EDITING AND COMPLETING! || Three sexy hunks on the run in the South Pacific islands. Kidnapped scientists, pirates, cannibals, an island lost in time, and the wrath of ancient gods are only a few of the obstacles plaguing their every move. But thes...
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PHOTO - Brad
** This book, which includes several hot and explicit male/male erotic scenes, sometimes with multiple partners, is rated 'MATURE'. It also contains ideology and language that were prevalent in the 1940s and might be considered offensive by some readers today. Because this is an historical novel, it has been included in the story for a realistic presentation of the era. If you don't like sex scenes or are ideology/language-sensitive, please consider this matter before reading. **
Brad Cooper can't sleep because of the tropical heat ...
**
Lateela Island, New Guinea, June 1946
Brad Cooper gazed out the window at the dark jungle night as a clock somewhere in the old bungalow struck three. He grunted wearily and wondered if he'd ever be able to fall asleep tonight. The insufferable tropical heat was keeping him tense and awake. Tired of tossing and turning, he'd gotten up from his bed a few minutes ago and wandered over to the window in search of a breeze and a breath of fresh air.
Lateela, a small island off the north coast of mainland New Guinea, was always hot, so he'd been told by the native people and the foreigners who lived there. The temperature seldom varied from the near one-hundred degree mark, but tonight it seemed far worse than he'd already experienced in the couple weeks he'd been there. There was a breeze off the straits, but it offered no relief in the stuffy little bedroom of the plantation house. He wondered if he should give in to Mother Nature and go sleep outside.
Sleeping soundly on the bed next to his was his friend Clint Donaldson, who was a year older than Brad. Going on nineteen, he was bigger and more muscular. His bulky mass was cozily curled up in a comfortable position, and his breathing was slow and regular. Brad shook his head in wonder that his buddy could be sleeping so comfortably. But Clint had been out here in the South Pacific during the recent war, having enlisted underage and fooled the authorities because of his size. He'd obviously had some experience sleeping in the uncomfortable equatorial heat.
Brad gazed at Clint longingly for a few seconds, then averted his eyes to look back out the window with an impatient grunt. He knew better than to give in to desire. Clint wasn't exactly the most willing partner lately and usually had to be coaxed into any significant intimate activity. And what could they do here anyway? The house was so damn hot you could hardly move. And Fontenay, the plantation manager, was sleeping in his bedroom right across the hall.
"What if somebody catches us at it?" Clint would protest, even back home in New Jersey where they shared a bedroom in Brad's parents' house. "Fuck. That could ruin us, you know.? We have college to think of and the future. We can't be known as homo boys. That would mess up everything."
Brad could hear Fontenay's heavy snoring in his nearby room. The man ran the copra plantation for the Australian firm that owned it, and tonight he seemed to be snoring with a vengeance, as if doing so purposely in order to keep Brad awake and drive him crazy.
