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The feeling persisted the whole way, yet his hands didn't actually get cold from carrying it. He set the mirror up in his bedroom, arranged so that he could sit on the foot of the bed and see himself in the reflection. Thus set, he locked the mirror into place, and left it for the moment.

After a quick shower he quickly cleaned up that morning's breakfast dishes, wishing that Sable was a bit more reliable in doing her share of the chores. After this he vacuumed the living room where they had both dropped popcorn last night watching that horror movie. Dishwasher going and floor cleaned, Shane returned to his bedroom, to the mirror.

Standing in front of the mirror, he appraised himself. At five-seven, he was shorter than the average man, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in fitness. His hair was short, and brown, styled into a contemporary, spiky fashion. His face was clean-, clearly showing his high cheekbones, and well-defined jaw. His eyes were a stormy blue that sometimes feigned gray. Most of the girls that he had dated seemed to think he was cute, though he had never been accused of being called handsome, that was a term for taller men. Shane was okay with cute, though.

He slid his hands to the buttons of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning the rayon garment, letting the shirt fall to the floor at his feet. His chest and abdomen were well defined, and he let his fingers play across the taut muscles for a moment, building the anticipation for what he knew was coming. His hands slid down, over the fabric of his blue jeans, feeling his hardening member beneath.

Shane loved mirrors, not because he was truly in love with himself, but because watching himself masturbate always seemed to make it that much better... there was a subtle sense of shame that enhanced everything. When you watch yourself doing this act, it is hard to maintain any fantasy, hard to ignore what is really happening. The sense of shame and the fact that his bedroom door was slightly open were exciting him wildly, and he groped at himself desperately, whimpering slightly to himself.

He could not bear this much longer. Impatiently, he snapped open his jeans and allowed his cock to come out, free of the binding denim. He never wore underwear. The brass teeth of his zipper scratched his shaft as it came out of his jeans, and he hissed. The pain only heightened it, though, and it had not been much pain, at that. He curled his hand around the shaft and stroked it. He wanted to take his time, but found himself stroking quickly, as if he were already well past aroused. His stroking motion became too pronounced; he reached out with his other hand to steady himself, nearly knocking over the mirror.

Truly impatient now, Shane stopped his stroking and shucked completely out of the jeans, and went to the bed. He sat on the foot of the bed, and leaned back. He resumed his stroking, locking his gaze onto the reflection of his cock, and his hand. This was much better. He was overcome with a desperate urge to cum now, and stroked his member madly, whimpering at the intensity of it. His eyes fixed on his own masturbation, he felt the rising tide of an orgasm inside his loins.

~"Is he going to cum?"~

The voice seemed to be a dream, to Shane, but real in the sense that it affected him. The idea that a woman could see him doing this excited him beyond measure, but there was another sensation involved. His desperation to cum increased to a fever pitch, and he thought he could see a flickering image of a woman in black leather in the mirror. His senses exploded as his orgasm finally erupted. He kept stroking, hard, slow strokes as his cum shot out, squirting an improbably distance with each convulsion. Each spasm of cum made the distance from the bed, to the mirror.

His orgasm seemed to go on for a long time, but when it was over, Shane found himself oddly energized.

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