Mike Evans: Writer. Student. Virgin.

As I looked at myself in the mirror it occurred to me that I was remarkably unremarkable. I was tall, but not in a sexy way, like a sports star. I had brown hair, blue eyes and carried a bit of extra weight around my middle. I'm not particularly funny, and not particularly athletic. I've never had much luck with the ladies and even though I'm now entering my third year of university, I've never even kissed a girl, let alone had a girlfriend or had sex. I'm sure granddad was trying to help, but I really don't need to be reminded of this.

With a sigh, I go to walk off. As I leave I high-five the me in the mirror, but the oddest thing happens. My hand gets stuck. I go to pull it off, but my hand is stuck fast and I can't seem to make it budge. Now the glass from the mirror is turning fluid and moving up my arm. I must be hallucinating, there's no way this can be real...and yet...it is. My arm feels cold as the liquid glass flows over it. It's reached my shoulder now, and is slowly spreading across my chest. I consider screaming for help, but it's constricting my chest and I need to save my breath. Within a minute, my body is fully engulfed by the silvery, liquid substance. It starts drawing me towards the mirror and I hear a great SCHLLLOOPP, as I fall unceremoniously to the floor. Useless good-for-nothing mirror, I bet granddad knew it would do that. Is it some kind of prank mirror? No, it can't be. Something is off. It takes me a few seconds to figure out what. I am somewhere else. I'm in some other room. This definitely isn't my bedroom, the carpet is a different colour, and there's no fan. I had the fan on in my room. What the hell is going on here?

"Greetings." Says a soft female voice. Who the hell is that? I get up off the floor and examine my surroundings. The room I am in looks simple enough, with plum-painted walls and a white carpet, but no windows at all to speak of. There are just two white doors, one to my left and one to my right. The left-hand door features the image of a clothes-hangar painted in black, and the other has what appears to be an artist’s brush.

The room’s furniture consists of two, white leather couches with a glass coffee table between them. The walls are lined with bookshelves, full of old books. The books looked faded and dusty and had no titles, only Roman Numerals embossed into their spines.

Standing in the centre of the room, looking perfectly nonchalant is a naked woman with her hands behind her back. She must be the one who spoke earlier. She is gorgeous, with amazing curves including an amazing pair of teardrop-shaped breasts, green eyes, lightly freckled pale skin, and blood red hair, which I can only assume was dyed. I wasn’t paying much attention to the hair, however, as my eyes were trained on her breasts, specifically their puffy, pink nipples.

“The seal has been set.” She said, cryptically. “Hello Master, how may I help you?” She then smiled brightly and beautifully at me. It took me a while to process that.
"Uh...why are you naked?" I asked. She looked down at her nude form and made no effort to conceal herself, nor was there any shame in her expression as she looked back up, only a quizzical look.
“Does this state of dress displease you? I can change if you prefer.” She says.
“Uh...uh...um. To be honest it does make me a little uncomfortable. I haven't seen a naked woman before in real life. I mean, look at me...women aren't exactly lining up to take their clothes off in front of me.” I said. "Um...why are you naked anyway? I mean, you look gorgeous, it's just a little disconcerting, and it makes me feel self-conscious."

Her gorgeous smile vanished in an instant, replaced with a look of worry. “Oh no." She said, in a despondent voice. "I'm so sorry master. I didn't mean to make you feel disconcerted. It is my job to aid you in any way I can, would you prefer me to put some clothes on?"

"Uh...yeah, for now, that would be good. Maybe later once I'm a bit more comfortable, then you can remove them. I still don't know where I am or what's happening. I'm still not entirely sure that I'm not hallucinating."

“You're not hallucinating." The woman says, in a soft voice. A statement that is somewhat undercut by the fact that as she is speaking she begins to shimmer. For a few seconds she goes fuzzy, like I'm glimpsing her through a fogged-up window, then she comes into focus again, except now she is wearing a sky-blue singlet tied in a knot just below her breasts, a studded leather skirt and a pair of thick high-heeled boots. My eyes nearly pop out of your head.

"H...how did you just do that? Who are you?" I stammer.

Her head tilted. “I will go by whatever you wish to call me, Master. I have no name.”

This is making less and less sense. I'm having a difficult time convincing myself I'm not dreaming.
“Okay, slow down, I have no idea what is going on here. Where am I? Why don’t you have a name? Why are there no windows? Why am I your Master? Why did I end up here after touching my mirror? Am I dead?” All my questions came tumbling out all in a rush. I hadn't meant to be so brash, but I needed to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

“You’re in the Studio. I can’t quite explain exactly what this place is to you in a way you can easily understand, the best I can do is tell you what it does. This is a place where you can create and modify a world of your own design.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give me just a moment and I will show you.”

The woman is holding out her hand. I hesitate just a second, before taking it. As soon as our hands touch I feel and intense rush of vertigo as the room around me begins to dissolve and takes the shape of something else.

I have just been transported somewhere else entirely.