I guess I matured late; I didn’t have to shave until my second year of college, when I was nineteen. I lived in my fraternity house that year, and I shared an open bathroom with about twenty guys on my floor. The whole thing was pretty sexy, all these guys walking around in their birthday suits, showering and shaving.
In fact, a fraternity brother a year older than me taught me how to shave in that bathroom. I stood before a sink and he stood behind me. He held the razor, and then he dragged it across my lathered-up face. We both had towels wrapped about our waists — that was it as far as clothing — and I don’t know if I managed to avoid popping a boner because he was so sexy: dark haired and slender, with huge brown eyes. Bob, where are you today?
Anyway, I always enjoyed shaving in that bathroom, with all the other guys. Some wore nothing at all, and the whole thing was a feast for the eyes. What is it about watching a guy shave that gets my motor running?
I’m home from the YMCA and the golf course. The sky was cloudy this afternoon, and a nice breeze blew from the west, so conditions at the course were tolerable, and I actually did quite well with every aspect of my game: driving, pitching, bunker play, and putting. I spent almost two hours there, trying to perfect my game.
My boyfriend’s working tonight, and I don’t have much planned. I’ll prepare a pasta casserole that makes plenty of leftovers, so we can dine on the recipe for days afterward. If the weather holds this evening — we’ve had lots of thunderstorms during the evening lately — I may hit the timeshare for a swim in the pool.
Have a nice Friday evening, friends.