His smile holds me under a spell. When the air whips past us, I hold his scent in,–his strong, overused body spray–getting high off how he smells and the way it makes me feel; I could live in that sunny daydream forever.
My roommate’s body is perched on the seat of his bike, his legs spread evenly apart, like he’s ready for me to “take a peek.” Why do other boys do that? I’ve never just held my legs so far apart that my dick is it’s own peninsula to my body. That’s just weird and, frankly, uncalled for.
He truly does smell good; but I’ve smelled this scent too frequently. Our bathrooms are so close together, I swear as soon as the spray nozzle releases it, it’s in my nose. I’ve memorized it. If I was a mile away, I could find my way back to him because of this fragrance. I begin to plan a trip to the nearest drug store to help assist in his new manly smell. That trip will never happen. I’ll make sure of it.
So what if he’s cute? He just 1/1000 other boys I find attractive–and that’s on a daily basis. I just happen to live with particular cute boy. Cute aside, he’s such an asshole–in the cute, petty, immature, but loving kind of way. His goldish-blonde hair covers his entire body, and when you see him in the sun you can see just how much he has of it. Especially in his armpits: Once he wore an athletic tee and stretched his tall body in front of me and I saw the curly, wet coils of armpit hairs. I should think it’s disgusting or something, but I don’t. His happy trail wasn’t half bad either.
I’ll definitely have to look into this feeling, but I suspect it will go away with time. It needs to. The ill thoughts of “just maybe…” burn in my brain’s pockets.
(Like $1M in cash offered to me if I just suck him off in the mornings before class.)