Liberation (5 of 11)
But how had I ended up with this guy, Jon? I racked my brains
until I remembered waiting in the dark outside the bathroom in my
jeans and t-shirt, cold, tired, and more than a little buzzed. When he came out, bare-chested and sleepy eyed, he looked so innocent, so adorable. Not in a preppy, pretty boy way, but more like a grown man who works outside a lot with no shirt on. His short hair stuck up on one side, and he rubbed his head sleepily when he saw me leaning against the counter. After that, he let me use a spare contact case and solution and he offered me a pair of his shorts to sleep in, so I followed him up the creaky stairs. The small room was really just a loft. A quilt lay on the old bed, but otherwise a chair and 70's era dresser were the only other furniture. A few Playboy posters hung on the walls, but for some reason their naked breasts didn’t embarrass me. I didn’t blush or turn away like usual.
We sat together on his bed because the chair was covered with laundry, mainly striped work shirts with an embroidered “Jon” on the chest. This made me giggle. I told him it was because my dad wore the same kind every day. I picked one up, tried it on, smelled the musky, masculine smell that permeated the fabric. He stood up and pulled the shirt off of me, saying I looked much better without it. The alcohol had washed away my inhibitions, so I changed into his plaid boxer shorts right in front of him, facing him. I watched his eyes look over my body, at the sexy underwear I’d put on that morning for Trav. Thinking of him pissed me off, so instead I focused on this stranger in front of me.