One got an erection while driving in his car to get to her. Another got his while buying his snowblower, with her along. He’s the one who taught her how to blow him and that’s the one she had reassured, “You’re the last person I want to antagonize!”
The men suspect her of no ill will and they’ve stuck by her.
She’s enjoyed their examinations of her backside in her bed.
And although there’s no danger, one of the men had a somewhat bluff interest in her. He was handsome with dim-lit eyes. She liked to joke with him.
While she bent forward to her comfort level, at her sink, without holding her breath, she kept her mouth open. He applied himself against her and she allowed his solution to gently drain from her.
The paper she’d gathered together, and added to several times—to dry herself—was unfairly harsh—so often, such a number of times, regularly, usually.
But something more. Another man, when he stopped by, noted that things had become almost too satisfactory. He saw copies of old masters on the wall, not obvious to him on his previous visits.
“Is something wrong?” the girl asked.
As a rule, she blamed herself—for yet another perfect day.