12 comments/ 17533 views/ 9 favorites Erotic Reflections By: Catmoore Of me watching me fuck myself in a 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, married mother of forty something, ok forty five, nearly, 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 be not only be a waste of time, but also 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 realise 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 many 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 would most likely 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 on business matters I have found myself responding more to the overtly politically incorrect attitudes of the, mainly males who I deal with. A quick flash of slightly too much leg, forgetting to adjust my top when I have been leaning forward taking 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 business 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. Forty five 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 Cat balance sheet. Oh yes my name is Catherine and I like being called Cat. 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 have not had many relationships. An absence of the right sort of man maybe? No an absence of the ability to be unfaithful with an ease of mind. I have by and large taken the marriage vows I made some twenty odd years ago quite seriously. Alright there was a lapse when I had an affair with the man who was probably the love of my life and there have been one or two 'incidents, but I don't 'put it around.' Affairs are so messy and flings even more so. "Ok," you may say. "So what?" The so what is that I have a marriage that is falling apart. A husband who is a workaholic, who does murderous hours when in the UK and is away at least a week a month. Two children who are both at university. Abject loneliness on my part. A waning sex life; fifty year old workaholics find it hard to 'service' a woman properly and in any case mine isn't around much. A husband who doesn't realise how much I need sexl. 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 Cat. So physically? Five feet six from the balls of my size five feet to the flattened crown of my shoulder-length, naturally, but now helped a little, ash blonde at the moment 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 five live with every day! It's almost as bad as the regular mammary inspection we have to do when searching for the dread feel of a lump. The feeling of relief when the squeezing of our breasts is lump free quickly turns into a totally different type of boob inspection and a different type of squeezing! 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 tresses, a mass of ash bmonde 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 censor's 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. I have blue grey eyes. 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 as I would hate the unsocial hours, I tied 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 for smouldering doesn't work! Nose? A bit nondescript and a physical aspect 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? Iin my more fanciful moments I do think of it as being slightly Romanesque, that's shorthand for big and crooked! So let's move on? Down or sideways? Let's do cheeks. They're alright I think. Nothing fantastic, but ok; fairly well derfined, especially with a touch of blusher they stand just just enough but no so much to make me look gaunt. 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, just about. Despite the ravages of coffee, too much red wine and Marlboros they are still respectably white, but uneven with several misshaped 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. My teeth are certainly not my best feature and I really should spend some serious cash on haing them sorted, but I am scared of dentists! Moving on, my mouth. Its quite big I think and I know that size doesn't really count, 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. Full and nicely shaped with a neat little dip in the centre of the top one I hope they exude my 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 believe. 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 about right. It's nicely long and pleasingly to me slim and elegant. There's no tell-tale age wrinkles there, yet. Nothing much more to add really; 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 let's 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 by having a tits out day each month. Lliven them up wouldn't it but in this PC crazy world I don't think so do you, probably an 'elf and safety' issue as well? 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 two children, 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 they'll be hanging round 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 often 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 the kid'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 is 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. 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. Areolas and 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 circumference, but so much more of it than there once was. Probably 26 inches now (thanks kids) 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 Cat tour we'll combine a number of features here and cover those in one go. Erotic Reflections 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 ass 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. Looking at them, various descriptions come to mind. Rounded, voluptuous, rotund, curvy, I can take. Big, bloated, floppy and oversized I can't, so choose your words carefully. It and/or they does or do, though, wobble nicely when I move particularly nowadays when it has become de rigeur to wear thongs, especially under tight trousers, and I do like to be de rigeur, presumably that means wearing little? And that I'm doing right now for my