The Mirror

You may wonder just what it is that I get from this rather lonely and some might say somewhat pathetic composing of erotic stories. Some would also query the sanity of a respectable, well within the society I mix, mother of 37, actually 38 but I'm not up to admitting to that yet, submitting them to Literotica. Many might consider that spending time dredging one's memory and giving flight to one's imagination in the ways that I do to, not only be a waste of time but also, be slightly deviant, maybe.

I know that, certainly for me, it has brought something to my life and, probably sounding a little pompous and self-justifying, it has enriched me as a person. I am a fairly introverted type that finds being the centre of attraction rather difficult and talking about personal matters with people I don't know very well even more so. I never was really very outward, promiscuity had little appeal and I didn't used to get close to others very readily. I would never have said that I was a particularly erotic sort of woman for I had never really read such material, porn movies leave me cold and I had never really spoken much of such matters.

That was until I found the web! Now on here and, to an extent, in my real life as well things are different. I can now write about practically any topic, and I'm sure that you have probably come across as many weirdoes as I have to now realize the many, many facets of sex and sexuality!! I can open up, be forward, initiate things and get involved quite quickly with people in my writing. I can compose the most graphically intimate accounts and feel totally able to describe my experiences in the minutest detail I feel, in a way, that I can tell the world anything about me via this media and the Literotica website.

But there is more than that involved in this.

Composing seems to have freed me from the social conditioning that influences most people and, particularly, women of my age. Until recently the idea of thinking, acting, speaking and writing in an erotic way would never have occurred to me. In fact I most likely would have totally rejected it as a stupid notion fit only for girls with a rather perverted way of looking at things. You see my conditioning was such that "nice girls don't think that way." Boy have I got news for them!!!

I actually enjoy it. I like talking and writing about sex. I get a kick from thinking of things from an erotic viewpoint. Well on here I do, I'm not sure that real life is ready for me yet. But even there I have recently taken to dressing more overtly sexily. Tighter clothes, more buttons undone, lower tops, sexier underwear and so on. And, particularly when visiting ad agencies to get briefs or to deliver work I have found myself responding more to the overtly politically incorrect attitudes of the, mainly male, creative directors that I deal with. A little flash of slightly too much leg, forgetting to adjust my top when I have been leaning forward taking a brief and holding their gazes when previously I would have dropped my eyes. Not I hasten to add because I want to pull them for I do live by the ad industry maxim of never fuck a client. No, I think it is just a need now to find some expression of the emerging erotic side of my nature.

So you can see some of the effects that this involvement has helped bring about but I need to come back to the original point that I posed, what do I get out of it? And now I am going to be totally honest, brutally frank, extremely open and, later, highly descriptive.

Before I do, though, some background is probably necessary to provide you with a more intimate knowledge of me.

Thirty eight in chronological years but still a teenager with some attitudes I am a naturally trusting and probably rather gullible type of person. I am attracted to people quite easily and can passionately form a like or dislike of someone based upon the slimmest of associations. A gesture, a phrase, an act of kindness, some witty remark or a flash of brilliant thought and I can adore them. Signs of arrogance or conceit, being a pseud, taking themselves too seriously or being hurtful towards others and they become my pet hate. And I rarely change that initial impression. Wrong and silly maybe but that's me, intuitive, spontaneous and impulsive. Quick to reach decisions, hasty with views and often far too outspoken with what I think are clever remarks that I have been called a smartarse so many times that I think it's probably true. So add that to the debit side of the Mandy balance sheet.

I absolutely love intelligence and brightness but only when accompanied by wit and a down to earth attitude. Someone that can solve problems, get beneath the surface of issues and see situations from unexpected angles but do not do this with pomposity do things to me. A truly insightful remark and I begin to melt. Link this with an analytical mind and a brightness of thought and I feel my resistance waning and their attraction growing. When wit and style and a sense of irony are also present my knickers are ready to come off at no more than a raising of an eyebrow, if he is that much energy!

Emotionally that's the summation of me. Yes a little unstable, yes a bit of a thrill seeker, yes turned on by unexpected things but no I don't have many relationships. An absence of that sort of man maybe? No an absence of the ability to any more commit myself to a man. The hurt of a sham of a 13 year marriage leaves scars. Scars that are so deep that I feel totally unable to place any trust in a man, make any form of emotional commitment to him for fear that I will become dependant on him.

" Ok," you may, "say, so what?"

