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The Mirror Stage (G2f Solo)

2262 words | 4 |3.71

An alleged “Stage” of development, where a baby passes the Mirror Test of Self. Like an Animal, or Freud’s “Anal” stage. That’s not what this is...

It was weird, coming back home. It always was, after a long trip. This time it was Sri Lanka, where they had this big Typhoon, which is like a Hurricane, only Pacific. So, anyway, the storm surge, and the flood wiped out all there crops, and then the dry season came, so they couldn’t recover, and then the diseases set in…

It was like the Plagues of Egypt, but I guess they don’t send the Red Cross to nice places, like the Bahamas. It wasn’t like a tropical vacation, is all I’m saying. The UN was there with guns, too. Just in case the Warlords took over, or the Somalis.

You’d think that, if anyone would understand Pestilence, Drought, and Famine, it would be Somalia, but no. They turned Pirates instead, and tried to bring War to round out the 4 Horsemen, but that’s the kinda thing I’m talking about. A little Apocalypse, on a small island, in the Pacific. They were already poor, compared with Malasia, and Singapore, so they didn’t bounce back after the disaster.

They needed help, and that’s what my mom, and dad joined the Red Cross for, to help those in need. I’m proud of them of course, and I guess I should be more grateful for the chance to travel. Meet new people, who don’t speak a lick of English by the way, but how much do you really need to talk, to play with sticks, and balls in the street?

Not much, so I guess that was fun, with the dark little Asian girls, but I missed my friends, too. My nice warm bed, and my bedroom, with walls instead of a tent. It was just weird coming home, and smelling it? You get used to the smell, living there for years on end, but then you go away, and come back?

Yeah, well like that, but also the sounds you’d forgotten in the neighborhood, and the little bubble of paint over the ceiling over my bed, while I was laying there. Jetlagged, and trying to get my sleep schedule turned back around. It had grown, and now there was a little dark crescent around it.

Almost like an eyelid, with a bag under it, from the hole in the roof that made the paint bubble in the first place. Dad said he fixed it, the hole in the roof, and he wanted to get around to fixing the ceiling too, but then i felt bad. Obsessing over that annoying spot of water damage, after I just came back from the third world, where their whole lives. Their whole town, and the docks they bring the fish in on were completely wrecked by a bad storm.

So, i rubbed my eyes, and I didn’t feel any bags under them, but I wasn’t sleeping anyway, so I got up. Another thing you don’t think about is having a bathroom. Okay, I have to share it with my brothers, and sister, but still. We have one, the toilet flushes, and it wasn’t washed away by the muddy tsunami from a mudslide on a neaby island.

Nope, I didn’t look as tired as I felt. No bags under my eyes, and not even a little discoloration, in a crescent under them, like the water damage in the paint over my bed. I yawned, and blinked, but you know what?

They didn’t have a mirror there, neither. Mom just twisted up her hair, and pinned it, then tied on a doctors cap, with a mask over it, to take care of all the coughing locals. “Huh!” I guess I got used to seeing her without her makeup, and dad said the first thing he’d do is shave off the scruffy beard he started growing.

It didn’t occur to me that the one person I didn’t get to see that whole time was me. Looking back in the mirror, and I looked down, at my body. Stepped back, and pulled the night gown tight over my body. Without a bra on, I’d seen the ladies on TV, they all seem to sleep with their bras on, but ask me how they do it.

Looking down, or from the inside, the changes are so slow, but then you come back, to the bathroom, and there’s a mirror again. How long has it been, almost 2 years? “Wow,” I look so grown up now, I hardly even recognize myself, and it’s honestly a little amazing!

My hair is a wreck, though, but it’s the middle of the night, and so quiet. That’s another thing, about Jaffna. Everyone was so busy 24/7, and even when they weren’t running around, and talking close enough to the tent, there was also this Generator right there to keep the lights on, and it seemed to wait for you to almost be asleep, before it kicked in again to charge the batteries.

The heater kicked in to remind me of that, but it was such a gentle sound. Almost a hush, compared with that stinky engine struggling until it finally got going, and started thumping, rhythmically. I’m half asleep, but it’s surreal, like a dream, or what’s the opposite of Déjà vu?

“Huh!” I remember this feeling, from going away to Eritrea, and then coming back, so it feels familiar, but ironically, it’s a familiar feeling of unfamiliarity. Like, I stood like this before, in front of the mirror, brushing my hair, so many times that i lost count, when i should be getting ready for bed, or no. Wait, I was already in bed, but I couldn’t sleep, and now here I am brushing my hair when I’m only going to mess it up again when I lay back down, and how come I can’t sleep now when I’m so tired?

I guess the heater did it’s job, because it stopped again, but i shivered again. Topless, really wearing nothing but my sleeps shorts, and a pair of panties, but I put down the hair brush, and smiled. Blushing, so I looked a little made up, and so pretty? “Huh!” I never thought I was, all that pretty before, and I guess i was a little self conscious about my lack of boobs before.

But that was almost 2 years ago, and now there’s a little shadow underneath my nipples. I’m not cold, at all, that’s not why I just shivered, and now I’m getting goose bumps on my shoulders, and arms, even though my face, and neck is hot, the tops of my ears are almost burning, so I have to sweep my hair back, and I miss my bangs.

I didn’t get a chance to get a haircut, since we got back, neither. There not as red as they feel, but I think I’m, horny? Weird. So, that’s what it feels like, I know what it looks like, when a woman, or a girl talks about it, and yup. Cold sweat, blushing, I don’t feel embarrassed, but my body doesn’t know whether it’s hot or cold, and I just look so, sexy? Not just pretty, but also grown up, and topless.

