The Girl in the Mirror

(Everybody is eighteen here, okay? Enjoy. Google a 'girl in the mirror' picture before you read this. Imagine what she's thinking. See if you picked the right one after you read the story.)

*

I watch her, the girl in the mirror, as she watches me.

I wrinkle my forehead. I think, "I do not mind this problem of body image so much as I mind the idea that I, as a woman, am supposed to be happy all the time."

She agrees. Her forehead is wrinkled, too.

Hey, I know we're pretty, I've been told that over and over, since I was just a little girl. She smiles, remembering.

I smile back.

I take her picture, careful to cut it off at our chins. This is a body shot.

I do not think I am sexy.

I think the top is too slender, the boobs ridiculously small.

I think the bottom is too fat, the legs too heavy.

I'm glad my feet are small. I have lots of shoes at every store that fit.

Despite all the limitations, I have a boyfriend, somehow.

He finds me beautiful, or at least, that's what he tells me.

I'd rather he said that I was interesting.

I mean, he's hot, I admit I think so, but he's so interesting, too.

Why does he have such a hard time talking when we are close, when we are alone together?

Why does he always have to _touch_ me?

Don't get me wrong, I like him to touch me, I just...

I just wish he would talk to me, a lot, first.

I wish he would explain what he likes about me, so I could tell...

So I could tell if he likes me as much as I like him.

If he could do that, well,

He could do anything he wants.

I'll never tell him that.

The girl in the mirror asks, or, I can tell she's thinking, "Anything?"

I'll have to think about that.

It's so hard!

(She giggles.) That word.

(I giggle.) It is really, really hard.

We both laugh together. She's like my best and worst friend, ever.

I'm going to get a water soluble marker and paint all the parts he's kissed so far.

Wouldn't you like to see _that_ picture? Sorry -

It's just for me and the girl in the mirror.

I'll tell you this much - He has kissed my lips, my cheeks, and one ear.

He has kissed my neck on both sides, and my shoulders.

While he was doing that, he reached under my bra and touched one of my nipples.

Not both.

I won't tell you which one, but me and the girl in the mirror, we know which one.

I won't tell you what he wanted to do, but I let him kiss my belly button, instead.

That would be marked.

He wasn't disappointed I wouldn't let him reach beneath my skirt because he made me, I mean, I let him make me take his thing out and rub it with my hand.

I learned he would kiss my belly button really, really good if I rubbed his thing just the right way.

He doesn't know it, but I'll always remember how to do it. The right way, I mean.

He was really proud of his progress that night. I made him promise not to tell anyone.

I told the girl in the mirror when I got home. We watched each other as we repeated each touch, each kiss, visiting each place so that we would always remember.

I don't know why it's important to remember. I think the girl in the mirror knows.

On our next date, he gave me a bracelet. It was silver, with a silver heart and a small blue stone. I put it on and it was so lovely.

It was the first time that I kissed him, first.

I think I cried, just a little, and he wiped my tears with his finger, so gently.

So sweet.

"What's this for?" I asked.

He looked hurt. Maybe I didn't say my question right.

I kissed him, again, a quick peck on the cheek, next to his lips, and told him not to be unhappy, that I was so happy with his gift and no one had ever given me anything like that before, but I needed him to tell me what he was thinking, when he bought it.

He looked so confused!

He thought a minute, and said, "I just wanted you to have something from me that you could look at when we're not together. I mean, ..."

"Hush," I said, "Now is the time to kiss me like you really, really mean it."

He did.

That kiss lasted, well, I don't know how long.

I think we changed clothes somewhere in the middle.

That doesn't sound right.

We didn't have sex or anything, not that time.

It was just a really, really long kiss.

I think our lips would have to get married after that kiss. We really knew how to kiss after that. Our kisses, well, I'd enter them in the Olympics if there was such a thing.

I love kissing him.

That night, I let him put his hand under my skirt. I wouldn't touch his thing but I told him he could touch me.

There.

Under my panties.

He was so excited, he was shaking all over, at least his hands were shaking. He got halfway up my thigh and I pressed his hand against my leg so he'd stop trembling.

He did.

His hands felt so warm on my skin. It just felt right for him to touch me.

I worried that he'd find me kind of gross, there.

He didn't.

He seemed to like it. He tickled me and rubbed me, watching my eyes so he could see if I liked it or not.

I liked it.

I said, "Kiss me while you touch me, okay?"

He kissed me and rubbed his fingers against my bottom. I had to help him find just the right spot and to rub it just the right way.

Both our hands were under my skirt by this time.

He did pretty good by the time I was through.

I bit his lip, though, when I ... finished.

He thought he had hurt me.

"No," I said, "You did good."

We kissed a quick kiss and looked at each other.

Something had changed.

He wanted me to rub him, afterward, but I wouldn't. I knew it was evil, but I told him that I was mad that he asked me. He started apologizing and I laughed.

"NO means NO," I said, "But you have to take it out and rub it while I watch."

He almost broke his zipper he was in such a hurry. He had a hard time getting it free of his underpants, so I told him, "Silly, undo your belt and pull you pants down and pull your underwear down."

He did as I said. I felt so bad, not bad, I mean, I felt so evil. He was so easy once it got hard. His thing, I mean.

He started rubbing it, really fast.

"NO," I said, "Rub it slow. I want to watch."

He rubbed it slower. It was like he was my slave, doing just what I wanted.

It was so wet all over. Up and down, his hand wobbling he was so excited. He was watching my face as he did it.

"It's so big. So big and hard." I admit, I said this kind of slow and sexy.

I am so mean.

He rubbed it faster like he couldn't stop, even though I'd told him not to.

"Do you want to kiss my breasts?" I asked, innocently.

That ended the experiment.

I had to check myself all over before he dropped me off. I wanted to be sure no one in the dorm could tell what we had done. Evidence. Forensics. DNA.

I hope he checked his car inside just as carefully.

The girl in the mirror smiled slyly at me that night. I think she liked it that I had been assertive in my physical relationship with my boyfriend. I think she was excited that we were exploring modes of expression, like in psychology class.

She had on a bracelet just like mine.

We agreed we would never take it off, but I did when I went to bed. I stared at it on the bedside table before I went to sleep.

He called me just as I was about to drift off. I felt so sleepy.

"I love you," he said.

I let a long silence pass by.

"I like you a lot," I said, "But I'm not ready to tell you how I feel, yet."

"Can we go out tomorrow night?"

He didn't mean 'out', he meant 'in'. What an ogre. He was probably touching himself while we were talking. Yuck.

"I have to go shopping. Call me after lunch."

"What are you shopping for?"

Nosy.

"I have to buy you a present." I hung up, quick, and turned the phone off.

I was awake, now, so I got up, took off my nightgown, and stood before the mirror.

The girl in the mirror winked at me. I wonder if ... don't say it.

I winked back.

Bedtime.