And the water begun to run but the mist had yet to overtake the room as Lucy admired her reflection in the mirror. Thin, voluptuous where was needed, that was her body. Lucy raised one short flexible leg over the bathroom’s counter; she looked at the bruise on her right thigh. Yesterday the bicycle had left its greeting, and now she wondered whether human contact could leave the same trails on such close edges to her sex. Perhaps a carnivore’s teeth could do the task, or an unshaved chin who can’t keep itself from kissing that area of untouched flesh. Lucy presses her finger against the purple mark, enjoying its brief pains. She takes her leg off the counter and walks to the shower. The water had been running for a while, her reflection is now undefined. Lucy lays down on the tub, as the shower washes over her, the head gripped tight in her hand. She places each leg to opposite ends of the tub, directing the blessing pressure of water to her thigh then closer to her yearning pleasure, where she replaces her fingers with inconsistent flows from the shower head’s mouth.
