The bristles, dark like unfettered charcoal crowding his chest twirl like a deformed leg. They contrast with the brownness his leathery skin reeks of as if someone had intentionally placed them there to make his chest region less alluring.
I am sitting on the broken brick wall that separates our class from the next staring at him. He is clothed in the school’s uniform. The stainless white shirt on black trousers, still to me he is still very unclothed. In my eyes, I see the long legged teenager who had coerced me into going with him to a friend’s house so we could ‘do’. I see a boy too reticent that boldness becomes a veneer that everyone but him can see.
He doesn’t notice me, he is talking to his friends. They are arguing about the validity of a rumour on the change of school prefects. He dips one hand…
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