Bloom - 9. Chapter 9

“Okay, Caleb. Ready?”

“Yep!”

I opened the door to find him still in his boxers, but he'd ditched the shitty socks.

“Okay! Let's do....” I set the underwear and socks down and hung the other items before looking carefully. That green pair really did seem like they'd match his eyes. “Let's do the green undies to see if the cut really works for you or not, and lets do the – ack!”

He'd pulled down his boxers and discarded them, and I turned away quickly as he was pulling the green pair up his legs.

“Uh. I thought you said to put these on?”

“Um,” I said, as I looked at the wall. The one without a mirror on it. “I kind of thought I'd step out and you'd change.”

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense, I guess.”

“Have you...put them on?”

“Oh, yeah!”

I turned and took him in. Fuck. That green was perfect. “Cal, that green matches your eyes so well, maybe you should just walk around like this?” He chuckled and I giggled nervously. “Turn around. How do they feel?”

He turned, and Oh, God, that ass. “They feel good, actually. Different. I think I like them.”

“Good,” I said, bringing my eyes up to meet his. “Okay, let's go with the vanilla chinos, the yellow tee and the blue button up – but leave the shirt unbuttoned, okay?”

“Sure!”

He stood there looking at me and I looked back in confusion – okay, okay and a little lust. Happy now?

“Cal?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to put the clothes on?”

He frowned lightly. “When I put the underwear on, you got all weird. Am I supposed to change in front of you, now?”

I stared at him, and then his lip curled into a smile. “Uh huh, screwing with me. Sure, Cal, you stay in your underwear as long as you like. I don't mind!” I said, looking him up and down and giving him a leer. It's fun to weird out the straight boys sometimes. His smile spread into a grin and he pulled the pants on, then the other items.

“How do the pants feel?” I asked, looking him over and liking the overall effect.

He ran his fingers down his thighs. “Soft. Stretchy and cool. I like them.”

“Excellent. The length looks good. Turn around?” He did, and those pants did his ass justice. “I find your sweat clothes offensive.”

“Huh?”

“What?” I asked, looking up at him.

“You said something about my sweats.”

I looked at him blankly. Shit. Was that out loud? “No, I don't think I did.”

He frowned.

“Something's missing,” I said, looking him over carefully. The colors went well together, and he looked great – excepting his hair – and I was pretty pleased with my first choices. I put my finger in the air. “Aha, you need a belt. Hang on.”

I exited the dressing room and headed to the belt display. I flipped through the belts quickly, looking for a reversible that was understated. Belts should be an accent, not an attention getter. Seizing the right one, I headed for the counter. “Nicole. Do you have a hairbrush I could borrow?”

“I probably do,” she said, reaching under the counter for her purse. “You going to comb his hair?”

“He needs a cut,” I said firmly. “But I think his new clothes and at least having a run-in with a brush will make him look amazing.”

“You're sounding like you could like this guy,” she said.

I laughed lightly. “If he weren't straight, I'd give him a shot,” I said, just to be fun.

I went back to the dressing room and presented him with the belt, which he dutifully put around his waist.

“Okay, sit on the bench. I'm going to tame your thatch a bit.”

He sat and said, “I never knew you were so shallow.”

I stopped dead. “What?”

“Clothes, hair. You told me I have good skin. Is that why we were never friends before?”

I pursed my lips and let out a slow breath. “Caleb, calling people shallow is kind of rude.”

“What else would you call it?” he asked, his tone conversational. I know I'd be awkward as hell – in fact I felt that way with him saying those things, yet I had to remind myself he was feeling none of that. He may be the most honest person I've ever met since he had no fear of speaking – just regrets when it didn't work out afterward. I sat down beside him on the bench.

“You know the world judges us on how we look.”

“The world doesn't care, but some people do.”

I grunted. “There are different clothes for different reasons,” I said, trying again. “For instance, when you play a sport you have a uniform. When you go to work, like you do with your plants, it's sweats. But when you're shopping or at school or...I don't know, trying to catch someone's eye like you are now, you take the time to put on something that fits that purpose better.” I paused. “If you dress poorly, people do judge you. It can be hard to get ahead or even be seen as intelligent or worthwhile if you look slovenly. People judge.”

He nodded his head. “Okay.”

“And it may not be right, but people like labels and boxes no matter how much we fight against them. Even you.”

“Me? How?”

