The Looking Glass

"Thanks, Kelz," I said

"Don't mention it, Cuz," she said before hanging up.

Having received her blessing, I dove right into her refrigerator the moment I hung up, my growling stomach spurring me on. Sticking to the more familiar fare, I ate some fruit, and toasted an English muffin with jam. With a full stomach and an extra cup of coffee flowing through my veins, I finally ventured out into downtown London.

Thoughts of the virus going around floated in the back of my mind, but despite a few hypochondriacs wearing face masks outside, no one else seemed deterred. I spent the morning walking the streets and getting lost as I appreciated the architecture of the old buildings. I eventually found my way to the Palace of Westminster and Big Ben. I managed to get a few good photos, but I felt kind of cringey around so many obvious tourists with their fanny packs and families while I was all by myself. I walked around the outside a bit, taking in the stunning architecture and the sheer size of the massive building until finally I'd had enough. No matter how spectacular a thing is, there comes a point when you've seen enough for now. I could always come back another day if I wanted.

Through most of the day I let my feet pull me along. I never really looked for anything specific, I just went with the flow, deciding which turns to take on a whim. I kept seeing people with those blue hospital masks on their faces, and it weirded me out a bit. Even so, no one else seemed affected by their presence. Huge masses of people still moved about the city tending to business or pleasure, and I pushed all thoughts of the virus out of my mind.

*** *** ***

I woke up late into the next morning with a massive headache throbbing at my temples. Groaning, I pulled an arm over my eyes and prayed that I would fall back asleep. I must have suffered in silence for over an hour before I finally gave in and went in search of aspirin.

Washing down the pills I'd found in the medicine cabinet with a glass of water, I tried to recall the events of the previous night. I'd eventually made it to an old fashioned pub and celebrated my legal drinking age with a pint of Guinness. After a minor misunderstanding with some guys in Manchester United jerseys over the color of my shirt, which involved several minutes of explaining that it was simply a blue shirt, and that I was not in fact a Chelsea fan, we had boughten each other a round. Things began to get hazy after that, and I had a suspicion that I had tried to out drink them and failed miserably.

It took some food and another handful of aspirin before I was able to find my way outside once again. There seemed to be less people out than the day before, but I barely took note besides thinking that I wouldn't be jostled as much as the day before. With so fewer people, I thought I might take one of the tours. The overwhelmingly long lines had been a huge deterrent the day before, but The British Museum seemed almost barren. There was a steady stream of people walking past, taking the occasional pictures, but the line from the day before was absent. Taking a chance, I approached the entrance.

"We're closed," a man in an official looking uniform said through the blue mask on his face as he held out a hand, preventing me from getting closer.

"Do you know when you'll be back open?" I asked, stopping a few feet away.

"We're closed until further notice," he said.

I wasn't sure if it was the contempt for foreigners I was hearing in his voice, or just his polished accent, either way I lifted my hands in apology and backed away. More places I went to were the same. There were even police stationed at the popular tourist spots, like Victoria Park, ushering tourists along. Signs began popping up everywhere else I went announcing the extra measures that were being taken due to the Corona Virus outbreak.

It seemed like people had actually lost their minds over this flu. I tried to wander around for another couple hours, looking for something that wasn't shut down, but after learning that it was an official UK wide shutdown of tourist traffic, I gave up.

To my great relief, bars and clubs were still open, and those inside showed no indication that there might be a flu going around. Knowing better this time around, I paced my drinking. I managed to chat up a few girls for a bit, and even stole a few kisses with one of them, but by the end of the night I'd still struck out, even after offering to show them my impressive flat downtown. Even so, I couldn't count the night as a loss. Sex or not, it had been fun to hop from bar to bar experiencing both traditional and modern London nightlife from one establishment to the next.

Over the next two days things turned from slightly inconvenient to just plain shitty. With less and less to do, I'd actually began paying attention to the news, and realized that this Corona thing might be worse than I'd initially thought. People were dying from it, and not just a few. Over a thousand people had already died in Italy alone. Only a handful of people had died in England so far, but several of them had been tourists. It was enough to make me reconsider stepping outside.

