Confidence Within

Author's Note: This is a mainstream rewrite of my story, Look Good Naked. For those of you who have drifted across from the deep end, thank you for the support, but you won't find anything new here.

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I emptied my glass, allowing the velvety smooth liquid to envelop my tongue. The rich aroma filled my nostrils, before that all too familiar burn comfortably gripped my throat. I sighed as I leaned forward to place the glass on the coffee table, the milky ice cubes tinkling in hopeful punctuation.

There was another half a glass or so in the bottle, I knew. And it called to me. Refilled, I pushed back into the couch, snorting a laugh at my lack of courage. Yet another missed opportunity.

This latest girl looked dreadful , not the least bit attractive by any conventional measure. But there was something about her that drove me absolutely wild.

She was manning the cash register at Subway when I went in to grab a quick lunch earlier that day. I'd left her fellow Sandwich Artist with an instruction to pile on all the salads, and moved along the counter to pay. She was tall and gangly in that ill-fitting purple uniform. Her eyes were self-consciously cast down, and untidy swathes of chestnut hair fell across her gaunt, horsey face. As I watched her avoid my gaze while she shuffled around in the register, I found myself captivated by her. I don't know what it was, but somehow, she got to me. For the first time since puberty, I was stricken with a spontaneous erection, right there in the queue of a sandwich shop.

I remembered her cold, clammy hand brushing mine when she handed me my change. Her touch was electric. And in that moment, I knew I had to have her. I held her hand lightly as she placed the coins in my palm, causing her to look up. I smiled at her, and she blushed and looked down again, unfamiliar with the attention.

I wanted to ask her out, or at least say something. But the words caught in the back of my throat, leaving my mouth hanging silently open. I kept hold of her hand, my cheeks burning and the sweat prickling on my forehead.

Her blue eyes locked on mine, confused. I persisted, as best I could with a growing audience of Subway Sandwich Art Lovers bottlenecking beside me, and the minimum-wage sauce squeezer on the other side of the counter equally perplexed.

But still blushing, and my heart pounding in my chest, no sound would come. Defeated, I released her hand and slunk out of there with my tail between my legs.

My eyes brimmed at the memory, as I let myself get carried away by self-pity and regret. I reached for the bottle, and drained the last of the Irish Cream into my glass.

"Fuck!" I gasped, wringing my eyes shut and throwing my head back. Thirty years old, and I still didn't have the balls to ask a woman out to dinner. I was such a loser.

Fiona fumbling loudly at the door ripped me from my ruminations. It sounded like she was laughing as she struggled to get her key in the lock. She obviously had one of her friends with her, or at least on the other end of her mobile phone.

I threw down the last of the Baileys and took the bottle to the recycling bin under the sink. A quick rinse of the glass before I slammed it in the dishwasher disposed of the last of the evidence. The last thing I needed was the passive aggressive judgement of my flatmate.

When Fiona finally burst through the door, it was clear that she was crying, rather than laughing. She was wailing in loud, hysterical sobs. She slammed the front door behind her and stormed off to her bedroom in noisy stiletto clicks across the timber floor.

"Oh shit, Fiona, are you all right?" I called after her, my mood instantly shifting to concern.

Her bedroom door slammed shut in reply, the sound of her crying on the other side barely muffled.

I knocked on her door, but got no response. "Fi, what's wrong?" I called through the door. Still receiving no answer.

Pressing down on the lever, I inched her door open just enough to poke my head through. She was lying face down on her bed, howling into her pillow. Her whole body shook with every sob.

Hey "Fiona?" I called gently to my flatmate. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Go away!" she screamed into her pillow, then turned onto her side so that she was facing away from me.

Fiona tucked her knees up into the foetal position. The little black dress she'd gone out in pulled up as she did, exposing almost all of her long, shapely thighs. She hadn't even taken her shoes off, the long black stiletto heels threatening to puncture her pale blue bedspread. She was racked with violent sobs, whining desperately as she cried.

Fuelled by Dutch, or more accurately, Irish courage, I went in to comfort her. I sat on the bed, placing my hand gently on her bare shoulder. My touch had no effect, so I spooned up to her and wrapped my arms around her. With my face buried in Fiona's mane of dark brown hair, I was distracted by the coconut and honey scent of her shampoo.

