Regrets, Remembrances, And Reflections

I think I hear him downstairs so I’m careful and I’m quiet. I tiptoe down the darkened halls, my towel clutched in one hand with everything I need wrapped up in it and the bottom of my dress in my other hand as I turn down familiar corridors until I come face to face with the bathroom door. Slipping inside I don’t really let myself breathe until I’ve got the lock snapped shut behind me and once I’m in I stand in the dark and exhale slowly, feeling maybe for the first time the fullness of the stress on my shoulders.

I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t really regret any of the choices I made. Everything I’d done tonight was degrees of insanity far further than I ever thought I could manage, but still there was little I wouldn’t do given the chance to do it again.

Or maybe it was just that regretting one thing was opening myself up to regretting everything. Some kind of snowball effect where pretty soon I’d just be wrapped up in a ball on the bathroom floor rocking back and forth and going insane with worry over what came next. What Blake would expect the next time he saw me. What Eddie would do with everything that I’d told him. What Rachel would…

No. I can’t let myself regret anything at all.

Regret one thing and I’ll regret everything.

I snapped on the light and stepped deeper into the bathroom, putting my bundle of supplies on the counter and unwrapping it, taking everything out bit by bit. I moved around the bathroom quickly trying to get myself organized and trying to figure out my way with things while being entirely unfamiliar in spite of the fact that I’d been here before.

The last time I lived here, the bathroom had always been the only real shared space in this house. I’d eventually set up my room with had a hotplate and a microwave and a little minifridge making it so that I never had to go to the kitchen and there really were no other amenities that I absolutely needed to share. But the bathroom was different. I had to overlap with Lucas here.

When both of us were men things were somehow simpler. Less stark difference between the lotions and creams and cleansers we used. Less of a feel like there was a gender divide between us because… well I guess because there wasn’t one.

Back then I put my shampoo bottle next to his and they might have been different brands but they still mostly looked the same. But it isn’t like that now.

This is another piece of this life that I just don’t have the energy to address right now. All of it so alien and so foreign and so utterly exhausting. A series of small little reminders that everything here is so new to me and that I’m facing down a future that should, on the surface, be the same and yet because of who I am right now feels so different. I can’t handle it. I can’t handle one more reminder. I need to just get myself clean and get myself to bed. I need to just… move on from today and hope that tomorrow will be simpler somehow.

So I place things as out of the way as I can and I snap on the shower, turning the heat to warmth before turning to look at myself in the mirror and wondering how in the hell this all happened to me.

How I became this woman. How I look at the reflection of her and somehow see me in it. How, after having spent less than a day in this body, it already feels so familiar.

The dress I wear is a little worse for wear. It’s mussed up and there are dirt stains on it. I shrug out of the shoulders of it and let it slip down my body, pooling to my feet before I kick it away. The little band around my head goes next, into a pile with the rest of it. The bra is difficult to unlatch but I give out a sigh of relief when it slips off my shoulders and I hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties and thrust them down to the ground, bending up and taking in the sight of myself in the reflection of the mirror.

I may be used to the sight of me, but I’m still struck by how beautiful a woman I make.

Pale skin, but flush with the light of life. Breasts that are so round and so full and so perky, with puffy pink nipples that are not too small or too large. All of me softened around the edges but flat where I need to be. Tight little tummy and slim little waist, womanly hips and soft and supple mound.

I wonder how different I looked tonight, afterwards. After I’d had a man touch me for the very first time. After I’d let him make me cum.

I wonder if I could tell, because I certainly feel so different now. Because I don’t blink as I stare at myself in the mirror and remember the feel of him on me, the feel of his hands on my body.

I remember how good it felt and I watch the flush rise in my cheeks, see my nipples harden, see my body go tight from the memory and the begging need for more.

A hot shower won’t cool me down, but maybe the sound of the rushing water will be enough to muffle my cries of pleasure as I linger in that memory and give myself a little more.

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