When Maxie flipped to Step Twenty-One of The 100 Steps to Sexual Enlightenment, she had to blink twice. The title read: "Mirror, Mirror – Explore the Erotic Power of Watching Yourself Want."
Underneath was a quote in cursive: "Desire seen is desire doubled."
"Oh no," Maxie muttered. "This sounds like it involves self-awareness. Possibly... lighting."
The step instructed her to "stage a sensual encounter in front of a mirror—witness every curve, every gasp, every ripple of want—and learn the pleasure of reflection." The goal wasn't vanity—it was visibility. A kind of erotic exposure therapy.
Maxie wasn't totally convinced.
She owned exactly one mirror, full-length, mounted slightly askew in her hallway. It mostly served to confirm whether she had toothpaste on her shirt.
So, she booked a session at The Looking Room, a mirrored lounge-studio hybrid with mood lighting, scented air, and staff trained in "erotic choreography."
Her guide was a fluidly-gorgeous dancer named Alix (with one 'L', pronounced "Ah-leeks," obviously), who wore chiffon and confidence like a second skin.
"Today," Alix said, gesturing to a room with mirrored walls, mirrored floors, and even a mirrored ceiling, "you will explore your body through your own gaze. You will watch yourself want. And you will like it."
Maxie wasn't so sure. She was still haunted by the memory of catching sight of herself eating spaghetti in a spoon reflection.
But once inside the mirrored chamber, dressed in silk robes and glittering oils, something shifted. The lighting was soft, forgiving. The room smelled like jasmine and mischief. The mirrors didn't judge—they invited.
Alix guided her through "sensual observation" exercises. First, Maxie stood still, hands at her sides, and looked—really looked—at her own form.
"Describe what you see," Alix whispered.
Maxie blinked. "A woman who definitely needs to moisturize."
"Try again. With kindness."
She tried. "A curve. A pulse. A promise."
"Better."
Then came movement.
She swayed. Slowly. Watched her robe slide from her shoulder. Watched her eyes dilate as her fingers skimmed across her belly. Every gesture became a performance—for herself.
Then Alix brought out props.
Feathers. Silks. A bowl of melted chocolate and a chilled glass wand Maxie didn't want to ask too many questions about.
"Touch yourself," Alix said, "but not for climax. For curiosity. For visual poetry."
So she did.
She traced her lips with a berry. Watched her tongue flick. Watched her hips roll, slow as syrup. She caught her own smirk in the mirror and gasped.
She was gorgeous.
Desire, reflected back, became this shimmering, mesmerizing feedback loop. Her body looked powerful, lithe, alive. She watched herself watching herself, and somehow, that was the most erotic thing of all.
At the end, Alix draped a silk wrap over her shoulders and whispered, "You are no longer a stranger in your own gaze. You are your own seduction."
Maxie stumbled out of the studio an hour later, covered in glitter and self-love.
---
Journal Entry:
> Step Twenty-One: I made eye contact with myself mid-masturbation and blushed. Then winked.
I am now slightly in love with my reflection.
P.S. I'm considering installing a mirror on my ceiling. Or dating one.