It was Friday evening; I'd already been home to change into a plain white t-shirt, denim shirt and blue jeans. I looked a bit country and western, and...certainly not the urban chic idea that the stylist had in mind. Then again, I'm too big to pull that look off. Occasionally a pin stripe suit works, but it tends to make me look like a gangster.I checked my hair on the brushed aluminium door for the fraction of a second before it was opened for me. It was still brown, and still to short to have. Lips continue conversing silently and eyes occasionally hold gazes that communicate affection and fervour. Hands gradually abandon fabrics in search of more flesh. My hands team up to pull up a hoodie and relish in the freedom of slipping under a light t-shirt. They choreograph a waltz on a back, dancing up to a pair of shoulders, then sliding down the sides of the torso, gracefully extending and elongating themselves over flanks, pausing to appreciate the solid hold on a cherished body.. More

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