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called him out again.
    “This lovely young man will be the example,” Mr. Manuel announced. He gave the other hired pool boys a toothy smile before turning it on Andrew. “Your trunks. Off.”
    Andrew blinked. They were, after all, outdoors. It was after dark, true, but the pool area was brilliantly lit. “Can’t I… um… go inside?”
    Mr. Manuel snickered. “Girl, look down. You’re practically nude already.”
    It was true. The swim trunks, made of a very light fabric, had molded to Andrew more perfectly than a Speedo. Half the hired pool boys were grinning, eyes fixed on his crotch.
    And the other half look like they skipped dinner and bummed an anti-nausea pill , Andrew realized. I’m not the only dude in this for money. Might as well earn it.
    Ignoring the rising heat in his face, Andrew wriggled out of his tight wet trunks. Two of the hired pool boys applauded. Another wolf-whistled amid a chorus of nervous giggles.
    “Very nice,” Mr. Manuel said. “Now gentleman, our example is the perfect eye candy. If you’re about his size or larger, please disrobe. If not… there’s no shame in a little mystery. Besides, we all know how big Pinocchio grew after a couple of pretty lies.” He grinned, toothier than ever, at the general laughter. “The guests know they aren’t supposed to touch. Not without your permission,” Mr. Manuel emphasized, patting Andrew’s face and pinching one flaming cheek. “If someone won’t take no for an answer, call my name. Otherwise, mix, mingle, make friends, and help yourself to champagne!”
    Andrew yanked his face away from Mr. Manuel. “That hurt!”
    “Then let me pinch you somewhere else. I’ll make it worth your while,” Mr. Manuel said, eyes sliding along Andrew’s rear.
    “I can’t. I’m a born again virgin,” Andrew blurted.
    “Oh. Really. Aren’t you all?” Mr. Manuel made a shooing motion. “Go. Back into the house. Tease some other poor bastard.”
    Back in the living room, Andrew barely recognized the guests, despite the fact he’d personally served drinks to at least a third of them. Now that dinner was past, the dress code had shifted from business casual to clothing optional. A few men had removed their shirts, exposing furry beer bellies and sagging man-boobs to anyone who wanted a look. The rest had gone whole hog, either down to G-strings or nothing at all. Andrew had never seen so many skinny legs, white buttocks, and dangling male bits in his life.
    His empty stomach and anti-nausea medicine proved no match for the response he garnered as a nude party favor. The grins, nods and dirty jokes were one thing. The “accidental” brushes against his chest, rear, and even his package were something else. Everywhere around him, guests were pairing up with hired pool boys. Most couples slipped away to bedrooms or darkened alcoves, but one elderly fat man settled on the sofa, a beautiful Asian man wedged between his massive thighs, head bobbing up and down as if they were quite alone in the world.
    Andrew gagged. It was too much like what he’d spied through a window at age fourteen—his father servicing Mr. Branson that way, then shifting onto his hands and knees to receive his own pleasure. Heart pounding crazily, acid burning the back of his throat, Andrew pushed through a leering trio of older men, all nude. Taking the first available corridor, he followed it to the end, arbitrarily turning right, then right again. A soft light glowed nearby. He followed it, hoping to heaven it was an exit, despite the fact he was naked.
    It wasn’t an exit. It was a bathroom. Well, the sort of bathroom Andrew had seen only in cable shows featuring lifestyles of the rich and famous.
    Rose-colored marble covered the floor and walls. A double vanity was decorated with white chrysanthemums in crystal bowls. Cake soap, still in the wax-sealed paper wrapping, sat beside each tap. Fluffy white towels hung from a free-standing brass rack. Touching them