Ya Gotta Do Wha'cha Gotta Do Ch. 02

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We were awakened by a call from the desk late the next morning—informing us that our trainer was waiting in the gym. We didn't even shower. We toweled off, quickly dressed in jocks, gym shorts and tees and were on our way to the gym. We smelled like shit, I guess—or at least like we had been fucking all night. But, what the hell is wrong with that? This is paradise, and we're paying the bill. We'd get a quick shower before the massage anyway.

The rest of the trip was great—but an anti-climax to our first 24 hours. We dined—much more modestly after the first feast, worked out, and enjoyed "joint massages" where two fit young masseurs worked the kinks out, aroused us to the edge, and then, when we rejected their offers to give us happy endings, conveniently left us to "finish and shower."

We swam at several beaches, including a small nude beach where we were alone, not far from the hotel, and at the enormous Orient Bay Beach where hundreds of nudists congregated. I had never seen anything like it. Several large hotels were on the beach. Typically French cafes had set up at the edge of the beach and claimed the beach with rental chaises, umbrella-d tables and chairs. And it was crowded—like Fire Island in July. About half were nude. (However, more than half of them were retirees and shouldn't have been seen in public without covering.) The rest wore swim gear that would get you arrested at most US beaches. Even with all this beautiful flesh, we were obviously stand-outs. As we strolled the beach, hand in hand, men and women stared—and probably dreamed.

And then there were the cruise tourists. We were ogled—but beach patrol officers confiscated all cameras and phones from the tourists who were periodically bused in from the cruise ships to gawk at fit young women and men—while they themselves were ridiculously overweight and over-dressed. Fortunately they all had to enter through one gate and didn't walk far on the hot sand.

Nevertheless, we got home hard from the nudity and our mostly vain attempts to avoid erection until we rushed into the youse. We didn't make it upstairs....

We even did a bit of shopping. We bought matching Tag-Heuers and some rip-off RL polos in colors that Ralph could never have imagined! But they were fun.

Several nights we dined at sea-front restaurants near the hotel. Mostly seafood and mostly French. Very good, but actually not the quality of our hotel's main restaurant.

We talked more, and by the time we left, I had pretty much convinced myself to take the TV gig. Brent had promised to help find an acting coach—and since my lease was up two weeks after we were to return, talked me into moving into his huge Montana coop. I insisted on paying rent, but the amount we agreed to was effectively nothing. My bank account was going to swell—and that would provide me with the independence to find perfect acting vehicles, possibly without selling my body to do so--after the TV series filming ended.

After two weeks, we were reluctantly returning to the grey early winter that characterized Manhattan—lots of rain, not a lot of sun, a little cool, but not cold. But early winter was the season when those on the make in the Big Apple shone. Long hours of work (and rehearsals), lots of opportunity, show openings, and a vitality which made my blood pump faster. Anything was possible. I had a roommate—and a friend with benefits. We were on a high—all the time, and it didn't take drugs or alcohol. Almost anytime we were together, we were holding each other, or stroking, or necking, or fucking. We were on a long pre-honeymoon.

Brent heard of a possible coach, a graduate of Byrd, free-lancing in the City. He was the son of a famous Hollywood director, who wanted to do legitimate drama, preferably on stage. We met. I liked him, and he was hired. Until Christmas, I would also be attending his nightly workshops in the Village where a half dozen actors and actresses gathered several times a week to do various scenes, as he critiqued.

And, it looked like I was going to try my luck with the "little screen."

BD