Blind Spot: Seeing Through Desire

O, wad some Power the giftie gie us to see oursels as others see us! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, an’ foolish notion. O, wad some Power the giftie gie us to see oursels as others see us! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, an’ foolish notion. I’m pretty sure now that Bobby Burns was on to something. But, of course, Solomon told us this in the Song long before.

When I stand naked in front of the mirror, I still don’t quite see it. I’m barely over five feet tall and 140 pounds of mostly muscle, covered with just enough fat to hide quite a bit of it. Add to that a round, flattish face with a pug nose with a light sprinkling of freckles right across its middle and long, almost blonde hair that reaches right to my butt. I grew up working on the family farm. My dad referred to me from time to time as his stout little helper as we hauled hay, dug ditches, and lugged feed sacks and whatever else about the place. When I began to get old enough to wonder about how I looked, mom told me I was just fine, a nice, sturdy, healthy farm girl.

That was nice and all, but at school, the reality was that I’d never become a cheerleader or prom queen even if I’d been interested. Stray remarks in the hallway passing by the boy’s lockers gave me the phrases “well-upholstered” and “built like a fireplug.” The latter was, I decided, actually pretty accurate. Fortunately, I had plenty of good friends, and school was a positive experience overall, but I thought I was under no illusions about my looks. I figured it was mostly my personality and good nature that attracted the wonderful fellow I met at church while attending college.

Now that you have a clear idea of what I look like, maybe you can picture what I saw at the health club. We’d finished a workout and swim. I had just slipped out of my blue one-piece when I turned to see my husband had dropped his shorts and was sporting an impressively stiff erection. Smiling, I opened my arms wide to welcome him with a nice hug as I felt my nether region start to warm to the occasion. I could feel his heartbeat throbbing in his erection as I squeezed it firmly between my thighs. It wasn't long before he began to grind against me, his weight pressing down as he held me close. The sensation was intense, primal, and utterly captivating. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he responded with a deep, guttural moan. The rhythmic thrusts sent shivers down my spine, and I lost myself in the pleasure, letting out sighs of pure ecstasy. My fingers traced patterns along his muscular back, adding another layer of sensation to the experience. I felt my body relax further, surrendering to the raw, uninhibited passion between us.

My husband’s kiss worked its way from my lips down my throat to my breasts. As his tongue circled first one nipple and then the other, I expected any moment for him to have me bent over the low bench seat by the locker—but he broke our embrace. He had another idea. There was a table for laying out clothes and equipment bolted to the floor like the benches. Cupping my bottom in his hands, he pulled me off both the floor and his erection. Squeezing my thighs together all the way, I didn’t make that last part easy for him. By the time he had managed to drag me off of himself, he had turned and placed my wet backside on the table. The smooth, cool surface offered a stark contrast to the heat building within me. It was an unexpected sensation, a strange intimacy that heightened my awareness of my own body.

Gripping my hips, he slid me around a bit on the smooth tabletop and said, “Oh, yeah, that’ll do nicely, dear. Now just lie back, put your legs over my shoulders, and we’ll get this show on the road.” So saying, he took my hips in a firm grip and pulled me straight over his erection in one slow, steady stroke. The movement was deliberate, controlled, and filled with a potent energy. My breath hitched in my throat as the pressure mounted, and I gripped the edge of the table for support. His hand found my clitoris, and he began to tease it with gentle, insistent strokes. Each touch sent waves of pleasure through my body, making it impossible to resist the escalating intensity. The table amplified the sensations, turning our intimate encounter into a full-blown orgy of lust and desire.

The table was exactly the right height. “Just perfect,” he sighed as he began to rub me against him, left and right, still held tightly against him. Oh my, that felt good. That stiff shaft of his was rubbing around quite nicely inside me. Then he said, “Okay, honey, I want you to look to your right.” I did, and oh, wow! It was hard to believe. There stood my husband, stomach tight, the muscles in his arms standing out in relief from the hold he had on the hips of the voluptuous woman in his grasp. I could see my face looking back at me, so I knew it was me, but again—wow! I felt something warm start to uncoil deep and low inside myself. That couldn’t be me; surely it just couldn’t. But as I continued to look, my husband began to make love to the woman in his hands. She didn’t have to do anything. He just started sliding her back and forth from himself on that lovely, slick, wet tabletop. Faster and faster, harder and harder. I could see her large breasts stiffen till the tips stood almost straight up while they began dancing with the rhythm. I could feel her nipples as they hit my cheeks and then see them reach nearly to her thighs. Soon there was a wonderfully loud, wet slap as I felt him jerk her hips to him. Talk about an out-of-body experience! I could feel everything he was doing to the woman in the mirror. And most amazing of all? She. Was. Beautiful! She was also going to come something fierce at any moment!

Sure enough, as I watched, her eyes opened wide, her nostrils flared, her hands gripped the sides of the table, and her mouth opened in a scream of pleasure. There was a loud sucking sound as her suction to the wet table broke when her back arched into the ecstasy that I felt course through her. I even felt my husband empty himself deep inside with three or four powerful contractions. “Wow!” I thought as I finally closed my eyes. The heat subsided slightly, leaving behind a lingering warmth and a sense of profound satisfaction. I felt an overwhelming urge to continue, to push the boundaries of pleasure even further.

As he pulled out, my husband lifted me and helped me down from the table. He held me close and said, “I think we can get that shower now, dear, don’t you?” With a glance down to the warm slickness shining halfway to my knees on the inside of both thighs, I could only agree. While we got dressed after our shower, I could still almost see her in that mirror. Looking at myself a day or so later, I could only see her dimly, if at all. I almost got depressed till I realized it just meant I’d have to give myself more opportunities to see her making love to my husband as often as I felt the need. That cheered me up some. Now I know what to do going forward. If I’m lucky, I might even see her when he finally gets her pregnant. Wow!

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