I wonder if my butt looks big in these shorts, for some reason, but the mirror’s up there, and twisting around doesn’t let me see much, except for how much it sticks out, which isn’t much, but it’s round, and the cut-off terry from my old sweat pants pulls so tight on the one side, I can even see the line from my panties curve around, and disappear behind my buttock.

“Huh!” I’m curvy, and I have hips? How the hell did I grow hips without even noticing, but here they are, and sticking my thumbs in the waistband to pull them down. I’m hairy, I knew that just from dropping my pants, and squatting in the corner of an alley, nearby the empty lot where they cleared out all the wrecked cars, and scooters so we could run around, and play.

With the boys, I don’t know if they played like that all the time, or just after the disaster, but it wasn’t like it is here, where the boys have their club-house, and there’s no girls allowed, and i got pretty good at hitting rocks with a stick teaching them baseball, when I never even played Teeball except in gym where they taught us that, but being American, of course they wanted to play baseball, but then I remembered Chaminda.

He could say Baseball, that was about all the English he knew, but he was tall, and dark, with mysterious eyes, and really straight white teeth when he smiled. I remember his laugh, and i even started missing it, when i realized that i would never hear him laugh again, or see him again, and I even missed my chance to see if he would kiss me?

My lips feel hot, and swollen too. I smile, and stop feeling them, move my fingertips, and look in the mirror. “Huh!” It looks like I’m wearing lipstick too? That and the blush really brings out the green in my hazel eyes, and I can just imagine how exotic I must have looked, especially to Cham, who’d never seen green eyes before.

So, what do I do, just, stick my finger in there, and pretend it’s his penis? I’d seen it, briefly. “Huh!” He dropped his shorts, coming around the corner, before he looked down, and saw me squatting there, but he didn’t try to cover it up. He just pinched it, so the head popped out, but held the pee back until I pulled up my pants, and moved out of the way so he could go stand in the corner.

Looking down, with his pale butt sticking out, then relaxing. I should have, I don’t know. Certainly not taken advantage of the situation, to grab his buttocks, and feel how smooth his skin is, underneath his shorts so they didn’t get as tanned as the rest of him. So, he’d turn around, hard, and pointing up at me, he’d have to pick me up so I could hold onto his shoulders, and hug his narrow hips with my legs, so he was low enough to get it in.

“Uh! Huh!” Inside of me. “HhuhHhuh!” I’m not wet? I’m supposed to get wet, right? No, wait, I think I feel a little, dampness deeper in. If I just wiggle my finger a little. Like a tampon, but so much better.

No, like a penis. A nice deep tanned uncircumcised Asian penis. He was so good looking, and even his name. “Cham, oh Chaminda, huh!” It kinda sounds like a black girl name, when you think about it, but I like it. It’s a pretty name, honestly.

I wish i could have stayed, learned Tamil, or Sinhalese, which ever one he was speaking. I don’t even know what language he speaks, but it’s different there. I’m certainly not the first girl he’d ever seen pop a squat in the street like that, and now I remember his mom taking off her top, and washing his brothers, and sisters. They didn’t have a bath-tub, they had this, I don’t know, basin? More like a giant bucket, but not big enough to take a bath in, unless you’re babies, or at most a toddler.

We had showers at the Disaster Relief camp, but it’s funny how something so offal can bring people together, and he took off his shirt too. When it was his turn, he swabbed under his arms with a washcloth. So did his mom, in just her bra, and a sarong wrapped around her hips like a skirt, but even she didn’t have that much hair under them.

“Snh?” Weird, I’m sweaty, of course. Part of that cold sweat thing, but I kinda like it? Not like smelling your own farts, I never liked the way I smelled whenever I went too long without a shower, but for some reason, this time, it smells good. Really good, and that reminded me of the moisture that was really starting to coat my finger.

I was wet, just not enough for it to leak out, on it’s own. Like, well, it’s probably better if I don’t think about what else leaks out of that hole, and just move on.

“Snh?” Wow, it smells even more like sweat then sweat does, and even better! “Uh!”

I just remembered, there should be a makeup mirror in the drawer, “Here!” Right where I left it, i just forgot, because it’s been over a year since the last time I put on makeup, but I don’t need it for that now. “Wow,” i look good, now. Without a spot of makeup, but oh yeah.

Now, I don’t have to stand here, with my wrist up against the hard corner of the sink. I can take back to bed with me, and just imagine Cham coming by the tent, to visit me. “Huh, come in. Don’t be shy, come right in, and take your close off. Yeah, you like what you see?”

Tilting the mirror, so it pans down from my face, my neck, and shoulders. My heaving chest, and my arm across my panting tummy, to cover the fur curling, and crackling in my palm. Making a V with my fingers, and wiping away the little pink folds inside, to show the damp hole glistening with the juices of arousal, and lust for him. “Huh, here. In here, put it in here, uh! Yes, Chamindah. Fuck me Cham fuck me faster, huh!”

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  • Reply GG ID:44oehka9k0j

    What g2f mean?

    • Psiberzerker ID:1fr6k6ud4

      Girl to teen.

    • Jeanie Smith ID:bo1uqe0ql

      Sri Lanka, in the Pacific, lol, try Indian Ocean.

    • Psiberzerker ID:1fr6k6ud4

      @Jeanie, good eye. However, you’re corecting the character, not the Author. I know that, but she can’t hear you, because she’s a figment of my imagination.

      I don’t write “Perfect” characters. They have their faults, and they make mistakes. I feel they’re more believable that way.