When I look myself in the mirror, I see a pretty girl.
Not a knockout. Not a bombshell. Not someone who's done up really pretty with makeup and all. nobody's fantasy, not even mine. But a pretty girl. I understand why guys look twice when they see me walking down the street, especially on days when I feel confident. And I won't lie, catching a glimpse of their head turning when I pass makes me walk that much taller. Like I have something they want. I know I do. And little by little I'm starting to realize what that means. A thin girl with a nice round face and pretty eyes, a little button nose and maybe a cute smile... I've tried to practice it in the mirror, but it always feels fake. But I've seen a few pictures of myself, particularly from New Year's Eve. It was like looking atanother girl, and I liked what I saw.
It's a quiet night. Chilly. The roommates have taken off, as per usual, and I'm on my own. I could flop down on the couch and channel surf, but part of me still feels like a guest here after a month, so I hole up in my room. I climb under my blankets and start to read, but something keeps distracting me. It's hard to say what, it's just that my thoughts wander.
I'm thirsty. I saw a bottle of gin on the counter. I've never tried it before. I'm sure they won't notice if I taste a little nip of it. I pour some 7up in a glass and try to add a splash of gin, but ... glub, I get a little extra. Well, there's no getting it back in the bottle. I hope I do like it.
I crawl back into bed, but the place seems to be warming up. It's cozy under the blankets, so I take off my sweater and slip into some PJs. Sip after sip the drink is growing on me, until I've had enough that it doesn't really make a difference how it tastes. I start to read again, and after a while I start top realize I'm running my hand up and down my breast. I wonder if I ever do this in public.
My mind starts to wander again. What's the difference, I think... between being alone with a girl and being alone as a girl? If I was a guy, I would think nothing of playing with myself. Why is this so normal? Why am I not naked all the time?
I take a breath as I start to realize exactly where this night is going. I slip my top off. The chilly air perks my nipples up. It feels strangely good. I wonder what it's like to have them get kissed. To have someone's hands running up and down my body. I rub my own hands over my skin and pretend they're someone else's.
"Yes..." I say out loud to nobody.
I spread my legs, as if there was someone crawling on top of me. My hand slips down my abdomen and into the waist of my PJs, feeling the fuzzy warmth between my legs. I only have half a second to wonder to myself "What am I doing?" but I already know the answer.
It's not the first time I've tried, but I could not get into it before. I wasn't ready. Now it's all I can think about. Doing this doesn't mean anything... it doesn't say anything about who I am or what I like, it's just this body. It's just my following this body's impulses. And I can tell it's reacting to something. I just want to see where it goes.
I must spend 20 minutes just lying there, massaging myself, writhing in joy, wondering if the pleasure is going to subside the way it did when I was a guy. But instead it grows. I spend a lot of time figuring out which parts feel good to touch, and which don't, and how to... I guess go between them. Just working up the nerve to get my fingers in there feels like a victory. I get this boost... It's like this tornado that keeps picking up momentum.
And then this thought pops into my head and I can't shake it... don't even want to. This person. I see them there, and I think "What if they were with me... right now..." and I keep going further and further...
It's all I can do to pause, even for a moment, just long enough to reach under the bed. It's there. I know it's there, because I put it there. I kept it there like a safety valve in case it ever got to this point. I even washed it. This big, long, pink, tube-shaped... device. Rounded, not "realistic." I don't think I could have handled looking at that, although I guess for my purposes tonight it doesn't make a difference.
I close my eyes and I see a face.And I tell myself, imagining this person's voice, "It's okay." Slowly, slowly I breach the inside, and... I feel it. In there. And for half a second I'm scared, but then it starts to move. And every part of me moves with it. I'm on my back, my knees are in the air.
By the end, I can hardly breathe. Is this it? Is this what it's like? What it would be like? What it's going to be like? I start to move it faster and faster, and I stop paying attention to how loud I'm being.
Outside, I hear the jangling of keys. The door opens. Two sets of footprints, the voices of my roommate and her boyfriend. They pop something in the microwave. I start getting really upset but I can't stop so I just... keep going as long as I can until...
And then I just laid there thinking about how I spent the whole night basically doing that... maybe not the whole night, but a lot longer than I used to. And I was just left with this lingering feeling of goodness. I was still thinking about it the next day... worrying about the person I imagined myself with, worrying about what would happen if they knew. Trying not to feel so guilty abut the pleasure. Making plans to do it again...