Purple Prosaic

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

¡Pura Vida! © 2007 by Alessia Brio Cover art © 2009 by Alessia Brio All digital rights reserved under the International and PanAmerican Copyright Conventions.

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¡Pura Vida! One Charlie descended the rolling metal staircase onto the tarmac at Juan Santamaría International Airport, shielding his eyes with one hand as he made his way into the terminal. Even though Stormy promised to meet him at the little café on the other side of Customs, he scanned the crowd for her anyway— eager to see her again. It had been several months since they parted company in Pittsburgh; he to promote his new company, and she to expand the presence of hers in Jamaica and Costa Rica. By the time he reached the terminal, the muggy tropical air had his shirt clinging to his back, but the cooled interior dried him quickly. His mind swirled with memories of their first encounter, nearly three years ago, when together they discovered the sensual delights of the Costa Rican rain. While ostensibly a business trip, both their private and public lives had been forever changed by the experience; their horizons expanded in ways neither anticipated. Stormy's advertising company now topped her former employer's for tourism-related accounts, and she partnered with Charlie's newly-launched travel agency—¡Pura Vida!— whenever feasible. Together they explored exotic vacation destinations and documented the most sensual and serene aspects of their trips. Their business ventures dovetailed beautifully, and when they combined their creativity, they could make even a mosquito-infested swamp seem like the sexiest place on earth. The lucky folks who followed their travel advice invariably agreed, and their talents were in great demand—both individually and as a team. Her e-mail simply read: "Found an opportunity near Jaco. I need your advice (and I want your body). Come soonest. I www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio guarantee it'll be worth your while." Charlie admired her moxie. Stormy didn't make requests; she gave directions—but she did so in an utterly compelling fashion. Knowing that she tolerated neither fools nor sycophants, he was pleased that—in spite of her wild successes—she still sought him out for both advice and sex. She could have anyone she chose, and she chose him. That fact would make any man feel good about himself. To be fair, his own successes rivaled those of Stormy, and he had no shortage of offers to partner with other business—and personal—interests. Somehow, they all paled in comparison to the energy and innovation Stormy brought to both the boardroom and the bedroom. She challenged him in every way imaginable, and he realized very early in their relationship that he might never find a better partner with whom to explore new territory, both personally and professionally. Jess' uncanny intuition, Mia's diplomacy, Richard's encyclopedic knowledge of the sexual psyche, and Sam's organizational talents combined to complete their winning team's roster. If intimacy was the sun, they orbited it like planets—each independent, but each influenced by the pull of the others. Their paths crossed in varying combinations, but always cooperated to form a balanced system. While their interactions might seem seedy and tabloid-worthy to the unfamiliar, within their ranks, they functioned much like a Heinlein family. Charlie spotted Stormy before she noticed him. She looked relaxed yet vibrant, sipping an iced mocha latte and chatting with a stunning young man as they awaited his arrival. Pietro, he assumed, their newest team member. When the Costa Rican government signed a long-term advertising contract, Stormy offered the former rain forest tour guide a job as manager of a local office—a move which pleased both the local business community as well as the entrepreneurial young tico. She met Pietro on the same fateful trip that brought her into his world, and Charlie suspected Pietro's would also never be the same. www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! Stormy glanced at her cell phone and a small frown creased her brow. She rapidly punched its keypad with both thumbs and snapped it closed just as Charlie's phone beeped in the pocket of his jeans. "Where are you?" the text message read. He grinned and shot off a reply, watching her reaction as she received and then read it. She stood and peered through the glass, searching for him with her hands forming parentheticals around laughing brown eyes. When she spotted him, she pressed her lips to the glass, winked, and waved. Charlie fired off another text message and waited for her reply. He drew the stares of his fellow travelers as he laughed out loud at her response: "Yes, but he doesn't know it yet." It took another ten minutes to make it through the Customs line. The moment he stepped through the security checkpoint, Stormy pounced. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she breathed into his ear, "I've missed you!" Pietro hung back, looking a wee bit uncomfortable. Peeling Stormy off of him, Charlie extended his hand and introduced himself in halting Spanish, which earned him an appreciative nod and a brilliant smile. Gorgeous didn't even begin to describe the man! Stormy swore his looks had no bearing on her decision to employ him; that she chose him because his charisma and wit relaxed the stodgiest of government officials and his resourcefulness enabled the office to capitalize on even the smallest business advantage. Charlie believed her, but he knew that she also appreciated his appearance a great deal. "Gracias, señor. Stormy was just telling me that ¡Pura Vida! topped its first quarter earnings by nearly thirty percent. That's very impressive for a brand new company!" Charlie grinned. "Yes, well at least part of that is due to our alliance. We're still drawing a nice chunk of business from Stormy's Wetter Has Never Been Better campaign. Sex sells, mi amigo, regardless of what the fundamentalists would like us to believe. It's an inescapable—and wholly natural—part of who we www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio are." "Careful," Stormy nudged Pietro's ribs with an elbow. "He's about to get preachy. Better change the subject or he'll be talking about sex all the way to the coast! The Right Reverend Charles Thomas delivering the sexual gospel." "Seeing as how it's one of my favorite subjects—correction: my all time favorite subject—I'd welcome that! He'd be preaching to the choir, though." Pietro gestured toward a battered 4x4 parked at the curb. "Shall we be on our way?" Stormy caught Charlie's eye and winked, like a predatory cat just toying with its prey before devouring it. Completely disregarding conservative business practices, the woman mixed work and play with a flair that inevitably resulted in satisfaction on multiple levels. Her irreverent attitude and blatant use of sex as a selling tool made her both an object of envy and a target of ire, but she let neither influence her decisions. Once again, Charlie admired Stormy's many talents and silently thanked all known deities for his ongoing good fortune. Pietro drove and, once they cleared the heavier traffic surrounding the airport, the road opened before them. Stormy kicked off her sandals and propped her bare feet on the dash, tucking her gauze skirt around her legs. "It's about two hours to Playa Jaco," she informed Charlie over her shoulder, "but we need to make a quick stop at the office in Alajuela on the way. Have you eaten?" "Not since breakfast, although Jess made sure it was a hearty one—knowing I'd be with you and likely to need my strength." "Smart woman," Pietro chuckled. "I look forward to meeting her someday. Stormy says she's quite extraordinary." "Can't argue with that, and—coming from such an extraordinary woman herself—it's quite a compliment." "Flattery will get you everywhere," Stormy purred, tilting her seat all the way back until it rested in Charlie's lap. Looking www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! up at him—upside down—she ran her tongue across her lips. "Well, I could certainly eat. I vote we have an early-dinnerslash-late-lunch in Alajuela. Is the local fare okay with you, Charlie, or would you rather something a little more exotic?" He smiled at her innuendo. "You know my appetites, woman. They haven't changed. So," he shifted gears, "do you wanna tell me about this new opportunity in Jaco? Is it time for a new ad campaign? I thought the Wetter ads were still a major draw." "Oh, they are," Pietro answered, "but we think there's still an untapped market in terms of alternative lifestyles. In general, Costa Rica is fairly conservative with regard to homosexuality. It's tolerated in tourists, because they bring much-needed revenue to the country, but the local gay and lesbian community is largely underground. Jaco—and a few of the other Pacific beaches—are much more relaxed, mostly due to the demographics. They draw a younger crowd. Surfer types, for the most part." Stormy, still reclining into Charlie's lap, reached over her head and wrapped her arms around his waist. "We've already made Costa Rica muy mucho sexy to the heterosexual traveler. That was almost too easy. Now, we wanna make it desirable for the rest of the population. There, Pietro," she pointed to the billboard for Punto y Coma, a local restaurant. "They make incredible arreglados, and I'm in the mood to eat with my fingers. Anyway, where was I?" "Transforming Costa Rica into a haven for..." Charlie prompted as he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "Exactly! I can count on one hand the number of vacation destinations in the Western hemisphere that really welcome that segment of the population—target them, even. Puerto Vallarta. Provincetown. San Francisco." Stormy ticked off just three fingers before she stalled. "Now, it won't be easy at the onset. We need to make the ad campaign innocuous enough that it won't ping certain radars. Once the money starts rolling in, www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio however, we can be a little less discreet. If faced with the choice between big buckets of cash and so-called," she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers, "family values, I have no doubt which will prevail. Take the Fox Network, for example: conservatively-slanted news combined with money-making programs that fly right in the face of those so-called values. Capitalism at its finest." Pietro pulled into the office parking lot and cut the engine. "I'll just run in and grab the camera and laptop—unless you want to see the office, Charlie. It's just your basic office space, though. Nothing terribly exciting...yet." "Thanks, but I think I'd rather keep Stormy company out here." Charlie slid his hand into the neckline of her peasant blouse and rolled a nipple between thumb and forefinger. "Take your time." "Señor Charlie," she giggled as Pietro dashed into the office, "You're incorrigible! Think we could have poor Pietro squirming by the time we get to Jaco—perhaps enough to make him shed his inhibitions?" "Depends on how deep-seeded those inhibitions are, chica, as you well know! He couldn't be that conventional of a lover, though, or he wouldn't interest you. Did you have something specific in mind for the boy?" "He's not a boy—not by a long shot—and if I told you, it'd ruin the surprise. Is there anything you consider off limits in terms of a ménage?" Charlie raised his eyebrows and whistled. "Never a dull moment with you, Ms. Delgado. Think maybe I can get to know the guy a bit first before I make that decision? I mean, I just met him twenty minutes ago and you're already..." he trailed off. "And I'm already what? Finish your sentence!" Stormy affected a fake pout that—upside down—looked comical to Charlie. "I'm already eager to be sandwiched between two of my favorite lovers? Yes, I most certainly am! Is that a crime?" Charlie again leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "In some www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! states, it most certainly is! Not sure about Costa Rican law. You thinkin' about riding back here with me after lunch, maybe?" "The thought had crossed my mind. We have catching up to do, after all, and I have very fond memories of you in the back seat of a Jeep." Charlie recalled that fateful night in the backseat of his rental car outside Moon Shiva Café near Monteverde. He'd tricked Stormy into drinking the Costa Rican rain water with the most delightful results. "If we do that kind of 'catching up,' we'll be lucky if Pietro doesn't run the car into a ditch! It's one thing to make him squirm. It's quite another to make him crash." "He's a big boy, Charlie. Now, gimme your free hand," she instructed, and when he complied, she pushed it into her blouse to join the other. "I have two nipples. You have two hands. Coincidence? I think not!" "Interesting observation. I have one tongue. You have one..." He stopped when Pietro yanked open the door opposite Charlie, placed the equipment on the floor, then climbed into the driver's seat. "Now, let's go..." Pietro started the car and turned to grin at them. "Um, think maybe you two could cool that off for a little while? I have to drive, after all." Charlie started to remove his hands from Stormy's blouse, but she grasped his wrists to keep him there—a move that didn't go unnoticed by Pietro. He mumbled something in Spanish and raised his eyebrows just as Charlie had done moments earlier. By the time they reached the restaurant—a few kilometers away—Stormy had that dreamy, aroused expression on her face that Charlie so adored. Rather that indulging in greasy arreglados, he'd much rather dine on Stormy's smoky, cinnamon folds—but that would have to wait until later. While some considered Costa Rican cuisine an oxymoron, Charlie enjoyed the hearty, unpretentious fare: simple foods simply prepared. The most prevalent restaurants—called www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio sodas—were family-operated and very informal—with a chalk board serving as the only menu. The young waitress smiled coyly at Pietro and pointed to a table on the patio. "Gracias, señorita hermosa. ¿Tienes guaro y Café Rica?" When she nodded, he held up three fingers and winked, eliciting a giggle and fetching blush before she sauntered away with an extra saucy sway to her hips. As one, they paused to admire her retreat. "See?" Stormy told Charlie, cocking her head in Pietro's direction, "I told you he could charm the paint off the walls." Pietro grinned at Charlie and shrugged. "She's biased." "Yes, she is," Charlie agreed, "but that doesn't make her incorrect. Your good looks coupled with a complete lack of arrogance about them is...disarming, to say the least." It was Pietro's turn to blush, and Charlie wondered if compliments from other men made him uncomfortable or if there was something else at work. Stormy had a knack for sensing sexual boundaries, but Charlie didn't share that talent. She interrupted his musings when she grasped each of their hands and pulled them toward the table. "C'mon, guys. I'm ravenous all of a sudden. Let's take this mutual admiration society to the table, 'kay?" The waitress brought their drinks as soon as they sat down. She batted her eyelashes at Pietro while she took their orders, amusing Stormy and Charlie. Pietro accepted her attention with a natural grace, neither encouraging nor discouraging her flirtation. In addition to the beef and cheese-filled puff pastries, they ordered olla de carne and ceviche to share. Charlie gasped when he took a large swallow of the potent drink. "Damn, man! What's in this? Tastes kinda like...Kahlua with rum, only stronger. Much stronger." "Actually, you're very close," Stormy replied, sipping hers. "Guaro is made from sugar cane—just like rum—but it packs a more powerful punch, and Café Rica is a coffee liqueur—just like Kahlua—but, again, stronger. Pietro shouldn't have more than www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! one since he's driving. Two will make you quite intoxicated, which you probably wouldn't notice until you stood up. Sneaks up on you, kinda like grain alcohol. Three of these and you're out for the night. I would prefer, Charlie dear, that you not have another stiff one until after I've had my stiff one, if you catch my drift." Pietro swallowed and coughed, laughing. "Woman, you are shameless! Insatiable, too, I'm beginning to believe." "Would you have me any other way? If I've learned anything over the past couple years it's that a woman's gotta go after what she wants from a man without subtlety. Men just don't do subtle very well. Women, on the other hand..." She trailed off as their food arrived, and they dug into the meal. "Now, look around you," Pietro urged Charlie as they ate. "Imagine these same customers in an environment that did not require discretion in terms of