He had a fine crop of black body hair, reminiscent of the totem animal of his office. Without the linen barrier I could smell the salty bite of sweat on him. His shoulders were broad, his chest swelling, his stomach pouched and convex with muscles that drew in sharply above his hip bones. A band of old scar tissue, puckered but no longer discolored, ran all around his left shoulder like a coiled rope thrown over his arm.
“Is that it?” I asked, running my finger along it.
He flexed his shoulder experimentally. “Aye. It wasn’t injured in the front, ken, only they had to cut to re-attach things inside.”