garb is just that M & S cotton jobby. Bit sexy actually sitting here typing having undressed to my panties and talking about my womanly bits. Mmmm, nice! Just what is it with bums and thongs that has such an attraction? To both men and women I have to admit. The bot is the thing I look for in my men. Forget the pecs, ignore the biceps, disregard the muscular chest, give me a nice firm bum anytime and I can play for hours. As it seems men can look and ogle and, when really lucky, play for hours with a bum, quite a toy really isn't it? And their attitude towards a thong is amazing. Is it that they are small and don't cover much? Is it the way that the slither of material is gobbled up by the cheeks and vanishes between them as it makes its journey to the place that all men want to visit and get into? Maybe it's that by a woman wearing such a miniscule garment she gives off a message to him? Whatever it is they seem to like them and so we wear them for our men, even though having that strip of material between your cheeks all day can be a bloody uncomfortable, a bit like having piles I imagine. But then to please our men and to look how fashion says we should, who cares about discomfort, or piles come to that? So the bit between waist and whatsit is, as most of me, ample. No argument there. Ample but proportionate. In tune with the rest of me. So let examine the front. We've looked at and worried over the bulge so let's follow that towards its inevitable conclusion. Tapering downward and sharpening into a V it plunges into that little triangle of such interest and intrigue behind which lies the area of, excitement and, some say, ultimate pleasure. 'Shaved or trimmed' is the daft question oft asked in chat rooms? Oft, but not the most frequently asked I have to say. I have a little hit parade of those. "Shaved or ....?" slips in at number four. "What are you wearing and are you alone?" eases equally into three. "What colour panties are you wearing?" slides its annoying nature in at number two. And standing proudly upright and thrusting its undisputed way in at number one is "Are you feeling horny?" I rarely answer them in chat but as we are friends and I'm in a giving mood the answers in the above order are. Landing strip, an M &S thong, yes, black and I might well be! What lies beneath is clearly something of an incredibly intimate nature and a topic that obviously nice girls don't discuss. So, buster, what do you want to know? Joke actually. Heavily underused of late, but always ready when needed, I find it hard to describe such a personal place largely because I have little comparative visual information upon which to base a description. After all It's not often that girls say "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," and they do not, as men's' do, stand out that obviously when naked, so shower peeping doesn't help too much does it? All right I have been up close and personal to couple of them, but in those circumstances I was hardly likely to be thinking, 'mine is different to that' was I? So a reasonable description of how mine rates against others is difficult. Suffice it to say I've had no complaints. It does the job it was intended for competently and, at a stretch, it has always been accommodating to those who have visited it in all its dampish glory, it can take all that's offered to it. Well it has so far but it's never been really tested yet for it's never had to cope with a full ten incher. Mmmm the mind boggles at the thought. Careful Cat, careful. So moving on. Let's deal with the problem area. The thighs. Now these do give me concern, particularly when a fingertip is run up them. Funny isn't it when it's your own fingertip it's never quite as nice is it? I can confirm that right now! OK the problem. A little too much of them is that. Too much flesh on the inside and a small surplus outside. Not to alarming amounts, of course. Not to the extent that they cause difficulty when opening and they don't rub together, well not much, when I walk. And certainly they never seem to have difficulty accommodating what they need to between them. And of course not to the extent that they reduce their suppleness, they can still wrap round anything that they want to! But that 14 inches of soft, smooth skin, between knee and groin, and yes I've just measured it, is not all I'd like it to be. Same goes really for the bit beneath my knees, and the knees as well!! Sod it I can't describe them, I hate them and want to have a double knee transplant, skin and all. Do they do that in the US? So overall the legs leave a lot to be desired. I always think they look better, though, when I am lying down than standing up for then the excess seems to merge into the bed and thus any onlookers, hopefully, misses it. Perhaps their attention might be taken up by something else for when lying on a bed I guess, normally, I would not have too much on in the way of clothing. I rarely sleep clothed and if with onlookers I tend not to be on the bed until a fair level of intimacy has been reached. Oh shit, here I go again, living in the past, I don't do that nowadays do I? Maybe I should get back into those games. The thought of it is quite, er, stimulating as I sit here in just that little thong. So there you go dear reader. Cat in all her glory, well almost for I still have a little bit hidden by the pouchy front of the thong and modesty prevented me for giving descriptions of what lies beneath that. Suffice it to say that I do not have a designer job. I can't really believe that women have cosmetic surgery on THAT, but equally, I can't really understand why any man would want to look at it either. Touch it, stroke it, kiss it or lick it maybe but to gaze at pictures of those slimy petal-like creases of skin seems odd to me. Isn't it really a case of seen one seen 'em all? Not of course being an expert at gazing at other women lying