Looking-Glass Ladyboy

I was taking a walk to stay--all right; I'll admit it--to get in shape, when I saw the "Going Out of Business" sign in the second-hand furniture store a block north of my condo. I wasn't in the market for anything, new or used, but I can't resist a bargain, and what was better for finding a bargain, I asked myself, than a store that was having a going-out-of-business sale?

The store offered everything you could imagine, in every condition you could imagine--sofas, tables, chairs, bookcases, beds, lamps, china cabinets, sideboards, hassocks, you name it. Some items looked almost new; others bore the scars of generations, in the same or a succession of families. There was nothing special, but the prices were agreeable.

A couple of large prints of original erotic paintings, etchings, and illustrations tempted me, as did their price tags, stirring my cock as well as my thoughts, but I passed on them, doubting--all right, I'll admit it--knowing that I wouldn't have the balls, as it were, to hang them in my condo. They'd join the naughty statues I'd bought as a younger version of myself, right after high school, when I'd rented my first apartment--cloven-hoofed satyrs, mostly, their erections jutting from their hirsute groins as they pranced among naked, dancing nymphs. The statues had looked sexy, even decadent--or so I'd thought, in my younger days--cavorting upon the end tables that had flanked my black leather couch. Now, they just took up closet space. No doubt, so would a copy of a Eugene Le Poitevin illustration, an Aubrey Beardsley sketch, a Mark Blanton painting, or a Giulio Romano etching.

I was about to leave when the looking-glass caught my eye. As soon as I saw it, I knew I just had to have it, no matter the price. It was love, I guess you could say, at first sight. It was a full-length mirror, of highly polished glass, in an ornate, bronze frame carved into ivy vines and leaves of intricate and beautiful detail. This was a find, indeed; it was a treasure!