What was it that made me ignite with every touch. The forbidden interactions – dangerous liaisons between us young, horny men. We were not obviously gay. We were not girls or girly. But the taboo of something unmentioned in a room with two other strangers watching on was like two children playing with fire. Watching – entranced by the naked flames flickering as the papers burned and disappeared into a wisp of ashes.
That’s what it was like. I was turned on by a stranger, and by my friend – sitting in boxers – I could see his misshapen lump of his flannels, lolling on its side as he lay on the bed – not all together there – but watching. Watching a forbidden show. Something he’s never seen before. Unfolding like a pantomime in slow motion. A slow aching to break free.