“By choosing to dress in a way that doesn't conform you put yourself outside of social circles – because it's not seen as normal,” I added as much derision as I could muster on short notice for that word. “And for that you got judged, and now you're trying to change that look for a purpose. Does that mean that inside you care enough to dress differently for someone else, but in fact you don't really care at all?”

“Hmm,” he said in a very cute, thoughtful way. “I see your point. Because if I'm successful with changing my look, do I really care about the look or just the results? Do you think It matters?”

I let out a breath. “Personally I think you have to care about some things just to get ahead. Looking good or professional is one thing – it inspires a certain amount of confidence in others about you, and can lend an air of competence.”

He grunted. “Don't you think it can backfire? Like people might think you are superficial and invest too much time in your appearance at the expense of other things?”

I raised an eyebrow at him and smiled. “Yes,” I said with a bit of newfound respect for Caleb's intelligence. “I think you're right – you have to know your audience.”

“You think these clothes are good for my audience?” he asked, grinning.

“I think you look great,” I said honestly. “But Cal, your hair – I mean the color is so nice, but it matters if you look like you may have a small woodland creature hiding in your hair. It's okay if you're working – you may even get messy while working – but it's different when you're doing other things.”

He looked thoughtful to me, and then nodded. “That's the best explanation for being shallow I ever heard.”

I put my hand on my hip. “My shallowness is helping you to get noticed, so don't knock it.”

“Oh, I don't,” he said with a smile. “You always look really nice.”

“Sweet talker,” I muttered. I stood and held the brush toward him. “You going to let me comb the leaves and twigs from your hair or what?”

He grinned at me and tilted his head forward a bit. I had to hold his chin, his head, the back of his neck -all kinds of things just to get some leverage. It annoyed me his skin was so soft without any apparent need for a skin care routine. Slowly his hair began to lay down in golden-red rows, the overhead light making it shine a bit. I brushed the hair back from his face on either side and lifted him by his chin to get a look.

“Better,” I declared.

“Do I still need a haircut?”

“God, yes. Split ends galore, Cal.”

“You're the only one that calls me that.”

“Calls you what?”

“Cal.” He paused. “My oldest brother and sister call me Cale. It's a more natural shortening of my name.”

Uncertainly I asked, “Do you not like me calling you Cal?”

He smiled widely. “No. I like it fine.”

I smiled crookedly. “Okay, let's go impress the girls.”

I stepped out of the dressing room, made sure the store was empty, then called out, “Behold, my finest work!”

Caleb walked out, rolling his eyes. “You say that like you created me. What are you, Dr. Frankenstein?”

“It's alive! It's alive!” I called out and he laughed at me.

The girls launched a coordinated attack. They cooed, they asked him to turn around and then straightened the shirt, patted the material on his chest and then handed him small cards and made 'call me' gestures with their fingers.

“Wow. I said let him know he looks good, but come on, girls!” I said with a laugh.

“Hey, you said he wasn't yours,” Nicole said and smiled brightly before giggling off into the store with Kari.

“I guess you know how to dress me,” he said quietly.

I turned to him and straightened his collar. “Well, you look great. I think I just brought out what was already there.”

“Nice recovery. Very slick,” he said with a smile.

“I'm very slick,” I agreed. “Okay. So let's save that set, and you can try on the others. The underwear fits, so just keep those on – we can burn your boxers later, sort of like women used to burn their bras.”

He headed back to the dressing room and I headed over to Nicole. Before I could open my mouth, she and Kari were gushing. “Hunter, if he's even bi, you need to bag him. He looked fucking yummy,” Nicole said with a lecherous grin.

I chuckled. “I don't think he's ever looked at a guy like that. I was wondering, though...do either of you know that manager's clearance code Anita used for my stash?”

“Yeah,” Nicole said. “Why?”

“Because I need to buy that boy more stuff, and I need the baddest discount ever to fill his closet. I'm going to squeeze out every sweat shirt I can!”

I hunted around, getting him shorts and shirts to match with them – enough to make him look good without having to do laundry for a while. I kept him there for a few hours trying on things, and then we checked out and went to a shoe store to get him a pair of shoes that would be better than the beat up sneakers he had on. We settled on a pair of nice boat shoes and a pair of sandals at the last minute. Then we got a snack before heading over to my regular salon.

“So. Do I get to pick out your hair? I think it's a bad idea,” I told him.

“Why?”

