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before, and I'm immediately reminded of that night with Caulter.
    As if my brain needs another reminder.  The sex dream has me on edge; I can't quite tell if I'm irritated or horny.
    Peeling off my t-shirt, I wince at the damp spot on the back where I've sweat through it.  Surely I must be feverish; at least that would explain the sex dream.  I drop it on the floor and step out of my jeans.  Toothbrush.  I need a toothbrush.   I dig through the medicine cabinet over the sink, looking for a toothbrush, and then bend over, yanking the handle on the cabinet below.
    The cool rush of air hits me before my ears even register the sound of the bathroom door opening, and I jump up immediately.
    "Nice panties."
    I whirl around to see Caulter in the doorway, his hair -- shaved on the sides, the longer part mussed -- standing up in every direction.  Shirtless .  He's wearing these pajama pants, grey cotton, the fabric so thin it clings to every part of him.   Every part of him.  The way they drape makes it worse than if he were standing here in front of me buck naked.  The way he looks just screams sex, especially given the fact that his dick is hard.  Like, rock hard.
    And I can't stop looking at it.
    Caulter notices and smirks.  "Do you like what you see?" he asks.  "You can give it another try if you want.  I'm up for it."
    "You're vulgar," I hiss.  "You're in my bathroom.  And the door is wide open."  And I'm standing here in my underwear, I realize immediately; it's like my brain is slow this morning.  I cover my chest with my arm and reach for the pile of clothes on the floor, shielding my crotch.  Oh my God, I'm wearing granny panties.    
    He steps inside and closes the door behind him.  "Better?"
    "That wasn't an invitation," I say.  "What's wrong with you?  Get out of my bathroom.  Don't you have any boundaries?"
    "You're the one who was griping that the door was open," he says.  "I wouldn't want anyone to walk in on you staring at my cock like it's a piece of steak and you're a starving animal."
    "You're delusional," I say, gritting my teeth.  "Thinking I'm staring at your cock.  And turn around, so I can put some clothes on."
    I'm almost surprised when he actually does, and I scramble to slide my legs back in my jeans.
    "Sure you want to bother putting those jeans on?"  he asks.  "It's not like I haven't seen it already.  Besides, those panties aren't exactly… revealing."
    Cringing at the fact that he's just seen me in panties that are practically the size of a bed sheet, I slip my shirt over my head.  "I thought we agreed to never speak about the incident again.  Why are you still in here, anyway?  I told you to leave."
    " The incident ?"  He asks.  "Is that what we're calling it now?  You're the one who told me to close the bathroom door behind me."
    He's still turned around, so I take the opportunity to let my eyes linger on the expanse of his bare back.  His muscles are defined, from his shoulders down the length of his trim body, the gentle V-shape of his back coming to a taper where his waist is partially hidden by the band on his pants.  I pause, stopping to check out his perfectly shaped ass, remembering how it felt in my hands that night.
    Caulter turns around and catches me, and I feel my face flush with heat.  He gives me that look, the smugly self-satisfied look that says he knows I was checking him out.  His cock is still rock hard, and I wonder if that's normal.  That can't be normal, right?   He must have some kind of medical condition.  It can't be typical for him to be carrying on a conversation like this, with a giant erection.  And I mean that literally.  He's not exactly small.
    The fact that he's standing here, rock hard, annoys me.  I don't need a reminder of that night staring me right in the damn face.  "You knew I meant that you needed to get out of here, not close the door behind you and invite yourself inside.  Obviously.   Normal people don't do