"Whatās going on?" I asked as I poured myself a drink. I heard the shower running. Mike must be home. I felt my heat rise. I imagined him soaping himself up, his sleek muscled body, the water running down his chest and back. My mouth watered thinking about licking the droplets of water on his arms and his....
"Yo! Earth to Greg. I think youāve got enough!"
"Oh, shit!" The wine was spilling over the rim of the glass. "Sorry."
"Thatās okay. Mike had this Salsa tape, so I put it on. Weāre psyching him up."
"For what?"
"Dancing -- for real. One of the companies he talked to asked him to fill in for an exhibition."
"So heās not staying for dinner."
"I just canāt stay for dessert," I heard Mike say. I gasped as he walked into the kitchen wearing boxers and wet hair.
"You look good enough to eat," I blurted out, losing my head for a moment. I was immediately embarrassed.
"Yeah, he does if you like salami," I heard Fran say. They both giggled at my humiliation.
I tried to hide behind my wine, but choked.
"Excuse me..." I whimpered, and high-tailed it to the bathroom.
I took a leak, and was just finished when Mike barged in.
"Donāt you knock?" I said frantically, nearly catching myself in the zipper.
He tried to cop a look and said, "Whatās the big deal. Youāve seen my penis, why canāt I see yours?" He was joking of course, but I couldnāt resist.
"Okay, if you really want to see it, here." And I pulled my pants and shorts down and pulled myself back out. He looked at it, and nodded.
"Great, weāre even," he said nonchalantly. "I need to use the blowdryer."
"Oh, sure..." I muttered and scampered back out to the kitchen. So much for first impressions.
