I was staring at my own reflection in the mirror, feeling bit by bit the sensation of being naked, of being in his room instead of mine, of the rushing cooling of the warmth that has been circumventing in my body.
"Yes, with two teaspoons of sugar, please," I replied.
I was staring at myself, assessing each part of my body. I glanced at my eyes, these normal almond-shaped eyes with hazel-brown irises that stare right back at me, that pierce through my soul silently judging, that I like to be closed when he kisses me passionately and touches me gently and -. I glanced at my lips, these pinkish lips that surrender to his lips, that follow his every command, that tickle him and make him moan that long moan and -. I glance at my breasts, these A-cups that he always love to grab like it's a handrest and he always love to press against his somehow-hairy chest and he always love to lick and -.
"Don't melt down looking at yourself," he said as he approached me and set beside me in his bed, holding a coffee cup in one hand.
"I'm just-"
"I love you."
I just stared back at him. He was naked too, and I grazed and traced the path of his body hair. From his shaven moustache and beard, and skip to his chest, down to his navel area down to his -.
"I love you too," I replied.
I'm not sure.
I feel nothing. I absolutely feel nothing. I fake the smiles I show to everyone when your up and proud presenting me to your friends as your new girlfriend. I fake the words I speak when you say something sweet. I fake the loud ecstatic moans when you tell me that you're coming and the humping gets intensified. I fake our relationship. I fake us.
"I will love you forever, babe," he said once more, handing me my coffee.
"Good morning," I said as I smiled.
That's what you get when you pursue an actress. Fuck you, I don't like drinking coffee.
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