I turned, fingers pushed between my legs as I heard a noise at the door. Shit, what the hell was that? And then the shower curtain was pulled back s...owly. Visions of Psycho flashed through my head, hell doesn’t that scene flash through everyone’s head when they’re in the shower alone and hear a noise? But it was him and not Norman Bates. He was completely dressed, his black jeans and flannel shirt still morning fresh. I blushed and smiled a shy smile, the “oh crap, I’ve been caught. When he repeated what she had done to him, getting one last spark out of her by brushing his palm against her clit, she hissed in his ear and let out a soft mew… They stayed down like that for a few seconds, letting the other catch their breath and recharge for a bit, every so often he’d breathe deeply, the rise in her chest lifting her, too. He looked down at her and drank the sight in, the sweaty forehead and flushed chest, her nipples standing out at attention… But no smile. Not even her. Further exploration gave rise to the discovery of my deepest sensitivity as my finger fell easily into my inner state of womanhood. I imagined a man's erect manhood filling me and I yarned deeply for such an encounter. My chest was indeed much thinner and softer but it had yet to give rise to any sign of female curvature. Twin bumps showed the signs of things to come, but for now I remained as comely as the plainest of peasant girls.My hair felt a little longer but much softer and I washed. These are her words:-"After you walked past, I manoevred the mat as planned to open the door a little. What we had not realised was that not only could he see me, but I could see him in the mirror. Our eyes met immediately. I realised that, not only could he see me, but that he knew that I knew he could see me. So I was in a dilemma - close the door straightaway, or proceed as planned, with the common knowledge that this was no accident. The thought that I might bring some joy to his otherwise.
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