Yes, without a problem!

Jamal leads you through a side hallway that opens into a wide, polished changing area just off the patio. Everything about this place feels oversized: the mirrors, the benches, even the hooks lining the walls.

Sunlight spills in through tall windows, warming the stone floor beneath your feet.

“Bathrooms should be through there,” Jamal says, pointing. “We can just change here. Towels seem to be everywhere.”

For a moment, neither of you moves.

You clutch your swim bag tighter than necessary.

Jamal notices immediately.

“You okay?” he asks, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You hesitate. “I just… I don’t know if I can actually wear it. It’s… a lot.”

His mouth curves into that slow, knowing smile you’re starting to recognize. The one that always makes your stomach flip.

“That’s kind of the point,” he says easily.

You groan softly. “You’re not helping.”

He pushes off the counter and steps closer, not crowding you, just close enough that you’re very aware of him. His presence feels solid, grounding, confident.

“Emile,” he says, quieter now. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. But if you wear it?” His eyes flick briefly to your bag. “You’re gonna look unreal, not to mention when you get some water on you.”

Your face warms instantly.

You turn away, pretending to be busy as you unzip the bag. Your hands shake just a little as you pull out the swimwear.

It’s even more revealing in the bright light.

You swallow.

At least Jamal doesn’t rush you, he just watches, patient, like he already knows how this will end.

You step behind one of the wooden partitions to change.

Your clothes slide off one by one, and suddenly it’s just you, bare and exposed, staring at your own reflection in the mirror.

Your pale white mostly hairless skin exposed, some freckles everywhere and the pouch of skin at your belly that always taunts you.

As you look further down, you see your small dick, something you just recently started to pay even more attention to. Every time you look at it, you start to compare yourself to the other men here. You haven't seen Jamals dick before, but from the bulge he always has, you imagine it must be massive. Even now, looking at Trent and Dior, their swim trunks are more then filled out, in no world will yours be as visible as theirs, or at all...

Your skin is mostly hairless, you have never been someone to even grow a sliver of facial hair, always just soft and smooth. For a long time in your teens you got annoyed by that, but now its just a part of you, just like your thick ass is.

You never understood why your body decided it needed to have a fat, round and jiggly butt. You always seen it as a flaw and something to be ashamed of as a man, but with how many compliments and comments you get here, you don't feel as bad about it, as you did before.

You slide with one hand over the thick curves of your butt, to feel the soft hairless skin. You start to get a full body shiver from the tuch and you take a breath, then another, before finally stepping into the small swim pants.

They slide up easily, the fabric smooth and tight against your skin.

When you turn sideways, your breath catches.

The fit is… undeniable.

The material hugs your hips and thighs perfectly, clinging to every curve. Your ass looks fuller, rounder, almost exaggerated by how snug the fabric is. You shift your weight experimentally, watching the way it moves with you, framed so clearly it makes your heart race.

You glance down at the front.

It was completely flat... or at least… noticeably less filled out then how the other men fill theirs.

The fabric doesn’t hide anything, but it doesn’t create anything either. It just sits there, smooth and honest, leaving your back half to do all the talking.

A nervous laugh escapes you.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself. “God, this has to be a joke,” You groan.

Then you straighten your shoulders anyway and step back out from behind the partition.

Jamal looks up and instantly freezes.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all.

His eyes travel, slow and deliberate, not lingering in a way that feels crude, but taking you in fully, like he’s memorizing the image.

“Well,” he finally says, voice lower than before. “Damn.”

You cross your arms instinctively, trying to hide. “Don’t.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “I’m serious. That fits you exactly how it’s supposed to.”

You shift awkwardly. “The front...”

“Is fine,” he cuts in smoothly. “More than fine.”

His gaze lifts to meet yours, steady and confident. “You don’t need to look like anyone else. You look like you.”

That shouldn’t mean so much for some reason it does.

Before you can respond, he grabs his own bag. “My turn.”

He strips casually, without hesitation, like his body is just another fact of life. When he steps out in his swim trunks, you forget how to breathe.

They sit low on his hips, the fabric light against his skin, clinging to powerful dark thighs and a narrow waist. His torso is all clean lines and muscle, defined without being bulky, his chest broad and solid. When he turns slightly, the light catches the smooth curve of his shoulders and the strength in his back.

And yes... there’s no ignoring the way the fabric pulls at the front.

Not exaggerated or obscene, but the undeniable prominent bulge is trunks is something else.

Your eyes flick away immediately, heat rushing to your face. You hope he doesn’t notice, but he definitely notices.

Jamal grins to himself, he knows what buttons to push or how much to show, to get a curious white boy under his spell, but for now he says nothing, grabbing a towel and slinging it over his shoulder.

“You ready?” he asks lightly.

You nod, heart still pounding.

As you head toward the patio together, he pauses just long enough to murmur, “You’re gonna turn some heads.”

You pretend you didn’t hear.

But the way your chest tightens tells a different story.