Friday, 20 May 2011


This was effectively the first piece I wrote on my journey into erotica, and it's still my favourite...

I'm standing in the ladies, my back against the stall, looking at myself in the mirror. I'm trying to breathe but my breath keeps catching in my throat. I'm a little scared, if I'm honest. My eyes are too wide, pupils too bright, like a rabbit caught in headlights. I know that I look good tonight. You know I look good tonight, I saw you looking at me. I gaze at myself, noting the fullness of my lips, the swell of my breasts, the curves of my hips, the length of my legs. I look damn good tonight, and I knew you'd be the only one to notice, because you're the only one I cared about impressing. I wasn't even sure you'd be here, but I thought about it anyway, bought that mascara in the supermarket after work, borrowed my workmates perfume... I didn't need to but someone said you might come and I couldn't help myself. I so hoped you'd be here but now that you are, I don't know quite how to deal with you.

I've drunk too much and my head is spinning a little bit. I want to hear you speak to me, want to hear you laugh, want to drink in the way you look at me... I know you want me, but it's only in these stolen moments that you ever let it show. I've been waiting all week for this moment, and now it's here, I'm standing in the ladies looking at myself in the mirror and wondering what I'm doing here. I set myself up, and now what?

The stall is hard and long against my back. I shift my position and a tingle runs down my spine. A sly smile and knowing look are gazing at me from the mirror. I barely recognise my own face, all I see is hunger, the need. My knees tremble a little and I place my hands against the stall behind me to steady myself. I feel the thrill of desire flow through me and my mind runs over all the things you could do to me, the ways in which you could own me. I imagine that you're rough, certain about your movements, controlling, calculated. My back arches a little bit. The stall digs in between my shoulder blades. I need you. I can almost feel your hands on me. Your eyes whisper words to me that no one else hears. My body aches as I think about you, on the other side of the wall talking to the others, unlikely thinking that I am standing in the ladies trying to get a grip on myself, trying to control my lust, the desires that I can't sate, the longing that will just have to go on without cease.

You will go home tonight completely oblivious to the fact that you have mentally fucked me in the ladies while everyone else obliviously sat around. My body still aches, desperate to be touched. I try to relax against the stall, my nerves tingling. I check my lipstick, try to ignore the sly smile that still looks back at me. This is not the first time this has happened, and it will not be the last. My mood darkens. I am doomed to stolen moments, things that I cannot have paraded in front of me as you watch me like I am something to eat. But this will happen again, and we both know that it will be the same. I grimace at the mirror.

“What are you looking at?” I say.

I sigh, and head back into the bar.


I love the short, punch me lines that reflect the urgency in this piece of writing and you describe the scene with incredible accuracy emotionally... I think we can all relate -x-

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