I held her as she continued to cry, surprised by my own boldness. Apart from the handshake I had offered her when we first met last year, I had never touched her. But something about the hopeless despair of her sobs resonated with me.

It was several minutes before the sobs eventually subsided, giving way to long, deep breaths and the occasional sniffle. I touched my lips to the crown of her head after a moment, causing Fiona to slowly turn over. She wrapped herself around me, nuzzling into my chest. I stroked her long, thick hair, and again planted a soft kiss, this time on her forehead.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

Fiona screwed up her face and began to cry again. She shook her head as she buried her face into my chest.

"Hey," I soothed, stroking her soft hair. "Shhh, it's okay..."

"It's not okay!" Her voice was strained and high-pitched into my chest. "I'm a freak!"

I was shocked by the statement, frozen and unable to find the words to respond. "I don't under..."

"I'm a freak, Will!" She lifted her head up to face me. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her mascara was smeared in blurry panda smudges. "No one's ever going to want me!"

"Hey, slow down," I breathed. "Tell me what happened." I didn't understand where that statement had come from. She was beautiful. As flawed as my decision was, it was the reason I had chosen her above other more suitable applicants to live with me.

"Oh, I can't," she said, hiding her face in my chest again.

Of course not, I thought with a roll of my eyes. I wasn't cool enough for her. I was just the nice guy at home to keep her company in case she had nothing better to do on a Saturday night.

"It's just...I don't know how to talk to you about this."

"Fi, you can talk to me about anything. My eyes rolled involuntarily, seemingly controlled by the little voice of reason in my head I never listened to. I kept trying to win her over though.

"I know, Will." She paused, with a squeeze of my arm. Then she swallowed. "It's just...it's...about sex."

I swallowed myself.

I hunkered down with a deep sigh, then coaxed Fiona into talking to me about what had happened. It was part of the nice guy job description after all, mopping up after some alpha male fuckwitt.

She explained that she had gone home with a guy who had recently joined her group of friends. She had taken an instant liking to him, and he had finally made his move.

"He wouldn't turn off the lights, Will," she sobbed. "He said he wanted to look at me. I told him I wanted to turn them off, but he just wouldn't. I should have just left."

"Why didn't you?"

"I really liked him, Will." Her tears overtook her again, and it was another minute before Fiona calmed down.

I lay there silently, waiting for her to continue, stroking her hair with my left hand, and her upper arm with my right.

"He started kissing me. And then he unzipped my dress, and I was just standing there in my underwear." She paused. "And then he undid my bra."

Far from my finest hour, I was actually becoming aroused. The thought of her being undressed was getting me hard.

"Oh, Will, it was awful," she wept. "I tried to hold it on, but he pulled it away. Oh, his face! He was so grossed out. He said my nipples looked like pen lids. He actually stepped away from me, like this." She leaned back from me, holding her hands up in front of her, as if surrendering.

"Oh, Fi," I consoled as best I could, squeezing her back against me. "Don't worry what a jerk like that thinks of you. You're so beaut..."

"That's not all," she said. "Oh God, I was so stupid!"

"What happened?" I whispered.

"I said, 'I can leave my bra on if you want.'"

I couldn't help but sigh. For once, my voice of reason and I were in agreement.

"I know, Will," she whined. "It was so stupid. I should have just left." She sighed. "I just liked him so much.

"But he said, 'Okay." And I did my bra back up. We started kissing again, but I could tell he was still really freaked out." Fiona took a second, fortifying herself for the next part of the account. "he wasn't really into it." She swallowed. "So then I started blowing him."

I felt my body stiffen at the admission. It was the last thing I wanted to hear from her, especially with such an asshole.

"He was into it again," she went on.

"I bet," I scoffed.

Fiona managed to snort a small laugh herself, then continued, "Eventually, we were on his bed and he was on top of me. I asked him to turn off the light again, but he just ignored me. And then I tried to get on my hands and knees, but he wouldn't let me turn over."

My stomach started to churn as I feared what might be coming next.

"He said, I really want to see this.' And he started pulling down my panties. I really didn't want him to see me," she cried. "I tried covering myself, but he kept moving my hands. And then he pulled my legs apart."

Fiona groaned, clenching her jaw tightly. "He was like, 'What the fuck! That's so gross! You've got a dick!' I tried to tell him that it was just my clitoris. But he was jumping around the room, freaking out all over the place. He was calling me a hermaphrodite, and a fag. And he said he should beat the shit out of me."

