Monday , January 30 2023

Bukkake Box of Infinite Glory

It was weird. I used to hate those women who were
always checking themselves in the mirror; inspecting
their hair; reviewing their make-up; examining their
curves and cleavage. Get the fuck over yourself, I’d
think. But on the day after we got back from vacation
I found myself doing the exactly same thing. Well, not
exactly the same thing. I was worse.

I had opened the closet door where Rick had mounted a
full length mirror so that it faced the big mirror by
the sink. Then I’d stripped down to my birthday suit
and stood between them, studying my bod from front and
back.

Holy shit I looked good; my skin radiated the rich,
deep, copper splendor of the best tan I’d ever had, my
usually blandly brown hair was alive with natural
sunny highlights and my body was firm and tight from a
week of dancing, swimming and fucking.

It was a weird sensation, feeling good about my
appearance. I’d been such a frumpy dork as a teenager.
All through school I had awful braces, ugly glasses,
bad skin, lank hair and a wardrobe of oversized hand-
me-down sweaters and thrift store skirts my
obsessively thrifty mother foisted on me. I had gotten
my act together since then, but that kind of self-
doubt puts down deep roots.

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