The walk home was a tipsy stroll through the gayborhood. Doyle felt lightheaded and, to his surprise, happy—the Manhattan was finally doing its job. The taste of Mick lingered on his lips and he considered what things might be like if they got together. Doyle entered his building, still in a haze of happy confusion, and nodded to the guy on the front desk. In moments, Doyle was back in his apartment.
Stripping off his clothes, Doyle turned on the shower. When the water temperature was right, he slid the door open and stepped in.
The rush of feelings as the warm water rained down on his body, gave him a sense of security. It ran in rivulets over his smooth chest then down to the light treasure trail leading to his pubic bush. Eyes closed, he shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself a
