Main Ingredients:
boy next door
assistant
olives
veal
headphones

Spice Pack:
1/8 cup of joy
1/4 teaspoon of pensiveness

Bradley is hot as fuck.

I guess you could call him my Boy Next Door. Every night, he'd change right by his window, and oh God... His chiseled abs and meaty butt made my Fallopian tubes go wild. But he didn't know anything about me. Or, at least that's what I thought, until last night.

With my headphones on, I was working on some algebra homework, and as usual, through my window, I saw Bradley come home. He takes off his shirt to reveal, um, the juiciest veal you'd find at Outback Steakhouse. I'll have one slow-roasted Bradley please, with a side of fresh lube.

Big Dick McGee began exercising on his pull-up bar because I guess I'm watching PornHub now, and Jesus Hussein Christ, was I in Africa because that ass was HOOOOOOOOOOOT.

Then Bradley stopped. And looked RIGHT AT ME. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. I guess I was so absorbed by the beefcake, I accidentally beefed my cake and MOANED. What the shit-stained fuck... Why was his window open? Why was MY window open?! I immediately hid under the desk like ISIS invaded my house.

This was it. Suicide sounded pretty good. But I had to know what he thought of the creepy-ass bitch who came to his Crossfit regimen. So, I slowly peaked through my window...

He was gone. Empty room. I grabbed my jar of olives, ready to choke on them and die.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. Someone's at the front door.

"Sarah, a boy named Bradley's here to see you?" Fucking thank you, Mom.

I checked my face on my phone. Twelve zits, and a sea of blackheads. Nope.

"COME DOWN HERE, SARAH. DON'T BE RUDE." Okay, okay, okay. It was nice knowing you, Earth.

I made my way to the front door, and yep, Superman himself was standing there. Mom left the two of us alone. Bradley looked at me with a straight face.

"Hey," he said. It was the most romantic "Hey" ever uttered on Earth. Shakespeare couldn't write this shit.

"Um, uh, h-hello. Or, like, hi." Nailed it.

"Sarah, right?" HE KNOWS MY NAME. MR. ULTRA-FUCKABLE KNOWS MY NAME.

"Uhhh, yeah. People– people call me that."

"I'm Bradley."

"Oh– oh– in– interesting. Nice to meet you, sir."

"Were you watching me work out?"

"Wait, what? Well, like... That's– Good night."

God, if you're listening, just punch me in the vag like now.

"The thing is, I could use an assistant every now and then. Especially at the gym. The weights get heavy. Maybe you could help me out?"

Time stopped.

My heart skipped ten beats.

Yes, it was at that moment that I realized... Indeed, life is worth living.


***Note: I guess this isn't empowering for women or doesn't pass the Bechdel test etc etc, but you know, everyone gets horny.