And both pretty scrumptious specimens of masculinity, I'll have to admit.
Alas I had to drool silently on my side of the bed since I don't think my prudish, morally-upright fella, Charming Calvin would look too kindly on any adulterous behaviour. :) The first was my irreverent ISO who stayed over the night before our fun-filled jaunt abroad arrogantly strutting about in his skimpy CKs while I blissfully wondered whether sleeping with an ex would be considered a cardinal sin.
And then last night I practically forced Big Bicep Barry at gunpoint into bed with me. Really, the poor guy already looked dead tired after making a hurried work expedition through several smaller towns on the west coast - via a shockingly circuitous route - before returning to the city for a motivational course. To add to his already packed schedule, he had to drag me along ( unwillingly, I assure you! ) as a guest to the final evening of that course.
What can I say? Not only was he yawning away in various dull intervals but during that time, he also had developed an odd habit of undulating on his chair. Wondered if he'd actually taken up my offer of pole dancing as Big Boy Barry of the Kayu Jatis.
Barry : Could I ask for a favour from you?
Paul : Lick the back of your throat with my tongue?
Barry : No! I have an itch on my back.
Paul : Cheh.
Barry : Scratch my back. Please.
Paul : Not a problem. Here?
( Pause )
Barry : That's my ass. The itch is on my back.
Paul : Oopsie.
What can I say? I have problems following directions.
You mind scratching my itch, laddie?
The funny part was my well-built friend had an itch ( developed sunburn from all those afternoon breast-strokes natch ) on his back that he simply couldn't reach. Although the varied benefits of hitting the gym are obvious enough from better cardiovascular fitness to intimidating far more puny opponents, it has never occurred to me that getting gym-bulked up could lead to some pretty hilarious circumstances as well. Seriously, Barry has biceps and triceps so large ( hence the name ) that even with arm-breaking yoga maneuvering, he couldn't reach that particular spot between his shoulder blades. Add that to the enviable width of his shoulders and it was practically destination unknown for him - The Unvisited Valley of the Spine.
Fortunately I was a kind ( and not at all lustful ) Samaritan who offered to scratch that itch. With his shirt off of course. How else would I have gotten straight to the good spot?
Guess the man's getting an ancient backscratcher from me ( he claims it's God's gift to itchy men! ) for his birthday :)