trim, the soles supple and pliant in Vic"s hand. Often when they were home together, at the dinner table or on the couch watching TV, Vic always had one of Matt"s feet in his lap, the heel pressed against his crotch or his fingers laced through Matt"s toes.
afoot. Sitting up, he let the bed sheets fall from his nude body and stretched in the early morning chill. Goosebumps pimpled his arms and legs. “Matt?”
Happy V-Day, it read in Matt’s blockish scrawl. Find the other foot.
sidled up to the doorway as quietly as he could. He listened but heard nothing—no breathing, no rustle of clothing, nothing at all. Resisting the urge to call out Matt’s name again, Vic sprung around the corner, sure he’d won…
Sit down. Raising his voice so his lover would hear him, Vic said, “Matty, come on. This
