Is this OJ-drinking dude just too good to be true? All we know is that we don't want him to go.
BuzzFeed Dude A Day
He's not the only one...

You press your toes deep into the warm sand and roll over onto your stomach. It's the first beach day of the year. You delicately unclasp your bathing suit top and let it fall onto the towel. You open up to page 30 of Between the World and Me and continue reading.

But how? Religion could not tell me. The schools could not tell me. The streets could not help me see beyond the scramble of each day—

"Oh, I just read that book, I liked it," a deep voice interjects.
You look up to see tall figure blocking the sun. Beams of light frame his torso.
He continues, "Ta-Nehisi Coates, right? She's great."
You squint again. "Actually it's a he," you reply, fumbling to clasp your top and sit up.
"That's what I said," the voice replies.
"No, you said—" you start, but something stops you. Maybe it's the pulsing, golden calfs, the toned, thick thighs, or maybe it's just the deep V pointing right to his penis. Whatever it is, that same something replaces your terse response with words you could feel but not think.
"I want to go to there," you mutter, staring deep into the orifices of his eyes. He looks confused.
"Where? The beach? Because we're already here. Oh, wait, or did you mean you want to go to my yacht? We could do that too."

You shrug and follow him to that yacht. You actually never go on boats, since you get sea sick, but you're not really thinking clearly right now. You've got other things to focus on. Like his butt.

He holds your hand as you walk onboard, and electricity pulses through to another part of your body.

"Would you like some orange juice?" he asks, offering you a glass.

You shake your head. You want something juicy, but it's not orange. Well, unless he uses fake tanner.

He tosses back the two glasses of orange juice. Some of it misses his mouth and trickles down his chest. The droplets glisten and quickly dry in the heat, leaving a sticky residue. One lands on a tattoo.

"Are those birds?" you ask, touching his skin.
"Burrs?"
"No four birds."
"Like four Larry Birds?"
"No, like, the animal birds. Those tattoos."
"I don't have any tattoos."
"Yes you do, right there," you insist, pointing again.
"There's nothing there."
You meet his quizzical gaze as his head starts to evaporate into thin air. His eyes turn into clouds and float away.
You grasp at his head. "No, hot guy, don't disappear, not again!" you yell, but it's too late.

You wake up on the beach, panting. Seagulls flutter in the sky above. It was all a dream. You sigh, disappointed, wondering if you can fall back asleep into the same fantasy. Probably not. But it was nice while it lasted.

Yours in thirst,
Sarah (@NotRubHarass)


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