The scent of fresh bread fills the air as Brittany Farynuk's friend, a gay baker, works the dough. His hands, strong and sure, knead and shape the soft mass, a metaphor for the tension building in his loins. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny countertop, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. He turns the sign to 'Closed' and locks the door, the click of the lock echoing his racing heart. He strips, his hard cock aching for release. He spreads flour over his body, the cool powder contrasting with the heat of his skin. He imagines his friend, another baker, joining him, their bodies sliding against each other, leaving trails of white dust on their slick skin.