sexuality. How would it differ from what you see here?" Charlie surveyed the open-air dining room. There weren't many diners at that time of the afternoon, but one thing jumped out at him almost immediately. "If no one was concerned about how their relationships were perceived, those two men over there would be side-by-side rather than across the table from one another. And, they'd probably be closer to the center of the room rather than tucked away in a corner." "Yes! That's exactly the sort of observations we need—the atmosphere we want to create," Stormy nodded. "So, if we were including an image of—for example—this restaurant in an ad campaign, we'd seat the patrons accordingly. It's not Tinky Winky blatant, but more Sponge Bob subdued. We want natural and honest, not in-your-face stereotypes. Good call." Pietro spooned some of the marinated seafood onto his plate. "Now, when we get to Jaco we'll want to do the same sort of analysis everywhere we go. In addition to the catchy slogan, which we've yet to develop, every image used in the campaign has to reflect this type of relaxation without being too obvious." www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio When they returned to the Jeep, Stormy climbed into the back seat and left the door hanging open. Charlie chose not to take the bait, instead closing the door after her and sliding into the front passenger seat. This earned him a combination scowlpout that made Pietro howl with laughter. "Patience, señorita," he teased. "He knows your wicked ways and doesn't want me distracted." "I will not be denied," Stormy warned. "Delayed, maybe. Denied, never. Just wait 'til we get to Jaco!" With that ominous warning, she capitalized on the space and stretched out for a nap. Charlie used the opportunity to get better acquainted with Pietro. A good decade older than he appeared, he'd spent most of his twenties bouncing from job to job—unchallenged and bored. He wasted a few years as the pet plaything of a wealthy heiress but soon grew tired of that kept life. When he finally crossed paths with Stormy, he was ready to dedicate himself to a worthwhile venture. Just as Mia had done, he saw the ads and contacted Stormy through www.rainyseason.com when the site launched. "She told me," Pietro confided after they'd been on the road for an hour, "all about how you met, and—although I don't profess to understand it—about your current relationship. It sounds almost too good to be true. Does it really work?" Charlie looked over his shoulder at Stormy sleeping peacefully in the back seat. "You'd be amazed what's possible when you let go of jealousy—and when you don't confine yourself to the arbitrary relationship structures developed by those who seek to control people by controlling sex." "So, you know that we...that Stormy and I..." "Of course, I do. And, now that I've met you, I have to say I'd be really disappointed if you two weren't lovers. It's not a problem for me, amigo. I assure you. Stormy doesn't think in an either-or fashion when it comes to sex. I once did, but she corrupted me in the most delightful way. Monogamy is not an www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! option. She has too much to share to limit herself in that way, and I—for one—am thrilled to have a place in her life." They woke Stormy—per her instructions—when they reached the coast, stopping briefly to stretch their legs and admire the many crocodiles lounging on the banks of the Tárcoles River where it emptied into the Pacific. It was easy for Charlie to believe the creatures torpid and, according to Pietro, many a scrawny cow made that mistake as they grazed along those banks. Before resuming their journey, they each enjoyed a refresco moro—the local equivalent of a smoothie, made from blackberries—from one of the cart vendors. The rest of the trip followed the coastline, and they spotted a variety of wildlife along the way—most of it in the treetops, like the scarlet macaw and the three-toed sloth. The magical ambiance of Costa Rica began to permeate Charlie's mind, absorbing his stress like a cosmic sponge. Having been in Central America for several months and only able to access her e-mail every few days from an Internet café, Stormy pumped him for the latest details about their extended family. Once the broadband cable service was hooked up in the new office space, it wouldn't be an issue. Charlie talked almost non-stop, and she drank every word. She delighted to hear that the sequel to Richard's best-selling book about overcoming sexual inhibitions topped the New York Times' best-seller list in spite of—or, perhaps, because of—the persistent objections of the religious right. Mia, who had been helping to manage Connor Consulting, accepted Jess' offer to become an equal partner in the venture, and its first major contract as the newlychristened Connor & Chavez Consulting involved casting a selfhelp documentary being produced by Sam based on Richard's latest research. Stormy squealed like a school girl upon learning that Sam received funding for the project through a grant from the NEA. "I'd love to read that grant application," Stormy commented www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio when the giggles subsided. "Oh, it was a work of art, I assure you. Every word of it true, but very carefully phrased. She used her maiden name, even, to avoid any bias based on Richard's work. I seriously doubt she'll ever get another grant from them one once they realize her intent to share the finer points of autoeroticism. I just don't think that's what they had in mind when soliciting applications for abstinence-based instruction. Sam's on a mission, though. She's determined to shine a light on sex." "Aren't we all?" Charlie couldn't argue with Stormy's assessment. In all their business dealings, they each sought to remove the stain of shame from such an integral part of life. Richard and Stormy did so much more openly than the others, but their efforts all swirled around the innate beauty of sensuality. They entered Jaco just before nine o'clock. Avenida Pastor Díaz, its main drag—its only drag, really, other than the highway—paralleled the coast and was lined with restaurants, surf shops, cabanas, souvenirs and crafts; some touristy, some eclectic. The majority of the traffic was on foot, although there were a few bicycles about. Most buildings stood no taller than two stories, especially on the ocean side of the avenue. They parked and walked the half block side street to the beach, stepping onto the sand just as the sun dropped below the horizon. A few surfers floated offshore, lazing out past the breakers, while several others surrounded a bonfire—some locals with a sprinkling of tourists, by Charlie's estimation. They motioned the newcomers to join them and, when Pietro accepted on their behalf, passed them each a cold beer from a cooler half buried in the sand. First-name-only introductions were made and talk turned to the waves. Knowing nothing of surfing, Charlie tuned out the details of the discussion and focused instead on the broad social dynamic. A peacefulness enveloped him—a markedly more relaxed atmosphere, even for an already laid-back tropical locale. www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! Charlie realized that in all his travels, such mingling between local residents and tourists was rare. Did the surfing mentality inspire the mood, or was some other factor at work? Where awkwardness would exist elsewhere, Charlie found only acceptance—or indifference. These people were themselves without reservation. Cause or effect? he wondered. Even Pietro, a tico—native born—was more at ease. Talk centered on the here-and-now, with no mention of the world at large; that chaotic and violent world held at bay by an irresistible calming force. That, he knew, was but one facet of what Stormy wanted to capture and convey with the new ad campaign. It was not unique to Costa Rica, though. The group surrounding the bonfire, he realized, was a microcosm of the world at large. Comprised of people who undoubtedly behaved differently outside its sphere, Charlie mentally recorded the concrete differences between here and there: climate and setting. Any vacation destination could offer those. So, what differed here? It had to be something tangible, he reasoned. The rainfall enhanced libido. They knew that much, although all attempts to isolate the chemical difference that caused the effect had failed. Maybe, like in that Batman movie with Jack Nicholson as The Joker, the combination of several ingredients produced such a profound change. They didn't need a scientific explanation, though—just a hook. In fact, a scientific explanation would be very bad thing. It would throw a wet blanket over the fire of fascination. Ages ranged from late teens to upper fifties, Charlie guesstimated. Socio-economic backgrounds varied just as markedly. Sexuality, too. The businessman from Tulsa who would normally shun contact with the pierced and tattooed kid and his Goth boyfriend, here stood chatting amiably about souvenir shopping. Why? He wished his brother Richard could witness it and apply his psychological expertise. If they could somehow capture that magic in an ad campaign, it would www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio undoubtedly be successful. Or, perhaps Jess would be a better choice of analyst. She had a knack for reading people. Charlie watched as Stormy finished her beer, kicked off her sandals, and waded into the darkness of the surf—holding her skirt high on her legs and laughing at the sheer joy of it. Leaving the group behind, she walked along the shore. He waited a few moments and then strolled up the beach to join her. "See what I mean?" she asked when he caught up to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She rested her head backward onto his shoulder. "It's in the air. We have to figure out a way to promote it without spoiling it. I want people to take a piece of this peace home with them and make their own lives more...more..." "Peaceful?" Charlie prompted. She turned, kissed him, and then gave his backside a playful smack. "Smart ass! I'm serious about this. It's not just about business anymore. I really do believe we can make the world a better place—one vacationer at a time, perhaps, but still..." "One drop raises the ocean." "Exactly! I knew you—of all people—would understand." Stormy melted into his arms. "I've missed you!" They stood in the ankle-deep surf, kissing and swaying gently with the tide. "We've been apart too long," Stormy mumbled against his neck. "Your skin tastes new to me...unfamiliar. Now I'm gonna have to learn you all over—all over again—and I think I'd like to start right now. Hope you don't have a problem with that." Without waiting for a reply, Stormy reached for his belt buckle. Charlie glanced over his shoulder at the cluster of bodies around the bonfire, feeling exposed but reminding himself that they were probably beyond the reach of the fire's light—not that any of their new acquaintances would mind if he got a blow job on the beach. He knew better than to thwart Stormy—again. While he'd no doubts about the sincerity of her desire, he also www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! knew she pushed the envelope of daring because he'd opted not to ride in the back seat with her: Stormy's version of payback. She whipped his belt from its loops with one insistent yank and tossed it onto the dry sand a few feet away; its clank sounded unnatural—out of place—against the backdrop of the waves. Tugging at the zipper of his cargo shorts, she reached inside with one hand and wrapped her fingers around his cock. "Better hang on to these," she said, grasping one of his hands and hooking his index finger through a belt loop, "or they'll fall into the water. I can't do it...'cause I plan to be focusing on other things." With that, she dropped to her knees, completely disregarding her own advice and soaking her skirt in the process. Charlie drained the rest of his beer in one long pull and lobbed the bottle alongside his belt, to be collected later. He wove his free hand through her hair as she took him into her mouth, quickly pulling him to complete rigidity. She was right; they had been apart too long. It didn't take his cock long, though, to remember her tongue and the way it deftly explored his shaft—as if memorizing every detail. Stormy, unlike any woman he'd ever known, truly savored cock. She gave head for the sheer joy of it. From her perspective, she told him shortly after their meeting, it was not an act of giving but one of taking. "Yeah, taking control," he'd responded at the time. "I've heard other women say that." "I am not 'other women,' and it has nothing whatsoever to do with control," she'd insisted, swatting him with a pillow. "It has to do with pleasure—MY pleasure. The fact that you also enjoy it is just a fortunate coincidence. I'd want to suck your cock whether you liked it or not. So there!" It took him about a month of intense reprogramming to fully integrate her assertions into his way of thinking, not that he minded Stormy's lessons. Although he now believed her, he still felt as if he owed her an orgasm every time she blew him. No matter how many times she assured him otherwise, he couldn't quite shake that deeply ingrained notion. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio She'd barely gotten started when a hand landed on his shoulder, startling him from his blissful reverie and nearly knocking him off balance. "Hey, Charlie, have you seen Stormy?" He simply grinned at Pietro and looked down. "Stormy's down here," she paused her attentions just long enough to respond. "Where'd you think I would be?" Clearly caught off guard, Pietro stuttered an apology for the interruption and started to back away, but Stormy grabbed the pocket of his pants and pulled him toward her. He looked at Charlie, wide-eyed, and the older man simply nodded—removing his hand from Stormy's hair and wrapping an arm around the Pietro's shoulders. "Enjoy, amigo." "You sure about this?" Pietro asked them both, looking back and forth. Stormy responded with a muffled, "Um hmm." Charlie could tell he wanted to join them but respected their relationship as deeper—more refined—than his own. While he'd known Stormy just as long as Charlie, they'd not renewed their initial acquaintance for nearly a year after the Wetter campaign launched. For that reason, more so than their age difference, Pietro deferred to him. Charlie smiled and moved his hand to the back of Pietro's head, pulling him in for a kiss. After a moment's hesitation, Pietro opened his mouth and gave himself to the kiss with a soft groan vibrating under his breath. His lips felt like a woman's— soft and smooth and full—but stronger, and the surrounding skin was coarse; a delicious dichotomy. In spite of temperatures hovering in the upper eighties, the evening breeze felt cool against his wet cock when Stormy's mouth withdrew. She replaced it immediately with her hand— stroking him with a firm grip—as she turned her head toward Pietro. He gasped as she freed his cock and licked its head, and he leaned toward Charlie for another kiss. The men supported one another, as Stormy's mouth moved from one to the other— their heels sinking deeper into the sand with each wave's ebb. www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! She held one in each hand and divided her time between them; her level of enjoyment evident in soft sighs and murmurs of appreciation. Pietro hung on to Charlie's waist with one hand while the other kept his shorts from falling into the water. He pushed himself deeper into Stormy's mouth, unable to resist the urge to move—to thrust. She closed her eyes and opened her throat, allowing him to fuck her mouth for a moment before returning her attention to Charlie. In this way, she prolonged the pleasure of both men while increasing the urgency of their release. Charlie had no idea if Pietro had any sexual experience at all with men—or any interest. He couldn't recall Stormy ever mentioning it one way or the other. He hoped, however, that their kissing was just the start of a much more in depth exploration of one another in the days ahead. The thought of fucking the young tico while he, in turn, fucked Stormy nudged Charlie over the edge into orgasm. He came deep in Stormy's throat, groaning against Pietro's mouth. Stormy returned her mouth to Pietro's cock, and it didn't take her much longer to bring him off. Charlie sucked his tongue as he came. Rising to her feet, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and grinned at both men. "How about another beer, fellas? I could certainly use one...or two...or more." She blew them each a kiss and headed back toward the bonfire, leaving them standing in the surf with their pants undone. Charlie cocked his head in Stormy's direction, "She's somethin' else, isn't she?" Pietro just grunted an affirmative as he straightened his clothing.

