Vanity fair

Bridgett stands before the mirror like it's a lover that never looks away. Hours disappear while she studies the lines of her body. Her flat stomach draws her palms first. She strokes it slow, feeling the heat rise beneath her fingertips. Then her hands climb, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing each nipple until they stiffen against the thin lace of her lingerie. She shifts her weight, letting one foot slide forward so she can admire the arch and the smooth length of her legs. The mirror catches every angle. She turns sideways, traces the curve from hip to thigh, and the sheer stocking catches the light like a second skin. When she sits on the edge of the vanity, one heel lifts, toes pointing as she studies the delicate sole. Her free hand drifts between her thighs, pressing the silk crotch of her panties until a damp spot appears. She watches her own face flush, lips parting, and the reflection answers every question she never speaks aloud.