In love

I used to blush at my own shadow. Then the lens found me. One red light flickers on and the girl who once hid behind sleeves peels them away. Blonde hair tumbles loose across bare shoulders, lingerie clings like a second skin, and I let my hands speak where my mouth still hesitates. No polite smile left, just the slow, deliberate slide of fingers under lace. Heat gathers between my legs as I watch myself open on the little screen, legs parting wider with every stroke. The shy girl is gone. In her place, a redhead with a reckless pulse, touching deeper, wetter, harder, until the whole room hears how much she loves being watched.