The Other Side of the Mirror

Part 1 - Alice

The world has got smaller, people, who never physically meet, talk via email, or even Skype, across the world. Journeys that might have taken months take a day. People who might never in the past have left their village in their lifetime do not just go to the big city or London but take weekend breaks in Paris or Rome and holiday anywhere in the world. Local dialects are fading. People are sounding more and more the same. Whereas once you might have known where someone came from to a few miles, now even guessing the county may be difficult.

Local dialects, local words, local traditions, local customs all fading into one common usage. But perhaps not all, perhaps in some places local traditions still hold sway, even amongst the young. What young girl in Selsdon Battersely, for example, would dare say the name Mandrake Mortimer three times whilst staring into a mirror?

Alice Compton thought it a stupid superstition. Despite living in a place, Selsdon Battersely, she was wont to call, crudely, 'the arse end of nowhere,' she did not see herself as a part of it. Her aim was to get to London where people were 'modern' and 'hip.' She was, after all, not local, had only been in the village four years since her father had moved there.

Eighteen, well developed, dark haired and with a rather knowing look Alice was more a leader of her set than a follower. Scoffing at the local tradition did not go down well with a friend.

"Mum says don't. Mrs Morrison at school said 'don't.' Just don't."

Is it perhaps something about the modern world, the modern mind, a certain arrogance, a certain self-absorption of the Western person that does not respect collective wisdom? Yet even Alice Compton paused when she stood before a mirror determined to laugh at silly superstition.

She was in her room at the top of the old house, an attic room with sloping ceilings. She lived there with her father and his brothers. It was a masculine house, only her room was exempt from that. Perhaps had she had a mother present then things would not have gone the way they did. Perhaps, like her friends, she would have listened and obeyed. It was, though, seemingly a superstition for women and perhaps that was also why Alice was so disparaging. In that rather odd modern way she had no time for the difference in the sexes, even if her very feminine room somewhat belied what she tended to say.

A sexual young woman certainly. There was no question what she would be doing when she got into bed later, tingling from her recent bath. She stood in front of the long mirror in its old wooden frame affixed to the wall naked, as she admired herself. She cupped and lifted her full breasts. How they had grown that last year, necessitating a movement up the brassiere sizes. The brown circles at their apex had grown too with a tendency to show a little above that low-cut brassiere she sometimes wore. Enough to be just seen in a low-cut tee shirt - just a hint of brown but enough to keep the boys' eyes on her in the pub. Amusing to see how that annoyed her friends.

Down below dark hair around her cleft, a tight little tummy and fine legs. She turned and admired her bottom. Full and round with a nice waggle she used to advantage - again with the boys. How they would like to see her like that, she and her mirror image.

"Well Mr. Mandrake Mortimer, what do you think?" She giggled: she had said the name once. What a silly superstition and what did it mean anyway. Her friends had not known, their mothers had not enlightened them, if they knew: and Mrs. Morrison had been tight lipped.

Alice thought of Dominic Trew, she thought of him quite a lot. Was happy enough to watch him on the hockey field, not that he seemed to pay her the attention she would like him to. That seemed reserved for Harriet Russell. She touched her nipples rather as she would like Dominic to do. Did Harriet let him do that?

She watched her fingers slide down her body from her breasts, down her tummy and into her cleft parting the dark hair. She watched herself in the mirror. How good to have Dominic do that. How good to have him beside her - naked too. Alice liked what she saw of his body in his hockey gear - and would like to see the rest. Of course, his penis would be turgid - it bloody well should be with her looking like that!

"Mandrake Mortimer," she said suddenly: a second time as her fingers slipped between her legs. She was wet, wet enough for Dominic, though she would rather he did not hurry things, had he been there. It would be nice enough just to pose together in the mirror or take amusing 'selfies.' What would Harriet think of those? Alice would not show them of course. Perhaps Harriet already had such things on her 'phone. Dominic and she posing naked, perhaps she posing with his cock in her mouth - a 'blowjob' - perhaps just licking it, perhaps sexual intercourse, perhaps his penis spurting all up her tummy. Harriet catching the moment. Alice knew she would be jealous, but she would still like to see the photos. Her fingers - three of them - pushed into her, imagining Dominic was there with her and without Harriet.

