Little Squirrels Can Climb Tall Trees by Michael Murphy (namjoon book recommendations txt) 📕

store, from a virgin to a slut. I thought I heard the distinctive sounds of a whimper come from my boyfriend. Turned out to be one of the guests, who was practically drooling over Kyle. Although maybe it was a bit of both.

“Did I mention that this place is clothing optional?” I asked with a sly smile, hoping my boyfriend was holding up okay.

“I figured that out all by myself.”

We checked in with a hyperfriendly twentysomething gym bunny who probably didn’t have the neurons to spare to have a thought at the same time that he flexed his hunky body, but who cared. We hadn’t come to Key West to think; we had come to view the local flora and fauna, and oh, what fauna!

Our room was comfortable and blessedly air-conditioned. Kyle had lived the last seven years of his life in cities that were surrounded by water, so he knew that it would be humid. Fortunately it wasn’t sweltering hot like it had been the last time I had been in town—now that had been miserable, especially because I hadn’t had Kyle in my life at that point and had only been there to hook up with as many guys as I could. I hadn’t done too badly in that regard on that trip. It was perhaps a personal best in terms of volume and frequency, but none of that mattered because I now only had eyes for the man beside me.

“Come on,” I ordered. “Shorts for you, and then the doctor orders some sun to put a little color in you.”

“Can we put a little you in me?”

“After the sun we’ll put a lot of me in you.”

“Deal.”

We started slowly, sitting under an umbrella that was under a palm tree. We both knew that the sunlight would reflect off the water in the pool, and we definitely didn’t want to burn, so we slathered sunscreen all over our bodies. I know—miserable job!

We lay in the sun for a while, had drinks at the hotel bar with other men staying at the property. Kyle had never been in a bar where some of the customers were naked before. Some of the guys seemed to be die-hard nudists. They would climb out of the pool to get a drink and then get back into the pool to enjoy the water some more.

There were three of them that made both of us salivate like dogs—these guys were hot! They were so freaking hot it’s a miracle the water in the pool wasn’t bubbling because they made it nearly boiling hot. Early twenties, buff, trim, taut, abs for days, lean, toned, tanned, and naked—did I mention that they were naked? They were naked. Staying in the warm water of the pool naturally made things relax and lengthen, so it looked like they were all amply endowed. The only problem was that they stayed together and didn’t seem to speak English. The bartender confirmed: the trio was Russian and spoke no English whatsoever to his knowledge. They were there for two weeks, so we were comforted by knowing that we could at least lie by the pool and watch the trio of hotties frolic in it, not to mention try to talk to them—simply to be good ambassadors, of course.

One drink at the bar turned into two as we talked with some of the other guests at the hotel. Over the years I had learned that one universal truth was that most guys were, at the core of their being, shy. I knew this to be true because even though I acted kind of ballsy, I, too, was shy. I forced myself to initiate conversations with most of the guys there and found that once someone started it, everyone was talking before long. Once we were lubricated with a little more alcohol, conversation flowed freely into the evening.

When one suggested food, most were up for the idea, so a group of eight of us walked down to Duval Street and found a nice little place to grab some food. Our choice turned out to be good. After dinner, Kyle sat and held my hand. “I love you,” Kyle offered.

“You’re sloshed!” I said simply.

“I still love you!”

“I love you too, babe.” Turning my attention to the other guys around the table, I said, “Guys, this has been a lot of fun. But we’ve been traveling for two days and we’re beat, so we have to call it a night.” Several of the guys walked back with us, also ready to call it a day. A couple of others headed off to find something—or someone—to do before the night was over. I already had who and what I wanted to do that night and all the rest of the nights of my life.

Tucked into bed back at the hotel, Kyle whispered to me, “Thanks for giving me my first airplane trip, Squirrel.”

“Glad to. You made travel feel fun to me again instead of just a chore. Love you, babe.”

“Ditto.”

Over the course of our time in Key West, we did as many things as possible while of course allowing plenty of time each day to lounge by the pool, reading and napping and watching gorgeous young things romp naked. We rented bikes and rode all over town—bikes were such a good way to get around, since the town was small and parking was nonexistent. We visited Fort Zachary Taylor Beach, we took a gay catamaran trip for an afternoon with a dozen other gay men, we ate fantastic food, we toured the Truman Little White House, and we talked with so many guys. Guys from all parts of the globe—a fine assortment of domestic and imported men.

By the time we left to go home, Kyle had the names, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses of about a dozen guys we’d met on the trip. He insisted that each of them contact him if they were going to be in New York so that we could see them