Erotic Reflections

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.