"Too bad," the young man murmured, his smile fading a little. He reached down, scratching his crotch. Traci's eyes raced to his cock in spite of her resolve to look the other way. In the dim light she could see he was well endowed, the tight-fitting material of his white bathing suit showing off his prick and balls. His black hair hung rakishly over his forehead. Scratching a neatly trimmed beard and mustache the young man tucked his legs under him and started to stand up. "Well, I'm down here on the beach a lot. Just give a whistle."

Give a whistle? Traci's face darkened. Just what kind of girl did he think she was? She wasn't the usual kind of beach bitch hanging out in Venice.

"Hi, Don. You two met?"

Emily knew him? Of course. She would. She seemed to know everyone around town.

"Yeah… kinda met," he said, his attitude a little stiff toward her. Emily looked first at one, then the other, then smirked. She knew what had probably passed. Sighing, she reassured the young man that once he got to know Traci he'd like her.

"Anyway," Emily said, picking up her things and looking uneasily at the sky, "I'm glad you're here. It's awfully dark and I don't want to walk home alone."

That was one thing Traci agreed with. She'd been hearing about all the rapes and beatings going on around Venice lately. Some girls were found tucked under the pier in the morning, their bodies beaten and actually branded! Police were baffled, warning young women not to be on the beach after dark.

"We live close to each other toward Lincoln Boulevard. Come on," Emily said, helping Traci roll up the blanket.

The blonde tried to keep her eyes from meeting Don's. She was sure he was laughing at her. They'd probably have a lot of chuckles about her stand-offish attitude after she left.