I Was Her Favorite
I was her favorite. She would take me with her on special occasions. Sometimes when she was feeling low, I made her feel better. I made her feel confident and sensual. I erased all doubts she would ever have about herself. When she looked at the mirror, how she looked with me, she believed she was beautiful. She was incomplete without me, I was an important part of her personality, of her. I was her favorite shade of lipstick.
I still remember the first day she saw me. I was sitting in the store, waiting for one of the girls to try me on. And then she walked in. It was stormy that day, and despite her carrying an umbrella, she got soaked. Her wet hair stuck to her neck and she had dark circles under her eyes. The store owner looked at her disdainfully. The others didn’t want to be touched by her, but I was curious. A sense of elation filled me as she picked me up and applied me on her full, rosy lips. A bright, stunning red I was, bold and sensational. She didn’t try another and took me home with her.
Since that day I sit and adorn her dresser. When she paints her beautiful lips with me, her face bursts into a smile. She knows she is a beautiful girl, but when she puts me on, she feels complete. My bold redness fills her with confidence, and a fake bravado to go on and do her job. Her painted red smile sweeps the girl with puffy eyes and a haggard look away. When she puts me on as a last touch, she turns into a goddess of beauty whom no man can say no to.
She wanders the street, dolled up, looking for customers. Some take her to extravagant hotels, while some take her to a dingy, one-roomed motel. Never a complaint has escaped her lips as they have their way with her body. When she comes back home she puts the roll of money they pay her on the dresser right next to me. Then she sits and takes her make up off. Every night her lips are untouched.
Tonight is my last night on her lips. She hasn’t dolled up, only a little make-up to hide her imperfections. She smiles as she swipes me over her lips, coloring them the bold, blood-red hue. She is wearing a plain dress tonight. The doorbell rings and she smiles as she opens it. I spend my last night on her laughing lips as the young man whose hand she holds charms her. He looks at her adoringly while she talks, gushes of breaths passing by me as she animatedly explains everything to him. This was her first date, she says and looks at him shyly when he comes to leave her at the door. He smiles and leans down, cupping her body with one hand and tilting her head with the other. He kisses her lips. She smiles ecstatically through the kiss. He leaves with the promise of meeting her again. She smiles, knowing full well he will.
Tonight was my last night. It was the first time I was smeared, the first time I was shared with another pair of lips. She is afraid to wipe me as the memory of his kiss still lingers on her lips. He looks at the red lipstick on his lips and smiles. My last goodbye was the first kiss in a lifetime of kisses.
I was her favorite shade of lipstick.
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