He was a cute boy and had a fine ass, which was one of his most marketable points, as he was to discover working the beaches. He usually wore loose-fitting shorts that allowed his nuts to hang out. He called them his "prowling pants".

As he'd check out the women sunbathing, old bags from the American cruise boats, if he found one alone, applying sunscreen, wearing big shades, he'd play his little game. The "little boy" game. Plopping himself down in the sand near her, fumbling to make a castle, making sure his legs were open. Maybe squatting up and bending over, backside to his prey, so she could see his equipment dangling, and maybe even catch a glimpse of his bung hole through his almost translucent blue togs.

He homed in on a very good prospect: a 50ish redhead with a remarkably tight body. Good tits, a surprisingly firm belly. She was wearing a bikini, a generously cut bikini suitable for an older woman but still quite flattering. Angel checked out her belly and whistled appreciatively. There were hardly any flaps of fat. She was tight. Not bad at all, he figured. If it weren't for her wrinkled neck and a slight rash along her jaws, she'd really be easily taken for a woman in her twenties. Must work out like all hell, he thought.

The woman was watching him through her extra-dark glasses, he could tell. He strategically scratched himself on the balls and he saw her flinch and squeeze her legs together. She lowered her glasses a bit and looked over them at this sinful prospect. She was hooked......(cont)