“Because what makes the most sense is something short so you don't have to do much to maintain it, but to be honest, your hair is gorgeous. I'd go for something medium to long so someone can run their fingers through it.”

“Uh, okay. Do it your way.”

By the time we got back to my house, he was unrecognizable. My mom cooked for us again and he told her about all the things we'd gotten for him – and he sounded happy about it. My mom complimented the heck out of him and he seemed like a different person in more than just the physical sense. He did look really nice though, which only accentuates that I need to get out more.

Of course, Andy struck.

“Let's get ready to go live,” she said with a snark in her tone. “Hey, Caleb, want to sit in on it?”

“Really? Sure!”

I tilted my chin down and glared at her. “Really?”

“Everyone should see your persona,” she said with an evil grin. Christ. I headed upstairs to put on a nicer shirt and check my hair, and before you know it we were sitting in my room with the phone facing us and Caleb sitting behind it, out of the shot. He was following the stream on his phone so he could see the comments.

“Hi, loves!” I said with a big grin. “My other brain decided we hadn't seen you guys enough and we're going to do a live Q&A! Yay! But first, what did you guys think of our Steampunk shoot, huh?”

The responses scrolled by on the screen quickly – lots of hearts, some of those water things to indicate it made them come – creepy. I mean, Jesus, gears do it for you? A Star Trek episode with the Borg must be like porn for you. More than a few eggplants. There were a few statements, and I liked that they took the time to do more than an emoji.

“Well, it was kind of involved,” I said and explained how some of the outfit was made. More people joined our stream, the numbers swelling. My sister jumped in.

“Okay, so we have questions coming in – and we're going to try to get them all in, but some of you guys are weird. I'm just saying.”

Laughing emojis scrolled past.

“First one goes to Hunter – top or bottom?”

“OhmyGod!” I said with a little whine and looked at the screen. “You guys just want to sleep with me, don't you? Pigs!” I said, giggling. “I think it depends on who I'm with. I could do all the things.” I stuck the tip of my tongue out and put it against my upper lip. “All the things.”

The phone suddenly fell over and I scrambled to right it.

“Whoa, you got the phone excited!” Andy teased.

“I bring all the phones to the yard,” I mumbled. That's never happened – is my tripod falling apart or what?

“Next question is for me – am I dating? Boy, these guys are all about our personal lives!” Andy said, smiling into the phone camera. “As a matter of fact, yes, I am dating. His name is personal, but I want you all to know I'm satisfied, so no more wanking about me.”

“Wait. His name is personal? Who names their kid that?” I asked her and she stuck her tongue out.

“Next is for Hunter and this person wants to know what your next project will be, which is a good question because I haven't helped with this one. Hunter?”

“Oh! Well it's coming together, even though I have some stuff to work out.” So I talked about the clock face and some of the details that went into making it so far, and I glanced at Caleb and told the group I had a friend help me to paint the face and how he helpfully painted me as well. I made sure to make a face and was rewarded with a bunch of laugh/cry emojis and a grinning Caleb.

“I heard he got it in your hair,” Andy said slyly. “Paint, I mean.”

“Of course, paint. Jeez. Dirty mind,” I said to her and then looked back to the camera. “Did you know that this paint came out of my hair with olive oil and a comb? My hair was so oily, people! You have no idea.”

Someone asked if Andy had done the welding for the Steampunk/Clockwork thing, and then there were a few other silly questions before Andy hit me with another personal one.

“Okay, so this one is for Hunter. What's your idea of the perfect date?”

“Oh, hmm,” I said. I wasn't prepared for that one so I didn't have a glib comment ready to go. “I think you have to put some effort in to make it a dream date. Like it's lazy to just go out to dinner. It's a nice date to go out, but it means more if you have to work a little to make it...romantic.” I looked at the camera. “Cook for me. Set a scene. Make it magic.”

“You don't ask for much,” Andy said with a snort. She whipped through a few more questions, telling people there was no way she was telling them where we lived and a few other invasive questions were dumped. Mercifully we logged off, and I yawned.

“My God! Glad that's over,” I said as I stretched out and flopped onto my back. “You have dumb ideas, Andy.”

“I learn from my brother,” she said. I grunted in response.

“I should get home,” Caleb said as he gained his feet. “Hey Hunt, you were talking about the clock thing.”

“And the oil in his hair? He must have bitched while that was going on. I'm sorry I missed it.” Andy grinned. She was unusually happy tonight.

“Well, he did spray paint me,” I grumbled, smiling to let him know I was just teasing.

