It’s 1980. I’m two years out of high school, living on my own but with a career trajectory that would keep me slightly above minimum wage for the foreseeable future. I could barely make rent each month.

A co-worker, Eddie, was moaning that got kicked out of his parent’s house.

I had a one bedroom apartment and needed a roommate. Eddie needed a place to live. The apartment had a couch with a pull-out bed. Problem solved.

Moving day always seems to fall on the hottest day of the year, and this was no exception. Although he didn’t have a lot of stuff, we were still soaked in sweat once done, and the apartment, being Chateau Cheap, had no air conditioning. Back in that era, the shorts were truly short, and back then freeballing was known, at least in my head, as “don’t let the boys fall out.”

Even though I was perspiring like a pig, I restrained myself and kept on the shorts since I now had a roommate of indeterminate prudishness. Sweating and shirtless, I was still miserable, so I set up the desktop fan on the floor and sat against the wall, attempting to let the blowing hot air reduce my body temperature by a degree or two.

Eddie came up with the last box from his truck, set it in the corner and, seeing me splayed on the floor, stopped.

“Nard alert,” he said.

I just looked at him, not really caring that my nards were visible. They were enjoying the Saharan breeze.

He sat down next to me and we slowly cooled down, though that was subjective.

The next day, I woke up, reluctantly put on the short shorts, and went to the kitchen to make coffee as I usually did. Eddie was spread out on the couch/bed, blanket and sheet tossed off the side due to the heat. He was lying face-down, bare-assed naked. It was a nice ass. Model-level ass. He could have a small dick and no balls, but that ass was very picturesque.

I stood for a minute taking this in, then did the only thing I could think of: I turned around, went back to my bedroom, pulled off my shorts, and strolled into the kitchen in my birthday suit.

While the coffee brewed, I hopped in the shower. When I came out, towel-less and everything else-less, he was too, in the kitchen pouring himself a cup. He looked over at me, nodded, and said “Hey.”

For the record, Eddie did not have a small dick, or even a medium dick. And he certainly had balls. Porn-star level all the way around.

“Hey,” I said as I got a mug out of the cupboard.

And that was the extent of our discussion about it. From that point on, clothing was truly optional. Except when it wasn’t.

The next time I saw Eddie nude was a week later, Saturday evening. He was getting ready for a date.

Melissa, Eddie’s steady, would often visit, and he would give me a heads-up if she was on her way over, a subtle signal to put on some clothes. She was a nice Catholic girl, kind of plain, but not unattractive. Eddie told me she was a virgin, waiting for marriage, and he admitted he was both frustrated and turned on by that. Their dates usually amounted to movies and cheap restaurants, but they seemed happy.