Why the hell not?
Your mind wins. It’s been ages. And with a sense of triumph you launch yourself up off your bed and begin to get ready.
You’re dressing for a date. Your attention given to every detail. Your body clean and fresh, pampered from head to toe. Nails painted, polished and pedicured to perfection. Hair, salon cut, shampooed clean and conditioned, blow dried, and straightened.
The preparation becomes a game, energized with an almost teenage fun. Nothing else matters. You’re in the moment and enjoying one of the simplest of life’s pleasures. To dress up and have fun!
In minutes your bed is strewn with underwear, dresses, boots and shoes. So many choices. Whichever will it be?
Your tall bedroom mirror does its best to keep up, reflecting each option as your mind whirs with alternatives, weighing the merits of each combination, styles, colors, cuts, watching you measure your mood from a menu of choices.
I wonder as I watch you, I wonder if you feel my eyes following you. You look so good as you slip into your knickers. My eyes follow your fingers. Breathlessly watching you delicately draw their silky lace up over your thighs and smooth them home, hitched on your hips, hugging you.
My fingers grip around my Petoskey stone, pushing the smooth stone into my palm, my eyes watering with wanting to touch and taste the imagery I see. Your nakedness slowly slipping from my sight as you ease inside the dress you’ve chosen.
Before the mirror, you smooth the dress down over your curves, you rise on your toes, flexing the arches of your classical feet, pivoting through your hips, twisting side-to-side, taking note of how well this new olive green dress clings and confidently conveys your outline.
Your eyes brighten, smiling, approving. I feel my loins flush with heat. It’s as if you looking straight into me, I wonder, can you see me? Can you tell I’m watching you? Can you feel my eyes all over you?
You look so good.