Well the problem is that without some form of emotional involvement I find sex depressing, disappointing and generally unfulfilling. I've tried. Boy how I've tried. Both within my marriage and since it. But for me the remorse and the feelings of guilt and self-demeaning are so powerful that they massively outweigh any joy and pleasure I may have received. Yes my mornings after are something to witness.

It's the classic Catch 22 isn't it? I want sex but I want it without strings. And without strings I can't enjoy it. What a bitch eh? Something had to give. And that something is the sex. So I've given it up. Along with that has gone dating and any from of intimacy or closeness with men. I'm a six month celibate now.

That doesn't mean I don't need sex. Not at all. I actually crave it. Not a day for sure and rarely an hour passes without some sexual thought coming, (oh shit that word!) into my mind. Imagining be held, kissed, touched and caressed. Having feelings of being cuddled by a man. Lying with him in bed. Feeling his hands and mouth on me. Feeling him, his roughness, his hairy body and his hardness. Holding that hardness, having it pressed against me. Yes I get such thoughts so frequently. Not a day goes by without me being fucked in my mind.

Ok that's a bit about the emotional mess called Mandy.

So physically?

Five feet six from the balls of my size five feet to the flattened crown of my naturally, but now helped a little, chestnut, coloured hair. I am ample in proportions. Good word that, ample, when used to describe a woman's figure. Ample = sufficient but not too much. It means there's enough but not a surplus. See what I mean? Get it? Agree with it? Seen my pic on my profile?

Certainly not sticklike and by no means having a boyish figure I could easily in years to come be mother earth in appearance. The weight is increasing, the thickening on the hips and the bot is starting and, of course the sag has begun with those appendages on my chest. Fortunately no signs of cellulite, yet, but I keep looking with the dread we women approaching forty live with every day!

So let's start at the top, review the features and work our way down shall we?

Hair? Now this is probably more than ample. Some say my crowning glory but others are honest and award that plaudit to my tits. Thick and quite lustrous, there is a lot of it, hair that is not tits, although looking down I'm not so sure about those either when we talk ample. I like it long and thick, no funny interpretations here. So it's down to my shoulders and is usually worn that way. Loose and tumbling, a cascade of chestnut tresses, a mass of deep brown locks, so much nicer I think when falling onto a man's stomach and it hides what one is doing with one's mouth. Shit, what am I saying, strike that, get out the censors blue pencil as I wash my mouth and purify my thoughts. And enough of it to be worn up when stylish and elegant is required, yes I can do those but mostly I don't. Relaxed and informal is my preference.

Moving on. Brown eyes to go with the hair. Now these aren't bad even if I say it myself. Quite large and sometimes a little staring, particularly when I run out of contacts, I've been accused of leering at men or looking too intently at them. Totally untrue. I probably just didn't even see them for I'd forgotten my lenses! When I was back in the game, that is in the game of dating as opposed to on the game for that has never really appealed to me, I would hate the unsocial hours, I have been trying recently to learn how to smoulder with my eyes. You know drive a man wild with desire for me with just one stare. Trouble is when I do it looks as I am half winking at him and half as though I've got something in my eye. Perhaps I should leave the bra off instead and wear see through tops, it doesn't work with smouldering.

Nose? A bit nondescript and a physical object of mine about which I have little feelings or emotions. Hard to get worked up about a splodge on your face unless it's like Barry Manilow's isn't it so let's move on? Down or sideways? Let's do cheeks. A bit podgy is how I feel about them, a little Miss Piggy or Ruby Wax. Nothing especially endearing but then not an eyesore I consider. They do their job whatever that is? Ever wondered why we have them? I haven't so I won't bother your inquisitiveness now. Quite smooth though and pleasantly sensitive they do have nice, although quite subtle, curves so I imagine close up they could appeal to people that are into shapes and arcs, welders perhaps?

