The Surfer Stud Secrets

The Surfer Stud Secrets

Brand:Jim Price

A lusty private eye with an eye for guys takes a baffling case that exposes him to a desirable stud who doesn’t play.

On the most glittering beach resort in Australia, Skipper Trent, a lusty young PI uncovers forbidden secrets. When he’s engaged by macho Clay Garrison to uncover a plot that could trigger a decadent resort-wide sex scandal, he faces a personal dilemma. While he’s a savvy operator driven by skill, his desire for success in the bedroom with Clay is blocked by a frustrating downer: Clay doesn’t play!

The case skids into an infuriating puzzle that involves high-end silver foxes, the resort’s mayor, the decadent manager of a plush nightspot, a gay larrikin porn producer, and a wild all-male orgy on a luxury island hideaway. The surprises never stop coming, but the one that nails the steamy climax is an unexpected twister!

PUBLISHER NOTE: A Gay Romance Private Detective Novel, M/M, M/M/M+, Voyeurism, Orgies. 80,500 words.

♥♥♥♥  Red-Hot Romance


“Foxes are careful, they rarely come in here alone. When they do they act like they’re just casing the place as a matter of interest, you know, ‘So this is what the gay scene is like, and wow, it was never as open as this in our day.’ That’s the impression they like to create, like they’re just looking, not shopping.”

“Do you ever get shoppers?”

“Sometimes, but they’re always wary.”

“What’s wary, Buck?

“They could be setting up a meeting somewhere else, or maybe there’s a card handout.”

My interest sharpened. “A card handout?”

“Business cards, mate.”

“Business cards?”

“Yeah; you know, a silver fox solicitor might say, ‘If you ever need legal advice give me a call.’ It could be as innocent as that.”

“And that actually happens?”

“Has done, yes.”

“You know for sure that there’s follow through?”

“I don’t keep count, but it’s happened.”

“How do you know?”

“A few of my beefcake waiters have been propositioned.”

“And they followed through?”

“I didn’t ask for details, but one or two were suddenly sporting big money wristwatches.”

“You didn’t ask questions?”

He shook his head. “I don’t get up close and personal with my waiters. They’re here to look after my customers. How they do it, is their business. If they want to mess around after hours, they do it on their time, and I don’t get involved.”

“Not ever?”


“Actually, no.”

“Like I said, I don’t play with the hired help. It could lead to all kinds of complications.”

“What about surfer boy pick-ups?

“Same story, buddy, as long as they’re over age, and there’s no follow through while they’re here, I don’t ask questions.”

That was it. Buck changed the subject. “Let’s get back to the lady with the silver fox husband-stealer. Would you like me to keep my eyes and ears open in here?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Pictures of any potential suspects could help.”

“I can arrange that.”

“Done deal then.”

“Appreciated, Buck, thanks.”

“Always keen to assist, goes without saying.”

“Marvellous, and thanks again.”

He gave me a too-innocent look. “Maybe you can return the favour.”

“You’ve got a problem?”

“More or less, an ongoing one.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Let’s go to the office. I can’t talk here.”

The office was on the first floor, and I followed him up the stairs. I’d never been into the office, and I was impressed. It was a top business fit-out, all slick and modern with two computers, leather chairs, and three television screens that I assumed were wired to cameras in the club. Buck was obviously a sharp operator. I made a move to sit in one of the leather chairs, but he stopped me, opened a door, and indicated another room.

“I entertain all my special guests in here.”

He snapped on a switch, and the special guest room was flooded with soft-soft lights. I got a load of the set-up. There was a neat little cocktail bar, a small refrigerator, a couple of padded chairs, and behind a frosty glass panel was a shower cubicle with a toilet and a washstand. In the centre of the room was a big comfortable bed.

Buck was super smooth. “I sometimes sleep over,” he said.

“That’s convenient.”

“Now about my problem.”

I knew what was coming.

Buck came closer. “I’ve got this incredible urge to see that hot butt of yours in the flesh.”

“And that’s the return favour?”

“What are my chances?”

I mulled it over. If I wanted Buck to keep me in the loop on the club’s silver foxes, I was expected to play ball. I had to make my mind up fast. If I baulked I knew he could back off on the information. He finally had me where he wanted me. If I wanted to help Clay zoom in on the surfer boy spoilers, I was fresh out of choices. What the hell!

I walked into the room, turned and said, “I take it we won’t be interrupted.”

“I’ll lock the door if it makes you feel better.”

He didn’t wait for my answer. He joined me, closed the door and locked it.

Okay. I was no boy scout, and Buck was no silver fox.

He minimised the space between us and planted a deep, wet kiss on my mouth. I was on for the ride, so I gave one back. He took the cue and wrapped me in his arms. His hands cruised down to take my buns, and he squeezed them gently through my tight jeans. Our kissing became a passionate exchange of moist tongues, and I could nose his Paco Rabanne EDT. I liked it. It added to the masculine aura of him. Buck had my thermometer heating up.

With one hand, he unbuckled my leather belt, whipped it out and tossed it away. While he continued to eat my mouth, he unbuttoned my jeans, slid the zipper down, then moved his hands around to fondle my buns.

He broke the kiss and said, “You sexy bastard Skipper, you’re wearing a jockstrap.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Are you nuts? I love it.”

“You do?”

“All that naked flesh is such a turn on.”

He continued playing, snapping the strap bands and caressing my naked butt while the pouch of my jock was rapidly expanding.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, “your jock is so damned sexy.”

“I think so too. I like to wear it when I jerk off.”

“Tell me, is anyone servicing your hot arse on a regular basis?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Just casual maintenance, is that it?”

“That’s it. I like variety.”

“You’re driving me fucken crazy, you know that?”

“Only fair, Buck, you’re getting to me too.”

“When did you last blow your horn?”

“Last night.”


I led him on. “Twice.”

“Not this morning?”

“I was on the job, but I got interrupted.”

“That won’t happen here.”

“I sure hope not.”