The mirror

by msclundylvr

At an estate sale, a man who’s disappointed with his life (and body) finds a full-length mirror that shows him what he wants to see.

2 parts 3,595 words Added Jul 2006 13k views 4.9 stars (7 votes)

You may be looking for the following similarly named story: Mirror mirror by Corwin.

Part 1 At an estate sale, a man who’s disappointed with his life (and body) finds a full-length mirror that shows him what he wants to see. (added: 1 Jul 2006)
Part 2
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Part 1

It’s Saturday. Although I was out at the bar with a couple of friends last night, I am awake automatically at 7:00 a.m. Damned Circadian Rhythms! What happened to the days when I could be up until 4:00 a.m. and sleep well into the afternoon with no problems whatsoever? Oh well, I might as well get up and find something to do.

I head to the bathroom to get ready for the day. On the way, I look in the mirror to see what configuration my hair got into during my slightly inebriated sleep. My wavy brown hair that usually falls nicely just at the top of my ears is standing on end in the front and completely flat in the back—it must’ve been a rough night.

As I try to remember my dreams, I recall the nightmares that plagued my sleep. Job failure, deaths of family members, fights with friends, and general dis-ease with life are regularly featured in the flicks shown on the backs of my eyelids.

There are those who say that our dream lives are fairly accurate indicators about the things that fill our subconscious thoughts. I would tend to agree with them. My first job out of graduate school is nothing as I had hoped when I took it a year ago. I am trapped in that place where I would love to move onto something new and exciting but can’t because I haven’t put in enough time at this job to have gained enough experience from it—according to those who read resumes regularly. “Nobody likes a job-hopper.” Well, nobody likes being confined in a bad situation either!

According to the Myers-Briggs people, I am a “polarized T.” Meaning, although it is still first thing in the morning, although I’m somewhat hungover, although I haven’t had any coffee, and although I am on the way to take my morning piss, I am already thinking and analyzing my reality as revealed through dreams. Is this normal? For me, it’s just par for the course.

I take care of my business in the bathroom and head to the kitchen to get the coffee pot brewing while I take my shower. I take my t-shirt off on the way to the bathroom. In the bathroom, I am greeted by a sobering reminder of how out of shape I am. Damn. Why did I have to get the genes to be the fat kid? Thanks Mom and Dad… I’ve had man-boobs for as long as I can remember.

I’ve never been the athletic sort—well, not the sort to be out there sweating and grunting. I was always the smart kid more interested learning about life through books and television than actually being out there experiencing life and grabbing it by the proverbial horns.

Growing up in a small, Midwestern town didn’t help this one bit. The only options afforded to anyone were to be an athlete or a nobody. I have the feeling that the fact that I’ve worn glasses since second grade did not help me to break out of my dorky nobody role.

Though I was never the one to be outside playing basketball or tag or capture the flag, I was secretly jealous of those who were. Why was it so easy for them to be lithe and athletic? Why did they seem to have all of the fun? As we got older, why were they the ones invited to all of the parties, the ones who got all of the girls? Why were they endowed with pecs, bis, and abs that seemed to be on display constantly no matter what they wore? Why did their muscles seem to grow with only minimal effort? I know mine are under here somewhere, yet even the little bit of exercise I attempted, they never really showed through. Damn genetics.

Okay, okay, enough self-deprecation.

I look at myself in the mirror again. I hate the tiny mirror in the bathroom. I can hardly see anything more than my face and shoulders—well, the man-boobs, but I pretend they aren’t there. A friend of mine always makes me say some positive things about myself whenever I get down. Maybe that’ll work.

Man, that coffee smells good.

Okay, back with a cup. I look in the mirror again and remember that I never said the positives. Here we go. Though I have the fat gene—wait, no comparisons, only positives. I like my 6’2” height. I love my hair—when it behaves and doesn’t stand on end. (My mane of hair has been compared to that of Patrick Dempsey. I can see the resemblance, but without a professional hair person putting it back in place every two seconds like McDreamy, mine ends up looking more like Harry Potter at times.) I have good eyes that flip between blue and green depending on what I’m wearing. Okay, that’s the required three. That’s enough.

