Fell for It - Sex Stories

Fell for It

... small, but then so was the lot. All it had going for it was that it did have a wooden walkway in relative good condition floating over two waves of dunes and down to the ocean beach. The house was a story and a half, clapboard, built probably in the 1950s, with a hallway entrance on the street side. When entering, there was a bedroom to the left and a bath and kitchen to the left. This then opened out to a dining room area, then a living room, opening out onto the deck facing the ocean. The living-dining area was a story and a half high under a sloping roof. A loft area over the bedroom and kitchen provided a second bedroom area with bath. The kitchen opened to the dining area with a counter. The condition of everything could be characterized as "a bit sad" and certainly outdated.

How could a young tennis pro be attracted to this? Jacobs wondered--especially at a cost of a million. And the Savannah area didn't have any professional tennis facilities near it. Why did this guy even make the trip out to look at the place? But then he paid attention to how Nelson reacted to everything he saw while he slowly walked through the small house and then out onto the deck, staring out to the ocean.

"You've been here before, haven't you?" he asked, coming up to stand next to Chaz on the deck.

"Yes, a few years ago," Chaz answered. This was where he'd lost his virginity to men. And that hadn't been all bad--it had, in fact, released him from frustrations he would have had even if ...

... Marty Fowler hadn't been his demanding coach. Demanding more than just discipline in the playing of tennis. It hadn't all been bad here. Not bad at all, really.

He didn't provide a further explanation, but Jacobs didn't really need one. He could fill in the blanks on his own. As they stood there, Chaz put an arm around Vince, and the Realtor leaned into him. The two of them had increasingly warmed to each other during the drive out to the ocean. Jacobs knew the Foley House Inn on West Bull Street, near Orleans Square, catered to gays. He'd used this understanding--even where he'd chosen for them to meet, at the Rail Bar, which was gay friendly--to signal his interest. Nelson was a blond god, in great shape, as he'd have to be to succeed in tennis on the pro circuit. Smaller, darker, lithe, Jacobs thought the two of them would be a perfect fit. Nelson's responses to his signaling had indicated he thought that as well.

"Yes, I'll take it," Chaz said.

"For?"

"I'll pay cash."

"If you're sure."

"Yes, I'm sure."

"I'll have to get with Mr. Hopkins. He'll make up the paperwork. He said he'll want a cashier's check if you chose cash. I could get him to--"

"No, that will be fine, if you'll let me know how to do that." Chaz was a tennis player, not an accountant. He had no idea what the various options and pitfalls of payment mechanisms were.

"Well, what do you want to do from here?" Vince asked.

"You mean today? Tonight? Well, this place has been stripped. ...