The Passionate Attention of an Interesting Man Read Online Free PDF

“They’re supposed to go one at a time.”
    “It’s my house,” Tom answered. He was laughing, too.
     
     
    Lloyd was fucking Portia in the spare bedroom just off the pool palace. Is this me? he wondered, or is it the latest Australian action-hero hunk scoring a fan in his trailer? Well, Lloyd did call her “My sweet” at one point, with Hollywood tang. Or does she prefer a bit of the rough stuff? Men never know what women want because women don’t know themselves, except in the most abstract way: someone who’ll make them feel the way their father did when they were four years old, sheltered by his protectiveness and power. The man who can inspire that feeling can have any woman he wants. Or so Lloyd imagines.
    He thought he was admirably adroit in getting the condom on, but Portia calmly pulled it off and replaced it with one of her preference, some rich brand. These kids enjoy their wealth even during sex.
    She rules through beauty, Lloyd thought fleetingly, as he sought to create something compelling out of the skin-on-skin. Suddenly, she achieved, soundlessly, her head flung back, shaking wildly then abruptly still. She gently pushed him back a bit, but she was not yet done. Pulling the rubber off him with a whispered “But warn me before the flood, dearheart,” she got her mouth on him. It was as if she was using Lloyd to visit where he had been, unbearably close, purest  Portia there—yes, he thought, just like  that—and she let out a little coo as if she could taste the very spot. The thought of it sent him flying straight off the ski jump, kicking in the air, crying, “ Now , Portia,” and she zipped out of range.
    She counted, too, assessing Lloyd with “Seven, my fine fellow of the night. The first four were quite grand, too. Junior dribbles. Clark’s way the most, but he always makes such a commotion.”
    Lloyd scarcely heard, panting in his comedown, but he did mark her smiling at him in that fashionable Portia way. The perfect hostess, securing comfort for her guests. Another petit four, Lord Misbegot?
    They rested, side by side. The usual. Then she told him, “The final scene is where we get our suits back on, race out, and crash into the pool. That way, we don’t smell of sex.”
    “But they must know what—"
    She gently laid a finger on his lips. Hush. “It’s good form.” A half-smile. “We keep it light.”
    In the event, none of the others said anything to them, though Annamarie came running up to fling herself into the water by Portia’s side. As always, by eleven o’clock or so the outer social loops had given way and gone home, leaving just the two girls, the two boys, and Lloyd.
    Playing Truth or Dare, they gave the first question to Clark. He asked Lloyd whom of his own gender he’d have sex with. “I wouldn’t,” Lloyd answered.
    Clark insisted. “You have to pick at least one.”
    “You should ask me that,” Junior put in. “I have a short list all worked out. First, that smiley Fox News guy with the horn rims. Second—”
    “Jennifer Anniston!” said Annamarie.
    “And Gwyneth Paltrow!” said Portia.
    “I want to hear from Lloyd,” said Clark, with his mischievous face on. “A movie star? An athlete?”
    Lloyd said nothing.
    “Come on, Lloyd,” Junior urged him. “ Bisex is the utter mode. Everybody’s doing it!”
    “I won’t tell your girl friend,” said Clark, “if you won’t tell mine.”
    So saying, Clark jumped up to pull something out from behind one of the chaises longues—a Canon camcorder, total zoom, top of the line. As he hefted it to his shoulder, Lloyd came toward him with “Clark! Take it away! Now !”
    “Clark, how dare you?” cried Annamarie, as Lloyd, with a sense of mission the others had never seen on him before, separated Clark from the camera, telling him, “That thing goes outside or you are a guy in big trouble!”
    Portia was shaking her head. “You beast, Clark! Wait till I tell Daddy!”
    “Clark hopes to