She turned from the mirror and switched off the light. Perhaps she might laugh fully at the superstition another night. She had only said the name twice, not thrice. Her interest had switched to a need to quell certain feelings that had rather grown. In the dark her thoughts were of Dominic in bed with her and what they might do together. Her mouth opened, round and wide as she imagined.

Alice awoke to light streaming through her curtains, awoke with a start. Her dream still very real in her mind, so real in fact that she still had the memory, and it felt so real, of an erection pressed into the crack of her bottom. She could not remember whose, perhaps it was Dominic's from her thoughts of the night before. There was time enough before she needed to be up and readying herself, for a little more play, a little more thought of Dominic.

It was only when she had left the house, was walking up the road did she suddenly wonder if she had put knickers on. It was only seated on the bus with friends did she surreptitiously feel and discover the truth. Alice Compton under her cotton skirt was going 'commando.' It was not a windy day, there was no real risk of any sudden exposure.

Alighting from the bus they were joined by Dominic Trew and some other boys. He did not especially speak to her - more was the pity - but her eyes followed him. It would have been just so good to have seen an especial bulge in his trousers. She found herself getting wet at the thought, notwithstanding her early morning 'play.' Perhaps it was the lack of any knickers, the reality that her sex was 'undefended.' Could he have 'up-skirted,' he would have seen all. Had he sat opposite her, say on facing park benches, she could have casually and seemingly accidentally, given him a first-rate thrill.

Again that night she felt really aroused as she readied for bed; again thoughts of Dominic and other boys as she played by herself in her bed; her mind returning to the idea of sitting on a park bench and accidentally leaving her legs apart so Dominic could see right up her skirt; perhaps him and a friend just sitting there spellbound and she seeing the bulges in their trousers; how she would like to sit between them and unzip them.

Waking in the middle of the night she found herself as wet as when she had dropped off to sleep, the memory of remarkably sexual dreaming fading. Shudderingly wonderful dream sex. All alone in the silence of the night, tucked up all warm and cosy in her bed, Alice brought herself off again. It was no different when she awoke in the morning.

She was careful to ensure she did not go out knickerless that day, even if the cotton seemed almost to chaff across her closed sex. She took them off when she got home, sat and did her homework with her legs a little apart feeling rebellious in not having anything underneath her skirt, looking forward to bedtime and what she would do. Sexual feelings seemed to have been coming to her even stronger the last few days.

A little rebellious indeed as she looked at the full-length mirror and her naked body. "Mandrake Mortimer," she said all of a sudden and then giggled. She was a modern girl. A modern girl could enjoy sex, not just 'lie back and think of England.' But was that really how women were in the past? She did not really get that impression from some of the novels she had read. Her fingers stroked her lower hair, touched her slit, cupped the mounded hair. Good feelings, but so much nicer if someone else was doing it. Dominic Trew of course would be best. What did he look like naked and with his thing up? Wouldn't she like to try it - the thing! Of course, there would need to be contraception. Perhaps he would let her roll it on. She knew about such things, had even bought a couple from a machine and tried it on a banana and, well, suffice to say she was one of the many girls who had been fucked by a banana!

Modern girls asked boys out, but did she dare ask Dominic? The idea of being rebuffed was not pleasing. "Mandrake Mortimer," she said as if she was swearing. She had said it a second time. Lying back on her bed she opened her legs and regarded herself. Did Harriet look as good? After a time, she rolled over and picked up her mobile 'phone from the bedside cabinet. It amused her posing herself in the mirror. The resulting 'selfies' were rather good, she thought, even if it was a bit stupid being able to see the 'phone with its camera in her hand. What would Dominic think of the photos? Much more fun to pose both him and her. Take photos whilst they were doing things. Did he and Harriet do that?

What was it about Mandrake Mortimer? Why was it, the saying of the name - just two words - a thing that women should not do? Why weren't boys warned against it - leastways they did not seem to be. Alice did not see herself as superstitious, she walked under ladders and certainly got herself quite incensed at any suggestion of sexual inequality. "Mandrake Mortimer," she said with defiance looking at the mirror. There, she had said it a third time, but absolutely nothing happened. The mirror remained as before.

