by Sara Lippmann
Stand up straight, he says, taking me by the shoulders and steering me toward the full length. Wha -? Look, just look at you, look good and hard, c’mon, closer, take a serious look; revolving my body like a tailor at work he pinches now lifts, spreading my ass with his hands. Don’t you turn yourself on? As he pricks I think about fucking myself, shiny. I say what he wants me to say.
Sara Lippmann has work published or forthcoming in Word Riot, the Mississippi Review, Fiction at Work, Slice, Carve, All Things Girl and elsewhere. She lives in Brooklyn.