"I'm sorry about this," Kelsey said during one of her calls. "I'd heard about the virus, but I didn't think it would get this bad."

"It's not your fault." I tried to ease her guilt.

"Yeah, it is," she said. "I promised you an awesome spring break, and now you're stuck inside. You might as well be at home for all the fun you're having."

"It's not like my mom didn't warn me," I admitted. I'd already heard from her in a near panic, wanting to make sure I was okay and that I was being safe. "I still got to see a lot of stuff," I offered, not wanting her to feel bad. She'd cashed in a bunch of her miles just so I could come out after all.

"Yeah, but it was supposed to be an amazing spring break, not a day and a half of sightseeing," she sighed. "I'll make it up to you. I promise. After this is all over, maybe you can come back out for the summer or something. I'll make sure I'm there this time too."

"You don't have to do that," I told her.

"I insist," she pressed, to my delight. I was only trying to be polite, but I would have loved nothing more than to come back here, and to get a chance to hang out with my closest friend.

"Only if you insist," I replied, trying to contain my desire to jump up and down and whoop loudly.

Even though I didn't have to stay inside, there was no point in leaving the apartment after that. Everything that I wanted to do was closed, and with the now serious risk of actual death on the table, I was much more comfortable experiencing London through the window of Kelsey's flat. The days of my vacation wasted away while I sprawled out on her bed, or couch, watching endless amounts of Netflix on my phone (because Kelsey was too high class for a TV).

The day before my flight home I received another bit of good news. All flights in and out of London were canceled. In fact, all flights in and out of Europe and nearly every other country were suspended. On top of that, a Stay at Home order had been issued, restricting outside movements for only the most necessary reasons, and for people whose jobs were essential. Tourists were on lockdown, and there was no word on when it would lift.

How long did it take for me to break, you ask? Five whole days. Five solid days of complete isolation involving Netflix binging and an embarrassing number of crisps. Yeah, that's right, I'm learning the lingo. What are you going to do about it?

I never meant to do it. It was late in the night, and my eyes felt like they were going to fall out from staring at the tiny screen on my phone, and my back was getting stiff from my position on the couch. Tossing my phone aside, I got to my feet and paced around, stretching my muscles and savoring the momentary pleasure of popping my back. I was about to go back into the cabinets in search of more crisps or biscuits, when I stoically stopped myself from another session of boredom eating. Instead, I opened a drawer on the dresser that sat off to the side of the bed against the wall. My heart fluttered when I saw what was inside.

The moment my eyes fell on those soft frilly garments in all their colors, I instantly closed the drawer feeling guilty. I hadn't even meant to snoop. I'd been so bored; I wasn't even sure why I'd opened it. I stood there for a moment, staring down at my hand on the handle. After a moment, curiosity won out, and I eased the door back open. I was curious to see what kinds of things Kelsey wore underneath her clothes.

Everything inside was so soft. Silk, satin, and lace slipped through my fingers as I examined the underwear. There were a few simple pieces, but nearly all of it was fancy and sexy. While nearly every hue was represented, pink and black were the predominant colors.

I couldn't say how long I stood there, touching those tantalizing fabrics, examining one piece and then another, imagining them hugging Kelsey in her most intimate places, but by the time my trance broke I had a painful erection in my jeans. Feeling nervous, I grabbed a pink silk pair of panties and sat back on the couch.

Taking my time, I slowly undid my pants as I built the scene in my mind, imagining Kelsey wearing the pink panties I was holding and nothing else. She sat cutely on her knees with her arms up, her hands running through her hair like a pinup girl, her small perky breasts on full display. I slid my pants down to my ankles, freeing my painful erection. Wrapping the soft panties around my shaft, I began sliding the delicate fabric teasingly over my cock.

It felt so good, and I desperately wanted to rush, to quickly pump my cock in my fist and shoot my load, but I held back. As worked up as I was, I still wanted to enjoy my little fantasy.