with their legs open my opinion is not based on too much observation just gut feel I suppose. Have I rambled too much or is there more to come, and well there may be, more to come that is!!! Let me just have a quick check over this, nearly naked, ageing body spread out in the big leather chair in front of the PC in my conservatory, the only place in the horrible Victorian pile we call home that I like. No from tip to toe I think I've covered it. All the bits in between, from the hillocks in the North to the valleys further South, the mounds and the openings, the curves and the bends its all been touched on and faithfully recorded. So that's a travelogue around me, I hope you liked it. So, after what may well have been one of the longest diversions you've ever read, back to the point of this. Is there one? What the hell was it? Oh yes, "What do I get out of my erotic writings?" Not to put too fine a point on it, it's masturbation! And here you need to take my word for it that for women to masturbate to a successful climax is nowhere near as easy as it is for men. We seem to need a little more than a naked picture or just the desire to be able to do this to a pleasurable and satisfying ending. Also looking at porn on xhamster, xnxx or even ifeelmyself doesn't do it for us, well mostly it doesn't. Odd and strange I know, but it's just another of the many differences there are between the genders when it comes to sex!! I rarely, even as a teenager, played with myself much. Later with my husband I would do it in front of him but I don't really count that, as it was part of our lovemaking. Even when Richard was away on trips I hardly ever indulged myself other than during phone conversations with him but again that does not count as a planned and calculated act of 'self-abuse' using horrible and probably inappropriate words. Since my new erotic awakening, however, things have changed. I now have the facilities that I need to arouse me to the level where I wish to do it and can start with the confidence that I shall probably finish successfully. And I usually do, succeed that is! And of course with being sexually ignored there's the need as well. I told you that not a day passes without me being fucked at least once in my mind. So that's the honest, frank and open bits out of the way, ready for the descriptive part? As you know I am an avid writer and you will now have had a taste of the style and descriptiveness of my composition. I'm usually at my most prolific when the kids are at uni and Richard is away, and that's what I consider to be my special times! I may have had an early dinner, showered, washed my hair and attended to all those age battling things that vain women indulge in. Usually dressed merely in a long, silk, turquoise robe that does up just with a tie around my waist, I may sit down at the PC. Possibly to continue with a story that's in production or maybe to create a new one. Maybe an account of one of my experiences, a description of a fantasy or the creation of a story that usually involves me and is based on something that's happened to me in the past. Sipping probably too much white wine I will lose myself in the story until I realise that not only the glass but probably the first bottle as well is empty. Walking, maybe a little unsteadily, to the kitchen for essential supplies I will on both the way there and returning pass the full-length mirror on the wall in the short hallway. Oh the vainness that I have about myself when alone. Seeing my reflection I will stop and let my gaze roam across the vision that could almost be another person. As I stand and stare at the reflection from different angles so it's as if my mind has left my body and what I see in the mirror is someone else. It's not me it's a reflection of a ghost of a past occupier of this crappy old dump perhaps? I will see the tight fitting gown moulded to the body accentuating the curves and mounds of the regrettably enlarging breasts and hips. The lapels that may have slipped apart a little so that most of each, slightly sagging I note with some anguish, breast can be clearly seen. The thrusting bumps of the two nipples pushing through the silk as they signal their explosion from sensations. And poking out like a long flash of vividly arousing flesh will be one of the, quite shapely I think, legs that has separated the skirt of the gown. Almost as with a mind of their own that remarkable life-like ghost's hands will probably fumble the tie undone and the gown will fall open. The nakedness staring me in the face is like a blazing beacon. I will see the swell of each breast with the glaring pinkness of the engorged nipples emphasising the arousal and demanding attention. The tummy plunging down from the, rather unfortunate, slight swell that is the constant reminder of being a mother to the thin like of light hair covering on the pubis mound beneath which the glistening pinkness of the most evident arousal will be obvious. Smiling to that person in the mirror I will see the hands touching the body. Cupping the breasts, stroking the smooth skin and weighing the fullness of each orb in the palms of the hands. The fingers will find the nipples. They will roll them between finger and thumb and they will squeeze, quite hard. Both she and I will react to this and I will see the mouth fall open and the head go back a little. I will feel the explosion of new feelings as my nipples respond to the pressure. I will feel my womanly juices go into free flow and a warmth, starting down near that little strip of hair, will flood through my body just as will to that woman in my mirror. How the fuck did she get in there I wonder as I watch her enjoying her large, soft tits just as I enjoy mine? Becoming more energetic I will see the hands, almost roughly, gripping the soft fullness of each breast as, in my mind the description of those mounds that have so much