Godiva’s blues


She knelt naked in front of the mirror which was laid on the hardwood floor. She was on her all fours and started crawling over the mirror. She felt the coldness of the mirror on her knees and palm. She moved slowly over the mirror lest it might crack. She looked down to see her reflection….a stranger looked back at her. Her reflection failed to acknowledge her presence. Her flesh had whiplashes of time and she knew the anguish of losing youth. Despite the sting of age, she had firm body and more importantly a diffident soul caged in the frail frame of feminine. In these few moments of exploring herself physically through her reflection, she accidentally stumbled upon her insecurities. She was lady Godiva riding her reflection. She felt comfort at her nudity and at the same time felt humiliation for doing what she was doing. The amalgamation of comfort and humiliation gave birth to confusion. Was she confused ??

“You make me feel like ****ing whore?”, She screamed silently at the culprit.

The tears welled up in her eyes and started flowing over the threshold of her eyes. She heard the silent thud of the tears falling on the mirror. She lifted her head and saw the blurred image of her husband through her lachrymose eyes. He was a mute spectator watching her every move….watching every swivel of crest and trough in her curves like waves on a beach. The rising crescendo of her arch back was more musical than a note on a violin. His eyes savoured every line, curve, pore, freckle and mole on her body. Seeing her wife in duality was even more erotic for him……like a siamese twins she was fighting with herself– with her reflection. For what she was and what she wasn’t.

“Bloody voyeur !!”, She hissed at him like a serpent.

He made a strange innuendo with his fingers which she fathomed with ease. It was a signal for her to lie flat on the mirror. She obeyed like an obedient slave and her breasts touched the mirror at the same point where her tears had fallen. She felt the wetness of her tears on her breasts and a soothness rode all over her. She was comfort with the thought that she could stir a male’s soul even though time had robbed her of her youth.

“Bloody exhibitionist, that’s what I’m !!” , She smiled and saw out of the corner of her eyes the reflection of her husband, unbuttoning his shirt. Her shallow breathing quickly turned into deep…. her heart quickened. She couldn’t see her own reflection in the fogged mirror anymore.
———– Binzy

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