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the attention. Graham had a passing thought that he’d like the young Maori hunk to be doing that. This leash has been giving me the slip. I’ll need to get a new one. Here, let me check him over. David knelt down beside Graham and laid his hands on Benji. The spaniel liked his touch even better and turned his tongue on the young man. Graham made sure that his hand brushed on David’s a couple of ti

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mes while they both checked Benji over, and he liked the smile that David gave him in return. There doesn’t seem to be any damage—to your dog at least. You seem a little shaky, though. Can I help you back to your table? You certainly can, you big hunk, Graham thought, but he actually answered with a weak, That would be very kind. Truth be known, Graham didn’t give a shit about Benji. Benji was

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n’t Graham’s dog. He belonged to some bird named Jill, who lived near a bar Graham frequented and who managed to be coming out of her condo building whenever Graham was parking his red sports convertible across the street from her building—and who was too dumb to realize that the club Graham frequented was a gay bar. She obviously liked the look of Graham, though—and Graham was, indeed, very e

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asy on the eyes for his age. She was the first one Graham had thought of when he heard that David Kauea raised spaniels. Graham thought of her because it was a spaniel she was always pretending to walk when Graham was parking on her street. It was a piece of cake for Graham to get the young David to help him back to his chair in the café—and then to sit with him and to share a cup of coffee. I

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n fact, hooking up with David proved to be very easy indeed. Graham almost regretted that he’d done so much scheming to set up the meeting. The man was randy, open, and forward, obviously very casual about his sexuality. In addition to coffee, they also shared a discussion of what brought them to the seaside town of Tauranga on New Zealand’s Bay of Plenty, to the south of the main city of the

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north island, Auckland. David Kauea was born and raised nearby, a good many of his ancestors having been Maori warriors, as indigenous to the island as anyone had ever been. He was an accountant and raised and showed Cavalier King Charles spaniels. He had eight of them. He’d only brought five of them out today. He was gay, a top, liked to fuck casually, and he thought that Graham looked just f

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ine. Graham, in contrast, was about as foreign to New Zealand as he could be. Banished by his stodgy old-line-Maryland family in the United States for being devil may care about his sexual proclivities, he had washed up on the shores of New Zealand with a pile of cash and a taste in wine. Bored in New Zealand doing little but seducing muscle-bound tops in gyms, he had combined his cash with wi

ne and now owned a winery, Morris Estates, along the coast to the north of Tauranga. His taste in good wine, better wine than he produced, almost—almost—competed with his taste in hunky men to cover and ride him. Neither man seemed to be holding anything back in their discussion. Tauranga was in the well-established Gisborne wine region, notable for its Chardonnay, Chenin Blanc, Gewürztrammer,

and Riesling wines, all of which Graham enjoyed drinking more than he did creating, bottling, and selling. Luckily, he had bought his vineyard lock, stock, vines, bottling room, vintner, and tasting room inclusive and the vineyard operations more or less took care of and paid for themselves. Just to get it out of the way, Graham voiced a concern: Whereas David was in his late twenties, Graham

recently had hit forty. Graham enthusiastically responded that he liked plowing men in Graham’s age bracket. Switching to beer from coffee, the discussions between the two deepened to even more intimate levels than their respective occupations and their mutual love for spaniels and to their deepest, darkest secrets and what they preferred to do in bed. Positions, bareback or condoms, favorite

toys, frequency, and where to deposit cum. David proved to be even more devil may care about revealing his sexual proclivities than Graham was. Graham found the sensual openness of the young man both refreshing and highly arousing. You look familiar, Graham said, sitting back in his chair and feigning a look of contemplation and scrutiny. Haven’t I seen you somewhere before? Perhaps at Pauli’s? I must admit I’ve seen you there. Ah, yes, Graham answered, knowing full well he’d seen the young man at that gay club. Now I remember. I’ve seen you with Andrew, one of P

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