www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio

Two Although they had reservations at the Copacabana Hotel, they—and several of the others—ended up sleeping on the beach. The bonfire burned far into the night, and their Bacchanalia eventually calmed to pockets of quiet conversation. Blankets appeared from somewhere and were spread on the sand. Charlie woke just as dawn began to light the sky, one slice of bread for a Stormy sandwich. Carefully extracting himself from her embrace, he rose and stretched. It seemed as if the entire town still slept, including the birds perched on one foot in the small, scrubby dunes. He looked around until he located his sandals, and then ventured off in search of coffee. Before he got too far, he thought perhaps he should check them into their hotel. A shower would feel magnificent, too. Charlie did an about face and returned to pilfer the Jeep keys from Pietro's pocket. It was obvious from the disarray of the hotel manager's hair that Charlie had disturbed either his slumber or some wild sexcapade. He assumed, by the look of the man, the former. With very little formality, Charlie registered and obtained their room key. He gave the man a generous tip and inquired about coffee in broken Spanish. After ferrying their bags to the room, Charlie took a quick shower and shaved. Brushing the wooly socks from his teeth approached a religious experience. By the time he left the hotel, he was a new man. Amazing what twenty minutes with access to running water will do for the mood, he mused, as he strolled down the Jaco's primary thoroughfare. At a sidewalk café, he purchased a dozen sopapillos and three large foam cups of coffee to go. With the help of a cardboard beverage carrier, Charlie returned to the beach www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! bearing breakfast. The others still slept, so he indulged in a pastry and enjoyed the peaceful morning. Within the hour, the surfers would start to arrive and the day would begin in earnest. He leaned back on his elbows and allowed the magic of Costa Rica to infiltrate his soul. Of all the exotic locations he had visited—and he'd visited damned near every eco-vacation spot on the planet—only Costa Rica could rejuvenate him so completely. He had yet to figure out precisely why, though. Other destinations featured greater natural beauty or offered more luxurious accommodations, and still others had perfect weather or a wider array of available activities. None, however, matched the surreal feeling of rightness that Costa Rica inspired. During the rainy season, as they'd learned several years ago, that feeling was heightened to the point of intense aphrodisia and coupled with a marked lowering of inhibitions. Funny, Charlie thought, that he now considered the "off season" to be the season of drier weather. The reports of tourism revenues supported his shift in thinking, as Stormy's ad campaign produced results beyond even her wildest expectations. The country struggled to improve its rough mountain roads to accommodate travelers, bringing a cadre of civil engineers into the picture. Washouts were common during the rainy season, and there were times when Charlie swore the potholes were actually dormant volcanic craters. Stormy stirred as his thoughts turned toward her, making Charlie wonder if she could somehow sense them. There was certainly something other-worldly about her—wild and magnetic, like a gypsy siren. A swirl of dark hair covered her face as she rolled onto her side, masking her deceptively wholesome features and making her appear even more exotic. Her smooth, café au lait skin seemed to glow in the early dawn light, and Charlie ran his fingertips along her exposed thigh. Months ago, he stopped even trying to define their relationship—both in his own mind and to the outside world. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio How could he articulate something he didn't understand himself? He loved her; no doubt about it. However, most people thought of love in terms of possession, and their relationship just didn't fit into that mold. Stormy would wither in such captivity, even assuming she could be domesticated. "She's somethin' else, isn't she?" Pietro startled him, echoing his words from the previous evening. "Truly one of a kind," Charlie agreed, handing him a cup of coffee and the bag of pastries. The young man looked rested, but deliciously disheveled. Pietro nodded his thanks. "Um, about last night... I've never... What I mean is... Shit." "Hey, it's okay. Really. I do hope you enjoyed yourself, but I won't be offended if it's not something you care to repeat—or," Charlie paused, uncertain of how much he should nudge the man, "explore further." "I suppose I should expect the unexpected whenever Stormy's around, but I never expected that. And, to be perfectly honest, I never expected to enjoy kissing a man." Charlie felt Stormy's fingers lace his own, alerting him that she was awake and listening. Pietro, on the opposite side, couldn't have seen her movement even if he hadn't been staring at the horizon. "Look," he continued, "this is new to me. It's not without its appeal, though." "I understand completely. Felt similarly myself, once upon a time. Your country—and sleeping beauty over here—shifted my world on its axis. Actually, they kinda combined to strip away the arbitrary and leave my soul exposed to raw sensuality. It's genderless, I learned once the blanket of expectation lifted, and beyond exquisite." Stormy squeezed his hand, and he felt her mentally embrace him. Dusting his sugar-coated fingers on a corner of the blanket, Charlie changed the subject. "I checked us into the hotel, if you want to grab a shower. I'll wait here and keep the flies off www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! Stormy. You know how she is when she wakes up—full of steam and rarin' to go. We lesser beings need a head start just to keep up. Room two fifteen." Pietro accepted the key with a nod and, pausing only long enough to grab another pastry, set off for the hotel alternately sipping coffee and scarfing down his breakfast. As soon as he was out of sight, Stormy stretched like a cat waking from a nap in a sunny window. "You," she purred, climbing into his lap, "handled that beautifully, sir." "I learned from a master...erm, mistress. Did you sleep well?" "Between the two of you? Of course! I plan to use you both again tonight, too. My buff bolsters." Charlie snorted. "Right. He's buff, but I'm just a bolster. Gotta admit, Stormy, he's every bit as yummy as you described." "I have excellent taste." "Hmm. If I recall correctly, you certainly do. It's been a while, though. I seriously need to refresh my memory." He took her face in his hands and kissed her. "These lips now. The others, later." "You, sir, are a tease," she purred into his mouth. "Hardly. A tease isn't willing to follow through, and I fully intend to follow through—later. What's on the agenda today?" "We get to work, of course. We start by people watching and brainstorming and trying to grasp what it is about this place that makes folks—even the most uptight assholes—relax. Not just physically relax, but mentally relax, too. If we had a ton of money, I'd like to conduct a study on the lasting effects. Do dickheads return to previous levels of dickheadedness when they leave this place? Immediately, or over time? If the effect wears off, how often is another dose required in order to keep dickheadedness at bay? Is it the same for everyone, or do some people need longer or more frequent immersion?" "Whoa! Slow down, gorgeous!" Charlie held up both hands, palms out, and Stormy stopped long enough to grin at him. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio "Charlie, you know as well as I do how much this place changes you. We could really make a difference. It's beyond business now. Think about it! What if a G8 Summit were held here? It could literally change the world—for the better!" "You know as well as I do that this place doesn't have the facilities a G8 summit would require and," he held up a finger to keep her from interrupting, "to construct them would fundamentally alter it. We don't want that, now do we? I love your enthusiasm, sugar, but you gotta temper it with a little pragmatism." Stormy slapped the blanket with both hands and affected a pout. "Don't burst my bubbles, damn it! I'm enjoying my world peace fantasy. Dream with me. Hey!" She shifted gears abruptly. "Where's my coffee and food?" He handed her the last cup of coffee and the remaining sopapillos. "Have the rest of 'em. Dynamos need energy. Then, if you hurry, maybe you can still surprise Pietro in the shower." "Tempting, but I think I'll wait 'til later when I can get you both in there. Good clean fun. First thing I wanna do is show you guys the new hammock hostel that will soon be opening just south of here. It rivals Rockin' J's over in Puerto Viejo, believe it or not—and has hot water to boot! There's just something so very liberating about hammocks." "Don't you think its communal nature puts a damper on the sex, though? Most people don't want to go on vacation knowing they'll not have any privacy for mattress aerobics." Stormy sipped her coffee and chewed on his words for a moment. "Well, it might be a problem if people stayed in one place for their entire visit—but I can't think of a single person I've encountered who's spent an entire Costa Rican vacation in one location. Can you? Folks usually spend a couple days on the Gulf coast, a few days around the volcanoes or in the rain forests, and a couple days on the Pacific coast. And," she winked, "we certainly managed to sex it up while there, if you'll recall— on the beach, in the water, and even in that damned cold www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! communal shower. We weren't the only ones being creative, either. I think it's part of the magic—and it certainly adds to the spice." "Speaking of showers...and of spice," Pietro said as he snuck up behind her, "it's your turn." Stormy squealed. "Sneaky bastard! Just for that, I'm gonna put you to work while I get ready for our day. Both of you." Ignoring Charlie's incredulous expression, she continued. "Take the camera and get us a few dozen shots of the early morning activity. We'll do the same throughout the day. Then, later, we're gonna make a slideshow so we can try to identify patterns and map out our campaign strategy. I'm convinced the key is here, somewhere. We just have to isolate it—and capture it in an ad. We can't rely on the rainy season forever. Though it's still drawing consistent business, I think we're approaching saturation—the limits of its appeal. ¡Vayamos, muchachos!" With that directive, she was on her feet and headed toward the hotel at a brisk pace. The men exchanged knowing glances, gathered the blanket and other belongings, and followed obediently. When Stormy started giving orders, it was clear that she meant business. Charlie also knew that she played every bit hard as she worked, and that when they finally knocked off for the day, she'd be eager to unwind. He leaned over and whispered something to Pietro. "I heard that!" Stormy called over her shoulder, causing both men's eyebrows to rise. While she showered, he and Pietro strolled along the main street, taking random photos. Charlie also took the opportunity to pick up a cheap foam cooler and fill it with fresh fruits, cheeses, and other nosh. He didn't want there to be any compelling reason for any one of them to have to leave that hotel room once they returned to it at the end of the day. Pietro quickly caught on to Charlie's unspoken plan and made a few additions himself, not all of them edible. On the way back to the hotel, they purchased some Flor de Caña rum and coconut milk. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio Stormy opened their hotel room's door just as they approached, making Charlie wonder once again about her psychopathic abilities. Smiling, she welcomed each of them with a peck on the cheek, motioning at the headset attached to her left ear to indicate she was on the phone. Pietro placed their purchases on the dresser, which earned them a cocked eyebrow. When she attempted to peek inside the cooler, though, Charlie pulled her away. "That's for later, boss lady," he grinned. "We've work to do first, remember?" She punched a few buttons on her phone and closed it, removing the earpiece. "Seventeen messages waiting for me and only one of any real consequence. Sam has some big news. Tell you about it later. So," she changed the subject, but not before Charlie caught the sparkle in her eyes, "speaking of work... Did you note anything of interest while you were out there?" Pietro shook his head. "My eyes are too accustomed to my own country to pick up any such subtleties. I don't know why folks find peace here. They just do. My country was the first in the world to constitutionally abolish its military. It is a matter of some pride, although rather than boast of it, we simply live it and lead by example. We are passionate about peace and peaceful about passion—in equal measure. In most places, those two things are like oil and water. Here, they are inseparable." Stormy's head whipped in Pietro's direction, and her eyes lit with a fire that Charlie knew very well. "Oh! I think you're onto something there." She paced at the foot of the room's one kingsized bed, brow furrowed and gears turning. After a few moments, she stopped and shook her head in frustration. "It's hovering just out of reach. So close! I can almost taste it." "Put it on your back burner, señorita. Let's get back out in public. Maybe inspiration will strike. If we stay here much longer, another form of inspiration is gonna take over—the kind that will seriously distract us from our mission." Foot traffic throughout Jaco picked up significantly around www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! ten o'clock. The shops bustled, but—while crowded—none took on the frenetic air Charlie often observed at other destinations. He studied the people he passed on the street. "Look at their faces. The tourist faces, in particular. There is no tension in them. No anger. No stress. The locals are only marginally less relaxed." He turned to Pietro. "Is it the time of year, or are there typically so few children here?" "School is in session both here and in the States," Pietro noted, "and it's a weekday. Tomorrow, you'll see more kids. What're you thinking?" He shrugged. "It's probably nothing. I'm just fishing for an explanation, but..." "But it doesn't explain how this place differs from other resorts," Stormy completed his sentence. "I getcha 'cause I've been thinking along those same lines. To use an overused phrase, we really need to think outside the box. If—and I do mean if—the magic of this place can be quantified, it will be in ways we've not yet discovered. Everything that makes Costa Rica special holds true for other vacation destinations. Natural beauty? Lots of places. Gorgeous weather? Lots of places. Beautiful, friendly people? Lots of places. And there are even lots of places that combine those things. So, what is Costa Rica's secret?" They strolled in silence for several blocks, each lost in his or her own thoughts. As the day grew hotter, more of the pedestrian traffic moved toward the beach. Unlike the