I was stunned. It was the last thing I was expecting to hear. I was relieved that he hadn't forced her, but that quickly gave way to rage at the way he had treated her.

"And then he started saying something about a crying game, or something. I don't know. I just started crying, and got dressed, and ran out. He was like, Get the fuck out!' and all that. I had to call a taxi from outside.

"He was so cruel, Will," Fiona sobbed. "I really liked him."

"Oh, Fi," I sighed. "I know." Of course, I had never heard about him until then, but I was just trying to be supportive.

We lay there holding each other until Fiona fell silent, breathing deeply into my chest. I didn't know what to say, so I just focussed on the tactile sensation of her hair and her skin. She was so soft.

"What's a crying game?" she sniffled a few minutes later.

"It's a movie," I explained, coughing a laugh, and giving her the twenty-five word synopsis.

I sat her up on her bed, sitting up next to her. She slipped off her shoes, and dropped them over the edge onto the charcoal carpet. I held her head in my hands, her face only an inch from mine. Behind the puffy red and streaked grey, her eyes were so beautiful. They were hazel, with tiny flecks of green and gold.

"Fiona, Sweetheart, you are so beautiful."

"Oh, Will," she dismissed immediately, rolling her eyes so hard that her head flew back.

"Don't get me wrong," I shot back. "You look like a fuckin' train wreck right now. You've been crying for an hour, and you're covered in snot."

"Oh God!" she panicked, throwing her hand over her mouth and lunging for a tissue on her bedside table.

"You are beautiful," I said forcefully. Then with a smile, and the best fake British accent I could summon, "Love, you're just gorgeous!"

Fiona wrinkled her nose at me, her brow furrowed. "Michael Caine?"

"No! Gok Wan. You know, How to Look Good Naked." I was indignant. "Remember? You made me watch it."

It took her a second, but she knew where I was going, and sat back defensively. "Will, no!"

I gave her a playful grin.

Fiona squealed, then darted off her bed for the door. I leapt up after her, snatching her up around the waist and spinning her back into the room in a flurry of dark hair, cocktail dress and laughter.

"come on," I said seriously. "Let's do this.

With her back to me, she turned her head to meet my gaze. I could tell she recognised the sincerity in my eyes, and her body relaxed in my arms.

"Okay," she whispered.

I loosened my grip around her waist and stomach, letting my hands slide around until they were resting on her narrow hips. As we stepped across the room to the mirrored wardrobe doors, I could feel the waistband of her panties beneath her dress, and the flex and roll of her muscles in my hands.

The reflection of Fiona standing there in a sexy little black dress, bare feet and dishevelled makeup was surprisingly alluring. She was tall, with only my eyes and forehead poking up above the top of her head. The rest of my body framed her lithe form, with my shoulders extending out past hers.

"Hmm," she breathed.

"Yeah, you probably need to clean yourself up a bit," I smiled into the back of her head.

She laughed, and skipped off to the bathroom. The sound of running water, sliding drawers and banging cupboards filtered into her room from the bathroom just outside. I waited patiently, watching the doorway for her return. And when I saw the bathroom light click off, I couldn't help but smile.

Fiona padded back into her bedroom. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, but she looked straight into my eyes as she settled back into position in between me and the mirror. Her face was still a little raw, but otherwise clean and natural.

"Wow. That's much better," I smiled, tilting my head around to the side so that she could fully see my face in the mirror. Then again with the accent, "You're gorgeous, Love. Goctastic!"

She silently laughed at me, shaking her head.

I placed my hands on her shoulders. "So, how do you feel?"

"Fine," she said. "But this isn't the problem."

"Okay then," I said indifferently. And with one, smooth motion, I unzipped the back of her dress down to the base of her spine.

Fiona gasped, her hazel eyes like saucers. Before she had a chance to react, I hooked my thumbs into the thin shoulder straps and peeled them down over her arms. The material caught briefly on the front of her bra, and I slid my hands around her full breasts to free it. The dress fell to her waist, bunching at her hips.

We stared into each other's eyes through the mirror, and I ran my fingers down her soft stomach, burrowing in between her panties and the folds of her dress. Sliding my hands around to the gentle flare of her hips, I pushed the dress past her curves, and it splashed to the floor, pooling at her feet.

