Laurence massaged his chest, his abdominals, his glutes, his quads, his hamstrings, his calves, his biceps, his triceps – oh, how delicious his own body felt in the hot, steaming shower, now that he had the physique he’d wanted to attain since being dunked in the deep end of the pool at 13 by that nasty Hal Hayward.
Laurence remembered Hal. A year older, he got his pubic hair before anyone else on the wrestling team and sprouted a muscular chest and pumped-up shoulders that Laurence could only long for. But now … now he had the body that would put Hal Hayward in his place.
He just wish Hal could be here in the shower with him, right now, watching Laurence later up his pectorals. But no – Hal was serving time in prison for having assaulted that older couple and stealing their Preparation H. All because of a botched face-fall.
Laurence got out of the shower and looked at himself in the mirror. He patted himself dry and then took the towel away. He wouldn’t get any face-fall, and he wouldn’t dye his hair or tattoo spider veins onto his physique. He liked his taut, tight body – and wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t care that, when he walked down the street in his tank top and gym shorts, no one looked at his muscles and his layered blond hair. He’d become invisible at his age – didn’t know how it’d happened.
But Laurence didn’t need that. He had his own body, and he had his own mirror. What else did he need?
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