He’s confused, shakes his head. “What? What are you talking about? What are you saying?”
I stand from the table and walk around the small square to his side. I face him, and lean into him. My d**k in the boxer-briefs touches his leg; I purposely do this. My forehead presses against his forehead. It’s like I have no control over my body, mind, soul—anything. One of my hands finds his chest and a pec. I provide it with a gentle squeeze. His n****e hardens and falls between two fingertips. I whisper into his face, “Maybe I want to be your Lakeside Body.”
“You?”
“Me.”
“You’re speaking metaphorically, aren’t you, Grady?”
“Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what you desire?”
“You’re getting me hard,” he says in a hushed tone. “Stop it. Call the police on me. Do it now, before you become
