He was twenty-three. Slender, athletic, russet skin, pale where it hadn’t met the sun. Dark, serious eyes that quickly turned warm with humor. We ended up back at my place. The date, of course, was merely the form, the accepted preliminary.
We stood facing each other, I naked except for my white boy shorts. The eighteen years between us were dissolving beneath his gaze.
“Turn around,” he said, gesturing in a circle with his finger.
Like a mannequin on display, I slowly turned around. When I faced him again, his dark eyes were shining.
“Wow!”