The Mirror

The Mirror
This story is a little different than the usual fair I like to write.  It’s a single scene, almost a flash fiction style of story.  It’s a first person account of a woman who is getting ready for hot Friday night.  The woman is Amelie, a character that has always been one of my favorites.  She is the narrator, so it’s a first person view of herself.  The story includes masturbation and sexual fantasy.  It’s a pretty graphic story, hot and steamy.  I really enjoyed writing it.  If you would like to go check it out you can click on the title above to follow a link to it at Amazon.

Here’s a teaser from the story.  Hope you enjoy it!  Feel free to post a comment and let me know what you think.

I love getting dressed.  I love it because it’s all backwards.  It’s preparation.  After a long work week, Friday night is my favorite.  I come home from work, shower, and then stand in front of my bedroom mirror wrapped in a towel.  My hair is still damp, the long curls scattered haphazardly around my face, sticking to my skin.  I look at myself.  My breasts smashed beneath the wrap of the towel, the flesh just bubbling over the top.  I twist a little, run my fingers along the place where the towel overlaps, the flap of fabric that starts at my breasts and runs down the length of me stopping just below my waist.  Amazing how a slit casts a shadow that invites the eye.  It almost forces you to imagine what the cloth is hiding.  I turn halfway, the towel is just short enough to see bottom of my ass, the two tight curves of the cheeks.  I turn in the mirror to the see myself in profile.  My long legs are exposed.  I run my eyes up from the ankles; I like the curves of my body.  My legs are toned and smooth.  I push my chest out and arch my back; my shape becomes a long line of curves, the seam’s edge holding all of my little secrets.
I tug it from the bottom, the towel, and let it come un-tucked at the top.  It opens and falls at the same time unwrapping me.  Even my eyes focus on my breasts, their round fullness bouncing into view, the playful shadow they cast above my belly as they hang.  The pink nipples grow erect as soon as the room’s air touches them.  No wonder the men at the office always try to stand at a certain angle when they approach my desk or turn their heads when I bend over.  Sometimes I drop things and, while I am bending at the waist, aimed at where they are standing, I glance up and catch them looking.  It’s a little thrilling to catch them, everyone likes a forbidden peek.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.