Microstory: Untitled

It was a decidedly depressing thought.

I looked at the mirror, with only my underwear on, which does not fit and have bulges coming out of them and my breasts hanging low as if my nipples are trying to kiss the ground I'm standing on and I thought of my friends with their boyfriends doing things I can't even imagine. I looked at the mirror reflecting on my mortality because well, the doctor said the chances are good but I'm morbid and I tend to imagine the worst thing that can happen.

I will die a virgin. An obese, 30 year old virgin who can't drive, haven't had a boyfriend and probably will lose both my breasts before the treatment is over.

Depressing.

Collars

He looks at her and feels a little bit frightened and yet his excitement is obvious. Why should he be frightened? It's not as if he didn't ask for this. The soft, fur-lined handcuffs that tied him to the bedpost is a gift for the 2nd week-sary (if there is such a thing). He's not into pain. He's really not. But this - feeling helpless, naked, hard and he's probably leaking already and all she's ever done is look at her handiwork and walked towards the table.

The collars are lined up on the table, and she took her time taking her pick. Is it the black leather one that leaves marks on his neck and he has to wear turtle-necks for a week so as to prevent anyone from seeing? Or is it the red and pink one - chosen by her because it's girly and it branded him as hers as no other collar can.

She picked up the black one and walk towards him. He nearly salivates in excitement.