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It was the wrong choice of swimwear, and I was headed back to the guest room to rectify that, when the cause of it all stopped me in the hallway. The new owner of our company had invited me to his country place for a weekend to discuss some details of a project we were working on, and it turned out there was a pool party included. But, not knowing that, I hadn't brought my suit. I had assumed this would be all business. So there I was, having to pick out a loaner suit from Thad, my boss, and I'd picked the wrong one. The choice really was between a pretty skimpy Speedo and something that looked like boxer silks. I'd rejected the boxers because they didn't come with a supporter, and I was afraid that all I'd have to do was go into the pool and I'd come out showing everyone everything. I didn't think this was the right impression to be making on the new owner of my company. Turns out that wouldn't have been a real problem, because Thad had only invited men to this party—but, then, I didn't know that when I put the suit on.

Thad, counter to everyone else, had come to the party decked out in a gladiator costume. His great pecs were crossed and highlighted with leather straps, the waistband of a short pleated skirt thing dipped well below his navel in front, and there were leather wrist shields and sandals with leather straps winding up his calves. Thad was a heavily muscled hunk and I'd about spill my seed in meetings with him for the three weeks he'd been on board, but this Roman costume, which showed off curly chest hair I'd never seen before to match the curly dark hair on his head and the curls showing above the waistband of his skirt ...

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