I've been fighting it for over two weeks now. I did my best not to think of it, trying not to let my mind wander down that path that I hate so much and yet yearn so much. I've spent nights, lying in my bed, reading, watching TV, doing anything to keep the need out of my mind. And while trying to distract myself, I knew I would lose, I knew I would do it again.
I stood in front of this mirror yesterday already, but yesterday, I managed to turn away and fight my inner demon one more time. But as I stand in front of my mirror now, I know I am losing the fight and I hate myself for it. I always lose it. No matter how much I tried, no matter how many sessions I had with my therapist. I watch myself apply mascara to my lashes, giving them the darkness and length to complete the sultry look of my green eyes, a look I know will catch their attention.
I put lipstick on, the dark red, sinful one, that complements the red of my shoulder-long hair. I put my glasses on the counter under my makeup mirror. The world will be hazy now, but that's okay. It will be dark wherever I go, and I know I will feel better if the memories are hazy as well.
On my way to my apartment's door, I stop briefly and look at myself in the mirror that hangs next to the door. I look at the red-haired woman, dressed in a short white dress that clings to her skin. The open back of it makes it clear to everybody that I am not wearing a bra. The 7-inch high heels accentuate my curvy ass and I know that the low cut-back of the dress that almost exposes the dark valley between the firm cheeks will guide the eyes to it even more.
“Whore” I whisper to myself as I look at the woman in the mirror and I shiver as a voice in my mind disagrees, telling me that I am not a whore, that it is not my fault. I lock the apartment behind me, hearing the voice snicker.
And as I enter the street, I know that I will hate myself tomorrow.
-o-
The lights are flashing, exposing moving and grinding bodies in stroboscopic explosions of light, bodies that gyrate to the rhythm of the loud music as they perform the age-old ritual. I'm in the middle of the whirling mass, the drums vibrating through my soul as I dance with closed eyes, trying to repress the need that brought me here. And yet I feel their presence around me, I feel the eyes and the unspoken question as they stare at my moving body, the thin dress the only thing between my flesh and the hungry eyes.
I open my eyes and see a face, strong lines exposed by the flashing lights, looking at me, watching me dance. He is close and he moves with the elegance and self-confidence of a strong man, a man who knows what he wants and knows he gets what he wants. His body almost touches me, and the way he watches me makes the heat in my groin grow. He sees me watch him and his gaze moves from my face to my jiggling breast. I don't have to look down to know he watches the fabric rub my hard nipples, they feel taut and ache to be touched and pinched by his strong fingers.
He smiles and I know he sees the contours of the silver rings that are pierced through each of my nipples. I catch myself licking my lips as I look at him and the thought of what he might imagine as he watches the slut writhe in front of him, makes my nether lips swell in anticipation.
He moves closer, our bodies almost touching as he looks over my shoulder and grins at somebody behind me, somebody who starts to grind himself against my body. I shiver as I realize he's not alone. He reaches out, his hand on my right hip pulling me against him and as he does, another hand feeling for my left, and I know both hands are feeling for the hemline of panties.
And as they start to grind their crotches against my body and let me feel the hardness in their pants, the voice in me, that was shouting at me that he doesn't love me, vanishes and the seductive whisper starts, telling me that he, they love me and they will show me their affection and passion tonight.