She fell in love with the reflection in the mirror when she was only 17. Not that she hadn't looked in a mirror before then but she hadn't really inspected the image closely. On her seventeenth birthday she took time to inspect each feature in turn and found the likeness more than pleasing. Golden brown hair hung to her shoulders, with no natural curl but a happy bounce. It was shiny and clean. Deep blue eyes were set under well formed eyebrows. Lips were a bit pouty looking but nice and full, she thought, "You could say kissing sweet," and she laughed.

She tried several poses, lifting her hair off her shoulders and smiling at the image. Allowing her hair to hang like a curtain, she peeked through the strands at the reflection, peeking back at her. Smiling, she leaned into the mirror, whispering, "I think you are pretty - and pretty nice - and I love you!" The image spoke not but smiled back at her, happily.

She conversed with her likeness at least once a day and sometimes for lengthy periods of time. Her family labelled her 'the quiet one' since she often carried a book or magazine in hand as she went upstairs to admire and talk once more to her wonderful friend in the mirror. She learned to speak in gentle whispers that could not be heard beyond her bedroom door and she moved her desk so that she could enjoy the companionship of the mirror as she studied. She often sat, chin resting in her hand as she studied the image smiling back at her. The reflection seemed to grow prettier day by day.

The day of her wedding was the first time she examined her body in full detail. Nude, she turned from side to side, looking for flaws or imperfections and finding none. Her skin was milky pale and smooth as she ran her hands down her thighs, slender but muscular. She wondered if Jack, her husband to be, would enjoy this wonderful body, those little pink-tipped breasts and that lovely mound.

Finding no imperfection she smiled gently at her reflection, planning her wedding night. She would wear that filmy white nightdress and hold her hands over her breasts, allowing just a bit of one pink nipple to peek through. Demure and shy, she would be totally overwhelmed by his manhood. She might tremble and faint, falling gently into his arms, allowing him to support her barely clad body, holding her tenderly and gently. And she would allow him to lead her carefully to the bed, and then ... she blushed and giggled and the image giggled too. And tomorrow morning she would look again in the mirror, seeking whatever changes there might be. She breathed gently to the lovely girl in the mirror, "I love you and I always will!"

The years drifted past and she watched herself play the part of a young mother, nursing her first born son. What a lovely picture they made, she thought as she sat, head bent sweetly over the babe with her hair flowing loosely around her. She turned carefully from one side to the other, arranging and re-arranging her robe and hair striving for the perfect pose while the baby fussed searching for his milk. Gently she placed the nipple in the child's mouth, watching the image from the corner of her eye. "Lovely," she murmured, blowing a kiss.

The second baby was nursed too in front of the mirror but now she called the older child to her, pressing him to her side as she again admired the picture they made. She had matured a little. Her figure was, if anything, more perfect than on the day of her wedding. Her waist was trim, her legs as long and lithe as ever and, if anything, two babies had given her a fuller, more attractive bust. Placing the babe on the bed, she held her breasts in her hands, turning from side to side as she felt their weight and stroked the soft skin. They surely were lovely things and no wonder the babies loved them. "Such a gorgeous mother," she said, allowing her breasts to kiss those of the reflection.

She watched the image change from an ingenuous young girl, through motherhood to a sophisticated, enchanting matron. For company parties she ensured her dress fitted every curve to perfection. Cleavage was appealing to the president and she practised bending over in front of the mirror to observe the display. "Oh, you are such a gorgeous thing," she said and she wondered how he could keep his hands off her. But it was the temptation that counted, not the game. So she chuckled over her shoulder and said gaily, "Don't worry! You are the one I love and the one I shall always come home to!"

When her first son married she again inspected herself nude in the mirror. She could see few changes. Her bust was fuller but still firm and tennis had helped her retain her figure, as perfect as always. She let her hair fall down her back and raised it with both hands as she examined that perfect body, turning from side to side. It was flawless. Her skin was still soft and pale, her waist was slim with full breasts and tight buttocks and she whispered again, "You are so perfect! I do love you"

Years passed and still she conversed with her replica, seeking but finding no flaw in that perfect face and body. Her great delight was in loving and caring for all her perfections and sharing with that other perfect body she saw through the mirror.

When her husband died, she presented herself in widow's black to the mirror. Placing a black mantilla on her head, she allowed one auburn strand of hair to fall gracefully over one shoulder. The palest of pale lipstick and no rouge for she must be the embodiment of a grieving spouse. Now a white handkerchief, trimmed with black lace held gently to the nose. No tears for they would spoil that flawless complexion. Seeing the perfection of her pose, she smiled happily and kissed the reflection - gently so her lipstick did not smear.

The day came when she became ill, very ill for a long time. The cure was worse than the disease and it was many months before she could manage out of bed and weeks after that before she struggled to the mirror.

She looked at the effigy with its thin, yellow complexion and straggling strands of grey hair and gasped, "How awful - God, how terrible you look!"

As she searched, seeking again that perfection of always, she detected the image fading, becoming fainter and paler.

"Come back, come back! Where are you going?" she called, "Come back here!"

But the likeness continued to fade gradually becoming a spectral shadow. Reaching out she tried to grasp it and bring it back. But teeth, grinning in a death's head, laughed silently and as it continued to fade, she saw behind it a bed and on that a bed a person - a body - no, she herself lay there, quiet and still, and the image disappeared. All that was left was the bed with that silent body. She turned and noticed her arm, fading like the portrait in the mirror and even as she tried to cry 'Come back," it faded gently away.

Copyright ©2000 Mary Newlands. All Rights Reserved