“Some people think paint in the hair is the next big thing,” Caleb said seriously.

“It's not. It's really not,” I replied.

“I think we should paint Hunter's hair just for scientific purposes,” Andy said.

“Hello no!” I said, laughing with them.

“So, about your clock thing,” Caleb said.

“Oh, right – you were saying before we got onto paint.”

“Yeah. So, looking through your Instagram, you usually model in the pictures, right?”

I looked at him. “You follow my Instagram?”

He tilted his head and smiled crookedly. “I was just reading the questions on your live stream.”

“I gave it to him, jeez, Hunter. Senile?” Andy jumped in. I glanced at her. What they were saying was true, but something....

I looked between them in confusion. “Um, yeah, right. Anyway – yes, I'm in most of them. Sometimes Andy is in them, too. Why?”

“Well, I had a costume idea,” he said excitedly. “What if you used a suit or a tux in front of the clock face?”

I thought for a moment. “That's kind of classy – elegant, I mean. But...” I glanced at Andy and then to Caleb. “Most of my pictures get more attention if I don't wear a shirt or something. What if I just wore the jacket?”

“You could have some alternate shots,” Andy said. “One in the costume and a few that were different – like shirt off, coat over one shoulder or something. It could be extra content. Or even down to your briefs for Only Fans.”

I thought on that. “I don't know. Underwear is so close to being nude, and some of those people are freaky. I'd have to block my junk with my leg just for modesty, hide my massive bulge, you know?”

“Yeah. Massive. Right. How could I forget?” Andy asked in a monotone.

“So you like the idea?” Caleb asked.

Shit. I'd practically forgotten he was there. “It's a great idea, thanks! I don't have a suit, but maybe I can hit up some used clothing places and put something together.”

“We could go tomorrow?” he asked.

I was a little surprised. “I have to work the next few days. I won't be off until Sunday.”

“Okay. See you Sunday then?” he asked, smiling. He looked really nice. How could anyone say no to that smile?

“Uh, yeah. Sounds good. Not too early! I like to sleep in when I don't have to be up for work.”

“Diva,” Andy said. “Come on, Caleb. I have to go meet Bruce. I'll walk you out.”

“Goodnight, Hunt. I'll message you.”

“Okay,” I said with a smile and let them go. I was seized with the sudden desire to not let the day end – it had been so much fun! Caleb had been fun. I pulled on my shoes and trotted downstairs and caught them just as they were headed down the walkway.

“Caleb!”

He turned, and Andy did as well. “Yeah?”

“Um. Your new clothes....”

“Oh, right!” he said with a little smile. “I almost forgot. I have them in the truck.”

“Right,” I said, descending the porch steps. “But you have a history with your sweats. Are you going to be able to handle letting go of some things?”

His expression went blank. “What do you mean by let go of?”

“I mean you have nice 'look at me' clothes now, and we can't let you backslide into sweats again. Can we?”

He appeared confused.

“If you can give me a ride back later, I'll help you...weed through the stuff you have. You know, get rid of some of the more...worn...items.”

Andy raised an eyebrow, but fuck her. Figuratively.

Caleb smiled. “Sure, come on.”

I smiled back him and joined him in walking to his little truck. I filled the time on the way to his home talking about keeping the clothes together in sets that went well versus mixing and matching. I think I was almost thinking of putting something on them so that he'd keep them in order, kind of like how some very sick people put days of the week labels on their clothes to keep them in order. If I was honest, I didn't trust Caleb to keep the outfits together. Soon enough he'd be wearing the salmon colored top with a yellow undershirt and green pants, looking like he was from the land of misfit ornaments, all the while telling people I'd dressed him.

No. I think not.

His house was as Stepford as ever – but in the evening it was lit up with warm light from inside the house. One could easily imagine cookies were being baked and hot coca was being...brewed? What do you call that? Prepared, maybe? In any case, it looked too Main Street to be believed.

On entering the house with all his bags I was mentally preparing to fight him about throwing some stuff out. That was delayed as I heard a TV stop – muted would be my guess – and his mom calling out to ask if that was him.

“Yep,” he said and headed toward what I presumed was the living room. With little choice, I followed. I'd never been more than through the main floor to be let out into their backyard. The downstairs room where the video game tournament was held was actually at ground level at the back of the house, and a sliding door let out onto a patio. The main floor, where we were, had a deck off the back of the house.

