The Landlord

I was 20 when I moved out from living with my friends and into a small rented room in West London. My mates had been fun to live with for a few years but when we all started getting into drugs I wanted out before I slipped back down that slippery slope of my teen years when I had been in various care homes.

Arthur was a writer in his 60s who worked from his large home. He had short silver hair, grey beard and a large stocky build. I had been living there for two months and the agreement was that for a reduced rent I would help with cleaning and household chores. Arthur was very relaxed and I enjoyed his company and listening to his life stories. There were certain rules to abide by like not bringing back girls which cramped my style a bit but I figured that would help me focus on getting my life in order. I often walked around the house and done the chores in my boxers or briefs. It was a habit I had got into living with my friends and Arthur never said anything that suggested it made him uncomfortable. At times I thought I caught him checking me out, but I told myself that was stupid. Not that I had not had guys check me out before, I mean I have a good toned body and good looks.

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