Naked Ambition. Dan RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
but he wasn’t sure if he could actually do it since he had never been naked with a group of people before.
“You mean you’ve not even done any skinny-dipping with friends?” asked Nick.
“Nope, not even that,” replied Zach.
Nick’s responded with a smile, saying, “Dude, we can change that real quick. Why don’t you come out to Sylvan Acres with me next weekend.” With a grin on his face, Zach said, “Okay.”
It was on a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon that Zach bravely stripped off his outer wear and had his first experience of naked volleyball. And naked swimming. And a naked picnic. He loved it all. So much so that he was quickly on board for a trip to SVB that fall. And for every fall after that. “I’ll be going there forever,” he had said with a smile.
So, to Nick’s present question, Zach replied, “Oh, yeah, dude. Wouldn’t miss ‘The Bowl’ for the world.”
“Good to hear.”
Looking at his watch, Zach said, “Well, gotta get going.” He was just about to walk away from Nick when he said, “Dude, be careful. I know you’re going to be alone with Clarkson tonight. I don’t want anything to happen to my best bud. Hear?” With that he knocked knuckles with Nick and walked away.
“Peace, bud” was Nick’s reply as he formed the ‘peace’ sign with his two first fingers.
It was not more than five minutes later that Nick was in the shower, washing away the salty sweat from his body. Once clean, he stepped out of the tub and toweled himself off. As he did so, he looked up and saw his reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door. Although not a narcissist, he couldn’t help but stop and scan his well-tanned, well-toned body. He smiled as he saw that it was taking on a shape that he had longed for since his early teen years. His chest had added some girth over the last year and was much more defined than even six months ago. That was true for most of his body: the arms, the abdominals, the legs—all were more muscled than when he entered community college last August. His workouts at the gym, his swimming numerous laps at the pool and his jogging or biking miles at a time had all paid off.
Although a little self-conscious at first, Nick was curious. After dropping the towel to the floor, he began posing in a variety of positions, postures that young men typically put themselves into when wanting to show off their muscles. With his arms held out to the side, he curled his arms—flexing them—so that his biceps popped up into two well-rounded balls of muscle perched on either side of his broad shoulders. The same thing happened when he pushed out his chest, bringing tension to the pecs, tautness to each one of the fleshy mounds that produced two well-defined bulges of striated muscle. Then there were the muscles of his back and side. When put into the right position, his lat muscles flared so much that they looked somewhat like bat wings.
Once self-approval was given to the upper body, his eyes dropped downward. He could not help but notice the sinewy definition of the muscles of the calves and quads as he posed, flexing one leg and then the other. Because of his low body fat, Nick’s long legs were well sculpted, showing the effects of the many squats he had done over the last year. Now in the pelvic area, his eyes lingered on the neatly trimmed bush of blond hair between his legs and what lay below it. It was there that he viewed what some guys called their manhood. Although not quite as big as that of his buddy, Zach, he was pleased with what he saw. For that reason he allowed his eyes to briefly loiter as he smiled.
Finally, he turned around so that he could see his backside. It was in that position—as he forced a pose—that he noticed the fibrous muscles of his buttocks, that part of his body that seemed to be especially attractive to the females. In acknowledgement of what he saw, Nick smiled once again.
Before leaving the bathroom, he scanned his entire body one more time, silently giving approval to all that he was viewing in the mirror. Damn, he thought to himself, I’m more than ready for ‘The Bowl’ this year. Especially for the chicks!
CHEN’S AFTERNOON WAS A WALK in the park. Literally. With the morning consisting of an early breakfast with a deputy consular from Bolivia, a mid-morning meeting with a Wall Street financial analyst and lunch with a potential target from a small Manhattan-based brokerage house, Chen felt the need to be outside. To get some exercise. So, after donning a short-sleeved shirt, kaki pants and a pair of comfortable shoes, he made his way to Central Park, only a few blocks east of the Chateaux 54. Although a hot day, Chen found that the trees lining the park’s paths shaded him from the direct rays of the sun, making his walk a refreshing change from all the fumes and noise of city traffic.
After strolling through some of the more famous areas of the park, places like Strawberry Fields and Cherry Hill, he stopped at a large body of water, one simply called The Lake. He lingered there for several minutes to take in the beauty of the scene before him: several miniature radio-controlled sailboats skimming along the water’s edge with green grass, flowering bushes and a virtual forest as a backdrop. He thought it a bit surreal to see this pristine view disrupted by the tops of lofty skyscrapers poking upward, breaking through the horizon of trees, evidence that Chen was still surrounded by of one of the most densely populated cities in the world.
Finally, having moved on—and after more than an hour of exploring the park’s many pathways—Chen walked out of Central Park, this time on the east side. Again, he found himself in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the city. Standing on the sidewalk near the corner of a busy intersection with numerous occupied cabs whizzing by him, Chen decided to continue to walk rather than ride toward the East River.
It didn’t take long until Chen found himself at the corner of York and 72nd Street facing the sleek, contemporary façade of a building housing Sotheby’s. A few more steps and he was at the upscale auction house’s front entrance being welcomed by a smiling doorman. Once inside, Chen found the cool and quiet of the spacious, high-ceilinged foyer a delight, especially after his long walk in the heat of the day. Even more delightful was what he saw as he walked toward the reception desk. Just to the left was an object that quickly grabbed his attention. Surrounded by a thick velvet rope and bathed in bright white gallery lighting was one of the most beautiful automobiles he had ever seen. There, richly clad in a deep burgundy-red color, topped with a light beige cloth convertible roof, stood one of the jewels the 1930s. And like a gem it sparkled as it sat center stage—big and brash and bold—displayed for all the world to see.
Drawn by his love of older cars, Chen could not help but walk toward the focus of his attention to begin a closer inspection. As he moved around the aerodynamically shaped body, carefully noting the massive fenders that covered the thick white-walled tires, he recognized a joy welling up from deep inside himself, one that he did not often feel. Much like the allure of a woman, this car was now demanding his attention, acting like a magnet to Chen’s senses, slowly but surely bringing them to the surface. The shiny chrome of the massive grill, the flowing lines of the body and the creamy texture of the leather seats, all beckoned to his sense of style and elegance. And to his touch. In fact, had it not been for hearing his name called out Chen just might have reached out and caressed the gleaming surface that so strongly summoned his hand.
The voice that stopped him from breaching the rope barrier came from someone nearby. It was a voice that was male and French and pleasant. As Chen turned around he saw someone approaching him, smiling, saying, “Monsieur Chen. Bonjour!”
Chen, recognizing the man, smiled back as he replied, “Bonjour, Huber.”
Huber Roget, a slim, silver-haired man of medium height, was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit and a starched white shirt fronted by a peach colored silk tie. It was with an outthrust hand that Roget continued his warm greeting. “Welcome, Monsieur Chen. So good to see you, sir.”
“And you, too, Huber.” Chen habitually gave a slight bow as he returned the Frenchman’s handshake. After glancing ever so quickly at the displayed car, Chen spoke of the reason for his visit. “I had some time this afternoon so I thought I would come over and see that painting you called me about.”
“Oui, Monsieur. The Matisse,”