“Oh, you did end up getting some things – and my God, look at you!” his mom gushed.

“Hunter helped me,” he said simply. His mom got up from her chair, and we spent about ten minutes just showing her some of the clothes while her husband looked on with vague amusement.

“Hunter, I have to thank you – no one could get my son into nice clothes, much less something that fit him and wasn't sweats!” she said with a laugh. “We've had some fights in this house – I drew the line at church. Your hair looks so nice, Caleb!” she said, smiling so much I wondered if the gears in her face were over-stressed keeping that expression in place.

“He was pretty cooperative,” I said. “We're just going to...whittle some of his more worn clothes out and get these hung up and stuff.”

“I don't know what power you have here, Hunter, but can you take him out again? This is a nice start, but now that I can see my son dressed like a nice young man, I'm looking forward to more!” his mother continued.

“Will you stop?” her husband said mildly. “You're embarrassing the boy in front of his friend. Fill his head with sartorial suggestions later.”

I helped Caleb carry the bags up to his room – which was surprisingly nice, but in a completely non-Stepford way. He had plants arranged neatly, some flowering and some just hanging greenery. He had a spider plant that was following lines of some kind he'd strung in a big X across his ceiling. The bed was against the wall, full-sized and unmade; a single nightstand and work desk completed the furniture. His closet had two sliding doors, but they were pushed aside to reveal shelving with a bunch of sweats of various colors and baskets that held socks and underwear.

I admit I hadn't thought about going through his underclothes to get rid of things, but I was reminded of the offensive boxers and steeled myself for a big housecleaning.

We placed the bags on his bed and Caleb glanced over at his closet. “So. You hate my sweats.”

I held my hand out flat and waved it from side to side. “Sweats are good for some things. Like you said, you wanted to be comfortable when you were working and not bothering with your appearance when you had other stuff that was more important to you,” I said. “I totally get that – I don't get all dressed up to go work in my dad's workshop.”

“Well, when I painted you-”

“Stop!” I said, holding a hand up. “We shall never speak of that again.”

He smiled a little devilishly. “I think hair paint is a thing.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I think shaving your eyebrows in your sleep might be a thing.” He laughed and I relented a bit. “Anyway. My issue with your sweats comes from a couple of directions – one is you wear them all the time no matter the time or place, and secondly they don't fit you.”

He opened his mouth a little and raised one hand, but then lowered it. “Um. Okay, you may have a point.”

“All I'm saying, Caleb, is you look really good now. You can wear casual clothes and still be comfortable without the sweats – which you can wear any other time, like working, as long as they fit.” 'Cause damn, Caleb...that ass.

“So...you're not just throwing all my clothes out?”

I arched an eyebrow. “I don't think I get to decide that, but I do think we should throw out all the ones that are worn or have holes – or don't fit you.”

He appeared to think a moment. “What about shorts?”

Confused I asked,” What about them?”

“I don't know if you put them in the same category as my sweats. Like, I don't wear them as much so they probably aren't as worn...plus, I like shorts in the summer. Your distraction at my party would have been totally worthless if I'd still had my sweatpants.”

I felt dizzy just trying to follow the way his thoughts worked. Also I had to force the memory of how his legs had felt in my hands before it made thinks awkward. More awkward. “Yes, shorts in the same category – time and place. No, I have no problems with people wearing shorts. And,” I said, taking a breath, “you still won, so my distraction wasn't very effective. And...it wasn't actually to distract you.”

His expression suddenly got quite intense. “It wasn't?”

Shit. Is this what he looks like when he gets mad? What does that expression mean? Is it because he thinks I was coming on to him since I'm gay and he's not? I could clear that right up.

“Well, Madison was being a bitch,” I said, holding my hand out, palm up. “When we were in the school parking lot, Andy was taking inventory of who she would have sex with – which I think she was doing because she was afraid things were getting too intimate with Bruce, which – too late! Bruce caught feelings for her and she's refusing to be happy about that.”

He blinked at me a few times and smiled in a way that was far too endearing. “Your mind works in interesting ways.”

If only you knew. I scratched the back of my head. “Anyway. You were one of the guys and Madison thought she was saving you from my sister, and she was being a twat to me. I kind of wanted to mess with her, and I figured if I had my hands on you, she'd get pissed. Um. It worked.”

He took a step back. “So that's why she was so mad.”

“Well. Yeah.”

