“Take your shirt off, Bruce.” He said it without any rise or fall in his voice.
It was more of a statement than a command, and I only hesitated for the briefest moment before I obeyed, slowly undoing the buttons on my shirt (I knew how to give a show when it was called for) before setting it down a nearby table. “Better?” I asked, returning his leer with one of my own.
“Much. Shoes next.” He grabbed a seat about fifteen feet away and sat down to watch me untie my shoelaces, kick of my sneakers, and roll off my socks. I looked up when I was done and raised my hands in a shrug to indicate that I was ready for the next request. “Take your belt of, Bruce.” And the belt was on the table with my shirt. He never took his eyes off of me nor mine off of him. “Bruce?”
“Yes, Allen?”
“Are you wear