Alice laughed and bounced herself off the bed and went to turn the main light off. It was nice to lie in her bed and play with herself. Thoughts of Dominic and other boys and what she would like to be doing with them in her bed. She even thought of having two of them in there with her. Plentiful male flesh surrounding her. In her mind thoughts of sexual intercourse, male hands on her breasts, male lips sucking her nipples, strong male hands parting her thighs and tickling her where she really liked to be tickled.

She opened her eyes. Almost there, almost there. Something, though, about the bedroom was not quite the same. Alice switched her bedroom light on and looked around. It was the mirror. It did not look the same, but she could not put her finger on why, at first. Perhaps her mind was befuddled by her sexual arousal but then it struck her. She, Alice Compton, was not being reflected. She rolled out of bed and stood looking, not close to, but from a distance. In the mirror not her, but another figure approaching. Not a woman like her but a man, a man as naked as she, a tall, dark man with black curly hair and a beard to match, a man hirsute with black curls across much of his body, a man very obviously as sexually excited as herself and showing it in a very male way. Alice looked behind her in a panic, from side to side in her room, as he walked slowly towards her. He was not there in the room with her. Not one bit. Only his reflection showed in the mirror. If it was a reflection because he was quite simply not there to reflect.

Alice swallowed. This was beyond her experience. She had been thinking of men, men naked and erect and was now seeing a most handsome and fine-looking man as naked as her thoughts and magnificently tumescent. His penis could but draw the eye the way it stood so proudly up in the air, so rigid, with just such a pleasing curve to it. A thing a woman would want between her legs.

She was worried the man would in some way walk out of the mirror into the room with her, but he halted close to the glass and just stood looking at her as if waiting for something. Standing there as a vision of male sexuality. It could not but make Alice's sex tingle, her already wet and aroused sex feeling very ready for the touch, the pushing and entering of that male organ. Alice could not help herself. Her hand dropped, and she touched her sex, touched herself intimately. The man's face relaxed into a smile and he reached and drew back his foreskin fully exposing the smooth, rounded end of his penis in its entirety. A jolt of sexual pleasure went through Alice at the sight, the way the curve of the 'bell end' increased to form a perfect shape for pushing open wet and excited female flesh. Her hand moved and so did his.

Alice did not know what to do. Should she grab her dressing gown and hurry from the room, perhaps, instead, burrow under the bedclothes and hide or just carry on masturbating to the enticing and erotic sight in her mirror. It was so sexually exciting to just carry on, to stare at the man's moving hand and move her own fingers. She had imagined before doing just that with Dominic - and another boy at the same time - the three of them naked but apart in three different chairs but watching the others. She showing the boys what girls did and they what boys did. She had imagined herself posing whilst playing, bending her body. Not just sitting there with legs apart but getting up on the arms of the armchair and waggling her bottom at them. Perhaps making her breasts bounce in her hands. She had imagined herself in part telling the boys what to do, getting them to stand with their penises extended, even coming closer to herself. So fascinating, so interesting and two of them to boot. Not to touch, that had all been agreed beforehand. It was just to watch. They to see her come and she them. To see what boys and men did.

As she had imagined inviting the boys nearer, so Alice could not resist moving a little closer to the mirror. Sitting on the end of the bed where she had posed for her 'selfies' made her masturbation easier, enabled her to open her legs and show herself as the tall dark man was showing himself to her. Her eyes stared at his moving hand, at the skin slipping over the smooth rounded knob of his penis. He was big, she knew that. Alice doubted Dominic or any of the other boys she knew stood so fine, a real flesh truncheon rising from his dark curls, nor did she miss what hung below. Did men get bigger as they got older? The man was not old, by no means, but not young either. Her own fingers moved, opening her inner lips to him, stroking the little pea of her clitoris, sliding fingers bunched together, pretending to be a penis, in and out of her - it was fair to say - sopping vagina. It was all so what she would have liked to do with Dominic: well, and perhaps other things in due course.

