My chest is skinny, pale, and totally smooth. My ribs kind of jut out, and you can see the bones on the top of my shoulders and my collarbone. Also, my attempts to get a good tan haven’t really worked, but at least my farmer’s tan is mostly gone.
Still, the paleness kind of works with the trunks, because they’re so bright. I flex and can see a faint curve of muscle on my arms and can sort of see some definition on my chest.
Actually, maybe I’m not that skinny anymore.
The trunks are shorter than my normal ones; they cut off at mid-thigh. I know a lot of guys wear theirs this short, but I never have. It doesn’t look bad; it’s just … different. I’m anxious about a lot of things: how hairy my legs are; a mole I have on my chest, near my heart; and how skinny my thighs are.
I don’t think this much of my thighs has seen the light of day in years.
Literally years.
I tug my shirt back on, then walk back to Jason’s room. His door is open, and he’s standing in front of his mirror, putting sunscreen on his shoulders.
He’s wearing tropical-print trunks and his tank. The trunks are pretty baggy, reaching his knees. I know that’s a less cool length than mine, but he makes them work.
He looks down at my trunks. “I was right.”
“About what?”
“I knew those would really suit you. You can keep ’em, if you want.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man. It’s not like I’m going to get smaller. You can have ’em.”
I can’t help but smile. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, it’s really no problem.”
“Well, thanks. It’s very nice of you.”
He rubs sunscreen onto the back of his neck.
“Sunscreen?” he asks.
I take it from him and rub it into my face and neck.
He glances at me, his gaze soft. A cold jolt pulses through me, like he can tell I’m thinking about how hyped I am to see him shirtless again.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Jason showing skin off clearly does something for me. I’m not sure that’s a normal thought to have about a friend.
But anyway.
“You missed a spot,” he says. “On your forehead.”
I touch there and feel the excess sunscreen. I rub it in silently as we both go downstairs. Sunlight is streaming in through the glass windows. On the dining table is a silver MacBook, along with a leather journal.
Dad has one just like it.
We reach the pool, and I notice there are two towels hanging on the black metal pool fence.
So this is happening. How should I act? He’s about to take his shirt off, and I know how hot he is. I guess I should be totally blasé about it. I have to act like I don’t care that he has a great body.
Yeah, that sounds like the best strategy. Feigning total obliviousness.
Abs? What abs?
We enter the pool area, stopping beside the water. Fuck, it’s about to happen. I smell chlorine and sunscreen. Around us is white sandstone, along with a few deck chairs. There are a bunch of pool toys floating on the surface, slowly drifting in the breeze. Jason taps on his phone, and “Happier” by Marshmello and Bastille starts playing.
I lean my head back, and look up at the blue sky.
“I love this song,” I say, because I do.
“Me too! I…”
And then, just like that, mid-conversation, Jason grabs the collar of his tank with two hands, and pulls it off. Like it’s no big deal.
“They’re so good, right?” he says. “I work out to Marshmello a lot.”
“Oh, cool.”
I try my hardest not to look. I really do.
But I can see him out of the corner of my vision. He’s perfect. Even in broad daylight, with nowhere to hide, he’s perfect. It’s bananas. I don’t even know how a body can look like that IRL. His skin has this glow about it that’s weirdly captivating. I think he might shave his chest, as it’s completely smooth.
He hangs his tank by the towels, then comes back and stops in front of me, resting his hands on his hips. I keep my stare up, looking at his face. Not his abs, not his abs. Nowhere on his body is safe, though, I like it all so much.
I wonder if this is how straight guys and some queer girls feel about boobs. If like, being in the presence of them takes over their mind.
Shirtless guys do that for me.
That’s all this is.
It’d happen with any guy. It’s not Jason specifically that’s