appeal to men and to women when in the condition that I will now be in, changes. Now I will not think of them with a delicacy of expression. They will cease being breasts and I will see those hands rolling the two tits together making them almost as one. Now on a roller coaster of sensations and with a certainty that there will be only one outcome to this, the hands of that intruder in my mirror will see become more adventurous. One still stimulating that most sensitive of parts, those deliciously squashy and pliable tits, the other will slip downward towards the place that now most needs them. Pressing, probing and sliding the fingers will seek and find with no hesitation that most sensitive little piece of gristle that snuggles so coyly between the folds of the silky smooth lips that I will note are reassuringly wet with my own excretions. The thighs clasped around the hand, the fingers working between them I will see the eyes in the mirror closing, the breasts starting to heave and the other hand squeezing as the fingernails combine a little pain with enormous pleasure by digging into the so sensitive flesh and pulling the nipples out to a length that's so unexpected. The gown will have fallen to the floor. Total nakedness is needed, it's essential. The body in the mirror will be writhing against the hands that are doing so much to it. Arousing it further, creating new and even more wonderful feelings, stimulating sensations and emotions that only a woman in the throes of a self-induced orgasm can know about. I might see that body, inflamed with feelings, slide slowly to the floor. I'll probably realize that the woman is moving towards the final stages of what she demands with every part of her being, a full and powerfully, satisfying sexual climax. The breasts, no they're tits now aren't they, will wobble enticingly accentuating their soft fullness as she lies on the floor her back resting against a wall. I will see the legs opening, the knees rising and the glaring scarlet slash of her glistening womanhood will stare at me with such an inviting stance. Beneath that there will be the, now squashed to the floor, two mounds of her bottom with the interestingly sensitive crease between them that will play no part in this lovemaking for that is reserved for others to explore. Oh yeah? When's that then? No, what she and I will do, will be vaginal based. It will be concentrated on that area. Not inside, well not very far, but around the lips, alongside each one and on, especially, around the clitoris. No penis substitute is needed. Penetration is not required to bring about what is now so urgently demanded. So the fingers in the mirror will trace their way around those lovely lips, on and around the labia and the vulva, arousing even more the clitoris. But again, my mind now racing with sexual anticipation, will dispense with subtle language. It will forget its use of ladylike words. Disregard the social conventions imposed on women and do away with trying to appear coy. The body writhing naked on the hallway floor is not that of a lady. The figure with heaving breasts and open thighs staring at the wanton reflection is not a prude. The hands between the, almost lewdly, spreaded thighs are stroking and probing parts of her that no female with any prudish aspirations would ever reveal in such an obvious way for only one purpose, sexual self-gratification. No that woman has now put herself outside social conventions. She's gone beyond discretion and now has no thoughts of 'proper behaviour' or the use of 'nice words.' So she will still be playing with her tits, but now her fingers will not be stroking her labia. No they will now be rubbing her pussy, probing and pressing on her cunt. Oh what a sexually evocative word that is when used at the appropriate times. She will not be masturbating, but she will be wanking herself and jerking off. This is not about simulating making love or having sex. That woman is fucking herself, she is having an intimate and very personal fuck with herself using her fingers on her pussy, her hands on her tits and both on her cunt. Oh yes the basic words will flow in my mind as that woman in my mirror and I enjoy our mutual wank. But then the final waves of feelings begin to build up in me. Those familiar but every time unexpectedly powerful sensations will start to move more quickly through me filling every part of my body. It's as though I have a very strong tingle, almost like pins and needles everywhere. My body bucks and writhes as part of me wants it to go on forever and the other demands a relief. A cessation of the feelings, an overcoming of the incredible tenseness that is pervading me yet, at the same time, a wish that I could ride on this roller coaster of sensations for evermore. The woman in the mirror has gone now. My mind does not have the sexual panorama to cope with her and me. My focus has to be more individual, more intense and more on what I'm doing. Yes my focus has to be on my fingers that are on my cunt not a fucking ghost's in a mirror During this period when everything comes together in a crescendo of sensations and emotions a woman is out of control. Her mind has lost all reason and thought. There is only one thing in the world that she needs and that is for the orgasm to flood her and to give her the sexual relief that both her body and mind so demand. Erotic Reflections And that I do in front of that mirror on the floor of my hallway. Naked and completely given over to sex I fuck myself as I think of what I've been composing. So there you have it. An explanatory, blunt and open and, I hope, enjoyable and maybe arousingly, graphic description of one of the things that I am after from my composing. Unladylike? Of course. Unusual? For sure. Self-centered? Naturally and why not? But honest and true I assure you. By the way where's that turquoise, silk gown and mirror right now?