It was your typical summer fling. I was studying abroad in Italy, and he was a historian from England spending his time in the archives of Venice. We met the way all great modern romances begin: on Tinder.
That first night, we stayed up talking till sunrise on the steps of my favorite piazza. I had never met anyone I had such an instant connection with.
The next two weeks moved quickly. We hung out after class and archival research sessions, and our dates turned into all-night strolls through Venice, never running out of things to talk about.
The sexual tension was there. So there that after each meeting at a pier, museum, strata, or restaurant, I’d find myself going home, alone, needing to masturbate. I wanted him so badly that every time we parted, I had to get myself off in order to focus on anything other than how much I wanted him.
But on our last night together, the day before he would be returning to Manchester, I asked him the question I had been wanting to ask since the day we met.
“I don’t want to be too forward, but since you’re leaving tomorrow, I was wondering if you would want me to spend the night with you.”
Relief came over his face.
“Absolutely,” he said. “I would love that.”
We made our way up to his hotel room, and my anxiety only increased. This man was about to see me naked, and this was a Big Deal.
I had been suffering from eating disorders and body dysmorphia since I was old enough to remember. (I was even admitted to a hospital for bulimia and anorexia when I was 13, and I still hadn’t figured out how to love my body.) Getting naked with a man I met two weeks ago? A scary feat. Or so I thought.
As he opened the door inside, my entire body felt like Jell-O. Like, I was actually worried I was going to faint. The sexual tension that had built up during the two weeks together was about to reach its breaking point.
As if the pressure weren’t already enough, when I pulled myself together enough to look around the room, I realized the entire wall across from his king-size bed was a mirror.
“What do you think?” he asked, disrupting my major spiral.
“I like it,” I replied with a shaky voice.
And that’s when the tension snapped. We pulled each other close and found each other’s lips. I tasted his desire for me, and our breathing intensified when he pulled back with flushed cheeks.
“I want to taste you,” he said. I nodded enthusiastically.
Each article of my clothing came off slowly, one by one, while his mouth visited every inch of my skin. The level of desire had become unbearable.
When his lips finally reached their destination, my body responded exactly the way he wanted it to. I came quickly and suddenly, unable to keep the moans from escaping my lips. With my head over the edge of the bed, I was vaguely aware of my body on display with all the lights on, but I didn’t care. For the first time, I really, actually, legitimately did not care.
When he pulled me up, I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The lights illuminated my curves in a way that reminded me of the marble statues we’d seen in Italian museums together. I looked almost animalistic, and for the first time, I felt sexy, powerful, and confident in my body.
We quickly moved into a doggy-style position—both facing the mirror in front of us. When he finally slipped himself inside of me, I gasped.
Right as I was about to cum again, I looked up and saw my reflection in the mirror. We locked eyes. He was biting his bottom lip, groaning with pleasure himself. I knew at that moment, however I looked, he liked it. A lot. His lips curved up in a sexy grin as he acknowledged my gaze. I then locked eyes with myself.
At that moment, I saw the graceful curve of my back, my softness, my pillowy breasts that rocked with our movement, and I looked beautiful. My hair was all over my face, which showed every sign of carnal pleasure. I felt free of insecurity, and it gave me a high that made the moment even more steamy.
It was like all my fears and feelings of unworthiness dissolved in an instant. It was a rare moment of totally living in the moment, instinctually responding to his body responding to mine. The orgasm that followed quickly took my breath away.
The next day, we parted ways. And while we intended to stay in touch, we eventually fell out of contact. My only regret? I wish I would’ve had the courage to initiate sex with him sooner.
But let me just say, my Mirror Moment completely changed the way I see sex. (No pun intended.) During it, I was able to physically see myself as the sexy, desirable person I am—and I loved it.
So even though I still battle with eating disorders and body dysmorphia, I will now be adding mirrors to every wall of my bedroom. Because turns out, when you see yourself getting f*cked, it’s actually much hotter than you might think. Like, much hotter.