In the shower, I try to figure out what I want to do with my day. Hang out? Nah, the weather is too nice. Lake? Nah, everybody will be there on Saturday. Let’s see…what’s something I can’t do on the normal day of the week? I am sick of one of my walls being bare because I don’t have anything with which to cover it, so I decide to go check out some garage and estate sales in the area.

I dry off, shave, dress, brush the teeth, and the rest of the morning routine. I put on the new cargo pants I bought a couple days ago—I wish this damned mirror wasn’t so small so I could see what they look like. Or, maybe it’s better I can’t see.

At the first garage sale, I see a couple of old maps that would fit in poster frames and work well in my apartment (thanks for the tip Fab 5!) I go to a couple of other sales and pick up some great stuff. The back seat of my SUV is filling up with stuff and I’ve still spent only $30! Why don’t I do this more often? (Right, I live in a small, one bedroom apartment. I have to remind myself there isn’t room for extra junk in there.)

I get my cell out of my pocket to check the time. It’s 11:30. I can get one more sale in before noon when most of the sales really start to dwindle or close. There’s a huge estate sale at a veritable mansion only a mile away. I probably can’t afford anything there, but why not.

It is the sort of estate sale where you can wander through the house and look at the objects in their original environment. I may never have the chance to wander through this Victorian mansion again, so I decide to take it in while I can. I wander through the various sitting rooms and parlors. Everything is pretty picked through by this time of day, but still it is nice to see the hand-carved woodworking, amazing plaster molding, elaborate chandeliers, and other architectural features. The other people milling around are obviously snooty collectors looking for a bargain on antiques.

The woman running the sale introduces herself and tells me that the sale will be officially ending soon, but since I’m already inside and appear to be enjoying the ambiance, she says I can take my time since she has to stick around for awhile to close up the books. I finish the first floor and go through the second. At the end of the upstairs hall, I notice a back staircase leading up to what must have been the servant’s quarters back in the day.

I reach the top of the stairs where I am standing in a large, wood-paneled room. There are a few boxes scattered around. It is very dusty. This space must have been used as attic storage space once society shifted to the place where servants no longer served their employers 24-7.

Something at the other end of the room catches my eye. I walk over to the sheet-covered object and begin my investigation. It stands about six inches taller than me. I try to peek under the sheet but can’t tell what kind of furniture it is. It has beautifully carved feet. I look around to make sure I am still alone. I don’t hear anybody else either, so I pull the sheet off.

Under the sheet is a stunning full-body mirror. It is stunning and though the glass is original, the silver backing is still in great condition except for about half an inch around the sides. The tarnished border gives it a mysterious, dreamy quality.

I look at myself head to toe in the mirror. I haven’t seen the full view of myself for awhile. Now I’m really jealous of the athletic guys growing up. Man boobs, a flat tire around my belly. Big thighs and ass… I’m 26! I’m supposed to be in my prime. What does this say for my future???

Okay, think positively. Height? Good. Hair? More Patrick than Harry—good. Eyes? Looking green today against the blue polo I have on. Same ones I used this morning, but feeling better about things.

Maybe I should try yet another diet and exercise program. I mean, even if I could lose 10 pounds, it’d be a start. I look in the mirror and think, “I wonder what I’d look like if I were 10 lbs. lighter.”

As soon as I said that, it looked like the image in the mirror shifted a little without me moving. I stuck my finger out to examine the glass to see if it was settling due to age, as often happens with old glass.

Just then, I hear footsteps on the stairs. I hear the voice of the woman in charge of the sale.

“Hello? Hello? Anyone up there?”

Just then, she appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Uhhh…hi. I was just exploring and ran across this wonderful mirror.”

