The Jogger

The jogger from up the road has been jogging a lot this year, he's got really into it. He's looking great. Those little shorts that cup his sexy arse like the proverbial glove, look great. Those muscular cheeks, flexing as he runs, look great. The blue cotton looks painted on some days, like they nearly fit him, still. His thighs are solid, curved at the front, hairy, which runs all the way up to his arse, I am sure. And when he jogs topless, just with that slash of blue material around his hips, in the summer, sweating, glistening, he looks sexy as.... 

Oh? Everyone watching him jog past wants to lick him, I’m sure. (Oh, that’s just me? Are you sure?)

He smiles and waves at me as he heads up the street, well, that is how I see him anyway. Fit, I think, as I watch him run to the far corner and disappear. I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks that?

I want those undies when he has finished the run. What would he think? 

“You want what?”

“Your undies.”

“My undies?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I cup my nose with my hand. “I think you are very sniffable.”

What would he think as he processes the request?  Would he just slip them off, without another word? 

He shrugs. I think he is secretly chuffed, that he is thought of as desirable, but he keeps a straight face.

Standing on my lawn, he drops his blue shorts to his feet. Holding my gaze, he slides his white briefs down over his thighs, and they too drop to his ankles.

Would he hand them over, just like that? 

Holding my gaze, he reaches down and grabs the undies. The girls across the road wolf whistle and whoop as they get a good view of his split beaver as he reaches down. (I told you it wasn’t just me)

Would he be bowled over? Be speechless,  voiceless, blank, as I raise them to my face? And sniff?

What would he be? What would he think? At that moment? Would he be flattered? (he should be) or would he be lost for words? Absurd? Amused? Want to run from the room front lawn?

He holds my gaze. As I take a big whiff of his damp, white, cotton undies, his mouth turns down ever so slightly in a grimace.

I take another big sniff. “I’m keeping these,” I say.

“But…” he says

“Put your shorts back on son? Before you head out into the sun. You might see your mum,” I say. “You might not know what you have begun? You can run, we've seen your form, now we can see your plums.” He turns away from me. “Bum.” The girls whoop again with the front view. He turns back. “How you are up for fun. You are the special one, we can see that now.”

“I’m leaving you with your shorts,” I say.

“I’m not sure they will hold everything in, you know, as I run.”

“You’ve got to make do with what you’ve got,” I say.

He pulls his shorts back on. The girls across the road groan. “No, no, no,” they say.

“Off you go,” I say. “Us standing here like this is pretty gay.”

He looks at me with big eyes, at the suggestion.

“Run!” I say.

He salutes me, which I thought was kind of odd. He pulls off his t-shirt and waves it around over his head in a helicopter victory gesture.

The girls over the road cheer. “Come back and see us when you are done,” honey,” one of them calls out.

“We’ll run a bath,” calls another.

I hold his undies to my face and sniff some more, as I watch him run off down the street.