By Cutieboy90

“Hey man, I’m gonna shower. Don’t start the laundry yet.” Tony called down the hallway.

“Got it!” I hollered back.

I sat still, waiting for the sound of running water. Holding my breath. The seconds dragged by, as if time had just stopped. Even my heart seemed to slow…

Until at last the rush of water and the clang of the shower door closing signaled the start. This was the cue I’d been waiting for. Like a racer starting at the sound of the buzzer, I was off. Swiftly and silently like a panther stalking its prey, I was down the hall towards the laundry room in an instant. And there, piled in the hamper was Tony’s laundry. A whole week’s worth of worn gym socks and night shirts just waiting to be savored.

I knelt down, taking a particularly fresh-looking sock and bringing it to my nose.

“Mmmmm…” I could never help the initial moan, nor the swoons I felt when breathing Tony’s sweat and musk. There was a sort of spice to his scent, so masculine. I could detect hints of the trees from the park trail he liked to run through, the funk of his shoes, even a faint touch of the Irish Spring soap he used.

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