Exposure. Various
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Smooth, and completely featureless between his legs.
Instead of how he actually is.
There’s nothing about him that I’d call featureless. I’m not even sure I’d call it smooth either, because I can see the thick ridge around the head of his cock, beneath the skin. I can see the veins that rope his shaft, so obviously more pronounced than they were a second ago.
He’s getting hard, I realise, though God knows why. He’s just sat there, on the edge of his neat bed, hands sort of loose on his bollard-like knees. He isn’t touching himself or flicking through a skin mag or any of the things I seem to associate with male arousal, so it’s understandable when fear suddenly grips me.
He knows you’re there, this fear whispers. He knows you’re watching, and he likes it
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