Gulf coast beaches, there weren't any trees shading Jaco's. The foliage wasn't anywhere near as lush, either. Technically still classified as tropical rainforest, the air in the Pacific coastal regions carried markedly less humidity. Umbrellas sprouted in the sand, providing some shelter from the sun. The sounds of steel drums drifted on the air, giving the place a very Caribbean aura. Charlie glanced around but couldn't pinpoint the source of the music. As they walked, the buildings and businesses became www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio further and further apart and the narrow two-lane road veered inland. They could still hear and smell, but not see, the ocean. Less than a quarter mile south of Jaco, they came upon a wide wrought-iron gate set in a colorfully-painted concrete wall. A mosaic tile path wove through a compound of small, thatchroofed shelters. It looked familiar to Charlie, and he turned to Stormy with the question in his eyes. "I knew you'd recognize the motif," she smiled. "Same proprietor." Charlie then realized he was looking at the Pacific version of Rockin' J's. "I'd no idea! We really must spend a day or so in Puerto Viejo, okay?" "Jay's expecting us, actually. I talked to him yesterday while we were waiting for your plane to land. He said the Pimp Suite's available early in the week, if we want it." The Pimp Suite was one of only a handful of enclosed cabinas offered at Rockin' J's Hammock Hostel and was, by far, the largest. With its own charming, little porch, it perched on the back corner atop the communal kitchen and showers, overlooking a picnic area. Sometime in years past, someone had painted "Pimp Suite" on a post near the door. The name not only stuck but gained a certain fame as the resort's honeymoon suite, of sorts. It couldn't be considered luxurious, by anyone's standards, with three beds crammed into a small room and a single bare light bulb affixed to a rafter supporting the corrugated tin roof. The snootier types would deem it downright rustic and without any charm. Charlie had a better word for it: heaven. Heaven for the Pimp Suite's rate of fifty dollars per night or, for the more adventurous, a mere five bucks per night for a hammock. The compound also featured sandy areas under thatched roofs to accommodate campers' tents. Of course, anywhere with Stormy took on an air of the divine. Perhaps, he thought, they should instead be trying to capture her je ne sais quais. Stormy's aura, if bottled, could indeed change the world—as evidenced by how much she'd www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! influenced everyone with whom she came into contact. Would Costa Rica have the same intensity of appeal without her? Would anywhere? Charlie glanced at Pietro and found him studying Stormy's profile. The woman was mesmerizing in any setting, but here—in Costa Rica—she radiated positive energy. It was obvious Pietro felt it, too. "He's not open for business yet, or we'd be staying here," she continued, seemingly oblivious to the attention. "I just promised Jay I'd check it out and snap a few photos during the day's best light—when it's showing all the magnificent colors and patterns of the mosaic." She extracted a key from the brightly-colored satchel strung across her chest, unlocked the gate, and held it open for her partners. "Oh, would you two please stop staring at me like I'm some sort of goddess? Get inside! I promise to let you worship me later—at length." She swatted Pietro's ass as he stepped through the gateway, and Charlie resisted the urge to match her gesture with one of his own. Caught looking, though, he gave her a Can-you-blameme? shrug and a kiss. "I like the way your mind works," she murmured into his mouth. He held her at arm's length and studied her expression. "You knew I'd like him. How is a mystery, since I don't typically respond that way to other men. But you knew. I do believe you can read my mind." Stormy grew serious. "No, Charlie. I can read your soul. I know it because it is so compatible with my own. Your mind simply resonates with the desires of your heart, making it seem as if I know your very thoughts. I have only to listen to my own self to know you." Her words rang true—as usual. Charlie still believed she downplayed her own magic, though. Even Jess, with her incredible empathy, didn't have the ability to project feeling onto thought. Jess' people-reading skills dealt with primal instincts, whereas Stormy had a knack for connecting with kindred www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio spirits. When they caught up to Pietro, he was photographing the winding path leading to the beach. A matching gate guarded that point of access, even though the small cove was sheltered by rocky outcroppings on either side. No one would be crashing the place from that approach unless they arrived by boat, which appeared to be a hazardous venture. The net effect was that of a secluded tropical paradise, much like its inspiration on the opposite coast. "You're thinking of tying the new campaign to the grand opening here, aren't you?" he asked without looking away from the camera. Just as she'd done earlier, when Pietro mentioned the peace and passion dichotomy, Stormy's eyes sparkled with inspiration. "It occurred to me, yes. If the timing was right, I'd also tie it to la Día de la Abolición del Ejército. That's not 'til December first, though—almost a full year away. We'll be ready way before that, and you know how impatient I can be. Plus, we're perfectly poised to launch in time to capitalize on spring break in the States. This place will be ready for the influx by then, and..." "And," Charlie completed her thought, "this campaign needs to launch outside of the rainy season so its effectiveness can be gauged independently." He grinned at the expression on her face. "I guess I'm not the only mind reader here. I wonder, though, if the two of you have any idea what I'm thinking right now?" Even without extra sensory perception, no one—man or woman—with a pulse could miss the tone in Stormy's voice. It certainly got Pietro's attention. He placed the camera on a nearby bench and took a step toward her. Charlie moved between them to intercept. "Later," he scolded both. "We have work to do first." The directive startled Pietro from his reflexive response to Stormy's siren call, and he shook his head to clear it of the spell www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! she cast. "You are a brave man, señor," he mumbled to Charlie, noting the expression on her face. "She'll thank us later, though. Trust me."

www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio

Three The trio lunched at The Taco Bar and spent the afternoon shopping. None needed souvenirs, but the activity gave them the opportunity to interact with the shopkeepers and other tourists. There was a markedly unhurried attitude, even in the most bustling of shops. They took hundreds of pictures, both posed and candid. Making a conscious effort, Charlie began to notice things about body language that he'd overlooked before. He wondered about what some friends called gay-dar: the ability to detect a person's sexual orientation based on non-verbal cues. Until now, he'd always rejected that concept because of the stereotypes upon which he assumed it rested. Those stereotypes, he realized, were indeed Tinky Winky blatant. They required no special attention to discern. The signals he now picked up on were more in the nature of a subtle glance, a deference, a knowing half smile. It required close attention to detail, but once aware to it, his belief in gay-dar shifted into the realm of the plausible. He could understand how someone very intuitive or empathetic—like Jess, for example, and Stormy—would be very attuned to such nuance without any additional effort. Why then, he wondered, did Stormy seek him for advice on this campaign when Jess would be better able to help? Charlie knew she never did anything without a reason, even if she didn't share or couldn't articulate it. Regardless, he decided to ask her later, although he thought it likely he'd get one of her exasperating it-just-felt-like-the-right-thing-to-do answers. Tired from a long day on their feet, they opted to retire to the hotel room early rather than partake of the nightlife. Clubs and casinos drew crowds, but they weren't the reason folks came to Costa Rica. They were tasty side dishes rather than the main course. The entrée would always be the ecological treasure. www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! National parks protected over twenty-five percent of the country's territory, and it was the most biodiverse area in the entire world. "Oxygen, straight from the source!" his brother opined. "That is the real reason it's magic. Everyone's high on oxygen." Charlie grudgingly conceded that Richard might be onto something, but after an evening of Googling, they could find no evidence that a higher concentration of oxygen produced either an inner peace or an increase in libido, so they saw no reason to find out whether or not the Costa Rican air boasted such composition. He surprised himself by preferring that country's secrets remain hidden. Such desires were normally anathema to an analytical mind, but his thinking had shifted in more ways than one since Stormy entered his life. The mystery, he believed, was as much of a selling point as the magic. Stormy stopped to chat amiably with each and every person she encountered while he and Pietro sauntered about, picking up a couple bottles of wine and some fresh fruit to augment their earlier acquisitions. They stood on the sidewalk admiring the ease with which she interacted with young and old, local and tourist. Granted, the atmosphere was conducive to such banter, but her gifts still shone through. She didn't allow language to become a barrier, either. Her genuine smile and welcoming mannerisms were universally understood. "Get some shots of her," Charlie nudged Pietro with his elbow, "Preferably without her noticing." Pietro nodded as he handed Charlie his purchases and darted into a nearby shop. Charlie soon noticed the camera lens peeking through a display of straw hats and sarongs. Rather than stand there looking conspicuous, he carried the bags back to the hotel and refilled the cooler with ice. Stormy and Pietro returned just as he was putting the finishing touches on a mini buffet of cheese and crackers and tropical fruit. They kicked back with some wine and tossed around their observations. While each felt the day was productive, none felt www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio any closer to a hook than they had been that morning. "Maybe the pictures will help," Pietro offered, rising to power up the computer. Stormy agreed. "We're close—I can feel it—but our minds are getting in the way. We're trying too hard and not seeing the forest for the trees. Maybe we need to get drunk or stoned or...laid." "Well," Charlie drawled as he refilled his wine glass, "laid works for me...even if it doesn't result in inspiration. Laid always works for me." "Perv!" The cheese cube whizzed past his head, hitting the wall and sticking for a couple seconds before dropping to the floor. Stormy giggled at the expression on his face. She'd been in Jamaica the last time finger foods were flung at him, but he'd filled her in on all the details of the great pizza-love dinner party experiment that resulted in him and Jess finally becoming lovers. "Would you two please settle down? We've still got a bit of work to do before we get carried away with...other pursuits!" Pietro naturally assumed the mantle of task master, and Charlie found him well-suited to the role. Although he deferred to Stormy, he also provided a structure—a discipline—that her gypsy nature tended to lack. Pietro connected the camera's cable to the laptop and powered it on. The photographs began to pop onto the screen in thumbnail format, and Stormy leaned over his back to get a closer look. With the two of them consumed by the photos taken earlier, Charlie seized the opportunity to slip out onto the balcony and call Jess. He knew Stormy would not object to Jess' consultation, and he wondered again why she'd not opted to involve her in the first place. Perhaps it was simply a matter of scheduling. Jess was deeply mired in work and probably unable to make such an impromptu trip. He, on the other hand, had just wrapped up a major project and had some free time before the next took off. Mia picked up, breathless, just as the answering machine www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! played its greeting. She waited for the recording to stop before speaking. "Charlie! Where are you, handsome?" "Jaco. Why don't you two hop on the next plane and come on down? We'd love to see you." "We? Does that mean you're with Stormy? I haven't seen her for months. I miss that vixen something fierce. How is she?" Charlie marveled that, in spite of her accent, Mia had picked up the idioms of English language very quickly. She possessed an incredible aptitude for languages and had just enrolled at Duquesne to expand her—as she put it—repertoire of tongues, a phrase that Sam found hysterically funny. "Stormy? The same as always: bossy, full of energy, and drop-dead sexy. And you?" "The same as always," she gave a throaty chuckle, "with a cherry on top. What can I do for you this evening, Señor Charlie?" "I want to pick Jess' brain. Is she around?" "She's outside, playing in the snow—which is where I was, too. Remember snow? No es verano aquí. We were building a snow bitch, tits and all. Is this about Stormy's new advertising idea?" "Mmm hmm. I take it she's already picked Jess' brain, then. How very interesting. I was wondering why Stormy tagged me instead of Jess." "Actually, Jess tagged you—not Stormy. She told Stormy that you were the key to this puzzle." Charlie frowned in confusion. "Well, I trust Jess... but I sure as hell don't understand her reasoning this time. I get the feeling that she wouldn't explain it to me, either." "Not likely," Mia laughed. "But, Jess did tell me that your presence is a very important part of the process. She can be spooky with that prescience at times, so I'd just go with the flow if I were you." Charlie grunted. "What choice do I have?" He exchanged a few more pleasantries with Mia before ending the call, bemused. If he was supposed to have some sort of revelation, he'd better www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio immerse himself in the project. Returning his attention to the pictures they'd taken, he studied them for inspiration. Stormy turned her head toward him when he pulled up a chair. "I really wanted you here," she said without preamble, "and not just because of Jess' recommendation. Don't get your male ego all twisted in a knot thinking otherwise." "Am I that transparent?" he laughed, helping himself to a quick kiss and a handful of ass. "Have you two found anything of note in those pictures?" Pietro gave an exaggerated sigh as he refilled his wine glass. "Not yet. I mean, we're picking out subtle things—similar to the seating you noticed in the restaurant yesterday afternoon—but nothing that really grabs us. While those observations are helpful, and necessary for the overall mood, they're not the main thrust of the campaign. We need to find our meat." As