“Oh, that old thing? We can’t find any information about it in the estate records. We have no idea when it was purchased or who made it. We’ve had appraisers here to look at it and they think it must be some local yokel who made it at some point. The mirror silvering isn’t very good anymore.” We were just going to throw it out.”

“What! It’s great! How much do you want for it? I can’t pay much, but I’d like to take it.”

“Oh, just take it. No charge. Like I said, we were going to throw the worthless thing out.”

“Thanks! I have just the place for it.”

“Let me see if I can find someone to help you carry it to your car.”

I turn to the mirror and look at my new cargo pants. Damned things are apparently stretching. They fit just fine in the store, but now they’re sitting a little low on my waist. I knew I should’ve put a belt on before I left.

I grab the sheet and put it back over the mirror for the journey out to my car.

 

Part 2

I pull into my driveway and pause to take a look at my newly acquired treasures. Thank goodness we figured out how to take the mirror off of the stand to make it easier to carry upstairs. Still, I have to take my time and be very careful taking it to my second-floor apartment.

Once the bulky mirror is upstairs, the other things I had purchased are very easy to unload. It is time to refuel with lunch and a healthy dose of coffee. (I am such an addict these days.) I move some things around to make room in my bedroom for the mirror and assemble it in its new home. The cheap rocking chair from my landlord goes into the attic and the floor lamp gets relocated to the living room, making room for the mirror right next to my closet. It seems like the perfect situation for putting on an outfit on and seeing how it looks immediately.

The mirror fits like a glove. I admire the mirror and look at myself. Is it just me, or do I look a little skinnier? I bustle around the apartment putting things away and searching for the right place to hang the old maps I purchased. I can't help but admire the mirror, and look at myself in it, each time I pass it. It fits perfectly, and I can see myself from head to toe. The mirror is without a doubt THE find of the day.

Finally, everything is put away and the apartment is back in order (so I’m a little type A, sue me.) I am drawn back to the mirror. I stand there in my cargo pants and polo. Maybe too many powerbar meals, work stress, and simply getting too caught up in life to remember to eat occasionally is starting to get to me. I do look thinner than I remember. Not that I’m complaining, but it’s probably not the healthiest way to go about dropping a few pounds.

Still, I could stand to lose quite a bit more weight. I try to imagine what I’d look like if I lost this extra weight I’m carrying around. The image in the mirror starts to change. “What the—???”

A few seconds later, the mirror’s image stops changing. My jaw drops nearly to the floor; I am flabbergasted. The face in the mirror is still mine complete with glasses, only far less round. Same nose, same eyes, same Harry Potter hair (thanks summer humidity). The body, however, is completely different. Far skinnier. The waist is at least six inches smaller, there’s no spare tire around the middle, and the legs are no longer the wobbly towers of jell-o I am used to. And, where are the man boobs I’ve had for as long as I can remember?

Okay, what’s the trick? What’s going on? I walk to the side of the mirror and examine the back. I don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. I walk around back to the front and it’s the same image I’m used to seeing of myself. Overweight, rounded face, spare tire, everything. I shake my head and rub my eyes. Man, what’s wrong with me? Too much heat today? Are my dust allergies making me a little crazy from being in that attic earlier? How much did I really have to drink last night?

Okay, that was strange. Nothing has changed. Maybe I just need to lie down and relax for a while. I grab the novel I’ve been trying to get through for several weeks now and lay down on the bed. Within a few minutes, I’m asleep. The dreams I have are extremely vivid, and I wake up with a throbbing erection that is insistent and will not go away without releasing some pent up sexual tension.

As I am taking care of my sexual needs, I can’t help but look in the mirror. I start masturbating in different positions. Wow, there are definitely parts of my body I have never examined in such detail before. Some details I definitely did not want to see. Since when did my ass become so hairy? How the hell did I get a zit THERE? I get up from the bed with my cock as hard as ever. Still giving it the occasional jack, I start flexing and examining myself in the mirror.