She took a deep breath, her chest and shoulders rising as she took in the sight of herself in nothing but a frilly black lace bra and matching panties. Then she sighed suddenly, with a drop of her shoulders.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked, surprised at her reaction. "You're stunning."

"Yeah," she breathed impassively. "Until these come off."

She met my eyes in the mirror and sighed. Fiona lifted her chin fractionally, entrenching her insecurity. Her hair fell about her shoulders, and I combed it back with my fingers so that all the soft, dark strands hung down over her shoulder blades. The newly exposed cleavage from the top of her bra was impressive.

Flicking the tag out from her bra strap, I looked at the size. "Ten-C? What's that? I thought it was supposed to be thirty-six or something?"

"Oh God, Will." Fiona nearly clocked me in the face as she threw her head back in another epic eye roll. "Ten is my dress size, and C is the cup size. Thirty-six and all that is American sizing. I think it's inches around the chest." With that, her fingertips traced around the bottom of her bra.

"Hmm." I looked up from the tag again. "So you're rocking a pair of C cups? Dude!" My smile and bobbing head punctuating my impressed tone.

Fiona groaned with another roll of her eyes, but she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from curling up. When our eyes met again, a full smile broke out across her face.

"So talk to me," I grinned back. "What is it about these perfect breasts you don't like?"

"It's my nipples." Her smile faded away, but her tone was still light. "They're really big. I mean, they poke out really badly." She started to cringe.

"Well, let's get a look at them then." I kept my tone light, trying to downplay the significance of her insecurity. Then I whispered, "Take off your bra when you're ready."

Time stood still, with Fiona and I staring into the mirror. She wasn't moving. Her arms hung by her sides, her thumbs twitching back and forth across her thighs.

"Oh come on, Love," I flamboyantly called in my best British accent. "Get your bangers out and give us a look, yeah?"

Fiona's stomach tightened with a single bout of silent laughter. And then when we locked eyes, she laughed again.

"Go on, Love!"

"Okay, okay," she giggled, reaching behind her back and finding the clasp.

Her bra popped open, and her hands quickly whipped around the front to catch the cups. Her face was serious as she looked at me, her head tilted to the left. She returned my smile as I peeled the shoulder straps down until they fell into the crooks of her elbows. Then, with one last sigh, Fiona lowered her hands, letting the bra fall away with them.

"Whoa," I gasped involuntarily.

Those spectacular , full globes hung proudly on her chest, with only the slightest hint of succumbing to gravity. Her deep pink areolas contrasted beautifully with her creamy porcelain skin. And whatever issues she had with her nipples, were a nonsense. They were large, protruding out about an inch, but they were so deliciously puffy and suckable.

"Fi," I beamed. "I don't...what are you...what the fuck? Your nipples are gorgeous."

She shifted awkwardly, tilting her head and lifting one shoulder. "It's when they get hard. They're a lot longer."

"Okay, so make them go hard and let's have a look," I suggested.

Fiona wrinkled her nose at me, bemused. "I can't just make them go hard."

"What about if you pinch them a little?"

She barked a sarcastic laugh, holding her hands incredulously over her breasts. " I'm not pinching my nipples in front of you."

"Okay. I've got an idea. Wait there." I sprang out to the kitchen, returning a minute later with one of the short glasses I usually used for Baileys, with a couple of ice cubes swirling in the bottom.

"Oh no you don't," she laughed, catching sight of the glass and shaking her head.

"Pinch or chill, Love: what's your pleasure?" My nineteenth century Cockney was first class.

Fiona's smile was resigned. The flush in her cheeks was growing, and I could tell she was getting excited by the prospect of either. Her nipples were already noticeably longer. She pressed her lips together, lifted her chin, and looked directly into my eyes with as much dignity as she could muster. Then she crossed her arms under her breasts and exhaled audibly, filling the air with the scent of the sweet, pre-mixed vodka she had been drinking with her friends.

"Okay then," I breathed, taking a slippery ice cube from the glass.

Fiona's breath hitched as the frozen cube touched the end of her left nipple, and I could see it lengthen before my eyes. My own breath wavered, and I looked up to see her blush deepen as she looked down at herself.

I looped the cube around her hardening nipple, leaving a glistening trail on her engorged flesh. The backs of my numb fingers occasionally grazed her nipple as I spun the ice around and around, and I was losing myself. It only got worse when I reached her dark pink, almost purple areola. I must have completed at least half a dozen laps.