Jobe Rider knows I’m posted outside the bathroom door. He’s well aware I watch him take a shower. He knows I desire his biceps, hard n*****s, and his thick thighs. I shouldn’t be watching him as he lathers himself with the bar of soap, using it under both arms, his ab-lined stomach, and between his legs.
I shouldn’t be studying him as he stands under the spray of warm-to-hot water, arches his head back, and lets the spray fall down and over his muscular and suntanned body. I shouldn’t…
What he should probably do after learning of my spying: jump out of the shower and chase me down the hallway; leash his right hand against the back of my neck before I get to the stairs; push me into old man Harold’s upstairs room; toss me to Harold’s queen-size bed; begin to bash his left fist into my rig
