My pal shrugged

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It was the devised lounging in the dark that stopped me from calling, and the odor of supposed love, and the emptiness, the loneliness, the unhappiness that was always worse after it was over. I was fondling in the dark. When I ultimately made the call, he told me to come alone and to wear a microskirt and blouse. No underwear. My mitts shook. I shaven everything that night. Everything but my head. I pushed a tabouret in front of the mirror and sat in it, naked. I fumbled myself, my legs stretched and soles resting against the wall on either side of the mirror. I examined each fold of my honeypot and cunt, then fumbled my frigs to my mouth, degustating myself. And I caressed my breasts, watching, toying with my nipples until they hardened. I slid my frigs in and out of myself, the frigs of one forearm in my asshole, the frigs of the other in my cunt. And all the while, I watched. I was a stranger to myself.