“Talbot, you’re on fire and getting wood. What have I done to you?”
He’s right. An erection builds in my denim, between my legs. Solid wood rises. Eight inches of hard excitement greets him.
Embarrassed, I pull the T-shirt out of his grip, let gravity take it and hide my stomach, and turn away from him. I mumble, “Sorry about that. I haven’t been touched by another human being in almost sixteen months.”
He backs away, walks to the opposite side of the counter. “No problem. Men sport wood. It’s a natural thing. Be proud of that erection. Especially since it was what…seven or eight inches hard?”
“Eight,” I ramble.
“Eight’s a good length, pal. Nothing wrong with that.”
Before I can respond, not that I can respond because I’m speechless, he grabs his liter of chocolate milk and Slim Jim, waves goodbye, and heads out of my store.
* * * *