Luke is right, we don’t have to tell Kent. He
doesn’t have to know about the whole tub thing, best not to mention
it. Ideally maybe even Luke will be gone before he comes home, but
to be honest I don’t want him to leave. So I pick his
clothes up from the grass as he wraps the towel around his waist,
and I tell him that I’ll see what I have in my closet that will fit
him while these run through the wash. No use putting dirty clothes
on a clean body, is there? He trails behind me into the house,
quiet because I’ve sort of brushed aside what he said—I don’t want
to talk about what I need, I don’t want to think about Kent right
now, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk about jerking Luke off
in the tub because he might hear how eager I am for more of his
kisses, his touch, and God
