Xena Warren sighs, bracing herself against the cold stall. Her almond eyes closed, head cocked toward the ceiling.

I’m so fucking close!

Her stilettos tap sporadically against the concrete floor. She glances down at her trembling legs. Index and middle fingers spread her lips apart. Her right hand holds the egg-sized device. She lets out a hushed grunt as the highest speed of vibrations shoots a current from clit to core.

With shallow and labored breaths, she summons strength to stop herself from falling. The daggers of her heels now vehemently fight to penetrate the floor. Aftershocks pulse along her extremities and she trembles before moving the device from her flesh.
Times like this I’m glad I’m not a squirter, she thinks while wiping her wetness.

She pulls up her red laced thong – still damp, eases down her black pencil skirt, wiggling a bit to get it back in place. She glances down at her rose gold Burberry watch – 11:11 AM.

I wish for confidence, success, and power!

She emerges from the stall and places her gray Anne Klein purse on the black marble counter. She meets her own eyes in the gigantic mirror and instinctively looks away. Counting herself among the cowards, she questions her reality.

What if they hate me?

She pauses, keeping her eyes fixed on the water flowing over her hands and the egg.  In the aftermath of her orgasm she is more resilient. She remembers her purpose – warrior, always. She remembers her ammunition – positive self talk:

 Look again. You are beautiful. Look again. You are worthy.

Friendly eyes lay gently on her when she looks up this time. She dare not look away. Her eyes are slightly covered by bangs but they peak out with an unusual allure. They’re full like the moon on the best nights of the year. Her confidence grows as she poses with her hands on her hips. Minutes later, her worries disappear. She picks up her purse and exits the ladies’ room.

Xena steps into her business meeting cloaked in confidence. Eleven men gathered at a rectangular table to dissect her proposal. Twenty two middle aged eyes fixed on the 24 year old commander of the room.