I run my hands up from my crotch over my flabby stomach. I think to myself, “Man, how sexy would it be to have a six-pack?” I close my eyes and start to imagine. My hands go further to play with my own nipples. “Man, I wish these nipples were attached some hard, firm pecs.” I stay there for a while relishing the thought of being a buff stud. My cock is as hard as ever. I reach down to my penis to give it a few strokes and open my eyes.

I open my eyes somewhat cautiously because I know the image that will be reflected in the mirror will completely shatter the fantasy in my mind. Boy, was I wrong. Instead, I behold a most unexpected sight. My head, arms, and legs are as I had always known them, but my torso is tight, muscular, and cut. I HAVE WASHBOARD ABS! My pecs are unbelievably well shaped with nice nipples that are eager to be sucked. How the hell has this happened!?! I touch my mid-section feeling the usual jelly-like tummy I had always known, but the hand in the mirror is running over a veritable washboard! What the hell!

My left hand stays on the bowl of jelly that is my abdomen while my right hand goes for the mirror to attempt to figure out what could be causing this discrepancy. As soon as my right hand touches the mirror, my left hand is no longer touching flesh, only hovering in midair. I look down and cannot believe what I see—six-pack abs! MY six-pack. Wait, this can’t be happening. I don’t have a six-pack. I stumble backward onto the bed. I am in awe of what just happened. My eyes roam over the newest features of my body as reflected in the mirror.

I fail at trying to make sense of all of this. I can’t take it any longer. I start stroking my intensely hard cock. I watch myself in the mirror, admiring the way my abs contract as the pleasure builds and I began bucking my hips.

My eyes roam all over my body, the fantasies take over. I fantasize about my biceps and triceps becoming more defined. The mirror responds. I dream about long, shapely, hard, cut legs. The mirror responds. I imagine myself with an all-over tan. The mirror responds. I dream about a sculpted, cut face that no longer needs glasses. The mirror responds. I walk over to the mirror. As I touch it, I feel my arms being pushed away from my body due to their increased muscle mass. My legs harden, and the sexy calf muscles protrude through my skin like never before. I flex my quads and each muscle body stands out in stark relief. I can’t believe the underwear model standing in front of this mirror is truly me!

Although I am incredibly horny, the thought of me looking like a model makes me stop what I am doing to take a good look at what I have become in the mirror. I have become a tan, cut, athletic, sexy piece of masculinity who every man would envy and every woman would want to fuck. (If I'm lucky, maybe some men would be in this category too.)

As I flex my new muscles and take a visual inventory, though it was as hard as ever, my penis seems a bit out of place. It was the same penis I had known since puberty tapered off a few years back (except a little more tan thanks to my fantasies), but somehow, it just didn’t make sense on this new body. It's as hard as it has ever been. Looking just the same as always. That was about to change.

My fantasies kick in once again. There had never been a problem with the equipment I had naturally, but another two inches in length and an inch in diameter couldn’t hurt. I touched the glass while and gave my longer, thicker dick a good stroking. Damn, who knew that two inches more of penis would bring with it so many new sensations.

Then, I noticed that my balls just didn’t hold their own against the new reflected member. I pulled my penis up so I could see the changes more clearly. I fantasized about my testicles each growing about an inch in circumference. I've also always thought my balls hung a little higher than I would've liked. My eyes bugged out a little as they drop lower in my scrotum as if being lowered by a biological dumbwaiter. They look more full and virile than I recall them ever being.

As I touch the mirror to make the changes come to fruition, the testosterone from my much larger balls kicks in. Sexual desire overcomes me. I can't hold back any longer. My hands go back to my now much more voluminous genitals. Within a few seconds, my newly lengthened penis and expanded balls churn out a load to rival all loads ever produced by male genitalia onto my new mirror. I bucked my new sexy hips with each load of cum. As I squeezed out the last little bit, I collapse onto my bed in a complete state of bliss and quickly fall asleep, momentarily exhausted.

2 parts 3,595 words Added Jul 2006 13k views 4.9 stars (7 votes)

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