Kelsey was right in front of me, watching me stroke myself. She let her hair tangle in her fingers and lifted it up over her head, letting her dark brown locks cascade down in waves. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she bit her finger teasingly.

"Do you see something you like?" she would ask.

"Oh god yes!" I whispered.

"Do you want to see more?"

I could only nod my head.

"What do you want to see?" she teased. "You have to tell me."

"Touch yourself."

Spreading her knees slightly, she slipped a hand slowly down the front of her pink panties. I squeezed my cock tighter in the pink silk but continued my slow strokes. When her fingers reached her clit, her lips parted slightly, signaling that she'd begun pleasuring herself. My eyes were glued to her body—the heaving of her breasts as her breathing became heavier, the way her eyes appeared heavy and lidded as her pleasure increased. The fingers inside of her panties sped up, and moans began to escape her lips, making sweet music with her audible gasps of delight.

"Oh yes!" she called quietly to me. "That's it, Luke. Do it. Do it for me!" she called.

Watching her riding the edge of her orgasm pushed me closer, and hearing my name slip from her lips like a moan stole any resolve I could still call my own. Pleasure began to lance through my body from the tip of my cock and the depth of my balls like lightning. I began to swell and throb like a desperate beast gasping for its final breath, reaching for that sweet blissful end.

"Cum for me," she gasped, seeing my climax plain on my face. "Cum all over me!"

"Arghh!" I cried as my cum burst forth, shooting in sticky white streamers to cover her breasts and thighs.

Spent, I let the final moments of my fantasy play out. Kelsey moaned in pleasure as she scooped some of my cum from her tits with her free hand. Slipping it into her mouth, she sucked on her fingers while her eyes held mine. The look on her face said that she knew she was being a little slut, and she wanted me to know it too.

Sighing, I finally opened my eyes and saw the mess that I had made. The pink silk in my hand was drenched in my fluids, and globs of my white cum were already soaking into the red and black rug covering the hardwood floor in front of the sofa.

Shit!" I breathed, trying to use the sodden panties in my hand to clean up the rest of the cum coating my cock and hand.

I got to my feet, and with my free hand, I awkwardly pulled my pants up. Holding them, I shuffled to the sink to try and wash up. Taking the paper towels, I dried my hands and then returned to the rug and tried to clean as much of my mess as I could. As for her panties, I washed my cum from them in the sink and set them out on the counter to dry overnight. In the morning I would put them back and try to pretend that none of this had ever happened.

Now that it was all over, I felt a little weird. Not about jerking off to Kelsey. I had done that hundreds of times over the years, if not thousands. She might have thought of me as only a cousin, but I knew damn well we weren't related, and felt no guilt about fantasizing about her like that. What I felt weird about was jerking off into her panties. I knew that I'd just crossed some sort of boundary. I had violated her privacy, and then I violated her panties by cumming all over them. And I was just going to put them right back in the drawer tomorrow morning. Eventually, after she came back, she would wear those, and never know that the cloth touching her pussy had once been coated in my semen.

That train of thought threatened to breathe life back into my wilting cock. I knew it was wrong, and I felt guilty, but the thought of her wearing those panties sometime in the future was turning me on.

I hadn't heard from Kelsey over the next couple of days. We'd been pretty consistent about keeping in touch since the lockdown was announced, but she couldn't be blamed. While I was bored out of my mind with nothing to do, she still had a job. Sure, all of her meetings and business outings had turned into Skype conference calls, but the work in international marketing wasn't going to be stopped for some silly global pandemic.

All in all, it was probably for the best that I hadn't heard from her. I tried to tell myself that I wouldn't go back into Kelsey's drawers, but it didn't last. The boredom was beginning to get to me. I had watched so much Netflix that it was making me physically sick to even think about it for long stretches. The only thing that brought any excitement to my current predicament came when I had the soft fabrics of her unmentionables wrapped around me and my imagination was running free.

