For years, Santana told herself that the reason she would catch herself looking in the locker room was purely for fodder with which to blackmail, criticize, and make them ashamed. Sneaking glances at girls undressing meant that she might catch glimpses of ugly moles or too many freckles, cellulite or weird birthmarks, granny panties or stuffed bras, weird scars or hastily concealed hickeys. If she looked at them in their most unclad states, she would notice problem areas like thunder thighs or slightly rounded stomachs, uneven sized breasts or sagging asses, much more obviously than she could when they were covered by clothing. She told herself that she was not looking out of interest, but out of research, and that if she enjoyed herself, it was due to a malevolent anticipation at future acts of vindictiveness. She told herself that if her glances happened to linger even over the girls who had no such flaws to report, girls like Brittany Pierce or Quinn Fabray, who seemed to be made in a state of pure teenage perfection physically, then she was simply checking to make sure that no such flaw had suddenly presented itself to her for the taking. And if there was no flaw, well, then, she would have to look for herself, to compare her own body. If Brittany had long, muscled legs and high breasts, then Santana was looking not out of admiration, but because she had to find a way to make her own shorter legs and smaller breasts look every bit as good to be competitive, or even acceptable. If Quinn had a perfectly firm, rounded ass, then Santana had to make sure hers was too, or even better. And, okay, if there happened to be some admiration in the looks too, well that was because Santana knew more than any perverted dick of a guy could how hard the girls had to work to get such amazing bodies, and she was simply appreciating the end results of extreme daily effort to maintain. That was all. Or so this is what she told herself on a daily basis for over two years, even as the glimpses became longer looks and her hand sometimes itched with her desire to reach out and touch some of that flawless, maddeningly available expanses of skin.