soon as the words left his mouth, Pietro realized what he'd said and blushed. "Oh, I really don't think I'll have any trouble finding your meat." "You left yourself wide open on that one, amigo," Charlie chided him, holding his glass out for a refill. "Stormy will never pass on an opportunity for innuendo." "Meat innuendo," Stormy giggled, emphasizing each syllable. "How apropos." Pietro rolled his eyes at Charlie. "I think the wine's already gone to her head." "Did someone say head? One of my favorite subjects!" She sat on the corner of the bed nearest the desk and flopped backward. "Maybe even my all time favorite subject." "Now you've done it!" he pointed at Pietro and winked, grinning. "You planted that seed in her dirty mind. We can forget about getting any more work done tonight." Pietro powered down the laptop and threw his hands in the air. "Oh, no! Please... forgive me, Charlie. It just...just...slipped out." www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! "Well, okay, but..." Charlie gestured toward the bed, where Stormy lay supine with both arms across her face, her knees still bent over the edge and feet on the floor. "What are we gonna do about that?" "That?" she chuckled, peeking from beneath her arms. "Oh, you really know how to make a girl feel special. Smooth, Casanova. Muy smooth." Ignoring her jibe, he turned toward Pietro. "You should know better, amigo. The woman had your cock in her mouth within a couple hours of making your acquaintance, if I recall correctly...in the rain forest, no less." "Hmm, yes. Yes, she most certainly did. And," Pietro added, referring to the trip that inspired the Wetter Has Never Been Better campaign, "not even twenty-four hours before that, she was riding you for the first time...and the day before that, Mia had her on the massage table. We have quite a sexual aficionado on our hands." "Will you two stop talking about me as if I'm a piece of furniture?" Pietro played along with Charlie's little game. "So, señor, what are we going to do with that?" Rather than respond with words, Charlie knelt on the floor between Stormy's knees and pushed her sarong aside. He motioned for Pietro to approach from above, and the younger man complied after pausing long enough to light a pair of candles and flick off the lights. The spicy-sweet smells of vanilla and cinnamon filled the room, and the flicker of the flames threw Stormy's shadow in stark relief against the wall over the bed. Larger than life, her silhouetted body stretched from one end of the room to the other: a lioness in repose. Charlie wondered if the scent of cinnamon took Stormy back to Baldi Termae and her first night with Mia, since it was such an integral part of that encounter according to Stormy's unpublished memoirs of the trip. "Be still now, mi ángel," Pietro growled into her neck in www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio passing as he lowered himself. "Let us adore you." Charlie held his breath, expecting Stormy to resist the directive. He knew how difficult it was for such a rebellious soul to follow instructions—even ones that would lead to great pleasure. The woman rarely relinquished control of any situation. She did not like being told what to do. Much to his surprise, she muttered an okay. Her submission awed him and made him even more determined to please her—to make the experience memorable so that, hopefully, she'd allow it again someday. At that moment, he realized that even in her surrender, she was in control. He'd no doubt she understood the effect it would have on him and on Pietro. She knew they would both appreciate it, take it as a sign of utmost respect, and be honored by her trust. Taking a deep breath, Charlie shook his head to clear it of thought and shifted his focus to action. Given the feast arrayed before him, it wasn't difficult to do. When he drew near enough to kiss the soft skin of her inner thighs, she sighed and wrapped her ankles around his back. Trapped in a prison of delicious limbs, he used his hands to blaze a trail for his tongue to follow: a touch followed by a nibble followed by a kiss, then on to the next spot. Instead of progressing steadily toward the juncture of her thighs, he varied the location so that she wouldn't know where to expect him next. Charlie felt, rather than saw, Pietro removing Stormy's camisole, and soon after heard the familiar whimper that meant her nipples welcomed the attention. Her hand made its way into her panties, and Pietro grabbed her wrist—roughly pulling it away. "No." The word jarred him back from action to thought. Once again, Charlie braced for her rebellion, and once again, the woman surprised him. He wondered just how far she'd let them go to enforce her passivity and decided to push her boundaries if she chose to assert herself again. Pietro caught his eye and www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! winked in silent understanding before returning his attention to her breasts. Knowing how much Stormy adored having her nipples sucked, it amazed him that she could refrain from touching herself. "Charlie," she pleaded, dragging out the last syllable, "please." "Hush. It's our turn, remember? We'll take excellent care of you." Stormy let out a sound that was half groan and half sigh. It told him, in no uncertain terms, that she'd decided to abide by their wishes. She'd decided, he reminded himself. They hadn't taken control. She'd given it to them. Big difference. Huge. This was a new development in his experiences with Stormy, and judging by Pietro's reactions, it was new to him as well. He felt as if he'd been given a gift—a gift beyond measure—and the awesome responsibility of it sucked the air from his lungs. The difficulty she overcame to bestow this gift humbled him. Surrender didn't come easily to Stormy, and he recalled her once telling him that she could never submit to someone she did not respect. He vowed to ensure she never regretted the decision. As Charlie nipped at the lace band on her panties, he wondered why she chose this time and this place for her submission. Stormy rarely did anything without a conscious decision, even when her actions seemed impulsive. What did she expect to happen? Her breathing quickened as Charlie pulled off her panties with his teeth, but she did not bring her hands into play. They gripped the bedspread, knuckles white. As long as she could channel her control inward to prevent herself from disregarding his and Pietro's directives, they could avoid the need to bind her. It appeared, at least for the time being, that she was doing just that. For someone so impulsive and rebellious, that couldn't be easy. He admired her resolve. The scent of Stormy's arousal overtook his mind and reflex threatened to overcome deliberation. He fought for control of his www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio own desires—the overwhelming urge to bury his face between her legs—and instead concentrated on testing the limits of her will. If she could override her impulses, then so could he! With Pietro focused on tormenting her above the waist, Charlie partook of her luscious legs. Every few moments, he diverted his attention to nibble on her labia, being very careful to avoid her clit. Each time, she struggled not to grind into his face. Each time, she inched closer to breaking the verbal ties that bound her. Pietro matched Charlie's pattern—intensifying his attack on her nipples when Charlie approached her pussy and drawing away when Charlie retreated. Charlie wanted to run his tongue up the length of Stormy's slit and suck her deeply into his mouth, but he resisted. The night's adventure wasn't about his desires at all. He always believed her pleasure took precedence, but she seldom remained passive enough for him to take his time. The urgency and determination with which she typically attacked sex fueled his own passions, making it nearly impossible for him to even attempt to slow and savor the ride. Stormy whisper-chanted a song of both pleasure and purpose as she surrendered to their hands and tongues. The tension in her muscles grew until she thrummed like a stringed instrument with every new touch; her gasps providing percussive accompaniment. They struck chords in her body, and she writhed to its harmonic rhythms. And yet, while she gave her body to them, she remained in control of her mind. As long as she fought herself, she also fought her climax. Charlie knew this from his own experiences with control. She challenged them with her passive body and impassive mind; dared them to break her wall of will and free the orgasm trapped inside. It was their reward, not hers, and she wasn't going to give it up without a fight. Any physical restraint paled in comparison to the mental armor she wore. Unlike others' varied reasons for submission, Stormy needed no one's permission to be her true sexual self—no one's control to release www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! a repressed inner slut. No, not Stormy. Charlie knew that she intentionally held herself in reserve, and that they'd have to work for and to her satisfaction. Teamed with Pietro, he felt up to the challenge. Her head whipped from side to side as Pietro assaulted her nipples with his teeth and tongue, pausing every so often to kiss her. "Let it go," he growled into her mouth. "Let...it...go!" Through clenched teeth, she replied, "Make me." It both pleased and surprised Charlie to discover that Pietro understood Stormy's resistance. The younger man obviously knew her very well. Abandoning his careful approach, Charlie decided it was time to stop teasing and really turn up the heat. He caught Pietro's eye and a silent signal passed between them—a pact, of sorts. The skin of Stormy's inner thighs tasted of chocolate. She had no use for expensive perfumes, opting instead to use pure cocoa bean oil. The scent, carried on her own sweet musk, made Charlie's mouth water. He poised over her pussy and inhaled deeply, holding his breath and allowing her to infuse him. Her arousal was evident, and he traced a finger through her folds, following the trail of wetness into the crack of her ass. Rimming her with her own juices, he lowered his mouth to her sex. Hovering—scant millimeters from contact—the heat of his breath made her moan in anticipation, and when he worked a finger into her ass, she bucked right into his mouth. The involuntary reaction seemed to anger her, and she tried to pull away, only to find herself held in place by his hands. As Pietro continued adoring her breasts, Charlie's tongue deftly explored her clit. He took advantage of the opportunity to savor her, but also strove to make the pleasure overwhelm her mind. The appreciative sighs, he soon realized, were his own. Peripherally aware of Pietro's movements, his actions didn't register until the smell of Stormy's body oil filled the room. Charlie lifted his eyes in time to see Pietro pouring the oil onto her breasts, and his intent became clear. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio Stormy thrashed as the first drops of melted candle wax landed on her nipple, and Charlie sucked hard on her clit. A guttural sound escaped her lips. Together, he and Pietro mounted a continuous tactile assault—not giving her a chance to think. With the combination of the pain and the pleasure, Stormy's body began to overtake her mind. "No!" she screamed—not to them, but to herself as she fought to maintain control of her mind. It was apparently the only word in her vocabulary, for she repeated it like a mantra. Charlie recognized the signs of her impending orgasm: the ragged breathing, the twitching of muscles in her thighs, the feverish feel of her skin. Her hands, however, were neither woven through his hair nor toying with her own nipples. They still gripped the bedspread, knuckles white. Charlie matched each "No!" with a "Yes!" spoken against her pussy, and Pietro added his voice in support with each drop of wax. He thought they were close—so incredibly close—but Stormy somehow tapped into a reserve of strength. Her hands relaxed, and her body went limp. Charlie grew concerned that she'd passed out until Pietro motioned for him to continue. As he again placed his mouth over her clit, Pietro began to speak. "No ocultarás en tu mente." Stormy groaned. "¡No ocultarás en tu mente!" Her hands curled into fists. "Let it go, Stormy!" A light sheen of sweat coated her body, and her back arched. After peeling the still-soft layers of wax from Stormy's oiled nipples, Pietro again reached for the candle. Charlie threw one arm blindly to his side and felt around until his hand located the ice bucket on the bureau. He grabbed a handful of the crushed ice and waited until Pietro again raised the candle over her chest. He tilted the candle, pooling its wax, and nodded at Charlie. Backing off only long enough to throw the ice into his mouth, www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! Charlie sucked her into his mouth just as Pietro drizzled the melted wax onto her nipples. Stormy's body convulsed with her climax and a primal scream rose from deep inside. Her heels pounded his back in conjunction with each wave under his tongue, nearly knocking the air from his lungs. She sobbed, chest heaving, and threw her arms across her face. Charlie looked up at Pietro, puzzled. The gentleness in his eyes spoke of great understanding, and Charlie felt as if he'd missed something—something profound. He didn't understand why Stormy wept. It disturbed him for he'd never seen her cry. Pietro understood, though. He wrapped the bedspread around Stormy, and she immediately rolled onto her side, curling into a ball. Pietro then stood, extending his hand to Charlie. "Come with me. She needs to be alone now—to gather herself." The last thing Charlie wanted to do was to leave Stormy's side, especially following such an emotionally wrenching experience, but Pietro insisted. Given that he'd shown such empathy, Charlie reluctantly consented. He didn't understand what had just transpired, and he hoped Pietro would explain. Stormy's breathing had settled, and she appeared to have fallen into an exhausted slumber. His knees protested when he rose too quickly, and a wave of vertigo swept through him. Grabbing a bottle of wine, Charlie followed Pietro onto the balcony. They sat for a few minutes in silence—comfortably ensconced in the lounge chairs—as they passed the wine back and forth. "Have you ever..." Pietro turned toward him. "No, that was the first time—the first successful time. We tried once before, but I couldn't get her there alone. Your involvement made all the difference. She trusts you, and we... I think we make a great team." "Well, it's obvious she trusts you, too. And I think you're better at reading her signals. I had no idea..." Charlie paused to www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio collect his thoughts, hoping the tinge of envy wasn't coming through. The more he observed the young man, the greater his admiration. Stormy was right: Pietro was far more than a play thing. "It was... different. Is she...?" "She's fine." "But, how did you know...?" "She told me once, almost a year ago, that no one had ever gotten her off without her making a conscious decision to allow it—to let it go. What you call pillow talk, right? She wasn't boasting or anything. And, no—before you