A Tryst With My Reflection





The mirror was clouded with the steam from the hot shower. I wiped it down with my towel and found my reflection smiling back at me. A delicious shiver ran down my spine as the memory resurfaced. My smile turned into an unexpected giggle as I remembered what had happened that day. I walked up to the full length mirror in my bedroom and stood in front of it. Slowly I let the wet towel covering me slip away, standing completely naked. I began replaying the memory in my head, soaking every second of it with a blissful smile.

 

We had been dating for more than a month then. In that one month we’d come far, from total strangers to lovers consumed with a fiery passion. The first time had been hurried, with the tearing off of clothes and hurtling of bodies on the bed until it ended after a few furious pants. The next time his hands had slipped under my dress, roving over my waist with an urgency. His fingers dug into my skin as if they would melt and merge with the flesh underneath. I had sat astride his lap and told him that I knew his body was telling him he would explode if he didn’t go through the motions soon. But he had to slow down and savor or it would be over before it happened. And he had slowed down, taking control of the moment, savoring everything. And afterwards he had told me that it had never been better. Every time after that was a quest of knowing each other’s bodies better. Time after time of knowing the utmost pleasure, I knew that I wanted him, every time, until the last time.

 

The memory flickered in my mind and I sighed as I remembered the way he was holding me that night. The moonlight filtered by the clouds was dancing on my skin as we lay under the covers, nestling against each other. Everything seems so eerily beautiful in the moonlight, I remember whispering. Nothing is more beautiful than you, he’d told me as he had kissed my fingers entwined in his. I had laughed at the mere idea. He had frowned angrily and pulled me off the bed until we were standing in front of the mirror.

 

“Look at yourself, look how beautiful you are.” “I’m not.” And I sincerely believed it. I had never been one with enthralling beauty, not one to exact a second look from passing strangers. I was nothing but another averagely pretty face that one would forget like a stranger in a crowd. I had never stood in front of mirrors and inspected myself. Never told myself that my beauty was something that I wanted people to know me by. My trysts with my reflection were so seldom that sometimes I would forget that that is how I looked. I tried to look away as he stood behind me, his face grave and unflinching. I began to walk away but he pulled me back, his hands rooting me to the spot until I was forced to look at myself.

 

His fingers held my chin until my eyes stared back at my reflection. It felt so strange, looking at myself like that, wondering what I was supposed to see. He brushed his fingers softly over my cheek and caressed my hair as he let it down. His thumb stroked my full lips until an involuntary sigh escaped. He kissed my ears until goosebumps covered my arms which he rubbed with his warm hands. I found my reflection smiling, my eyes sparkling with a fire I did not fully understand. He started unbuttoning my shirt and stifled the question that rose to my lips with a soft kiss. He looked into my eyes as he slowly undressed me, removing piece after piece of clothing; challenging me to question what he was doing. But I stood still, leaning my body into his, waiting for him to unfold me into something that I had never seen myself as.

 

The last of my clothing slipped away as his fingers pushed them off my body. He kissed my shoulders and his hands softly glided over my waist, over the curve of my hips and slid down my thighs. His touch was not urgent, instead it was so tender that I moaned for more. I looked at myself, and I wasn’t unpleasant to look at, but just ordinary, nothing beautiful. My full breasts softly rose and fell as I sighed with every touch of his. My slender neck arched in response to his kisses and my thin arms reached around and pulled him close to my body. As he stood behind me there wasn’t an inch to spare between our bodies. I could feel his arousal against my lower back and I thrust back my hips until he moaned aloud. He pulled me away with stern eyes and I giggled at my successful attempt to foil his plan.

 

“Touch yourself for me,” he whispered in my ear. I looked at him in surprise and shook my head. Go on, he told me. I kept refusing and he took my hand and guided it to the mound between my legs. My legs separated themselves voluntarily as his hand neared the crevice and I tried leading his fingers instead. His fingers were so slender and soft, and of all the hands that had ever touched me, his fit in perfectly. He placed my fingers on my shivering wetness and coaxed me to touch myself. I had never done this in front of anyone else and it felt strange as he looked at me. His hands started to encourage me as they travelled over my waist and my back, lifting my breasts and cupping them gently. He was still looking at me, and I was looking at him as my hand stroked in me a pleasure I had never shared with anyone but myself. I found myself moaning and leaning against him as my fingers circled me into a spiral of desire. His body was warm against my back, rearing to go, but I didn’t want him filling the void between my legs. Instead I found that pleasuring myself was infinitely better. He looked at me with hungry eyes and I denied him what he wanted because I was content with fulfilling my own desire. We moaned together, his hands becoming rougher and his touch becoming urgent, as I hurtled towards an orgasm. My eyes clenched shut as my fingers dug into his arms that held me down as pleasure took over my body in surmounting waves.

 

We looked at each other, I shivered with sighs of pleasure and he shook with his controlled desire. His heart drummed against my back and his arousal throbbed against my thighs. But his eyes looked at me with wonder and something I couldn’t understand. It was hooded by desire, it was a tender admiration. Something changed in that moment, things shifted out of their places and some conceptions shattered. I turned around and found him smiling at me. He was about to say something when I kissed him and felt the words I love you form against my lips. The voices in my head were repeating something. They kept saying, I am beautiful. And I believed then, not because he thought so, but because he made me see. I was beautiful, despite the fact that I didn’t turn heads wherever I went. I was beautiful even when I was nothing out of the ordinary. I was beautiful for the way he looked at me. I was beautiful today, tomorrow and every other day.
 




All this while I’d treated myself as a stranger, refusing to look at myself. And he had forced me to look, to find out, and to understand. It wasn’t about beauty after all, it was my reluctance to accept myself just as I was. There had been a time when I would have shunned him if he had looked at me this way. With eyes full of love and lust, wonder and admiration. I had tried so hard to convince myself they existed mutually exclusive of each other that I couldn’t accept it when someone did show those feelings. But he held me down and helped me conquer that fear. And I fell in love with him as he showed me my naked soul in that mirror. His arms surrounded me and hugged my body close to his, and I felt myself becoming whole as I stretched my own arms and accepted every part of myself.

 

The reverie broke with another giggle as I remembered us hurtling towards the bed. He had taken his clothes off in a hurry and pushed me down on the bed. We had made love all night long. And the next day I had looked at my naked body in the mirror, covered with the invisible imprints of his kisses and I had loved myself more than I ever had. I threw away my towels and walked towards the bed, done with my reminiscing. Before I could pull off the covers he drew me on the bed. I smiled as he kissed me because this time I had decided not to give up on myself.

 


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