What happens after the no

Today he asked me out. It was no surprise; I knew he fancied me, and twice he had rehearsed the question, only suggesting that we could go out somewhere, expecting me to take the bait, and I didn't. Today he was blunt, asking me out for dinner. He told me he liked me, that he thought I was pretty and interesting. His invitation was not bad; he didn't stutter or was too aggressive, he said nice things about me, he gazed directly into my eyes and held the gaze. He was shattered when I told him no, but he tried to disguise it.

Here am I now, naked, looking to my reflection in the mirror, ready to take a shower. He's out somewhere--probably in his apartment, I guess, since I was his plans for the evening. My body is as good as ever--but it will not get any better. I can detect the first, still faint, effects of gravity on my breasts; my skin is not as smooth as it once was. From now on, it's downhill all the way. I touch my breasts, the nipples getting hard after a few seconds of attention, then I slid my hands over my tummy, towards my hips. I make poses, try to see my ass, wondering if it's also starting to sag. Maybe I should start to run more often.

I turn the shower on, lying under the hot water, expecting it to cleanse more than just my body. I still think of him, though, how he must be a little crushed. I sensed he really did like me, he was not looking for a one night stand. He's a nice man, but... I don't feel anything for him. Perhaps because he is not handsome.

I dry myself, again in front of the now foggy mirror. I can't see more than a vague shade of my reflection. I get closer to it, clearing a small part of it with my towel, so I can see my face. Right on my forehead, there they are, two wrinkles of expression starting to form. Maybe I should botox them; botox looks so odd, though... I dry my hair, combing it, taking all the time in the world. I'm hungry, but I'll not eat. I must keep my shape.

I'm in bed now. I'm naked. I usually don't sleep naked, but tonight I feel like it. I can't stop thinking of him. Thinking that he is probably on his bed, right now, thinking of me, wondering if he has any chance or if he should give up now, imagining why I said no, if it was something he said, if it was the way he asked, if I'm playing hard to get or if I just don't like him at all. Perhaps he is fantasizing how the night could have gone if I had said yes, maybe the next few dates, how we'd fall in love with each other and then spend our days waiting for the next time we'd be together again, naked again, making love again. Maybe he's masturbating, just like I am.