It amazed me that he could be so matter-of-fact about running his hands over all that taut,
tanned skin and those perfectly defined slabs of muscle. Through the misted glass of my
bathroom shower, I watched the rivulets of soapy water run down the hard ridges of his
abdomen and the length of his strong legs. His body was a work of art, a machine he kept
in prime shape. I loved it. Loved looking at it, touching it, tasting it.