You open the back door and step inside your house, still breathing heavily from the run. You kick your shoes off and exhale deeply, then take a long drink from your water bottle. After six miles on the road, your legs are pleasantly sore and your entire body just feels good, ready to relax.
You walk into your bedroom, peeling your shirt over your head and dropping it absently into the laundry basket. Now you turn and take a long look at yourself in the mirror over the dresser. Your pale skin contrasts nicely against your black jog bra and spandex running shorts, the only clothes you still wear. Tiny beads of sweat glisten against your neck, arms, stomach. You like the way you look--lean, fit.
"You look wonderful."
With a start, you spin around, wide-eyed, to see me--in your bedroom!--sitting in the chair beside your bed. What the hell?!
"What are you doing here?" you say, stunned, wondering how on earth you didn't see me when you walked in the bedroom.
"I wanted to see you," I say, with a slight smile.
"Yes, but what are you doing here, in my bedroom?" you say, trying to remember if you locked the doors.
"I thought this would be the best place to see you, and I was right," I say, holding your gaze with mine. You notice that I seem dressed for work--dress shirt, dark slacks, black shoes. What is going on here?
"Yes, okay, but how did you get--"
"It looks like you're cooling off," I say, interrupting. You see that I am staring unabashedly at your chest. You look down and sure enough, your nipples are hard, pushing outward against the fabric of your jog bra. You fold your arms across your chest, feeling a little uncomfortable, but also a little excited. Now you can see me looking down over the rest of your body, smiling and nodding appreciatively.
"All that running is paying off," I say, continuing to stare. "Your body is just amazing. Beautiful."
"Well, um, okay, thanks, I guess," you say, stammering a little, "but this is weird. I still don't understand--"
