My family and friends would not have recognised the stubbled freak who looked back through the mirror. Bare chested, my bare chest and arm muscles bu...ging like some cheap stripper dressed in work gear. And I looked down in horror to see the outline of my cock and balls clearly in view at the front of my tight, cheap dungarees. The straps had no means of adjusting themselves and so it seemed I was destined to display the obscene outline of my genitals. I felt practically naked as I walked. I think he knows I’m dressing for him. When we walk into the cafe, he always looks my way, and I see him memorizing the way I look, as if storing up my image for later use. At least, I hope that’s what he’s doing.Sometimes, I imagine what I might say if we were to find each other all alone together. Maybe back by the payphones near the two tiny restrooms. I try to picture our conversation, try to hear it in my head. Could I tell him I have such a crush on him? No. No fucking way. Not in a small. More

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