ask—I don't think she meant it as a challenge. Not to me, anyway. It was more like an admission of a... a flaw. I got the impression that she felt was missing out on something." "Okay. I can follow that line of thinking. It's pure Stormy. But, why try again now? She..." "...never does anything without a reason," Pietro finished Charlie's sentence, nodding. "She expected something from this. What? I'm not sure. But I believe it was as much for our benefit as for hers. I've no doubt—judging by her reaction—that she achieved at least her part of the objective. What we've gained— you and I—is still up in the air." Charlie fetched another bottle of wine. Returning to the balcony, he studied the barely-visible Pacific horizon. "When I met her, she was... just coming into herself. She was ambitious and determined, but still a little wary—as if she couldn't quite trust her own instincts. I thought I was the grounded and wise one, but over the years, she's taught me so much about myself. Always gently, though—just by creating an environment conducive to growth. I never felt manipulated." "Which is exactly why she's so skilled at her trade." Pietro chuckled. "On their fiftieth wedding anniversary, my abuela was asked the secret of a successful marriage. She said something that has stuck in my mind to this day: Always make them think it's their idea. Stormy has that down to a science. We are willing putty in her hands... and you'll never hear me complain about www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! that." "You'll never hear her complain about it, either," she added from the doorway. Both men jumped at the sound of her voice. Charlie rose and took her in his arms, bedspread and all. "You okay?" "No," she laughed. "I'm way better than just okay. Thank you—both of you. I don't think anyone else on the planet could've done what you two just did." Charlie held her at arm's length. "And what exactly did we just do? I mean, besides the obvious. That was about more than just getting off. I'm an obtuse guy, but I'm not totally oblivious." Accepting a glass of wine from Pietro, she walked over to the balcony's railing and leaned against it. "That's difficult to articulate. In many ways," she began, "I'm very rigid." Both men started to protest, but she held up her hand. "I don't trust easily, and even when I do, I'm still guarded. My body has never overruled my mind—until tonight. I've wanted to know if it was possible for a while now... and, in a broader sense, to gain some insight into how people subconsciously let go of their ingrained patterns of thought. It's part of our objective, after all, for this new campaign. Here, in Costa Rica, I think the body has more influence over the mind. I don't know why, though. Just another one of my kooky, improvable theories. The combination of you two and the location just brought it all together for me. Spontaneous, but perfect, timing." "Do you always analyze your orgasms? I mean, is it ever just a roll in the hay for you, or does it always have a deeper meaning?" Pietro teased. Before Stormy could reply, he stood and stretched. "I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted, for some reason." "Can't imagine why." Charlie turned to Stormy as he followed Pietro back into the room. "Coming?" She grinned and took his hand. "Well, I'm not gonna analyze that choice of words." www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio

Four Saturday started easily enough, although Charlie felt emotionally hungover. The previous evening's experiences still swirled in his mind. He sifted through them for deeper meaning, but their profundity still escaped him. Deciding that caffeine might help bring things into sharper focus, he extricated himself from Stormy's embrace. She stirred, but did not wake. He assumed Pietro was in the shower and, for a moment, was tempted to join him. Too soon, he decided, although the desire was certainly there. Stormy said she expected sparks, and Charlie hoped she wouldn't be disappointed. Pietro emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, and Charlie admired his physique. "Do you work at that chest, or are you still young enough to take it for granted?" To his ears, the query sounded rather snarky, and he hoped Pietro wouldn't take offense. "For the first time in my life," he replied without rancor, "I've had to work out to maintain my fitness level. Until recently, I had an active enough lifestyle that it was unnecessary. Guiding those zip line tours was hard work... and I miss that, in a way. But, I love what I'm doing now 'cause I feel more like I'm helping my country. That means a lot to me." "Yeah, I get that. I'm gonna go find us some coffee. Join me?" Pietro pulled on a pair of board shorts and grabbed a t-shirt, nodding. They walked for a while before Charlie broke the silence, "Been to the States yet?" "Not in many years," Pietro admitted, "but as soon as I get the office here fully operational, I plan to visit. Stormy wants me to meet everyone." "I'm sure you'll be a big hit with the others. Sam, I think, www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! especially. She's even more forthright than Stormy in terms of sexual openness." "So I've been told. She's your sister-in-law, right?" "In the eyes of the law, yes. In my eyes, she's a sister, a lover, a friend, and much more. Richard and I are the only blood relatives in our little family and, until your arrival, the only men." Charlie's phone interrupted their conversation. "Speak of the devil," he said, looking at the display then bringing it to his ear. "Good morning, brother o' mine. What's up?" The day took an abrupt turn as he listened to Richard's shaky voice. Pietro watched him, curiosity and concern evident in his expression. Charlie bounced from shock to fear to anger. "So, she's gonna be okay?" he finally asked, and his shoulders relaxed a bit to the reply. "No, let me tell Stormy. We can be there by evening, if you need us. Okay. Then we'll wait to hear from you again." He started walking back to the hotel as soon as the call ended, and Pietro followed in silence. While an explanation would probably be appreciated, Charlie instead spent the time trying to figure out what to say to Stormy—and how to say it. She jerked open the door as they approached and, running, threw herself into Charlie's arms. They clung to one another, not speaking, for several minutes. When Stormy let go, he held her at arm's length. "You know?" "Mia called while you were out. I was in the shower, and I missed her call. She didn't leave a message. When I called back, there was no answer—but I know something's wrong. It's Sam, isn't it?" Charlie studied her. "How could you know that?" "I never did get around to telling you her big news yesterday, did I? The keynote speaker at some fancy schmancy reproductive health issues convention took ill, and the organizers asked her to fill in at the last minute—since she'd www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio received that documentary grant and was right there handy in Pittsburgh. Anyway, she was so excited to have the opportunity to present her findings to a room full the country's leading researchers in sexual health. "She said she was rushing around trying to pull everything together in time and mentioned that there was some controversy around the event. They were planning extra security. Sam's message last night didn't go into great detail, but I got the impression that some crackpot group had targeted the convention as a threat to decency and morality because it featured presentations that addressed health issues for same sex couples... and premarital sex... and abortion. All the hot button topics, y'know. The media vultures were circling, too— smelling some sensationalism. "So, spill it. What happened?" she prompted. Charlie ushered them into the room. "First things first: she's okay. Just a concussion and some minor abrasions. "That, however, is the good news. She's been accused of fraud. It won't hold up in court, of course, but it's gonna cost 'em to fight it." "Fraud?" Pietro interjected. "Now I'm really confused." "The grant application," Stormy surmised. Charlie nodded. "Someone leaked it to the media, and the zealots are insisting she intentionally falsified government documents. I picked that thing apart before she sent it—and so did Richard's attorney—and while it is definitely misleading, it's not fraudulent." "That's not the point, though," Pietro noted. "The point is to cast doubt, and they've already accomplished that. It will hurt them financially. Your legal system allows for that, does it not?" "Yeah. It's called defamation—and they have grounds to pursue charges of both libel and slander, according to Richard's attorney. Legal battles are expensive, though, and defamation is especially tough to prove. The damage has been done. While a verdict—or a settlement—might recoup their financial losses, it www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! won't do anything to repair a reputation, especially in today's political climate." "And that reputation was already stained with sex." Stormy paced the room. "There's more. What aren't you telling us?" "The media's already connected Sam with Richard and his publications. Who do you think is next to be considered guilty by association?" "Shit!" "¡Mierda!" Charlie smiled at their simultaneous exclamations. "Exactly. Our job just got an order of magnitude more difficult." "What about Mia and Jess?" "Well, the business ties are there, of course. Can't do anything about that. But, they're a bit removed from the controversy. They should weather this without too much trouble, although I'm sure that old tabloid exposé about our relationships will resurface. It's probably a good time for us to be out of the country." "Well, yeah," Stormy agreed, "but we're no help to Sam and Richard from this far away. Do you think we should go back—in a show of solidarity if nothing else?" Charlie held up his hands. "I offered. Richard said he didn't think it'd serve any purpose at this point, but he's supposed to call me back. It's only a few more days, though." "A few days is an eternity in today's gossip-hungry world of instantaneous gratification. What about a preemptive strike? I have media contacts, and so do you—and so does Richard. Lots of them. We could choose one and give an exclusive..." "Time out," Pietro interjected. "I think we should head back to Alajuela and work from there until we know which way we need to jump. We'll be near the airport, and I can do some damage control with my government if needed. Given the fact that the first campaign was overtly sexual in nature, I don't think we'll have to worry about our contract. Our secular liberal government isn't as susceptible to pressures from what are—in www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio this country, anyway—fringe groups. However, if there's pressure from the States..." Stormy started throwing stuff into her suitcase before Pietro finished making his suggestion. "We can work from the office there, and crash at Pietro's place." She looked to him for consent, and he nodded as he jammed a few items of clothing into his duffle and pulled its drawstring. "Well, it's said that there's no such thing as bad publicity," Charlie fetched his bag from the closet alcove and followed suit, "but if that was true, we'd have no need for those defamation laws. Would we now?" They'd not been in Jaco long enough to scatter their belongings, so packing didn't take much time. Once the food and drink were stowed in the cooler, they were ready to hit the road. Stormy went to the lobby to check them out while Pietro loaded the bags in the Jeep. With one last glance around the room, Charlie pulled the door closed with a sigh of regret. After all, they had planned for at least two more nights of Jaco's hospitality—and all that it entailed. Their itinerary fell victim to outside forces of bigotry and intolerance, and Charlie found that difficult to reconcile in a place so passionate about peace. The trip out of Jaco was much more solemn than the trip into it. Conversation dealt with strategy and damage control. They brainstormed and they plotted. They tried to cover every contingency with some plan of action, no matter how simple. Stormy and Charlie made calls whenever a wireless signal was available, staying on top of the developments. As they approached Alajuela, Stormy's phone rang with an unrecognized caller. "Ready or not, here they come," she said as she pressed the button to route it to her voice mail. From that point on, the calls rolled in at the rate of two or three each hour. At first, it was just the local news media—Pittsburgh newspapers and television stations—but by the time they unloaded their bags at Pietro's studio apartment, the national networks were also calling. www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! Having just moved in, his bachelor's quarters didn't boast much in the way of furniture. Pietro didn't seem like the type to hang out at home, either. A large mattress, piled with oversized pillows, occupied one corner nook. The kitchen area filled another. A small bathroom separated them. The other end of the room held an old table and chairs, a desk constructed of milk crates, and an overstuffed sofa. It wasn't fancy, by any means, but it was clean and comfortable. Pietro's cupboards were bare, but they threw together a decent lunch with last night's leftovers from the cooler. As they ate, they continued to toss around ideas. "Y'know," Stormy swallowed a mouthful before continuing, "we need to see what's already been broadcast—or printed—on this whole mess before we can really decide what to do. Is that Internet café down the street open on Saturdays?" Pietro nodded. "Until midnight, I believe, although it gets crowded toward evening. Not that many locals have access from their homes yet. Businesses still comprise the bulk of the broadband business." "Okay, then. Let's go over there, pull whatever we can find, print it out, and digest it. Then we can decide how to respond to the media. Right now, I'm wary of granting any interviews. They just get twisted and quoted out of context. Issuing a statement might be our best bet." "Sounds like a plan." Charlie began putting away the remaining food. "I'll take local television, Stormy can search the local print media sites, and Pietro can hit the news wires and national networks. If we split it up that way, it won't take us long, and it should give us a good idea of which of these calls to respond to—if any. Hopefully, we'll hear from Richard again before we finish." Within an hour, they were back at the apartment with close to fifty pages of printed stories and a jump drive full of downloaded video clips. Pietro ran out to pick up something for dinner while Stormy and Charlie poured over the news coverage. