A Woman Before Her Mirror

This card is for you my love,

It is to say thank you for the weekend, and for taking those moments of peace together, apart from our busy schedules.

When I saw this card I though immediately of you, as it portrays almost exactly my mood yesterday afternoon, once you were gone. It seemed to leap out at me from the shelves – as the right card for the occasion so often does. This time however, I stood there in the shop looking at it for quite some time – sinking into the story portrayed by the woman before her dressing table mirror. Both she and I it seems, have shared that moment, and when I came out of that reverie, I was wet from those thoughts – so I bought it and will use the picture to tell you her story.

It is Sunday evening just after sunset, and she sits before her mirror, the past night and a day with a lover still strong in her thoughts. Brushing her hair and ready for bed once more, she remembers how his clever tongue had worked its way between her legs, for an hour or more. She smiles and pauses in mid stroke down long, straight and gloss-dark hair, looking at her reflection – the moment of the picture, blue shift and blue kimono draped open on her, the sign of a normal night – of sleeping alone.

That thought seems to chafe her, and she puts the brush down, wondering at the why of how habits are formed – what was to stop her from sleeping as nude as she had last night? Winter was long gone, and so the temperature was good. Shucking the kimono from her shoulders in a simple silk ripple-glide, she continued to look at herself and gave a nod. Old habits from an older way, designed for faith and chastity by purity – just religious designer labels really, old-fashioned but we all keep on wearing them, she is thinking.

Now her light bed clothes were doing the chafing, while she contemplates the idea of sleeping unfettered, with nothing between her skin and the quilt, but warm air. The thought excites her, and she gives a slight squirm, knowing where this would lead – but this time it would be different, no more sly fumbling under the sheets, but a full and naked exploration of her body’s sensual capacity, under nothing but the open air and breeze of the night.

Decided, she unfastened the ties to her gown, and lifting it over her head, slowly reveals herself now sat in just slip before the tempting mirror – that which her mother had forbidden her as a teenager, in case she had been lead to indulge herself in one of the so many temptations available to a young girl.

Imagining her mother having installed a two-way mirror and camera mounted behind it, she smiles and lifts a hand to stroke at one breast, parting her legs slightly in readiness and acting all it out naturally as if unaware that she was being observed. If only her mother knew of her many youthful explorations, snatched whenever the opportunity arose – not only at bath-time, but in every room eventually, even once naked on the sofa when they had been away at the theatre, touching herself so intimately in such familiar surroundings, with all those homely scents, it had been the best.

Moving her hand down from breasts into her slip, she found she was already very wet. After last night that was no surprise with so many orgasms during their protracted lovemaking. He had been wonderful and talented in his attentiveness, and as she stroked at herself slowly, she felt those smooth, strong hands lightly raising goosebumps under her breasts and along her sides – then of course her own became his fingers doing the touching, exploring lightly between her ready lips, then lifting the silky moisture up to tease at her clitoris.

Giving a light moan, she stands and hooks her slip with her thumbs, slides it down before laying herself out on the bed and returning her hand between them, lifting her legs and parting them wider.

I can see her lain out at an angle on that bed, clothing abandoned on the floor in a tale of its own, and I wish there had been a card for sale of that picture, but then it would have been too obvious.

But now my love, I fear that this recounting has inspired me, as I hope that it will you – there is only so much one can write while the other hand is busy elsewhere.

I must finish now…

Enjoy.