Alonzo is on vacation in Venezuela visiting his old college roommate. When he is paired with Renzo for the day along the white sandy beach, the chemistry is electric and is sure to carry over into the night. But when his longtime crush Moises feels like he is loosing out he wants to make it a threesome.
You feel guilty taking that pause, stepping out of your flip-flops and rolling your bare soles onto the sugary white sand. You pull off your tight sweaty shirt and let the bright Venezuelan sun wash over your rich dark flesh as you continue to stroll along the quiet beach next to your new guy friend. Renzo, the bodybuilder, the one with the muscles so huge, so robust that is actually stretches his skin, isn’t really your friend. You met the bulky god less than an hour ago hopping into your friend’s car outside of his apartment. As far as you can tell, like you, he isn’t a regular player in this social fold. He is, at best, a fair acquaintance your friend got his other friend to scrounge up for you because he too is also fluent in English, so you don’t feel like a complete dunce for being monoglot in this foreign place.
You are from the States, the US of A, Home of the Brave. You are The American, the one that represents the epitome of Western Civilization. Be it good or bad. The American, a strange new burden on your shoulders considering back home in the fishbowl you’re often treated as anything but. Here, you are forced to carry the weight of your homeland. All foreigners are. Your friend and his friends are from around here, from Maracaibo, a leap south of Hispaniola. Renzo is from here, too. Though, he calls Southern California home whenever he isn’t back here checking on family affairs. Your friend’s friends think the two of you should be the best of friends because of this. They have a hard time getting that he lives on one side of the country while you live on the other, as you explain the wilderness slightly north of the concrete jungle they’re familiar with from films; two different worlds. Amazingly, with the help of your excellent translator, you share a ton of interests with the group. That is, everybody except for your translator. You two strangely have much in common but nothing to talk about, as the two of you continue to babble in your native tongue because there isn’t much else to do tramping along the shore. Not when you’re surrounded by a handful of good-looking, brown men to the left while to the back of you with lustful tensions brewing between you and your translating bodybuilder.
Renzo is the stuff fuck dreams are made of. So you’re very much into him—even his receding hairline. It isn’t everyday you come across a guy like this, one that isn’t just a fantasy on your computer screen. One that is blessed with those toned, massive thighs and those big, tight glutes that petrifies your dick without mercy. Plus, he’s got this nice stubble that is begging to bud into a thick, comely beard and a striking mustache. Renzo would be damn near perfect if not for his height. You’re not tall, but he is so short that you almost have to bend double just to look at him. He doesn’t mind looking up at you, of course. He has a happy-go-lucky smile on his face and in his celadon eyes that says so. Everybody around feels the connection.