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio It appeared that the frenzy focused on those aspects of the conference related to homosexuality. Sam's presentation, while under attack, wasn't the primary target. "I say we do our own press release," Pietro ventured, as the sat cross-legged on the floor eating moo goo gai pan with chopsticks. "My government respects a proactive approach to conflict. If we've done nothing by the start of business on Monday, it could look bad—as if we're guilty of something." "I was thinking along those lines, myself, but I wanna know what Sam and Richard are doing before we make a move. If they're talking to the press, we may be able to piggyback that." On cue, Charlie's phone chimed with Richard's ring tones. "I'm gonna put you on speaker," Charlie informed him after the greetings were taken care of. "That way, I won't have to repeat everything you tell me." Richard's voice echoed off the bare walls as he relayed the events of the last twenty-four hours. "Sam is home from the hospital now. They wanted to keep her a little while longer because she was still feeling kinda dizzy, but I brought her the best medicine—a milkshake—and she felt better almost instantly. We just sent a very brief note to AP stating that Sam was expected to make a full recovery and expressing our regret that some people seemed unable to protest peacefully. Our attorney advised us not to address any of the allegations of wrongdoing, so we steered clear of that. Have you been contacted by the media yet?" Stormy's laughter answered his question. "I'll take that as a yes. Here's the next question, though: Have you spoken to any reporters? I'd advise extreme caution. Avoid live interviews at all costs. Hell, avoid interviews in general. They'll just twist your words. If you can just sit tight for—" Pietro interrupted. "Excuse me, Richard, but I get the impression that you believe all this fuss is just gonna blow over in a few days. If that's the case, can we use it to our advantage www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! while we have the spotlight?" Stormy caught Charlie's eye and winked, as if to say: See? I told you he was good. "Who is speaking?" Richard asked, and it prompted Stormy to make proper introductions. When she finished, Richard continued, "Welcome aboard, Pietro. I've heard a great deal about your... skills. I must admit that I'm still a little shellshocked by the whole ordeal to think proactively, but if you can salvage a silver lining out of this mess, I'd be most impressed." Charlie seconded his brother and added, "Have you ever experienced media hysteria? I get the feeling that Costa Rica doesn't get swept away in it as much as we do back home. Don't get me wrong, amigo. I'm behind you one hundred percent." Stormy coughed into her hand at his choice of words, and Charlie winked at her. However, the innuendo just sailed past Pietro, who focused intently on the problem at hand. "We don't have the tabloid atmosphere, but controversy is common. I'm just wondering if it'd be worthwhile to emphasize that passion— even same-sex passion—doesn't have to be accompanied by violence; that there are places in which peace embraces passion. Not only might it help our campaign, but it also might leave egg on the faces of those who stirred up the whole mess." "Gracious, but he has a sexy voice!" Sam's voice interrupted. Stormy laughed. "Well, we know that bump to the head didn't hurt her libido!" "Squelching that woman's libido would be the sexual equivalent of hell freezing over." Charlie turned toward the telephone. "How are you feeling, Sam?" "Seriously pissed off. My darling husband, Doctor Dick, won't let me out of the house, and I'm in the mood to hurt someone. Those assholes threw a wet blanket over my kick-ass presentation. I'm still seeing red. He's afraid I'll just stir things up again, and—to be perfectly honest—his fears are wellfounded, but so what?" Charlie could visualize the expression on his brother's face www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio by the exasperated tone in his voice as it carried over the phone's speaker. "There are much better uses for your passion, dear heart. Leave the unpleasantness to the intolerant. You're working on a new project down there, Stormy?" "Just getting started, yes. But," she added immediately, "we don't want to do anything that will put Sam in an awkward position—or, rather, a more awkward position." Sam's hearty laughter filled the room and danced off the walls. "Sugar, this is nothing compared to my other sticky situations." "Alright, you two," Richard cut them off. "We've all got more important things to do than trade innuendo. I just wanted to make sure you all were up to date, and that our little scuffle here didn't throw a wrench in your plans. I trust you to do what's best. We'll be fine here. The worst, I believe, is over. The lawyers can handle the fallout behind closed doors, and that— we all know—will likely drag on for many months. I just wanted to make sure you were alright and give you an update. Good luck!" After several minutes of fond farewells, the call ended with promises to keep one another apprised of any pertinent developments. Charlie shrugged and waved the sheath of news printouts. "Now what?" Pietro collected the little cardboard cartons and, removing their wire handles, placed them in the microwave to reheat the remainder of their dinner. "Why don't we crank out a press release right now, spend the night here, and in the morning, head over to east coast? It's just a day earlier than originally planned, and we're almost a third of the way to Puerto Viejo already." "Works for me," Stormy nodded. "There's only one condition..." Charlie grinned, anticipating her next words, but Pietro cocked an eyebrow in query. www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! "I get to sleep in the middle!" Pietro surprised them both by responding, "You had the middle last night... and on the beach the night before. In my ever-so-humble opinion, I think someone else should have a turn. Now," he shifted gears before either could reply, "let's get to work." It took them nearly three solid hours to wordsmith the press release to everyone's satisfaction. In the final analysis, the four paragraph document said nothing of consequence, but it did so in an utterly charming and laid back fashion. Pietro sprinted back to the Internet café just before it closed to upload the document to their web site while Stormy and Charlie sent text messages directing their media contacts to the site. Breaking out the Flor de Caña, Stormy mixed sweet coconut milk cocktails to toast the success of their effort. The stresses of the day, their exhaustion, and the alcohol proved to be a potent combination, and contagious yawning soon overtook them. Charlie was the first to strip down to his boxers and fall onto the mattress. He fell asleep listening to Stormy and Pietro cleaning up the dinner mess. When he woke, sometime in the wee hours of the morning, he found himself quite cozily wedged between his snoozing companions. Stormy's bare back nestled against his chest, just as his nestled against Pietro. He could feel the younger man's breath against the back of his neck; his arm draped casually over Charlie's waist and resting along the curve of Stormy's exposed hip. Grateful to be wrapped in such comfort, Charlie took advantage of the moment to reflect on their situation. The crisis of the moment seemed to be under control, and it provided an interesting context for their objective. Charlie wondered how they could possibly use it to their advantage. By the time the campaign went live, the day's news would already be history. Other such events would undoubtedly occur, though, and while their cadre might not be directly involved, the currents of public opinion swirled around such happenings. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio While not all of Costa Rica's tourism originated in the United States, it comprised the largest percentage. The ads would run be featured on television and radio, in newspapers and magazines, on buses and billboards, and on the Internet. Possibilities for background music and celebrity cameos floated through his mind. Nuance. Key words and phrases teased his consciousness, and he wondered what Stormy would think of them. She stirred as he thought of her, murmuring something unintelligible in her sleep. Charlie tenderly moved her hair out of the way and kissed the back of her neck. "Bathroom," he whispered in explanation, extricating himself from their embrace. The space he vacated closed as if a magnetic field pulled their bodies together, even though neither woke. When he returned, he slipped into bed behind Pietro and, wrapping his arm around both of his companions, drifted back to sleep. The morning sun peeked through the blinds, waking them shortly after dawn. Charlie hated to leave the coziness of their nest, but there was work to be done. Well-rested and with renewed determination, they opted to get on the road and put a few miles behind them before stopping for breakfast at one of the many roadside sodas. In the larger metropolitan areas, the country's magic was somewhat muted, and Charlie felt the coast calling him toward its peace. About forty kilometers outside of San José, Turrialba offered them an opportunity to stretch their legs, replenish their beverage supplies, and check their email. They spent the remainder of the morning in the small town. Its biggest tourist attraction was white water rafting along the nearby Pacuare and Reventazón Rivers, and its atmosphere reminded Charlie more of the Normal Rockwell version of Main Street than any place he'd ever visited outside of the United States. Once back on the road, they made good time on the descent into Siquerres and on to the semi-seedy port city of Limón. Stopping only long enough to refuel the Jeep, Pietro www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! relinquished the wheel to Stormy, who handled the last leg of the drive south along the Caribbean coast to Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, just a few kilometers from the Panamanian border. She eased her way past the surf shops, restaurants, and local craft vendors on the bustling narrow street. After they checked in at Rockin' J's, a staff person gave them a quick tour of all the improvements that had been made since their last visit. The proprietor had left detailed instructions for his crew in the event Stormy visited while he was away on business. In the four short years since its opening, the laid-back resort had grown to encompass everything a traveler seeking relaxation might require. Rather than partake of the fare at El Charritos, the hostel's new Mexican restaurant, the trio decided to stroll back into town for a late dinner at Chile Rojo. The Pimp Suite, unfortunately, would not be available until Monday night, but the next best thing—a newlyrefurbished loft in the central courtyard—was vacant due to a last-minute cancellation. The walk felt wonderful to Charlie after spending the bulk of the day in the car. While the roads from San José to the Caribbean coast lacked the outrageous bumpiness that characterized those surrounding Monteverde, they made up for it with stretches of narrow, mist-shrouded, precipitous curves and considerably heavier traffic. The potholes were less frequent, but that simply made them more surprising. Puerto Viejo drew surfers from all over the world to its famed Salsa Brava, literally 'angry sauce,' which a popular boarders' blog described as as intense as any coral reef double-up right tube in the world. The atmosphere reminded Charlie of Jamaica's less touristy locales blended with the ambiance of Costa Rica's Pacific beaches. Rastas had a substantial, albeit quiet, presence, and the smell of burning ganja occasionally wafted through the air. Charlie watched Pietro use his innate charm to get them a quieter table in the corner with a nice view of the street. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio "Do you surf?" he asked as soon as they'd ordered a round of drinks. "That's a matter of opinion," Pietro laughed. "I grew up around Santa Elena, in the cloud forest, so I'm at home in the canopy. But, I've spent a little time in the water—just enough that I don't embarrass myself on a board. I'm way out of my league here, though. I'll leave these swells to the serious surfers." Stormy winked and reached below the table to run her hands along each man's thigh. "Speaking of swells..." The men exchanged a knowing glance and continued their conversation. "I've heard it said many times that surfing is the closest you can get to oneness with the currents that flow through all things." "Ah, a Taoist perspective," Pietro nodded, surprising Charlie with the proper pronunciation. "I can see why the devotees would have that view, but the same can be said for any activity in which we place ourselves in the hands of nature or," he cocked his head toward Stormy and his tone shifted, "completely in the hands of another." "A toast, then," Charlie raised his glass. "To peace within passion." "A la paz dentro de la pasión," Pietro repeated. Stormy simply smiled and touched her glass to theirs. "Once again, you're onto something," she added after they'd each taken a drink. "Passion is, by its very nature, a violent force. To find peace within it is nothing short of profound." The waiter interrupted them long enough to take their orders. All opted for the sushi with wasabi sauce and another round of frozen margaritas. As night fell, the foot traffic along the street doubled, and the sounds of reggae spilled from various bars and shops; not loudly enough to inhibit conversation, just present and contributing to the relaxed, yet festive, mood. They monopolized their table well after the food was gone, drinking and talking as other diners came and went. Stormy www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! flirted shamelessly with both men and, by the time they polished off their fourth round of drinks, the men flirted with one another as well. Charlie noted the familiar sparkle in Stormy's eyes each time Pietro upped the ante. He wondered how much of the bawdy banter stemmed from genuine desire and how much—if any—was due to the alcohol. Regardless, he enjoyed the repartee and knew that, if nothing more, Stormy's growing arousal would make the rest of the evening very interesting. The more time he spent with Pietro, the more Charlie grew to respect and admire him. His initial assessment of the man, while tempered by Stormy's opinion, was that of local arm candy. Charlie felt a little guilty for allowing his own biases to outweigh Stormy's insistence that Pietro offered more than just charisma and good looks. Sexual attraction grew right along with the respect and admiration until Charlie found himself unable to look away from Pietro's mouth. The memory of his full, soft lips filled Charlie's mind, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to feel them circling his cock. His head swam with the image, making him question his own sobriety. Stormy drew his attention with a hand to his cheek, turning his head toward her. "Charlie..." Her voice pulled his eyes into focus, and he found her smiling at him. "I'm gonna take care of the check and use the ladies' room. Be right back." She kissed his cheek as he rose. Stormy seemed to take the comfort with her, for what remained in her absence was an awkward silence. Absorbed in his thoughts, Charlie stared into his drink. When Pietro made small talk, he answered, but the words carried no meaning to him. It was his tone—and his cadence—that made Charlie's mind dance with the possibilities. He shook his head to clear it, wondering if he'd had too much to drink or if his desire for the man sitting across the table inspired the vertigo. