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.
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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.
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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?"
