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Currently, though, Dahlia isn’t sharing this bathroom with anyone.
It’s just her.
And my eyes.
Her dorm room, and the adjoining bathroom that is shared with the dorm room next door, are on the second floor of the building. Which is why I’m perched in the tree directly outside said bathroom, cloaked in darkness, with my eye to a small notch I’ve made in the frosting of the window.
What? I’m notsneaking, or peeping.
I’m merely…watching. Gathering information on a target of interest.
Learning more about a curiosity, that has piqued mine.
A girl I’m unable to stop thinking about, or obsessing over, or lurking around. And I need to know why. Because that’s never happened to me before.
An obsession with objects, or winning some sort of battle or competition? Sure. With an enemy or a problem? That too. But never with a girl, which is why this needs…investigating.
The shower turns off. Inside the bathroom, Dahlia steps out, and for one moment, my eyes sweep across her bare, tanned skin. The pertness of her full tits, capped with rosy-red nipples. The way her taut stomach curves down to her hips and delves toward a small V of black hair between her thighs.
This…obsession is getting out of hand.
At least I’m aware of the fact. It’s not lost on me just how fucking pathetic and stupid it is for me to be lurking in a goddamn tree like a Peeping Tom, staring into a bathroom at one specific weird girl. Not when this campus islitteredwith regular girls. More specifically, regular girls who would quite happily take their clothes off for me—at the very least—without necessitating me climbing trees like a creep.
And yet, here we are.
If I could lie to myself, I’d probably start by trying to convince a lesser, baser part of me that this has nothing to do with her and everything to do with that fucking pool that Chase and his buddies have going on. That I’m here to protect my stake in that ridiculous competition—making sure no one else is trying to take that prize.
It certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’ve…deleteda competitor.
In the last few weeks, more than one other shithead has tried to make their move. One in particular, a corn-fed good ole boy from Missouri named, I shit you not,TraydenMcAndrews, whose family is Dixie Mafia-adjacent, was getting a bittooclose.
A bit too handsy when he’d slide in next to Dahlia in line at the cafeteria. A bit too forward with asking for her number over and over.
A bit too sloppy in his…liberatingof her underwear from her laundry basket when she wasn’t looking.
Naturally, I had to get this under control. Nothing crazy, of course. Nothing murderous. I merely cut the brakes of his piece of shit muscle car that he keeps on campus for weekend joyrides.
He didn’tdieor anything when he wrapped that Thunderbird around the telephone pole. I mean, his half-promising career as a pro baseball pitcher is probably toast. But hey, there’s always a fallback career selling meth to truckers, like the rest of his shitty family.
But I digress.
He’ll live.
He willnot, however, be touching Dahlia Roy.
I shake Trayden and any other thoughts from my head as I focus through the small unfrosted corner of the window. This is important. Not just because I thoroughly enjoy seeing Dahlia in the nude, but because I need to focus. I need to observe carefully and learn everything about her.
To feed the dangerous obsession I’m quickly developing.
She leans against the vanity and drops her towel. She traces her hands up her sides, cupping her breasts and hefting them with a small frown on her face. She pinches a bit of skin on her hip and sighs.
Really? I mean, for fuck’s sake, the girl is a goddamngoddess, and she’s standing there pinching zero point five ounces of fat she’s somehow managed to find and decide don’t belong on her body.
It makes me want to put my fist through the glass and tell her exactly that.
I don’t, obviously.
I continue watching as she blows her long dark hair dry. As she checks her delectable, bitable, and very fuckable ass in the mirror. As she slips on bra and panties, then leggings and a t-shirt, and exits the bathroom.
