I looked up quickly and caught his eyes looking at mine and for a brief moment he fell silent as if he had rumbled me looking. My eyes went down to his crutch and to the fabric that was beginning to bulge and stretch against the movement beneath. I tried to dismiss it at first as my imagination, after all he had seen it all before, but then I watched his gaze drop to my groin two more times, all the while he tried to engage in a conversation that was getting rather muddled.
I felt a feeling of excitement as I continued rubbing the soap into that most intimate of areas and could not help but notice his eyes glance down. I continued to lather up my genitals as I faced him, the thick white frothy bubbles from the soap dripping down my thighs to the shower basin. There was like a static electric energy in the air and a sensation rushed through my body. Yet as he stood in just his unflattering baggy boxer shorts with his large hairy belly hanging over the elastic waistband and talking to me it all felt very different. I mean he had seen me naked more times over the years than I care to remember. The first moment I realised Maurice was even in the bathroom was when he said good morning and I just happened to be in the process of soaping up my knob and nuts. I had not bothered to lock or even close the bathroom door because I never felt the need to when I was at Paul’s place, there had always been an open door policy, after all the house was just blokes so what was the big deal. I woke up as the bright morning sunlight pierced through the curtains and I dragged my tired arse and hangover out of bed and to the bathroom to have a shower to help me wake up. I had stayed over Friday night after having a few too many pints at the Pub with my mate Paul, and early Saturday morning Paul had left for work leaving me and his stepdad in the house alone. In fact he was a rather ordinary looking bloke who had a big stocky build, (less kind men might say fat) and a large beer gut, yet something switched in my head that Saturday morning as I soaped myself in the shower. So let me state that Maurice was certainly not handsome in the traditional sense, and not athletic or muscled. And when he was not checking out the women he was checking out cars and motorbikes and swearing like a trooper.Īnd then I found myself in circumstances that felt highly charged and arousing and from there things just happened. I mean he was forever talking about boobs and checking out female arse. He was a soccer loving, beer swilling, masculine, red blooded male. It had never even crossed my mind that he might swing that way. His name was Maurice and he was my mate Paul’s stepdad, and I must say I had never looked at him in a sexual way before. Is it possible to be turned on by the circumstances and the scenario rather than the person?Ī question I still ask myself when I recall the events of that weekend when I was 20.