IN AND OUT OF FOCUS
by Sebastian Wallace

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E-mail: sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk

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I saw him glancing over at me while I was with my wife and daughter in our local Focus DIY store. He was dressed in a tatty-looking polo shirt and a pair of dirty jeans with a navy blue shop assistants' apron hooked around his neck and tied loosely around his waste.

He looked about eighteen or nineteen and had short dark brown hair. He was skinny but the thickness of his biceps and build of his chest showed that he could handle hard manual work when he was required to. His plastic name badge, which had probably been used by a succession of his predecessors, had "Darren" scrawled in black marker pen on a white sticker.

He looked me up and down with a slightly surly expression. I thought that perhaps Beth, our young daughter, was misbehaving and playing with the merchandise, but when I turned to look over at her, she was standing dutifully next to Melissa, my wife, holding her hand.

When I looked back at the young man he'd already gone. So I got on looking at the packets of screws and fastenings I'd been pretending to understand and selected a couple at random to throw into our shopping basket.

While Melissa had gone off to look at wallpaper with Beth, I popped into the customer toilets at the back of the store.

I'd finished off taking a piss and was washing my hands when the young guy I'd seen in the fixings aisle came into the room. I nodded at him in polite recognition but he just threw me another frosty look and then walked over to the urinals. He hitched the bottom of his apron up, unzipped the fly of his jeans and pulled out his cock to piss.

I watched him through the mirror and noticed that he kept glancing over at me, a wary expression on his face, and then back down at his cock.

I wondered if I was being cruised.

His face said definitely not. The looks he was throwing me were decidedly hostile; as if he suspected that I was checking him out (which I sort of was) and was uncomfortable with it.

But why would he follow me into the customer toilets? Surely staff had their own facilities?

As I dried my hands I threw him occasional glances, trying to look as casual about it as I could. He was directing his cock at the urinal but he wasn't pissing. I noticed that his cock was limp and thin but quite long. He'd withdrawn his foreskin to reveal his withered, pale-coloured bell-end as a lot of men do when they're taking a piss.

Even when my hands were bone dry, I kept pulling more paper towels from the dispenser and continued to pretend to dry them further, intrigued to see what the guy would do.

Eventually he called over to me, as my eyes drifted towards his cock for the umpteenth time to scan it for any signs of potential excitement, "Were you looking for anything in particular?"

I looked up at his face and he was staring blankly at me.

I smirked; I liked his question. It could easily have been an innocent request made by