The Fairest of Them All

Ever fallen in love with yourself? The perfect being...is only waiting for my call. I look and look, and I just get more beautiful every moment, and there's not a soul on this earth quite good enough for me–except me, of course. Ah, darling, won't you touch me, whisper sweet nothings in my ear? Oh dear God, you do know the right spots, don't you? Of course, only I, my love.

Blissful perfection
Dangerous smile
A charming gaze
Untold deception...
I am mine.

Mmm, this touch, so soft, so fiercely demanding. What would I ever do without me?

Yesterday some whore hit on me. Hit on me! She sauntered right up to where I was standing–undoubtedly the center of attention–against a wall at Tim's party. Sauntered, then flitted her eyelashes, peering up through half closed lids, practically pressing her barely covered breasts all over me. I told her that I was in love with myself. She froze and looked into my face, puzzled. I repeated my statement and told her that it meant I was taken, so if she would kindly buggar off? I laughed. She rolled her eyes and pranced away. Bitch. I had to go wash myself, her substandard essence was choking me. God. I can't believe that she thought she was good enough to even speak to me, let alone touch me.

I let Tim touch me though, he's not me, but he's a decent sort of bloke. In fact, if I were to pick the person I would date if for some reason I was unavailable it would be him. His eyes are simply delicious. And the way he moves those hands across my body... Damn. Those hands are fucking orgasmic. I love them. I'm almost willing to cheat on myself to get them; but no. I don't let it get too far. His hands move over me, I grope him almost lovingly, our lips meet, but it stops there. I always leave before it goes beyond that, though I know he wants more. Every time he looks at me I see it. But I want only myself.

So really, is it my fault I'm a virgin? If no one is good enough for me, how can anyone possibly expect me to just shack up with someone for the sake of losing that thing all guys dream of losing? It's kinda romantic. I'm a fucking hot virgin. Ooh la la. Desirous and smoldering. Perfection in the purest sense.

I'm getting ready to go to the courthouse. I've found that I have a few stalkers. I don't really blame them–who can resist the magnetism that is me?–but I need to protect myself. File a few injunctions, blow my admirers a kiss, then be on my way.

I love me so much it hurts. Tears, gorgeous diamond tears, slide from my eyes. A moment to remember, I look so lovely in this mirror.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who is the fairest of them all?

We already know the answer to that question. Fuck the queen, and fuck Snow White. Even better, fuck me. But only I can. If another dares touch me they will grow to rue it. Except Tim. Tim's allowed to touch. But even he has to ask permission first. And he always will, with those silently pleading eyes. How can I resist him?

No. Why am I thinking about Tim? I digress too far, I am the subject here. How can I be so silly? Why, one would think that he was the one I was in love with, not myself.

I must be going, it's not nice to keep people waiting. See? They may not be worth my time, but even one such as myself can be humble and polite. It's not their fault that they're not me.

I dazzle the assistant with a smile. I get the news that the judge is refusing my claim. There is no reason to believe that any of the persons I have named mean me any harm, or are even stalking me for that matter? WHAT? Does this fool have no idea how pretty I am?

I go home and sit on my bed, falling back. The tears fall again. Why do I have to be so beautiful? They are jealous. I'm not angry, just hurt. I feel sorry for them that they can never know the perfection that is me. Yet I envy them a little, they don't have to cope with the pressures that come from being able to love only myself.

I unbutton my shirt, and let it fall, revealing that smooth chest I so love. I can't help but touch it, move my hands over myself, my eyes closing, moaning with each loving movement. Oh, I love me, I love me!

A knock at the door. I stand, glancing in that mirror as I pass, I am delightfully disheveled, the look works on me. Hell, all looks work on me.

It is Tim. God, I adore his eyes. He gives a half smile. Was I having fun with myself? I nod pleasantly, his eyes never losing my attention. He asks if he can come in. I answer that yes, he can, and I step back from the door, allowing him room to pass. His shoulders brush mine. I shudder. God, if ever a person deserved me besides me, it would be Tim.

He sits on the couch, I shut the door and remain standing. His eyes take in every inch of my form. He opens his mouth, and I already know what he is going to say by the look on his face. He's sad, he knows he can't get what he wants, but he has to tell me anyway, because he's that kind of person. He's so... He's Tim.

Surprising myself I interrupt him and say it first. "I love you."

We stare at each other in shock. What? I thought I loved only myself? I'm breathing hard, wondering if I've really just said what I thought I said.

Tim pushes himself off the couch and steps toward me, taking my hands in his. He speaks softly, "is it true?"

And despite myself I know all at once that it is. True, I love myself–how could anyone not?–but somehow this lovely being before me has also worked a place into my heart. I nod. Tim wraps his arms around me, pulling my lips into a lingering kiss.

He pulls away. "I love you," he says. And I'm glad. I pull him with me into the bedroom. Dear God, this man deserves me.

Only now can I truly say
Just between you and me
That though I'm hot
And worth a shot
It just might be
That the title of fairest
Belongs to both Tim and me!