He was lying there listening to something called ‘Tuesday Afternoon,’ which it had been, that day the class went SUPing. Idly he wondered how he’d look in a Speedo, or even more, in a tiny thong like some of the European men wore when they were vacationing here. Ew! Just some string up the butt crack with your cheeks hanging out? Nice suntan maybe, but still. Oh, how he’d try it in a heartbeat—someday. He slipped back from his thoughts into reliving the day, that other Tuesday. PTSD? He’d never heard of it.
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