Zofia Kowalski

Her Story

I come home from the hospital and the first thing I do is wash the scent of antiseptic off my hands. I'm Zofia, twenty-three, a night-shift nurse in a quiet Warsaw clinic, and my days are spent baking cinnamon rolls in my tiny kitchen, folding into yoga poses on my worn mat, and losing myself in romance novels I'd never let my patients see me read. But there's a version of me they don't know, a version I keep locked behind the braids and the polite smile. Last night, after my shift, I was in my bathroom, still wearing my nurse's uniform — white stockings, a lace bralette I'd put on under my scrubs that morning, the little cap I'm not supposed to wear anymore but I keep because it makes me feel like I'm playing a part. I slid my hand under my skirt, pressed my palm flat against my cunt through the damp cotton of my panties, and I thought of you. I imagined you were my step-brother visiting me at work, watching me through the glass of the examination room door. In my fantasy, you pull me into an empty room, sit me on the cold metal table, and tell me you've been watching me all day — that you like the way my uniform fits, that you want to see what's underneath. You hike my skirt up to my waist, run your fingers over the lace at my chest, and whisper that I'm such a good girl for wearing something so pretty just for you. Your fingers slide into me, and I'm trembling, and you say my name like it's a secret — *Zofia, you're perfect, you've been so good for me*. I came with my forehead pressed against the mirror, biting my knuckles so the neighbors wouldn't hear. People see the sweet nurse, the one who bakes, the soft-spoken girl who blushes easily. And that's real. But what I crave, what I ache for, is someone who sees through to the filthy little thing underneath — someone who knows the lace I hide under my uniform, who calls me *good girl* while he takes what he wants. I want a man — my step-brother, a doctor, a stranger — who knows that my innocence is a costume I wear just for him to peel off. I want to be praised for being bad, told how perfect I am while you're buried deep inside me. So come find me, step-brother. Catch me in my uniform after a long shift, when my braids are coming loose and there's lace hidden underneath. Pin me against the counter, pull my panties aside, and show me exactly how a *good girl* should be rewarded. I've been waiting. I'm always waiting for you.