Apart from being an idiot every time Jason was in earshot, the summer passed mostly without any incidents. I went back to college in the fall, and I lived in a dorm, so I only had to deal with seeing Jason in my night-time fantasies -- usually in a towel, still damp from the shower. Only, in my version, he didn't leave after getting the razor. And it wasn't my pajamas he complemented.
So I was in the clear for a few months. Then Thanksgiving came around, and I went home again. Martin came over, which was nice, although I think he might have picked up on the vibes when Jason asked me to pass him the red wine and I nearly spilled it all over the table. That night when Martin was fucking me, I had my eyes closed tight and was picturing Jason on top of me, those broad shoulders and wide chest throwing a shadow over me as he pounded, harder and harder, whispering with that golden voice, his breath on my ear. I'm lucky we were already trying to keep quiet, since my uncle and aunt were in the guest room next door -- otherwise, I think I might have called out his name.
Winter Break was a different story. I'd be home for two full weeks, and because Martin and his family were going on a trip to Hawaii, I would have no recourse for those extra-horny evenings. I was so nervous about it that I started biting my nails again. One night I was in my room -- supposedly wrapping gifts, but really just staring off into space and jogging my leg -- and something just snapped.
So I stomped out into the hallway, still not really sure of what the fuck I was doing. I was wearing this cute jean shorts I'd bought at a thrift store with my girlfriends -- they somehow fit my ass perfectly like no pair of new jeans ever does -- and a tee-shirt that, I think, makes my small breasts look as perky and full as they ever could hope to be. I went down the hall peeking around doorways like a kid playing Secret Agent, on high alert for my dad and for Jason's mom. They were out for dinner that night, and my sister was with her friends. I had no idea when they'd be getting back.
All I knew was that I needed to see something for myself.
You're probably judging me really hard right now. That's okay, you're right to do that. I was creeping down the hall like a total freak, listening to the sound of the shower running in the other bathroom at the other end of the house. My heart was thudding in my chest the whole time, and my brain was screaming at me: Turn around! Turn the fuck around!
But I didn't. I couldn't. It was like my legs had a mind of their own, and they were carrying me to the bathroom where my step-brother was showering. I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to.
I came to the door and put my hand on the knob. The bathroom at this side of the house is shaped sort of like a capital L: when you go in, there's a corner on your right hand side that blocks your view of the rest of the room, and the other way around. If you enter really quietly, someone standing at the sink or in the shower wouldn't even notice you. You'd have to sort of slip inside, though, that they wouldn't be able to see the door opening. So that's exactly what I did. I opened the door as narrowly as I possibly could, then slipped in through the gap holding my breath. The door creaks -- I didn't know that before I tried this. But luckily he couldn't hear over the sound of the pounding water from the shower. I closed the door behind me gently, that way I'd have more room to hide after peeking around the corner. I really only meant to have just one look. Just a single glimpse of what had been on my brain since that one fateful day with the razor and the pajamas and the towel...
All of a sudden, I hear the water stop running, and my stomach drops. The shower knob squeaks as it closes, and a moment later I hear the glass door thunk open. I swear to you that I have never been so scared in my entire life. My whole heart was in my throat, beating like I was running a marathon. I cursed myself violently in my head for shutting the door -- me and my bright fucking ideas. Now I couldn't possibly open it without him hearing. My mind was reeling.
I heard a soft footfall as the shower door squeaked and clattered closed. A couple of moments later I heard the sink running: he was cleaning a razor, getting ready to shave. It dawned on me in that moment that if I was to actually see him naked, I had reached my only chance. And wasn't that the whole reason for this stupid little trick anyway? So, with my brain screaming at me again to stop, I peeked around the corner and saw Jason in profile, completely naked, leaning forward to the mirror as he applied a thin coat of shaving cream.
