"Paul! Catch!"
"Ah! Link, can you take it easy when you spike? We're playing volleyball, not boxing; you almost KO'd me."
In Los Angeles, on Santa Monica Beach, a group of scantily-clad men and women were playing beach volleyball.
The men were mostly shirtless, wearing athletic shorts.
The women were all in bikinis, red, black, pink, their flesh jiggling as they ran.
All of these people were in their twenties or thirties, and their figures were very sexy and hot.
Ms. Anna Farrell arrived at the edge of the sand court, adjusted her glasses, and scanned the men before her gaze settled on the man in khaki athletic shorts, Link Baker.
He still had sharp black hair, exposed robust back, bronze skin, and although his muscles weren't as exaggerated as those of a bodybuilder, they were well-proportioned and clearly defined, each one just the right size.
He looked like those genetically engineered soldiers trained with high-tech equipment in the sci-fi movie "Soldier," very sexy.