reactions. "Now that looks better ..."

Lewis's free hand was beneath her dress, probing gently for the entrance to Trisha's sex.

She felt fingers enter her and then find her clitoris. Trisha didn't attempt to suppress the moan before saying. "Is this what you mean by being a masseur?"

"You talk too much!" Lewis pulled Trisha onto him, temporarily removing his fingers to steer his cock into her.

They kissed as Lewis slowly built up the rhythm and power of his thrusts until each penetration made her gasp. The feelings the sex created were exquisite.

Lewis hugged her to him, refusing her the chance to do anything but accept each thrust.

Trisha felt helpless and exposed, and that triggered an orgasm.

***********************************

They were lying naked on the bed, the sun streaming through the skylight warmed them. Trisha lay across Lewis's naked chest in that position so familiar to sated lovers that still felt the need for physical contact.

They had made love once more. This time, Lewis had taken her into his bed and had demonstrated that he had remarkable powers of recovery and stamina.

Trisha just lay against him, feeling smug, wondering about getting dressed and returning to her apartment. She assumed Lewis had finished sketching her.

Lewis solved the problem for her. "I really should be working; your drawing won't draw itself."

"Typical man, get your end away, and thanks, mam. Now, can I do something else?" Trisha complained, lifting herself on her elbows. She was half joking, but she hated it when a man just rolled away from her, usually to fall asleep quickly. It destroyed the intimacy that the sex or lovemaking had created.

Lewis grunted and then surprised her by swinging his legs off the bed and standing up with one easy movement. Giving Trisha a close-up view of his bare ass that she hadn't asked for.

"Regardless of how it looks, I need to pee."

Lewis had been abrupt, and Trisha wondered if she had managed to offend him. After all, she knew next to nothing about him beyond his name and a few hints of the jobs he had done.

A minute or so later, he returned. He was now wearing his sweatpants but nothing else. It was a very obvious statement that he had finished playing and wanted to return to work.

Saying nothing, Trisha started to get dressed. She had gone from elated to feeling down in only a few minutes. She dressed; her few clothes had been scattered about Lewis's bedroom.

After that, their parting was almost formal, and Trisha left without arranging when she could collect her drawing. She wasn't even sure if she wanted the drawing, increasingly seeing the whole exercise as a way of getting her into bed.

***********************************

Trisha returned to her apartment and then home to Ravens Peak. The house was deserted, and Trisha had to contact Geoff's assistant to discover that he was on the other side of the country in New York. She thought about calling him but knew Geoff wouldn't drop everything and jet across the country to be with her.

She tried Ruth. They hadn't spoken for several days, and Trisha expected a difficult conversation.

Ruth sounded distant, perhaps even nervous. She certainly didn't welcome Trisha's call, but Trisha had been expecting that.

Trisha put on what she hoped was a cheerful voice. "Long time no speak, fancy a get-together. I have an update on the beach hunk."

There was a pause, and Trisha imagined Ruth talking to someone. Well, that was okay; they weren't exclusive to each other.

"Sure!" Ruth replied. "Only I'm not in town at the moment. I've wangled myself a sweet little number in LA. It'll be about a week. We can talk then."

Later, Trisha would reflect that Ruth hadn't been interested in holding a phone conversation with her. That was later; at that moment, Trisha was relieved to think Ruth was happy to see her.

Trisha stayed in Raven's Peak just long enough to dump her dirty linen for her daily to wash and to fill the now empty suitcase with fresh clothes.

***********************************

Puerto Seguro was a fast ninety-minute drive from Ravens Peak, and by eleven the next morning, Trisha was once more in her now tacky-looking apartment.