We hopped out of bed and cleaned up. He again brushed his teeth. I crouched behind him and spread his firm, little, hairless cheeks apart. I stared at his pink, puckered hole and ran my fingers around it.
He giggled. “What the f**k are you doing, dude?” He spit. He rinsed.
“I haven’t seen that part of you, yet. Haven’t felt it.” He turned around. I stared up. “Lift your feet.” He lifted the right one. I ran my hand underneath the arch, across the top. He lifted the left one. I repeated the maneuver, then stood up. “Lift your arms up.” He did as I asked, grinning all the while. He had a thick carpet of underarm hair. He was sparse everywhere else, but not there. I took a sniff. He smelled like musk, like soap. I played with the hairs. He giggled like a little boy being tickled.
“Care to