Every time I washed the cum from another pair of her panties, I found myself saying that it was the last time. There were already three pairs still drying on the kitchen counter from today alone. It was just so hard to resist. After an hour or so, the guilt would fade, and I would remember how sexy those little panties of hers were, and how good they had felt on my skin. In no time I would cave, and find a new pair wrapped around my cock, letting a new fantasy play out in my mind. Kelsey featured in many of them, but there were others, pretty girls from school back home, or celebrities, anything that tickled my fancy when I found myself in the moment.

I had lost track of how long it had been since I'd jerked off into that first pair. All alone, the days seemed to run together. Taking a break from Netflix, and not quite past my recent bout of guilt at having defiled her underwear drawer yet again, I'd decided to go snooping around the rest of her flat. After everything I'd already done, snooping seemed pretty low on the list of things I should have felt guilty about. Hell, at this point, it didn't even register.

I'd tried everything else I could to keep myself occupied; I was surprised that it had taken me this long to actively search her apartment for other goodies. I still didn't count opening that first drawer. I hadn't even meant to, so it didn't count as snooping in my book. Having already become familiarized with one of the drawers in her dresser, I opened the others. One by one they revealed everything you might expect in a girl's dresser. All assortments of clothing—folded jeans and leggings, skirts, socks. One drawer was a pile of old compact makeup cases. Opening a few, I surmised that they were all used to the point that she had replaced them, but still contained enough makeup to prevent her from just throwing them out.

Next to the dresser was her vanity with a mirror built onto the back. There was more makeup and brushes in the drawers. A small cabinet to the side held blow driers and curling irons and the like, all hanging neatly on hooks, and all plugged into a power strip at the bottom, waiting and ready for instant use.

I wasn't finding anything I wasn't expecting, and it was kind of bumming me out. The whole point of snooping was to discover secrets. To be fair, the panties weren't that big of a secret. I figured she wore stuff like that, but I just didn't know exactly what kinds of girly things she was into wearing. Besides the sexy panties, everything else seemed extremely pedestrian.

I made myself a small sandwich and watched a bit of Netflix while I ate and then decided to resume my search. The bathroom held nothing of importance. It was too small to contain anything more than the toilet and a small sink. Her closet was stuffed with dresses. It was about the same size as the cramped bathroom, and it seemed as if every inch of space had been accounted for when Kelsey had began stuffing it filled with her belongings. Two footlockers with simple locks sat beneath the dresses, a hanging shoe rack clung to the back of the door, and cardboard boxes were stacked on the shelves above like an expert level Tetris map. I had to pause in my inspection to admire how tight those boxes were packed. I didn't think I could have duplicated the feat on my own.

Realizing I would never remember how the boxes were placed, I took a picture with my phone before pulling them down one by one to open them. Inside some of the boxes were small, expensive looking figurines. Each box contained a note, the city she got it in, and sometimes a name of the person who gave it to her. Some heavier boxes near the bottom held papers; copies of important documents—boring.

Something that I found interesting was the contents of some of the larger boxes. They were made of sturdier material, and each one contained a wig, five in total. They were different colors and cuts, some long and full of curls, and other short and straight. A blond one was even braided into cute pigtails and bangs. This was definitely the sort of thing I was looking for. Looking at the wigs, I couldn't help but ask myself why she had them, or why she needed so many.

There must have been nearly twenty boxes spreading out from the closet door once I'd gotten them all down, but I wasn't interested in putting them back yet. Now that I'd found something intriguing, I wanted more. Grabbing the handle to one of the footlockers, I pulled the heavy case out of the closet so I could get a better look at it.

The trunk was three feet wide, made out of real wood, and painted black with brass hardware around the edges and latch. The lock holding it closed did not look too secure though. Finding a couple of Bobbie pins, I spent nearly an hour wiggling the pieces of metal in the lock before giving up. I didn't have the first clue how to pick a lock. They made it seem so easy on TV, I figured I could get into it easily, but so far it had kicked my ass.

Annoyed at being defeated, however momentarily, by a cheap lock, I peered back into a few of the boxes idly before coming back to the wigs. Choosing one at random, I carefully pulled out a short wig made of black hair and held it in my hands. The hair felt real enough, sliding easily through my fingers. A small patch on the inside had French writing on it, and I figured it was the name of the company that made it.