Chapter 4
Alan sighed contentedly, closing the last window, and shut down his computer. He stood to stretch.
"Heading out a bit early for the long weekend?" Laurel asked, turning from her screen.
"Yup," Alan said, pushing in his chair. "I've saved up enough hours, so I'd go into overtime if I stayed much later, anyway."
"Yeah, I wish I'd done that. Too many long lunch breaks." She shrugged. Her silky royal blue top, the same that she wore for that day in the mother's lounge, emphasized the gesture nicely. "So, any special plans, then?"
"Well, I don't know how special they are," he said, putting away his water bottle and pushing in his chair, "but I was thinking of hitting the beach some."
"Ah," Laurel smiled. "Well, try to enjoy the sun and surf," she said, and then leaned in and lowered her voice, "you know, in between fucking blonde beach girls."
Alan felt a slight blush. "I think that might be a bit optimistic. I'm not exactly a pickup artist."
"Yeah, that's what I would have thought, too, until a couple months ago," she said. "Nice camera work for Ally, by the way."
Alan froze halfway out of the cubicle. "How did you-" he started, but she only laughed at him, giving a look at his ass, and then turned back to her computer.
Alan stared at her a moment. He'd been so focused on Ally, and how *she* looked on camera, that he didn't even stop to think that thousands and thousands of people online have now gotten a close-up, HD look at his cock. And that one of those people might recognize it.
He wasn't sure what to think about that.
"Try Halia Beach," she called after him. "I hear it's a good spot for hot hook ups."
"Sure, whatever," Alan said, stalking away.
***
Halia Beach was a half hour longer drive than he'd planned for, but as Alan pulled into the clean, freshly painted parking lot and found a spot on the far outside corner, he was already starting to see the advice had been good. Before he'd pulled the key out of of the ignition, he had already stopped at least twice to stare.
The sky was clear except for a few rolling clouds out over the ocean, and the beach of white sand was clean and soft. The water cut a deep blue curve into the white, and it was dotted small, colorful sail boats. The women were toned, tanned, and baring a lot of skin in tight, tiny bikinis.
For once in his life, the sight of the number of men at the beach didn't bother Alan at all. He smiled, grabbed his umbrella and gear in a bag out of the trunk, shucked off his shirt to reveal his nicely toned (but very pale) chest, and headed for the beachhead.
He had taken a few steps onto the parking lot when he turned to see a large, silver truck coming his way. He paused, watching as it as it approached. He kept expecting it to slow, or stop with him right in its path, but it just kept bearing down on him. The driver was invisible between the glare and the tinted windows. Tensing, he took two quick, leaping steps backward and shouted, "Hey!"
Alan was able to catch a flash of long, blonde hair as the driver's head whipped around, and the truck screeched to a halt. It was a bare stride from turning Alan into a trauma case. There was a frozen moment while he and the driver stared at each other in shock.
Then she rolled down the window. Alan could only see the edge of her face-platinum blonde hair and big bug-eyed sunglasses-around the large side mirror as she leaned her head out.
"What the hell are you doing, you dipshit?"
He opened his mouth, unsure how to reply. Then he felt a surge of blood pressure. His adrenaline hit, late to the party from the near miss.
"I'm walking," he called.
"You're in the middle of the road, jackass!"
"This is a parking lot," he said pointedly. "Not a road."
"You should be on a crosswalk!"
He gestured behind him. "Do you see a crosswalk anywhere around here?"
She jerked her head to the rear of her car. "There's one right back there, dipshit."
"I'm not going that way," he said, gritting his teeth gritted as he moved toward the driver side door. "That leads to another part of the parking lot. I'm going that way." He pointed firmly at the beach with his free hand. "Shouldn't you be thinking more about, I don't know, looking in the direction that you're driving? This is considered fairly basic tactic."
He finally got a better view of her at the door. It made him pause just a little. She was short-she looked dwarfed in her massive truck. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, but still spilled to her mid-back in a gleaming wave, and she had perfect, golden-tanned skin. She wore a white t-shirt over her shiny, gold-colored bikini. Alan could tell the color, because she had such huge knockers that pointed straight out of her chest, they stretched the white shirt thin enough to see the golden sparkle. She had a flat, lightly toned stomach, even scrunched up in a car.
"Stare much, creepwad?" she sneered.
He glared, hesitating. He opened his mouth.
"Dipshit," she said again, and hit the accelerator. Alan had to leap away or the back rear of truck would have clipped him as she roared passed. The truck made a squealing turn around a corner, and was lost from sight among the parked cards.
Alan stared after it. His jaw hurt. He let out a short breath, and then turned to the beach. His gut burned for a good twenty minutes after.
***
Alan stared up at the sky. His arms and legs were beginning to feel the burn as he treaded water, the waves washing him up and down. He nodded slightly, and then turned and swam back to shore.
