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I could feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through my quivering body. I gasped—loudly. “You want me to get your back?”

I knew I could say no. Bodies are weird. My eyes shot open, maybe it was an accident, I thought. I learned a new sense of pleasure. I was putty in his hands. And then it happened. He started soaping himself up casually, not a trace of insecurity, running the lather across his chest and down his arms with a casualness that made my skin crawl with envy—and something else I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. My older brother wrestled, and I observed him over the years as it cemented his confidence. “Just relax, freshie,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.