What I See When I See Her

Ever since I became Emily, I’ve heard the same thing on repeat over and over and over again. All of these people telling me how cute I am, how pretty, how much I look like the girl next door. Telling me that I look so innocent and sweet. Telling me that they know I’ll be an absolute heartbreaker when I come into myself. Telling me what they see when they see me, but I don’t know that I really saw it for myself until now.

Emily. Emily Ross. You are so beautiful.

She isn’t tall. She isn’t skinny. She isn’t anything she doesn’t want to be.

She holds herself with a confidence that is years beyond her age and with her shoulders back and her head held high, but only in repose. Only when she’s not thinking of how to hold herself does she truly come into her own, like she has to be **** of it in order to it to come to the surface.

Right now, for just a flash of an instant, she is all alone and unaware. So she stands like a statue, like she’s carved out of marble by a master who somehow, impossibly, can make her seem so very soft.

Because she does feel soft, soft and warm. Pale skin flush with just a bit of the blush of life, without any blemish or imbalance to it. Soft swells over her slim body, all of it teasing such a deft femininity that the appeal and the draw of it is undeniable.

Her waist, in this moment, seems so small that you could almost fit a hand around it. Her breasts so full and supple that you couldn’t fit them in your palm without them spilling over. Her ass defying gravity just like those perfect breasts, all of her body tightly contained and all of it just asking and aching and begging to be touched and satisfied.

From her small puffy pink nipples to her full lips. From her big eyes which are begging with doe like innocence for you not to hurt her to her sex, blushing with need and flush with an aching tremble to be filled.

God but I think I understand it now. I think I know. I think… I think…

I think I did not and do not appreciate just how fully odd this transformation is for me.

In all my life I have never really understood the human condition, not at the base level. Because humans, when you strip away all the superficial details, are really about the basic impulses to fight, to feed, and to fuck.

And I knew this to be true and I understood it to be a universal principal, but I didn’t feel it in my heart of hearts exactly. I wanted to fight at times, yes I got that one. Feeding was a necessity for me or my body would shut down so I understood that too.

But fucking?

Outside of wanting to have it happen so that I could say that I’d done it, I never really believed that it was all as good as people said that it was. I never truly believed that it was this transcendant kind of experience like people seemed to believe. The kind of thing to fight wars over. To die and to kill for.

It was never really that much to me.

Sure I felt attraction. Yes, I understood the satisfaction of having cum. But it was all mechanics to me, an impulse just as necessary as eating though not nearly as prevalent or pressing.

Without procreation fucking was about clearing the pipes, to be crude about it, and anyone who believed it was about more was either tuned into something that I didn’t have insight into or was lying to seem cool.

But I think I get it now. I think I understood what was missing for me.

I see it when I catch her in repose and I feel the draw and the allure of her more than I ever have before. When I take in the soft swells of her body and ache in a place I’ve never felt. When I turn in full and stare into the mirror, watching her eyes go wide as realization dawns over her facial features and know, with absolute certainty that there has always been something missing for me and now I know what it truly is.

Because when I look into the mirror I see Emily Ross, just like everyone else does.

But when everyone else sees her, they see someone they want to be with.

And when I see her, all I want is to be...

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