by Southy

©December 2005


Blair sat in the easy chair with one leg draped over the arm. Occasionally, he reached down and touched himself. Or adjusted. Or moved in some minuscule way so the air from the fan would hit him just right.

Jim tried not to say anything. After all, he was doing plenty of shifting too, trying to catch the air from the fan on this godforsaken sweltering July day when Hades had obviously overtaken heaven on the weather thing.

He wondered if, when things were back to normal and wearing clothes tolerable, he would reiterate house rules that nudity in the kitchen or living area wasn’t allowed, for reasons of sanitation.

Even now, it bugged him that Blair’s bare butt crack was pressed into the seat cushion, as he rested back against the arm of the chair. Not that Jim could blame the guy. He himself was lying on the sofa with his legs spread, one leg having fallen off the edge.

For that matter, he wasn’t sure how their nudity had come about. 

Oh, wait. He’d come home to find Blair nude while watching TV, and the phone had rang, distracting him from making a complaint. As he’d carried the phone up to his bedroom, he’d been eager to undress. Then he’d hung up and decided it felt damn good to walk down the stairs naked.

Besides, when he lived alone he used to walk around nude. Really, unless one was cold or there was company present (even the company of a wife, it had turned out), there wasn’t any reason to wear clothes in the privacy of one’s home.

But Blair’s appearance had changed everything.

Except now things were back to being normal. In the privacy of one’s own home, why bother with clothes?

Eyes firmly on the mystery movie, Blair reached down and scratched his pubes.

Oh, that was the reason. Who wanted to be witness to a guy scratching himself?

Of course, he could simply choose not to look. 

Blair glanced over at him. “It’s that guy,” he said of the character who was visiting the star of the movie. “I bet he knew the murder victim from the past.”

Jim didn’t respond, because he was only vaguely interested. The movie went to a commercial break. 

With a sigh, Blair dislodged his leg from the chair’s arm and stood up. “I’m going to nuke some popcorn. Want some?”

“Sure,” Jim said.

Blair moved to the kitchen. While opening the cabinet with one hand, he scratched his butt with the other.

Jesus Christ.

Thankfully, a bag was in the microwave in less than a minute.

Blair stood there watching the little tray carousal around, his back to Jim. His hand reached down to his balls.

Christ, Sandburg.

Then he curved his upper body….

Surely he wasn’t –

He was examining his nuts. In the kitchen, for godssake.

Jim tried to do deep breathing exercises so he didn’t say something he would later be sorry for.

Finally, the microwave beeped. Blair straightened and opened the door to retrieve the inflated bag of popcorn.

Loft rule. No examining your private areas while in the presence of your roommate.

Jim watched carefully. Blair opened the bag and poured it out to two separate bowls without touching any of the popcorn.

The movie was back on. Blair held out a bowl of popcorn while barely glancing at Jim, and then proceeded back to his chair with his own bowl.

Jim placed his bowl on the table and grabbed a few kernels with his left hand. They felt so warm that he wasn’t sure popcorn was the best idea for a snack.

Too bad Dairy Queen didn’t deliver. A peanut buster parfait would hit the spot right now.

Blair looked back at him. “Oh, look, she’s going to find out that he was there that night.”

Blair started to turn away but then looked back again. “Jim, will you stop playing with yourself while I’m in the room?” Nervous chuckle as his attention went back to the TV. “Geez.”


Oh, his left hand was idly fondling himself while his right hand was busy with the popcorn.

“I’m just scratching,” Jim growled. Besides, those parts were right there…so conveniently within reach. 

Blair’s eyes remained on the television. “I just feel funny about my roommate fondling himself while we’re both naked and in the same room.” Another nervous laugh. “Makes me wonder about your intentions.”

“In your dreams, Sandburg.”

This time, Blair’s grin was easy as he looked back at Jim. “I don’t know how to beak this to you, but you aren’t anything near what I dream about – when I’m fondling myself, that is.”

Ah, yes, the sentinel stuff. He was Blair’s dream come true. Maybe one day he’d be flattered by that.

Blair didn’t look back this time. “If you’re going to play with your dick, then I’m going to scratch my butthole, because it itches right now.”

“Your finger isn’t going anywhere near your butthole while you’re in the living areas.”

“It’s my finger, my butthole.”

“And my furniture.”

Blair quickly waved a hand because the movie was coming to a climax.

Jim hated being bossed around in his own home. He could talk if he wanted.

He generously remained quiet for the movie’s final three minutes. He got in a few fondles while Blair’s eyes were focused on the television.

Interesting, the leathery dry skin of his balls, from the fan’s air having blown across them repeatedly. And that velvety bald area at the bottom end of the seam that separated his nuts. Did Blair have one of those?

The credits rolled and Blair jumped up from his chair, empty bowl in hand. “Jim!” he scolded, averting his eyes and moving to the kitchen.

The phone rang.

Blair picked it up from the counter. “Blair Sandburg speaking.”

Jim heard Simon’s voice say, “Is Jim around?”

“He’s playing with himself right now, but I can see if he wants to come to the phone.”

Simon bellowed, “It’s too damn hot to be playing with himself.”

“I agree. Tell him that.” Blair had a lecherous grin as he held the phone out while approaching the sofa.

Jim put on his best glare as he accepted the phone and put it to his ear. “Sandburg’s a laugh a minute,” he grumbled. “What’s up?”

“Just letting you know that the stakeout is called off for tomorrow morning, because the Feds have taken over.”

The Feds. Of course.

“So, I expect you at your desk tomorrow.”

“All right.”

“Stay cool.” The line went dead.

Jim left the phone on the coffee table and stood. The fan felt even better as it blew against areas that had been pressed against the couch.

He noticed that Blair had gone into his room and there were sounds of dresser drawers opening and closing.

Jim turned toward the stairs.

It was time to get dressed.


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