All characters are over 18 when this story takes place.
No inappropriate activity happens with anyone under 18.
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Finally! A much-needed shower.
One of the wonderful things about being a teacher is summers off. While the rest of the world treks to work year-round, the warm days of my summer were spent in my garden, lounging by my pool, or indulging in my other leisurely hobbies.
Today's heat was sweltering. As I bent down on all fours tending the vegetables in my garden, I had to continually wipe sweat from my brow with my forearm. Even in my cut-off jean-shorts and baggy tank top, I was perspiring like I was working in a coal mine.
But now, I was in heaven.
The tepid water cascaded off my shoulders, down my back, over the curvature of my round derriere, and onto the tiled shower floor before swirling around my pedicured feet and down the drain. Normally, the temperature of my showers could boil a lobster, but today's shower was as much about cooling off as it was about washing myself. I could feel the many little jet-streams of water massaging me, as if trying to wash away the worries of my day.
I squirted some Cherry Blossom body wash onto my loofah and created a nice lather by lifting it up to the shower head and allowing the water to mix with it. Then, I generously soaped my C cup breasts, my arms, my stomach, my legs, and my feet.
After applying yet more body wash, I lifted my leg and pressed the balls of my feet into the wall for balance as I gently washed my exposed vagina. My free hand worked between the crevice of my ass to make sure that I kept all my edible parts clean.
There was movement. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. At least, it seemed like movement. My eyes looked through the glass shower door, searching for evidence that something had changed. The master bath was pretty big, but I could see most of it from here. Nothing was out of place.
Yet, something felt...off. I felt like I wasn't alone.
When my eyes fell to the bathroom door, I noticed it was slightly ajar. That was strange because I could've sworn that I closed it.
Now, I wasn't in the habit of locking my bathroom door because the only two people to use the master bath were me and my husband. In order to even get to it, a person would have to cross our bedroom, which was always considered off limits to anyone but us. There was another full bath out in the hallway, which is the one everyone else uses. So, there was never any need to lock myself in here.
But I still always closed the door.
"Martin? Chris?"
With both feet now on the ground, my ears perked as I listened for my husband or my son to reply. Only silence answered me. I waited for a beat, and then, with a more cautious inflection in my tone, I yelled out, "Danny?"
Still nothing.
Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe I didn't swing the door hard enough to latch it.
I could've taken a quick second to rectify that, but there was no need. I was almost done anyway. Besides, there shouldn't have been anyone here. My husband (Martin) wasn't due back from his business trip until tomorrow, and my son (Chris) was staying the night with his girlfriend. He was home from college for the summer but spent most of his time sleeping at her house. We'd see him when he made a pit stop to wash his clothes or eat our food, but he just did laundry yesterday.
The only person that could've been here was my nephew, Danny. He wasn't outgoing like Chris. He was mostly a homebody who spent time in his room on his computer. Instead of going off to college like Chris, he had a part-time job, which was where he was currently supposed to be. He wasn't due home for another hour or so.
Shaking my head, I continued with my shower. I'd occasionally cast a watchful glance towards the door, but pretty much shrugged off my suspicions.
As I was drying off, I had that same feeling again; like I was being watched. This time, I casually turned my eyes to the mirror. And then...I saw it. A pair of eyes, looking at me through the crack in the door.
Our gazes locked. It was such a sharp surrealness that I let out a blood curdling scream that shook the mirrors. Instinctively, I wrapped my towel tightly around me to preserve my modesty, holding it closed with one hand while pinning it to my sides with my arm pits.
My fight or flight mode had me cowering backwards as far as I could to create space between me and the eyes. When my legs hit the toilet, I fell into a sitting position, crossing them to keep my vagina protected.
I heard a gasp from the other side of the door, and the eyes quickly disappeared.
All I could do was sit there, looking at the door in shocked horror. A million questions ran through my head. The only one I didn't have to ask was who the eyes belonged to. A quick process of elimination did that job for me.
My husband wouldn't have run away. Then again, he wouldn't have been lurking behind the door and creepily watching me. If anything, he would've walked straight in, probably taken a piss, and then stripped and joined me.
My son had inherited his dad's steely blue eyes, but the brown ones that were spying on me did so from behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses. The only person in my household who wore glasses was my nephew, Danny.
But the questions I did have to ask were legion. What was he doing home? Why was he spying on me? How long had he been watching me? Was this the first time? If not, how many times had he done this before?
I sat there until I recovered from my shock. The silence around me was deafening. It screamed,
"You're alone in this house with those eyes."
Cautiously, I exited the bathroom, making sure to peer around the corner as I did so. My room was empty. I was thankful for that. Not sure I could've dealt with Danny waiting on me to come out.
I had no plans of going anywhere, so I'd laid out some shorts and a light shirt with spaghetti straps. However, considering what just happened, that shirt seemed inappropriate for covering my C cups.
I had a full-length mirror in my room on the backside of my closet door. I looked into it, taking stock in the reflection that looked back at me.
People have always told me that I'm attractive. Gentlemen called me beautiful; immature boys in men's bodies called me hot.
However, since marriage, no one but my husband has seen me naked. He alone knows of the stretch marks on the hidden parts of my thighs, or the bit of cottage cheese around my butt. My C cup tits -- which creates cleavage that I'm sure adds to my "hotness" - sags when left unrestrained.
