Chapter 71

And he'd bought some spiffier, expensive-looking clothes at the Tanger Outlet near the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. He'd been lucky to find a Speedo with sort of a bull's eye design on it that would help emphasize his best feature—his thick, eight-inch c*ck. When he got up to the tour director, a well-built hunk with blond-highlighted curly hair with a chiseled face and a practiced smile, he opened up his gambit. "Ah, and you are?" the young man asked dubiously, looking down at his clipboard after a quick look up and down Peter and a slight sniff of his nose. "Thomas Ackerman. From Baltimore. Although, I'm not sure what home base was given you when the reservation was made. It could have been the Hamptons or Aspen too, I suppose." The cruise director's slight supercilious smile had already started to turn more respectful as he found Peter's name on his clipboard, but, hearing what Peter said, he looked up with a far more welcoming—and interested—look on his face. Peter was also pleased to no