Continued from… Milah’s Discovery (1)
Once again Milah rolls her shoulders forward and backwards, this time noticing how her breasts move too.
Her breasts… where in the world has she gotten the notion that her breasts are sagging? They have always been her best assets. When has she forgotten that? Milah cups her breasts with her hands, feeling the firm softness of the flesh. She straightens her back and watches as her nipples perk up too. Her nipples… are they still as sensitive as they have once been? Her thumbs and forefingers softly take hold of the perky little points and roll the flesh between them. Milah’s eyes lock onto her own in the mirror when a long-forgotten tingle stirs between her legs.
Milah considers stopping this silliness, getting dressed and getting on with her daily things. Something holds her back. She holds her back. She needs to complete what she has started. Milah considers avoiding the one part of her that has been a cause for much unhappiness in her life.
You can’t do that. It’s as much a part of you as all the rest.
The voice again. Why can’t it leave her alone? But she knows it’s right. Deep down, she knows.
No touching yourself until you have seen everything.
Milah giggles and slaps her hand over her mouth. Touching herself? No way. She finally has the guts to look at her body, but touching herself is out of the question. Accepting her body is something she wants to do. Making love to it? No. It’s been too long. No need to awake things that have long been put to sleep.
Before the voice can speak to her again, she lowers her eyes to that one hateful part of her: her belly. That round belly. Round and big and… fat. There, she’s admitted it to herself. Fat. And to make things even worse, there’s a scar all the way from one side to the other. She can’t even bring herself to love it, so how can she expect anyone else to do so?
It’s really not that bad.
Milah ignores the voice. She lays her hands on her stomach and grabs some flesh between her fingers. It’s soft and squishy and even though she knows it is, it doesn’t feel like fat at all. It feels like… her. Milah drops her arms beside her body and stares intently at her belly. Yes, it’s round, but there’s less of it than she remembers. Has she lost weight? Is her belly firmer than it was?
You’ve exaggerated it all these years.
What about the scar? Milah’s eyes search her mirror image for the ugly scar, but it’s only when she runs her fingers over the place where she knows it starts (or ends) that she finds it. Is the voice right? Has she been exaggerating it all these years? Has she been making it worse for no reason at all? Milah traces the line of her scar — a scar that can barely be seen as it has blended in with the tone of the rest of her body. She has hated that scar so much, that for years she has avoided looking at her tummy, and eventually stopped looking at the rest of herself too.
One spot remains unseen as Milah finally allows her eyes to roam the entire length of her body. Top to bottom, bottom to top. She takes everything in — her little perfections and imperfections. Perfect or imperfect, everything is in balance. Yes, even her round bottom and not-so-round-as-she-thought tummy. Her mirror image is not as bad as she has feared for years. She is not as bad as she has believed for far too long.
The word sexy certainly doesn’t come to mind, but what she sees makes her… happy. It has lightened the load on her shoulders.
Milah turns away from the mirror and walks around the bed. She’s done looking at herself, not because she has had enough, but because a thought has nestled in her mind ever since the long-forgotten tingle stirred between her legs.
There’s one part of her body she has not looked at just yet, and it is all because of the thought. The tingle.
She reaches inside the drawer of the bedside table and retrieves a hand mirror before she lies down on the bed, on her back, her legs pulled up. Milah twists and turns the mirror until she has a good view of her pussy… the vulva… no, her vulva… her labia her clitoris, her entrance. She notices how wet she already is and a quick glance confirms her nipples are hard. Excitement has taken hold of her body.
Ever so softly Milah runs a finger over her left labium, up over her vulva and back down over her right labium. Her flesh is softer than she remembers. Her wetness beckons her, but she’s not ready for that yet. She massages her labia between her thumb and forefinger, watching and feeling her wetness run from her. Something happens inside. The tingle that has stirred in her insides earlier has turned into a full-on desire to pleasure herself.
The moment she pushes a finger inside and spreads her wetness to her clitoris, she lowers the mirror, closes her eyes and sighs. All she wants to do now is to feel, to fuel the fire to heights she had forgotten she could reach.
Milah suppresses a scream when her orgasm washes through her body. For several moments she stays still, savoring the feeling of release. I know what you’re waiting for, but it’s not going to happen, the voice in her head says. That’s right, she’s waiting for it. The feeling of shame. Shame for what she has done. Shame for indulging. But she feels… new. Lighter.
The feeling stays with her throughout the weeks that follow. Her husband asks her several times if something has happened, and each time she answers him with a mysterious smile. In their bedroom the mirrors have changed from hateful things to a daily affirmation of the new Milah. She twists and turns in front of them — naked or dressed — and she sees the full picture, the picture of a beautiful soft and curvy woman.
I will make the change… I want to feel good… want to make a difference. I am the fairest of them all!
Milah smiles at her own thoughts… yes, she was going to make it right. It’s time!
Note: This story first appeared on Medium.