I slip off my boots and unbuckle my jeans and their top two buttons, preparing for a shower with some oil-cutting soap and shampoo.
As if on cue, Jack shifts his view to my undressing action, and takes in the spirals of golden hair above the rim of my white boxer-briefs. He licks his upper lip. He becomes unblinking, perhaps intoxicated by my action. Intrigued. Numbed. Catatonic. Something.
He’s gay or bi or…Who cares? Whatever. But it’s quite clear that he likes what he sees concerning the rim of my underwear and patch of blonde curls beneath my tight navel. I know straight guys wouldn’t give a flying s**t about such details of a man, but Backpack Jack isn’t straight, I assume, and pretty much gives his sexuality away by his constant stare at my man-goods.
He blinks and with the speed
