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I couldn't help but look at him and how smooth he looked and how long his cock looked. He had very little pubic hair. The only other man I'd seen naked was my dad when swimming at home, and he was quite hair. I was always emarased at that time about not having many pubes for my age, and was occasionally teased by the other boys. Mr Calvert saw me looking at him. "It's OK Alexander", "you can look" he said as he smiled at me. My eyes immediately hit the floor. "Your quite smooth aren't you" he said, "I like a boy that looks like a boy" then he laughed lightly, turned away so I could see his back, bum and amazing legs. He walked slightly to one side and looked out of the shower block at the open end. As he came towards me he opened his hands with some soap, " may I" he said and began to wash my shoulders and back. I was still for a time thinking what the hell is going on, but I didn't stop him. My parents and family were not affectionate people, for someone, and another man to touch me. Would not hold through all time. Nothing ever did. And no matter how good a girl you were, it was never enough. People came and they went. Things changed. Time moved on. Just like the wheels and gears that turned the peddle of Nana’s old sewing machine. The foot upon the peddle turned the wheel at the side. A belt connected it to another smaller wheel that turned a wheel upon the sewing machine. The needle went up and down. And with it the threads of time. They caught on other threads from the bobbin beneath. Stitches formed. Some so tight that they puckered the fabric. Others too loose to hold the pieces together. And some just perfect. Perfect for as long as they lasted anyway. She found the tiny silk rose bud that she had bought just for this dress. She brought it to her nose. But of course there was no smell. It was silk. Not the sweet pale pink buds that opened so briefly each spring. There was no life in this flower. Not even for the briefest of moments. Her fingers trembled.
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