I didn't. I'm surprised I could even make it out of the room without slamming into something. All I could see were those breasts, and a very quick view of what could only be trimmed pussy hair. I'd seen lots of pictures of women down there, and all she had was a thin stripe that went up and down. I wanted to turn around for another look. Maybe she sensed that, because she whispered, "Go!" urgently.I barely got out of there and turned toward the kitchen before Scott showed up, holding his book bag and uniform, which needed to be washed badly."What happened to you?" he asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."I didn't answer. He must have looked me over."Dude!" he whispered. "You have a boner! Are you crazy? What if Mom sees it?!" Um..." I had no idea what to say."What happened?"He looked anxious. I had to say something. All I could think of was the truth."I was walking past her door, and she came out of her bathroom with a towel wrapped around her," I said."Is that all?" I could hear. But something in the way I felt afterward… I knew the treadmill was my silver bullet. So, did I call that first day a fiasco? Maybe not. I began going every day. I’d stay for three hours at a time, trudging out three and five and seven minute increments at increasingly higher speeds, drowning my sorrows in the sweet nectar of water, sweating it out, allowing it to rid my body of the crap I’d allowed to be deposited there. Before three months had passed, I was walking for thirty minutes at a time at around two and a half miles per hour, and after a respite doing it again, sometimes four times in a single morning. I had sprung for an iPod, I loaded it with the music of my youth, arranged it all into fifteen and twenty and thirty minute increments, enough to keep me boppin’ to the beat. I was feeling great, and the best part is that people in the gym started to notice me, talk to me, compare notes on progress. I was developing a social circle, something I’d not had in years. Eventually.
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