Mirror
Your body is my mirror. You sit in the wicker chair opposite mine, our knees almost touching.
When I first let my fingers trace the folds of your vulva it was to find that my body is not unique, that there is another just like it; warm and soft in the same places, ticklish and shy where mine is too. And even though I had seen other women naked, in showers and on beaches, it wasn’t until we sat together on your carpet and looked and touched and tasted each other that I found that another body was like mine. I don’t mind knowing that I am not unique, that my body works and tastes the same as yours does. There’s a great comfort in discovering that my hands and teeth have the same effect on another body as they do on my own.
My husband laughed and kissed my hand when I described the scent of our sex to him and didn’t push for jealous details; they spilled from my mouth as I described what you did to me and how I then mirrored your actions back onto you. He laughed again when I blushed as I told him that you had invited me back, and told me to buck up and to go and be greedy; to swallow you whole.
The wicker chairs creak as we rock back and forth and reach for and push at each other.