“Oh.” He stilled almost as if someone had unplugged him. I mean, now he knew I wasn't flirting with him, so why would he get weird now?

“Caleb? You okay?”

He shrugged and smiled lightly. “Sure. Sometimes you find out how something looks from someone else's point of view and the whole story changes. I thought Madison was just pissed because she was under the impression we were dating, but I didn't know she was...I don't know. Obsessed is the wrong word, right?”

“She was trying to save you like a revival preacher with his hand out,” I said with a grin. “I wasn't sure what she thought would happen. Who you choose to sleep with shouldn't be anyone's concern but yours, you know?”

He tilted his head and regarded me long enough that I felt a blush creeping into my cheeks. “Yeah, Hunt. That's true.”

“So. Closet!” I said, clapping my hands together once. Since he seemed to be under the impression I was in charge, I started pulling things from his closet and laying them out on his bed so we could make piles. Good stuff, bad stuff and stuff that needs to be worn to see if it fits.

I put a lot in that pile. Given his display earlier, I wasn't disappointed, either. He just...stripped! He kept his underwear on, but it was still quite the show as he tried various things on at my direction. He didn't blush or show any anxiety about being so dressed down in front of me, which was kind of a relief, but not. I'm complicated.

An hour and two big black garbage bags later, his closet was pared down to things that fit and weren't worn out. It was also clear he needed more socks and underwear because 1) most of his socks had holes and lacked mates and 2) he'd had nothing, and I do mean nothing but boxers. Whoever was going to look at him in his underwear should be able to fully appreciate him, and those trunks were the very thing he needed.

“So. Are we actually burning my old underwear?” Caleb asked.

I grinned at him. “Is there any danger of you digging them back out of these bags?”

He frowned in concentration. “That depends. How long will it be before I have to do laundry?”

I dropped my chin. “Caleb. We got you nice underwear. Non-holey socks. You look good, so no going back.”

His expression was...overly pleased. I guess he doesn't get enough compliments in his life. Making them was only going to complicate things, so I needed to dial that back.

Caleb's mom made some more noises when we brought down the bags, but I had to admit – I wasn't really liking what she said. There's a right and wrong way to be pleased that people are doing something you approve of. You can give them some praise and be happy for them, or you can be kind of condescending and smug like she was being. It's kind of like a management lesson about people. If you want them to do things a certain way, you can lead them that way with some praise and mild warnings most of the time. Did this work with her other kids? Her husband, again, essentially told her to back off.

We dropped his old clothes in the garbage bins out front and he drove me back home.

“I appreciate your help today,” he said quietly. I figured he was feeling like crap from the way his mom had spoken to him. Even though I'd told myself I needed to dial back on the compliments, it was plain the guy needed something.

“Caleb, I hope this is okay to say, but you're a really nice looking guy when you're all cleaned up. You seem to be a really cool guy, too, and I kind of wish we'd been better friends in high school. I feel like I missed out a little.”

He looked at me and smiled widely. “I feel the same way. We can fix that now, though. Right?”

I smiled gently. “Of course. I-” My whole sentence about being friends was washed away by his enthusiasm and the raw happiness in his voice.

“That's perfect, Hunt. I told you I really saw things I wanted to change, and I’m realizing that time is running out on some things. I'm really glad this is working out,” he said, a very pleased and pleasing grin on his face.

He pulled up to my house and I thanked him.

“So. Sunday? Maybe we can find some more socks and underwear, too? I hate laundry.”

I smiled at him. “Are you just going to keep buying underwear and socks, never do any laundry?”

“Is going naked an option?' he asked, screwing up his face in thought.

Works for me, I thought. “Well. Has its place, right?”

He grinned and said goodnight. I headed inside and exchanged empty pleasantries with my parents before going upstairs. My mind wasn't engaged with the world around me but was focused on my evening with Caleb. He wanted more of my time, and I found I was willing to give it. Spending the summer dressing him was an exercise in frustration, and yet....

My stomach churned and I recognized this for what it was because I'd felt it before. With Brett. It hadn't helped that I'd seen Caleb nude. I nudged my door closed and went to stretch out while I thought on Caleb sans clothes, the way his ass had looked in those trunks, the way his bits and pieces had flopped when he'd pulled the boxers off.

I wasn't going to think about him all the time; this was just good jerk-off material. Really good material. I closed my eyes and got lost in my mental images of Caleb until every muscle in my body locked up and I released my swirling feelings out onto my stomach.