Alice stood and went even closer to the mirror, as she again built towards orgasm, so she was perhaps a foot only from the glass, a foot only from the man's penis the other side of the hard glass, a division between him and her. Who was he? That, at least, was pretty obvious to Alice, this was the Mandrake Mortimer she had been warned against. How, what or why she did not know, but she did know how good it was to have this vision of a man to see.

The man was sliding rather faster now, long, steady strokes of his hand. His smile had not left his face and his eyes were following her movements. Blue eyes, Alice noted, eyes that so complimented his dark hair, a striking contrast. His lips were full, not in a feminine way, but nonetheless sensuous. Lips made for kissing, perhaps.

Was he about to come? Was she about to see the male spurting of semen?

Alice closed her eyes. Something she always did when orgasming. Eyes screwed tight shut and her mouth open. It, the orgasm, was a good one, better than the night before, better than... Alice felt it. She really did. Warm liquid spurting on her cheek, one splash and then another and another. When she opened her eyes, the man was retreating from her, penis still as erect as before but him walking backwards away. Was that a particular dampness at the end of his swollen knob, had he come as men do?

The reflection of Alice returned as she raised her hand to her cheek but there was nothing there. She was sure she had felt it. Semen projected through the mirror. She had felt it spurting out of the mirror at her, she was sure of it, warm on her cheek but when she looked there was nothing there. Alice rose unsteadily to her feet, weak from her exceptional orgasm. There was nothing now strange about the room. She was tired, but she left the bedside light on as she settled for sleep.

Alice awoke rather late with sexual dreams still in her mind, her sex swollen with arousal. A shower somewhat washed away both physical evidence and her mental excitement and the rigours of the day somewhat kept such thoughts away, but not by the time she settled again for bed. She had not intended to repeat the names again for a second night. She rather suspected one could have too much of a good thing. It was tempting and perhaps that was what the warning had been about. A rather old-fashioned repression of female sexuality, a patriarchal disapproval of female desire and even orgasm. Men were allowed to ogle but not women.

But, again, all at once her room did not seem the same as before and there he, the man in the mirror, was in her mirror, seeming to walk through the reflection of her unusually large bedroom yet was not there on her side of the mirror - as if there was indeed a Lewis Carrol looking glass world on the other side. And, again, the man was fully tumescent, not rising in a sort of wildly inappropriate male greeting but simply naked and erect. Such a hairy man, such a tall, powerful man. So male, so very not female. He looked 'good enough to eat' as she had heard friends say about certain film star actors. But she also knew, she was not stupid or innocent in that way, what the giggling sub text could be to such a statement. Her friends had talked often enough about fellatio - 'blow jobs' as they called them. 'Eating' the man indeed. She also knew about the returning of the compliment - 'eating' the woman.

There he was as clear as clear as if just standing behind a pane of glass. Alice stared feeling her arousal coming, all wet between her legs. This time he did not reach for his penis when she touched her sex. Instead his hands came forward and he pressed his palms against the glass. His hands were certainly big. Was he showing her that he could not in any way come through the glass? He did seem to be pushing but to no avail. It was reassuring. She could look, he could look but not touch. Just like her imagined meeting with Dominic and the other boy, all very sexual, all very orgasmic, but at a distance.

But then the man pushed his hips forward, pressing, nay squashing his erection against the glass. So firm, so engorged, but flattened somewhat against the cold hard glass. Alice was tempted to get up from her bed and press herself against the cold glass as if she and perhaps Dominic were keeping apart, but a matter of millimetres with the glass between them. Dominic and his friend one side of a window and she the other. Perhaps against a patio window. They could be outside in the garden!

The man grimaced and pushed the harder and to Alice's astonishment she saw the glass seem to give way in a liquid sort of way - had she heard at school that glass was in reality liquid - and the man's knob started to push through and actually coming out the other side: her side. She had thought before how well rounded the penis was to open a vagina, to push into and open a woman, and here it was doing the same to - glass! The erection was appearing out of the mirror in front of her. The man behind pressed against the glass but the erection breaking through. Alice's eyes grew round. It was the real thing. She could not believe it. The naked man behind the glass, yet his erection angling out of the mirror, a 3D life sized real penis there in the room with her. The man one side of the glass, his penis out the other.