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The Sentinel

"Shaving Creme"
by the.other.g.m.

Jim's towel fell to the floor, but he didn't notice. He was still focusing on the strange feel of the shaving cream as he squished it between his fingers.

A flustered Blair stared at the sight before him. "Hey...umm...Jim. Your...umm..."

Instinctively, Blair looked down, swallowing the hardness in his throat. "Wow, man." Blair's Freudian slip was showing. He rushed to cover his verbal faux pas. "I mean...umm...your towel, man."

Jim turned his attention to a red-faced Blair. He glanced down, realizing why he felt a sudden cool draft.

"Oops," he said, picking the towel up off the kitchen floor and pressing it against his crotch.

He didn't bother to re-fasten it around his waist. He gave Blair a brief "Sorry" smile and strolled back to the bathroom.

Blair's eyes lingered on the hypnotic, rhythmic movement of sculpted, muscular, naked buttocks. He let out a tense breath, and wiped his mouth nervously.

"Must be an army thing," he said.

Blair snorted at the double entendre.

His mind dredged up an appropriate piece of trivia: the chant military grunts had to recite in public, while holding their penis, if they called their rifle a "gun" - "This is my rifle. This is my gun. One is for fighting. One is for fun. "

Blair smiled, wondering how many times Jim had to recite that mantra.

*** end ***

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