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio "She did that on purpose," Charlie opined when the fog lifted. "You mean leaving us alone? Yes, I believe she did." Draining his drink in one gulp, he stood. "Let's wait for her outside, then." Pietro grinned and pushed his chair away from the table. "Lead the way, amigo." Charlie walked slowly, expecting to feel the effects of the liquor given his earlier disorientation, but he apparently was not as drunk as he believed. That left him with the realization the feelings stemmed from the intoxicating company, rather than the tequila. Once on the street, Charlie led Pietro into the nearest shop where they browsed as they waited for Stormy to find them. In the deepest corner of the store, he stopped suddenly to admire a wooden carving only to feel Pietro step into his back. Blocked from view by the display of souvenirs, Charlie ran his hand around his companion's hip and pulled him closer. Pietro gasped, but didn't move away. Being roughly the same height, Charlie felt the hot exhalation as the sharp intake was slowly released against the back of his neck. He longed to feel it against his groin and wondered just how far he could push the tico. While it was clear that he enjoyed their flirting, the actual follow-through might intimidate him. They'd not spoken of the events on the beach beyond those few words the following morning. While Charlie hoped to get much more intimate, he didn't want a deer-in-the-headlights partner. He wanted Pietro fully interactive—asking, perhaps even pleading, for it. Charlie envied Stormy her many experiences with the gorgeous young man, and he intended to remedy that inequity at the earliest opportunity. Leaning to one side and turning his head, he spoke into Pietro's ear, "Get a cab to wait for Stormy. I don't want her walking alone, but you and I are getting out of here right now." "Sí." Pietro's throaty whisper caused a shiver down his www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! spine. Charlie pulled away, reluctantly, and gestured for him to get moving. Weaving his way toward the counter, he purchased a tin of whipped cocoa butter before leaving the shop. Pietro waited just outside. If he observed Charlie's purchase, he gave no indication. Instead, he pointed to the car idling in front of the restaurant and said that its driver had instructions to transport Stormy back to the hammock hostel when she was ready. "¡Vayamos, muchacho!" Pietro slapped his shoulder and set off at a brisk pace in the direction of Rockin' J's. Grinning, Charlie turned to follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Stormy peeking out of the restaurant. He motioned for her to join them, but she shook her head. "Go!" she waved, mouthing the word and flashing him a brilliant smile. She held up her cell phone to indicate that she wanted to make a call. Minx, he thought as he hurried to catch up with Pietro, not believing the phone excuse for a moment. He vowed to get her back for being so devious. The crowds thinned as he distanced himself from the businesses, and it grew very dark. The half kilometer between "downtown" Puerto Viejo and the Bohemian-style hostel was illuminated only by wan moonlight. Charlie scanned the road ahead for Pietro, but saw only inky shadows. Leaving the light behind, his eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to avoid stumbling into a pothole. He concentrated on the road under his feet until Pietro's voice startled him. "What took you so long?" The younger man sat on a low, stone fence that lined the courtyard of a cabana-style hotel. The wrought-iron gate was propped open, and he could barely see the lights from the rental office at the end of a winding path. The municipality didn't invest in street lights and, in that particular moment, Charlie appreciated the frugality. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio Rather than answer with words, he stepped off the dirt road, took Pietro's face in his hands, and wove his fingers through the back of his thick, black hair. As he leaned forward, their mouths met with a hunger kept in check only by propriety. Away from public scrutiny, their stifled passion roared to the surface, and they kissed with an urgency bordering on desperation. Charlie eventually straightened his arms, attempting to read the expression on Pietro's face, but the darkness inhibited his vision. The younger man's body, however, communicated very clearly as a pair of hands grabbed the front pockets of Charlie's jeans and pulled him closer. He groaned as his thigh came into contact with Pietro's crotch. What would have been immediately noticeable in daylight became evident only through touch. Heat penetrated the worn denim of his jeans, and Charlie fought the urge to touch with more than his leg. His own cock hardened at the thought. They reluctantly separated when sounds of revelry alerted them to an approaching group of pedestrians. It annoyed Charlie that he impulsively felt the need to hide their desires. They were consenting adults, after all. With a partner of the opposite sex, such inhibitions were merely a function of modesty. In that moment, he completely understood Stormy's quest to bring peace to passion, even if just in one small corner of the planet. "C'mon." Pietro stood. The tone of his voice told Charlie that he felt the same irritation. At a half jog, it took them less than a minute to reach the bright orange concrete wall of Rockin' J's. They slipped through the gate and closed it behind them, skirting the bar with its crowd of diverse patrons. The sounds folk music and scent of hashish followed them along the sparkling mosaic path; present, but unobtrusive. There was nothing discordant or jarring about the atmosphere. It all belonged. They all belonged, regardless of background or orientation. Leaving the brighter lights behind, the men circled the www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! centrally-located structure and quickly climbed the wooden stairs to its loft. Charlie paused at the top to unplug the string of multi-colored Chinese lanterns lining the staircase; the equivalent of a Do Not Disturb sign to the other guests. The only remaining light was the glow of the bonfire on the beach, some fifty meters distant. Once again in darkness, Charlie backed his companion against a support pillar and attacked his mouth. Pietro sucked his tongue with a savage abandon. His hands tugged insistently at Charlie's t-shirt, and he stepped back to whip it over his head. Charlie opened his mouth to ask if Pietro was sure he wanted to proceed when he felt hands on his belt buckle. Any lingering questions in his mind about Pietro's desire for him floated away on the warm night air. Having received such clear confirmation, Charlie no longer felt any need to tread cautiously. He placed a hand on each of Pietro's broad shoulders and pushed him to his knees. He dropped willingly—eagerly, even—as his hands continued to unfasten Charlie's jeans. The faded denim slid over his hips and puddled at his feet. Stepping out of his sandals and pants, Charlie stood naked with Pietro kneeling before him. To one side, he could see the beach; to the other, the bar. However, due to the railing, he could only be seen from the waist up. Charlie looked down at the gorgeous man at his feet. Before he could speak, the lips he'd fantasized about earlier surrounded his cock. "Suck me!" he urged, grabbing a fistful of hair and pushing himself deeper into Pietro's throat. His opposite hand grasped the top of the railing to steady himself. The bonfire drew his eyes, but they didn't focus on it. It simply held his gaze as he thrust, almost like a dancer's focal point, keeping him balanced on his feet amidst the dizzying sensations. What he lacked in finesse, Pietro made up for in enthusiasm. Although he gagged several times, he never back away, and Charlie was far from gentle. The guttural sounds www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio emanating from Pietro's throat tickled the head of his cock, pushing him toward inexorable bliss. Nails raked his ass; the searing trails cooled by the near constant breeze. He tightened his fist and pulled again, eliciting another gag. "You want it?" he rasped as his orgasm began to build. Pietro paused only momentarily before nodding, and Charlie unloaded into his mouth with a long, low groan. When he caught his breath, he released his hold on Pietro's hair. "Damn. Get out of those pants. It's your turn." Pietro didn't speak, but he did stand and hurriedly remove his clothes. He stood before Charlie and stroked his cock. Admiring what he could see in the limited light, Charlie stepped forward reciprocate when Pietro's hands spun him roughly around and pushed him down. His chest hit the railing, and his legs were kicked apart. Before he had time to react, Pietro again dropped to his knees. The flames filled Charlie's vision once more as he felt his ass spread open and a mouthful of hot cum laved around its hole. That particular sensation—a tongue teasing his ass—was brand new to him, and the force with which it overpowered his mind took his breath away. His senses bled together until he heard the fire and smelled the music. He tasted sounds, peripherally, and realized they were coming from his own mouth. Words he'd never before spoken hung on the air, begging Pietro to fuck him. Now! Hard! His entire body screamed for the forceful penetration, and when he felt the head of Pietro's cock against him, Charlie pushed his body backward. Pietro growled and grasped his hips, fingertips digging into his flesh, as he buried himself in Charlie's ass. The burning took him from the inside out. His body moved of its own volition, meeting Pietro's thrusts. He couldn't get it hard enough or fast enough to drive the blinding desire from his mind. Charlie's world collapsed. Nothing existed beyond the white hot slide of the hard cock in his ass, filling him over and www.PurpleProsaic.com

¡Pura Vida! over again. It fed the embers of his earlier orgasm, stoking it until his cock throbbed for attention. Pietro picked up his pace, delivering faster and shorter thrusts as his breathing became ragged. "Yes!" Charlie managed to utter. "Please..." Pietro's hand wrapped around Charlie's hip, grabbing his cock and pumping it roughly as his climax overtook him. He fell, sweaty and breathless, against Charlie's back. His cock pulsed inside and then slid with greater ease, a balm to the burn. The world around Charlie gradually reappeared, and he became painfully aware of his own arousal—a secondary consideration until that moment. "Oh, fuck! That was hot!" Pietro jumped at the sound of Stormy's voice, and Charlie groaned at his abrupt withdrawal. Without the support of Pietro's hands, his legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor. Stormy gave a throaty giggle, although Charlie couldn't decide whether it was due to Pietro's surprise or his fall. Before he found his voice to inquire, she was crouched at his side, kissing his chest and face. "Do you have any idea how much I enjoyed watching you two?" she purred against his lips. Turning toward Pietro, she extended her hand. He accepted it, and she pulled him down for a kiss. "Thank you both!" Charlie chuckled and tried to sit up, but Stormy placed both hands on his shoulders to prevent it. "Not yet," she insisted. "I found this at the bottom of the stairs. I rather doubt you bought it for this purpose but, from what I can see in this light, your chest is pretty abraded." Stormy scooped a three-fingered dollop of the cocoa butter from the tin and smeared it across his upper chest where it had rested against the railing. She held out the container to Pietro, and he did the same. The two of them massaged the ointment into his wounds, relieving the discomfort he'd not yet felt. He savored their touch and placed his desire in their hands. www.PurpleProsaic.com

Alessia Brio Focusing on the gentle glide of their fingers over his flesh, his body floated. He wasn't sure whose hand first slipperily grasped his cock, but not long afterward, Stormy straddled him and lowered herself onto it. She writhed sinuously atop him, kissing Pietro as he fondled her breasts. The dance was as tender as the previous had been violent, and Charlie gave himself to it with equal surrender. It seemed to last a very long time, and he enjoyed every second. Stormy came several times in sublime slow motion before he felt his own orgasm approach. Pietro kissed him as he fell into the bliss. He blinked then—or thought he did—and when he reopened his eyes, the sun was peeking over the horizon. Charlie sat up and looked around, dazed. In a hammock, about two meters away, Stormy lounged with her sketch pad resting on the easel formed by her bent legs. She hummed a tune he felt he should recognize, but its title escaped him. Something reggae. Marley, perhaps. When he stood and walked toward her, she turned to look at him, a smile lighting her face. "Good morning! It's about time you got your lazy ass out of... um, off of... the floor." "Have I ever told you that you're a sneaky, manipulative, little vixen? You set us up! Not," he held up a finger, "that I'm complaining, mind you." "That's all it took," she smiled, handing him her sketch pad just as Pietro appeared at the top of the stairs with a carafe of coffee and three mugs hooked through his fingers. "I knew you two were the key." Charlie looked down at the paper to find another winning ad campaign: a collage of images—beach scenes, the rain forest, shops, restaurants. In each, the people exhibited complete relaxation with the diversity surrounding them. An arc of text across the top read: Come for the passion. Across the bottom, its complement: Surrender to the peace.

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¡Pura Vida! ****

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About the Author Take one part Appalachian redneck, one part wet dream, and one part filthy-minded wordsmith. Mix well and serve with chocolate-covered cherries. There you have the one and only Alessia Brio. Alessia writes all colors and flavors of erotica, from heterosexual to ménage to same sex, and from twisted to humorous to deeply touching. (Sometimes, usually by accident, it even qualifies as romance.) Her work has earned her critical acclaim in the form of a 2007 EPPIE for Best Erotica (fine flickering hungers), a Romantic Times Top Pick (Coming Together: For the Cure), and two Next Generation Indie Book Awards for Best Erotica (Coming Together: For the Cure in 2008 and Squeeze Play in 2009 with partner, Will Belegon) in addition to a plethora of glowing online reviews. The Internet is both her office and her playground. She can be found online at: http://www.alessiabrio.com http://www.twitter.com/Alessia_Brio http://alessiabrio.blogspot.com http://www.facebook.com/alessia.brio http://www.myspace.com/alessia_brio

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About the Author Coming Together Alessia is also the driving force behind the Coming Together erotic anthology series. Each volume in this series benefits a specific charity. Please check out the site and purchase a volume or three. It's erotic altruism at its finest! http://www.eroticanthology.com ****

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