Ok the mouth. Full of teeth with few fillings, if a vet looked at mine as they do a horse I would probably escape being put down. Despite the ravages of coffee, too much red wine and Marlboros they are still respectably white and not badly shaped. No Dracula fangs or overshoot there. So I'm not frightened to open my mouth although I often do find the strangest objects, like feet, in there. No I'm not a toe sucker, but then I won't knock it for I've rarely tried it. Its quite big I think and I know that size doesn't really matter but I guess if there only two sizes I'd opt for large as opposed to standard or economy. And around it are the lips. Here I am conceited for I think I have winners there. Full and nicely shaped with a neat little dip in the centre of the top one I hope they exude a passionate nature. They do say that thin ones signify being cold and hard. If that's the case then mine suggest hot and soft and that may well be true. Like the referral to hot? Is that blooded, is it a pseudonym for being sexy, available or horny? Some pondering there perhaps, for me as well as you I imagine. I like my lips. I like other lips on them and a finger or, especially a tongue, being gently drawn across them. They are sensitive and tactile, malleable and expressive, I think. They are responsive. Those that have kissed them fully and passionately will be testament to that but then you will never know who they are so you'll have to take my word for it. They fit round other's lips easily and other things as well in the right circumstances. You know swigging from a bottle, blowing up a balloon and that sort of thing. Hmmm a little suggestive there so quickly onwards and downwards.

Neck's a little short but no tell tale age wrinkles there and nothing much more to add, for Christ's sake it's only a bloody neck. So let's get interesting shall we? Shoulders perhaps? Collar bones maybe? Ribcage, no way. Ok let's do the tits. It's probably what you've been waiting for, isn't it? Be truthful. You've seen the photo, the impressive (fair use of the word I hope) bulges and the hint of the nipples. The suggestion of ampleness and the curve from the waist outward into the flair of my bosom, what a word. Do I have a bosom or is that reserved to describe really big ones, udders, the sort that Italian mammas beget after the umpteenth child? No I might have a chest, boobs or tits or, as it was described to me quite illustratively I thought the other day "a nice rack," but please not a bosom OK?

Here I am certain that ample is the correct description. In some ways I think they are more than that, you should try running with two big swinging lumps on your chest. It bloody well hurts! And trying to perfect a golf swing with them in the way is a nightmare, not that the coaches I've had seem to worry too much.

"No you get your arms like this," they say standing behind me and holding them above my shoulders. Get the picture? Two boobs straining against a thin golf shirt his arms brushing the sides of the offending articles. Actually sounds quite inviting with the right coach!!

Nice to the touch, well to mine at least and it's, me, who by far gets most touches nowadays, bugger it!! Nicely smooth, soft and warm, I like them and they also seem to like me. When I treat them well and look after them they give me the nicest feelings and we get on famously and, you know, it's funny, but the more I do look after them so the more intense are the feelings. But, and this is a big but and an important one, they do have this embarrassingly irritating habit of misbehaving by sticking their heads up when that's not needed but more of that later.

Ok let's dispense with the technical bit. 35 to 36 between C and D. No that's not me being unable to make my mind up, it's them. They just don't seem to be able to make their mind up whether to be a meaty 36 D or a miniscule, by comparison, 35C. And boy does that play havoc with bra selection. With some there seems to be oodles of flesh spilling out of the tops, and sides and bottom as well come to that, yet with others they are demurely fully enclosed. This can cause me problems. You know you get to that bit with a man when the blouse comes undone or the top is taken off and the woman sees his enjoyably, lustful gaze at her bra encased cargo. When I'm in a 35 C bra and if they have decided to go into their 36 D mode then I'm everywhere and I wonder just what he thinks? Is she trying to exaggerate them, show them off or be a real come on? Maybe he thinks I've only got one bra? Daft of course for I've got at least two, one of each size!

So size here, I believe and fervently hope the men I shall meet in the future, maybe, also agree, does matter even if it can cause me problems. Now should I provide further description, or will that just be blatant titillation? And if so, will that be for me, the writer or, you the reader? Maybe it will be tit for tat with the titillation about my tits. Clever eh? Oh sod it I like the titillation almost as much as the tits so lets have some tit and some tat. Let's go for it. Hold on as I get them out so I can look closely to gain descriptive inspirations.

Mmmm that's quite nice, topless typing, a new craze maybe? Why not? Perhaps offices should promote the idea, liven them up wouldn't it but in this PC crazy world I don't think so do you?

