I pulled my dresser drawers open and scanned the line of pajamas folded neatly in a row. It was only eight at night but the stress of the day was weighing hard on my body and my mind. My roommate was gone and I was home alone for the first time in months and I was planning on taking advantage of it by slipping into some flannel pajamas and plopping myself in front of the TV. 

I grabbed a pair of pajamas and thought about how my whole life seemed to be a pair of flannel PJs: boring, long… predictable. Not only was my job dull and frustrating, but I hadn’t had sex in almost a year and the lack thereof was starting to take its toll. My luck with men was so bad I started avoiding dates, and men altogether. I came home right after work, made dinner, finished some work, and went to bed. I never felt sexy and most of the time didn’t even feel like helping myself to relieve my frustrations.

I sighed and threw the pajamas back in to the drawer. Was this really what I wanted? The whole house to myself and all I was going to do was sit in front of the TV and mold? I guess if I wanted something different I was going to have to make it happen. Suddenly I remembered a box under my bed and a bag of goodies that hadn’t been opened since my ex-boyfriend decided to suddenly move to Tokyo.

I went to the bed and pulled it out. There was an assortment of toys from dildos to edible underwear, but I pushed those aside for the moment; first I needed to feel sexy again. From the bottom of the box I pulled out a red, silk slip with lace around the low-cut collar and short enough to barely cover the curve of my bottom. I let my skirt and jacket fall to the floor, followed by my bra and panties, pulled the slip over my head and let the silkiness slide over my naked skin.

I stepped in front of my full-length mirror and studied my reflection. My dark, thick hair flowed past my shoulders, covering my nipples that had suddenly stood erect as the smoothness of the nightgown had hit them. My breasts pushed against the fabric, eager to escape, to be touched…

I reached up and slid my hand across my chest, touching one nipple, then the next. I let out a moan of pleasure mingled with frustration, as I knew my own touch would never be as satisfying as someone else’s. Suddenly I felt as if I was no longer alone, like someone was watching me. I turned to my window and gasped as I saw a man just outside, peering in and watching. The fact that I had a peeping tom watching didn’t scare me as much as the fact that I was on the second floor and he