Roger Grayson
The Two-Way Mirror
Chapter 1
It was June 6th, her ex-husband's birthday; Karen Wilson awakened with a start and almost immediately fell into a state of depression. In fact, she had slept fitfully, the darkened hours measured in short, fleeting nightmares in which she kept seeing Jeff's bloodied face in death where he had fallen from an enemy shell; she had cried off and on throughout the night. It had been horrible. Now, she wondered where he was, if he was all right. He had been discharged when his tour of duty was up, that much she knew… and that was all she knew about him.
Eighteen months we've been separated… divorced… good Lord, is it possible…?
The lovely young girl swung from her bed naked, her long blonde hair an entangled mess from her sleepless rolling and tossing. She crossed the room to her vanity, her perfectly round and full buttocks quivering slightly with the movement; she ran a brush quickly through her lengthy, silken, honey-colored tresses. The raising of her arms lifted her firm and lushly copious, high-set, widely spaced breasts to a regal state, their rose-tipped nipples distending sensitively as she watched in the mirror before her. Strange, she meditated, how the mere thought of him could arouse her this way, yet when they had been together she had invariably frozen up…
He is twenty-five today, two years older than me… We would've been married two years… I-I wonder if he ever thinks of me…?
Subconsciously, she noted her slender waist and the way it flared into round, attractive hips. Her shape pleased her. Her stomach was flat and smooth as it should be, and her thighs were long, full-swelling, as did her calves taper admirably into thin, well-formed ankles. There was nothing fraudulent about her body, she thought proudly, no pads necessary, no defacing blemishes… and the soft golden down that sparsely covered her pubic mound denoted her natural complexion. The term divorcee did not fit her, she thought bitterly.
She picked up her robe, slipping into it, then looked closer into the mirror. Her eyes were swollen and puffy. She poked at the little bags beneath them irritably with a long slender finger…
Beautiful, laughing hazel eyes, he used to tell me…
Thank God, she didn't have to walk into some classroom looking this way. She tossed down her brush and went to the bedroom window. A typically hot and smoggy Los Angeles summer's morn greeted her. It was 6:30; she hoped she might get some writing accomplished, if only a page or so, before the temperature reached the unbearable point in the little apartment, but she was in such a hellish, downcast mood. The stupid manager hadn't repaired her air-conditioning unit as yet, and she doubted that it would be done today. June 6th, her Jeffrey's birthday… God, how she missed him… and loved him… Happy birthday, darling… wherever you are…
She sighed resignedly, and dabbed at a swelling tear. It was going to be a miserable day.
In passing through the small living-room on her way to the kitchenette, her typewriter and the cluttered array of papers around it caught her eye. It glared back at her… an ogre, seemingly challenging her determination.