Hayley Marie Coppin is alone in her bedroom, and the question she has been turning over all afternoon is a delicious one: tights or stockings? She remembers that she does not actually have to choose, because tucked in her drawer is a pair of ribbed striped grey tights worn over the most perfectly fitted black over-the-knee socks, and the combined sensation is something she simply has to share. She stands before the warm glow of an ornate gold-framed mirror in her black short-sleeved top, studying her reflection, running her hands slowly over the fine ribbed texture of the tights as they cling to every curve from her waist down to the tops of her chunky black boots. The room is quiet, golden and warm, and she is in absolutely no hurry at all.
She peels her top up slowly, watching herself in the mirror as the warmth of the room settles over her bare skin, her long blonde hair falling softly around her shoulders as she arches back with a sigh. The tights stay on because that is the whole point: the contrast of that soft, close-knit fabric against bare skin is exactly what she wanted you to see. She stretches across the bed, wraps her fingers around the waistband, and lets the afternoon drift by at its own sweet pace. Hayley already has her answer, and she has the feeling you do too.
