Excerpt: Peeping Tom (working title)

And, at long last, she came home - from basketball, he had found out, and although he detested the sport himself he allowed her this one vice because it meant that she took a shower. She didn’t like taking them at the gym because there were no private cubicles and she hated that other people might see her naked - how ironic, how delicious. And she always left the window open a bit, for the breeze, as the nights were still hot.
He could almost hear her clumping up the stairs, and when she entered her room he knew her routine - shoes off, clothes off, shower. Choose clothes, get dressed, makeup, go out again. With her boyfriend. Ah, yes, competition - Matthias liked to imagine him like that, someone who was stealing away his girl, although in no way could she ever be considered his, except in his own mind.
So tonight, same as last night, same as tomorrow, he watches her as she showers, unaware of his eager gaze. She performs it like a show, practicing for what will later follow with James, for the sex that she has wanted so badly all day. She’s a bit of a nymphomaniac, but still, that’s no crime, especially not with the youth of today. And he watches, rapt, as she slides soap on her arms and legs, shampooing her hair in the most luscious way, reminiscent of the ads on the telly - well-endowed girls looking soulfully at the camera, flicking out hair and grinning wickedly as they cling to the shoulders of brooding men. She shaves her legs and her armpits, but leaves intact the downy curls that grow between her thighs - they always itch when they grow back, and it’s a pain to be seen in public trying to scratch down there. James doesn’t mind, anyway. They make her more of a woman, he thinks, and less of a little twelve-year-old prepubescent.