Mirrorshades, Part One

It all started when my daughter, Janey, told me she was gay.  At first, I 
thought "Sure, this week you're gay, what'll it be next week?"  I love Janey 
with all my heart, but she's always been, well, for want of a better word, 
flighty.  That's why I didn't really believe her when she said she was gay.  
It's not that I had a problem with it, it's just that I know Janey and I know 
how she jumps around from job to job, hobby to hobby.  One week she's a 
Communist, next week she's a noveau-yuppie.

But this seemed to stick, after a fashion.  She was still flighty, still my 
same Janey, but she didn't give up dating the other girls in her high school.  
She did bounce around from relationship to relationship like a hummingbird, 
but what girl her age really needs to be settling down, anyway?

One Friday evening, she came downstairs, combing her hair and generally 
primping for a date.  "Mom, don't embarrass me, okay?  I really like this 
girl."

I just smiled.  "Sure, Janey, do want me to bring out the baby pictures or the 
ones from last summer when you accidentally dyed your hair green?"

"Ha ha.  Bring out whatever pics you want, Mom.  She's blind, so she'll just 
have to take your word for it."

"Blind?  Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Is it a problem?"

"Of course not, Janey, it just seems like the kind of thing somebody would 
mention."

"Isn't that what I just did?"

I laughed and gave her a quick hug.  "Okay, any other dark secrets about your 
new belle?"

"Well, she'd twenty-two," Janey said with a sheepish 
I'm-telling-you-the-truth-but-I-hope-you-think-I'm-joking smile.

"Isn't that a little old for you, Janey?  I mean, five years can be a lot, at 
least when you're so young."

"Maybe, but she doesn't seem all that much older.  It's not like she's 
immature or anything...  I dunno, she's just really nice.  I like being with 
her, y'know."  Janey was definitely getting embarrassed now.

"I'll be good, Janey.  Scout's honor.  Just as long as you know what you're 
doing.  I trust you."  It's more likely you'll end up breaking the poor girl's 
heart, not the other way around, I thought.  That's just the way Janey is.



Ten minutes later, Janey's date arrived, chauffeured by her brother.  Janey 
introduced her as Molly.  She was a tall, sleek girl with shiny dark hair cut 
into a cute bob that would probably be considered retro in twenty years and 
small features.  Instead of the normal dark sunglasses, Molly wore 
mirrorshades.  After she felt my face to tell what I looked like, I 
complemented her on them.

"Thanks.  I guess I'd be lost if I couldn't get William Gibson books in 
Braille.  Kind of a little tribute, y'know, since I had the name and all."

Eventually, they left, Janey on Molly's arm, quite the couple.



I spent the evening kicking around the house, alone.  Just like usual.  
Janey's father had left me three years ago for some nineteen-year-old with 
plastic tits and I guess it just left me kind of bummed out with the whole 
idea of getting out and meeting people.  I hardly ever dated any more.  Not 
that I'm all that old, or anything, I'm only 34.  I met Mark my freshman year 
of college and we got married.  Right after he got me pregnant, that is.  At 
least I got my degree.  Eventually.

But I guess I'm still not all that bad looking, for an old woman.  At least 
that's what I've been told.  When Janey and I go somewhere, we sometimes get 
mistaken for sisters.  God, she hates that!  So I always dress like her when 
we go out, just to bug her.

But I've just never been very good with guys.  I don't know if it's shyness or 
what, but I never seem to get asked out much.  So I end up spending a lot of 
nights alone.  I usually didn't mind it.  I had even gotten to liking it, most 
of the time.  I'd watch some TV or read a book or just make up something to 
do.

Well, tonight was the kind of night when I minded being alone.  I don't know 
why, but for some reason, I was feeling very horny.  Ah, what the fuck, I 
thought.  I have the house to myself tonight, might as well enjoy it.

