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out very well, indeed.
    But there was one problem Marco hadn't considered. Twenty minutes later, while Marco was sitting on a white damask sofa reading a biography about his favorite interior designer, Billy Baldwin, he nodded off to sleep. Fifteen minutes after that, he was roused by sounds coming from the bathroom. Evidently, Yves had decided to take a shower. The sofa where Marco was sleeping faced a wall of mirrors that reflected the bathroom door, and both bathroom doors were open. In the mirrors, Marco could see right through the length of the bathroom and into Yves's little room. But Yves couldn't see him.
    By the time Marco opened his eyes and looked into the mirrors, Yves had already removed all his clothes. Marco closed his eyes and squinted. Yves was ambling around the bathroom stark naked, assuming Marco was sleeping. Marco didn't move; he didn't want to embarrass Yves. From where Marco was sitting, he could see everything Yves was doing, and he could see right into the shower. It was a large open shower without doors, and the bathroom lights were bright.
    Yves adjusted the water to the right temperature, with his back to Marco. Marco felt guilty, but he didn't stop squinting. He couldn't take his eyes off Yves's solid round ass and his strong muscular shoulders. He had athletic legs that bowed slightly at the knee. The loose clothes he'd been wearing hadn't done him a bit of justice. Marco hadn't seen such a naturally defined body on another man in years, and he'd seen plenty of male models in their underwear. Yves's olive skin was smooth, with just the right amount of body hair on his legs and arms.
    When Yves stepped into the shower and turned all the way around, Marco grabbed the sofa cushion with both hands. Yves's chest muscles were round and just as defined as his back muscles. His biceps popped when he reached for the soap. When he spread his legs to wash between them, Marco almost fell off the sofa and gasped out loud. Yves had those two pronounced loin muscles on both sides of his groin that a lot of men didn't have. They pointed down toward his genitals and led to a long, thick penis that resembled one of those smooth, meaty German sausages.
    Marco felt like a dirty old man. He'd never cheated on Frazier in his life and he'd never been a voyeur. If anything, he was more of an exhibitionist. But this show was too damn good not to watch.
    Yves took a long shower—he took an extra long time to wash between his legs. He was so thorough with his genitals that he actually lifted his soapy penis with one hand and rubbed soap all over his testicles with the other for at least five minutes.
    When it was time to rinse the soap off, he sprayed every inch of his body until it was slick and clear. Then he stepped out of the shower and reached for a bath towel. He rubbed his dark brown hair until it stopped dripping. He wrapped the edge of the towel around his genitals and squeezed and pulled to make sure they were completely dry. After that, he wiped the rest of his body down, including the bottoms of his feet. When Marco thought he was finally finished with the towel, he wiped the inside of the shower and polished the fixtures.
    Then he went down on his hands and knees and wiped up the bathroom floor. He spread his legs, arched his back, and wiped with long slow strokes. Marco was amazed. Most guys his age wouldn't have bothered to wipe anything but their own bodies. They would have tossed the damp towel on the bathroom floor and gone to bed without thinking twice. He was also amazed there wasn't any hair on Yves's ass. Marco wondered whether or not he shaved there.
    When the floor was dry, Yves stood up and hung the towel over a bar to dry. But instead of turning off the light and going back to his little room, he crossed toward the master bedroom and knocked on the door frame.
    "Marco,” he said. “I hope I didn't bother you. I just really needed a shower. I saw you in the mirror while I was drying