“And how do you like them?”“Bare.” I had to admit as always.“Only?”“No, also when you wear socks.”“Which socks?” he continued, uns...tisfied.“The white tennis socks, and the blue socks for trekking.”“Well, well....” he said in an impatient tone. “But the socks are not enough right? What do you need more?” I did not answer. He knew the answer, and I did not want to speak it aloud.“Right.” he said, surrendering.He stopped massaging my elbows and sat on the table, his feet on my lap.“You may. Go. A professional bodybuilder, Eric was huge. His shoulders were broad, hischest deep, rippling with chiseled pectoral muscles. His belly was firmand tight, with the six-pack abdominal muscles common to those whosepassion was keeping fit and building their bodies. He had a narrowwaist. His thighs bulged into enormous columns that tapered to onlyslightly less massive calves. His back was a sculpture of muscle,suggesting strength, stamina, and power. His hands were the size ofhams. Like every other. More

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