I turned out the lights and went to my bedroom.  I put on some music to put 
myself in the mood.  Ali Farka Toure always does it, for some reason.  I took 
off my blouse and jeans until I was standing in nothing but my bra and 
panties.  I ran my hand down my tummy, brushing my fingers around the outer 
edge of my belly button.  I shivered and giggled a little.  Suddenly, I wanted 
to be completely naked, so I stripped off my bra, threw it in the corner and 
slid my panties down my thighs and kicked them off.  They flew across the room 
and hooked on the doorknob.  I laughed out loud.  Couldn't have made a better 
shot if I'd tried.

I stood in front of the mirror naked and looked myself over.  No, not bad at 
all.  I ran my hands down my sides to my waist and then my hips.  I ran one 
over my left breast.  The rose tattoo three or four inches above my nipple 
still didn't look dumb.  That was how I judged my appearance.  I'd strip down 
in front of a mirror and if I didn't regret my tattoo, then I was fine.  Old 
women really stand out if they have a tattoo.  Only young people should have 
tattoos, when they're dumb enough and cute enough to fully appreciate them.

I moved my fingers gently down my breast and tweaked my nipple.  It felt 
wonderful.  It sent a warm little wave through my abdomen and I decided it was 
time to get into bed.  I climbed in under the covers and contemplated why 
"warm" and "naked" always seemed to lead to "happy".  It was true.  Even if 
you're alone, if you're warm and naked, sooner or later you'll start to feel 
happy, if only for a little while.

I pinched my nipple again, this time a little harder.  I closed my eyes and 
breathed deeply as I moved my hand down my body.  I stopped at my pubic bush.  
It was curly, like everybody's, but arguably softer than the hair on my head.  
I kept it neatly shaped, but left it long.  I kept my lips shaved bald as the 
day I was born and right now, they felt like heaven to my adventurous fingers. 
 The skin was soft and, now, moist.  I squirmed my butt a little almost 
involuntarily as I found my clit like I had done so many times before.

I started stroking my clit with one hand and rolling a nipple between the 
thumb and index finger of the other.  A little moan came up the back of my 
throat and I let it out.  It felt so good!  I dipped my middle finger in and 
shivered in delight.  I tried to bring to mind some kind of erotic imagery to 
help myself along, but couldn't seem to make it work.

That's when something odd happened.  Suddenly, an image of Molly popped into 
my head.  She was nude except for her mirrorshades, standing in front of me.  
The vision was so powerful, it felt like she was there in my room with me.  
Before I could even stop myself, I was cumming!  My orgasm took hold of my 
body just as the vision of Molly nude had claimed my mind.  It pounded me into 
submission, forcing me to experience it, to revel in it.

When I started to calm down, my mind began to buzz.  What had happened to me?  
Where had that come from?  Part of me felt shocked that I had gotten off on 
thinking  about a nude woman and part of me felt guilty because that same 
woman was my daughter's girlfriend.  I wiped my hand on my tummy and lay there 
wondering what it meant.

I don't know if it was exhaustion or the wonderful orgasm I had just had, but 
I fell asleep and didn't wake up until very late the next morning.  I tried to 
put it out of my head as best I could, but every once in a while, that picture 
kept popping back into my conscious mind, Molly's mirrorshades glinting a 
small wink of light, her body sleek and inviting.  A look on her face of  pure 
eroticism.


Needless to say, this made things a little bit awkward for me whenever Molly 
was around, which was getting to be pretty often now.  She'd come by and we'd 
talk while Janey got ready.  (I love the girl, but she's always running late.) 
 Molly was an aspiring author.  She let me read a couple of her stories, even.

It seemed like the more I got to know Molly, the more often she popped up in 
my sexual fantasies.  I started to feel very guilty about it, but then I 
decided that nobody was getting hurt, and after all, that' what fantasies are 
for right?  To be able to enjoy things you might not necessarily do.

And when Janey, predictably, broke up with Molly, saying  it was getting too 
serious for her, I thought that would be the end of it.

But what kind of story would that be?