Lingerie

I accepted the invitation with my lingerie tucked in my bag. I never imagined there’d be no camera, and that the real plan was me.

He shut the bathroom door, looked at himself in the mirror in the short blouse and wet lace, and knew there was no way back tonight.

For weeks I’d been wearing lingerie under my clothes, but that night, alone at home, I decided to become the woman he wanted to see.

In front of the mirror, with the dim light and the music low, I discovered that the best company that night was my own: my hands, my vibrator, and a desire that kept growing.

I never liked stuffed animals as gifts. Until the weekend I was home alone and realized what the one my ex left me was really for.

She knew she was alone in the flat. So when she took down the black box her friends had given her, she was no longer thinking about the notes waiting on the desk.

I started with mirrors on the floor and ended up discovering my neighbor naked from my terrace. Every fleeting glimpse became a drug.

I’d been turned on for days with not a single minute alone. That Friday I booked a room, took the vibrator out of the box, and decided the night was mine.

I expected lies the night I confronted him. I didn’t expect to get wet imagining him on his knees, becoming what he had always wanted to be.

When I came out of the bathroom with the plug still inside me and my body shaved smooth, I knew that entire day belonged to her and her rules.

We started talking by messages. We ended up seeing each other naked under the same red moon, each in our own city, each with the other’s breath on the screen.

Her boyfriend played with his phone a meter away while she left the fitting-room curtain half open and, every time she undressed, checked that I was still there.

When he turned around in that little town store, I thought he was a woman. He wore white jeans, painted nails, and a secret I wouldn’t discover until we were stranded on the road.

When he opened the bag, he found a burgundy bra and a note: “Get familiar with the sensations. Tomorrow we begin in earnest.” There was no turning back.

I rarely send photos: it’s dangerous. But that boy made me feel safe, and between black stockings and midnight messages I became the star of his best fantasy.

That night I put on the skirt, stockings, and heels I kept hidden in the wardrobe. I didn’t know that someone had been watching from across the landing.

I shaved everything, wore stockings and garters in secret. I never imagined a company conference would end with me giving myself to another man.

Tied to her sofa, in a princess dress and with my face made up, I heard someone knock at the door. And I understood that night I would stop being only hers.