The bathroom was full of stream, unfamiliar shapes and shadows. Before I wiped the water from my eyes and focus came clear, his silhouette stood out. I had not left the door cracked as it now sat slightly opened. And there he was, like he belonged there. Standing as a firm impression in the cloudy room. My shock, embarrassment maybe, made my legs tremble as a hand grabbed for the towel.

With slow steps and a devilish smirk, he walked towards me. Ran the back of his hand across my cheek, then raked his fingers through my hair. I stood paralyzed, and allowed his hand to softly chart its course.

His strong hands were welcomed by my body. But my consciousness couldn’t allow for this. Not in her house. Not with her husband. Though my pussy clenched and dampened from more than my shower, I stood there almost naked in front of him. Afraid of what was to come.

A noise startled me, made me look to the door. But he wasn’t concerned with anything more than his hand lowering itself down my back. I took a step away from him, came to my senses, and said, stop. I grabbed my things and tried to walk past him, but his large dark frame playfully controlled my whereabouts. Our bodies brushed, and then pushed firmly against one another as I struggled to get past him. But his hands gripped me harder; the effort he used to secure me became almost hostile. I wished for my friend. Wished she would save me and see for herself. I didn’t want to be the one to tell her. Didn’t want to have to go through the hurt and humiliation. I hoped he was just playing.