Slightly more than a decent handful, a man's size that is, in girth and width they are quite soft and spill out of hands, whether they be of male or female gender, when pressed or gently squashed. Nicely tanned at the moment there are no unsightly white bits just differing shades of light brown although, on close inspection, there is a thin strip on the underneath that is almost white. Obviously to see that I have to lift them up and my guess is that they weigh around a pound and half each. There is, and I have to be honest here, a little sag, and that probably accounts for that white strip. A combination of bearing a child, size, laziness with ante natal and age they are nowhere near the upright citizens they once were. That, together with their insistence on continuing to grow, I was 32 B before I had Sarah 14 years ago suggesting 38/9 inches and well into a E or even F by the time I'm 50! Fuck me that's frightening!! So, if you're into udders hang around, like they undoubtedly will be, but probably my waist. This means burning my bra is just not on any more. I used to go braless and I used to enjoy it but my nipples were often unkind for they would leap to attention at always the wrong moments. And they still do as I hinted at earlier. Meeting a client for the first time, chatting to the hostess at a dinner party or talking to one of Sarah's teachers is not the most appropriate moment to have two organ stopper like lumps leaping out from your dress is it? Why they do it I have no idea for it isn't always a sign of arousal? Shit they're doing it now. They must have heard me talking about them for surely the fact that I have been idly stroking my boobs and the tips of my nipples have been grazing on the desk wouldn't have done that, would it? So I have to be a covered up girl nowadays but with the gossamer like thinness of modern mammary support architecture that doesn't matter for they can still very obviously make their mark when they feel like it.

Anyway back to the point, well the two actually, in question. They are nicely rounded, full and stuffed with wonderfully sensitive nerve ends that react so easily to most any form of stimulation. Other than as the provider of sustenance for babies perhaps that is their main purpose, the giving of pleasure. No other reason for them that I can think of, can you? And boy do they give pleasure! Both to me and to my partners, well theoretically to them for not many in recent times have been there. They do though create a nice shape that can relieve the boredom on the journey from shoulder to waist and make that area aesthetically appealing to the eye don't they?

So what else can I tell you about them? Oh yes those bits on the end. Those rubbery-like protuberances, those things that leap up and down. Nipples I believe they are known as. Pink of course, not that unsightly dark brown and quite large without being enormous, they have a nice hillock in the middle even when not playing up. It's a very obvious hillock that, as I've mentioned, has the ability to change. A touch, the cold, a thought and many other things really can turn molehills into mountains quicker than a flash of a gnat's eye. And when in a mountain mode they seem to assume a degree of sensitivity out of all proportion to their size. So they adore attention and they do seem to attract it both visually and physically.

Slipping down a little, if I can get them out of the way and look beneath them and, by the way, it's quite a nice view from here, even if I do say it myself. Get down you mountains go back to your molehill mode please, so we can see the waist. Not bad in inches but so much more of it than there once was. Probably 26", well and a half inch but I always lie about that, it does provide a nicely indented area between "them" and the hips that we'll come onto (oops, wishful thinking perhaps!) later. The problem is that, although that is still manageable, the bits below don't seem to be so easily containable. On this global tour of Mandy we'll combine a number of features here and cover those in one go.

Waist, tummy, hips and bum. All together now, waist, tummy, hips and bum. Waist tummy, hips and bum. Like a mantra for doing aerobics isn't it?

My most womanly features I've been told. But then I never believe a man when he has his hand up my skirt, old fashioned I know but that's just me. The tummy does bulge a little, let's face it, (and some do like to face it, and about that I seem to be powerless, the bulge that is not the facing it, even though, thinking back to the last time it was faced, I was pretty powerless to do much about that either). Not too much, nothing massive or overly unsightly, but enough to make me think that in years to come that might meet the udders coming from the other direction to create one mass of overblown flesh. Ugh what a thought! Still, back to the present. It's there, it does bulge a little but not too much and I can live with it. I can also live with the hips. Certainly overpadded and with the hint of love handles I claim a respectable 35 but when probed will admit to 36 and, if the probing is particularly skilful, I lose all of my inhibitions and open up completely to an outrageous 37. Ok, so we know they are not svelte and nobody in their right mind would describe me as being slender hipped and I doubt that I would want them to. So I'd better check them out now hadn't I? OK trousers undone and off let's look at these lumps and bumps. Nice little black thong, nothing sexy or silky just comfortable M & S cotton. It does, though, seem to get rather swamped by the two other lumps that are usually called, individually cheeks, and I have no idea why, for they are nothing like the other pair that we discussed earlier are they? And on that point neither are the other lips like the aforementioned so why call them that? I'm sure someone could think of a more appropriate name for them. Perhaps we should have a competition? Your starter for 10. Name the two things that surround that interesting crease to the rear of a person's body? Or come up with a more appropriate term for the flesh that surrounds a woman's most intimate place. Think it would work? Is it a goer? Anyway together they form the bum, the arse or, in Amercanese, the asse or butt and, when being demure, the bottom or when literal the anus. So many terms aren't there? Lucky thing to have such a variety of names.