Mom's Secret, Christmas Eve

The rain hammered against the windows of my Victorian home, a relentless, icy percussion that mirrored the frantic beat of my heart. It was December 23rd, and the scent of pine needles mingled with the sharp tang of rain hung heavy in the air. My mother had left just an hour ago, a hurried goodbye filled with promises of Christmas cheer and a hurried peck on the cheek. Now, alone in the opulent, slightly unsettling quiet of the house, I felt a strange mix of loneliness and anticipation. The MarriageHeat.com poll about monogamy had stirred something within me, a desire to delve deeper into my own desires, my own pleasure. And as I sifted through my collection of journals from my teenage years, a particular memory surfaced – the discovery of my mother engaging in self-pleasure just days before a date with my father.

The memory felt both absurd and oddly intimate. The details, dredged from the depths of my adolescent mind, were still vivid: the "salad" she’d described, the insistent urge, the small, private moments of release. It had been a turning point, really. Before that, my understanding of sexuality was vague, confusing, colored by whispered conversations and awkward encounters. But that night, witnessing my mother’s unapologetic embrace of her own body, something shifted within me. It wasn’t just about the act itself, but about the confidence, the self-acceptance radiating from her. And suddenly, the idea of exploring my own body, my own pleasure, felt less taboo, less shameful.

The three journals I unearthed offered a fascinating chronicle of my own evolution. There were entries detailing crushes on Josh, my chemistry partner, filled with breathless longing and awkward attempts at flirting. There were scribbled accounts of party nights, fueled by cheap wine and reckless abandon. There were moments of vulnerability, of heartbreak, of tentative steps towards self-discovery. Each entry served as a reminder of how far I’d come, how much I’d grown. I chuckled, a nervous, embarrassed sound. “Oh my gosh, I was such a perv!” I thought, but there was no judgment in my voice, only a strange sense of fondness for that younger, more naive version of myself.

Tonight, I was determined to honor that spirit of self-exploration. As I flipped through the aged pages, my mother’s words echoed in my mind: “Love God’s creation of you. You cannot love others unless you learn how to love yourself. She mentioned that people believe that loving yourself and your body is somehow evil. Instead, love each moment you get to be here. Don’t look at your body to idolize it; love it in a way to serve it and “steward” God’s design of it. You are unique and wonderfully made. If you do not see that, others will not.”

I found a forgotten box of scented candles, lavender and vanilla, and placed them strategically around the bathroom, filling the air with their intoxicating fragrance. As I prepared the tub, stripping off my clothes and stepping into the steaming water, I caught my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back was a stark contrast to the awkward teenager I remembered. The years had softened the edges, smoothed the rough patches, leaving behind an air of quiet confidence.

I ran my hands over my body, tracing the curves of my breasts, the gentle swell of my belly, the smooth expanse of my thighs. My fingers lingered on my nipples, feeling their sensitive skin beneath my fingertips. It was a deliberate act of self-appreciation, a conscious effort to connect with the body I had once found so confusing and frightening. I pressed my fingertips against my pubic hair, feeling its soft, welcoming warmth. Then, slowly, deliberately, I moved my fingers down my inner thigh, running them along the smooth, sculpted muscles.

The water swirled around me, a soothing balm against my skin. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and savoring the moment. My thoughts drifted back to Mr. Right, the ideal man I’d envisioned for myself. He wouldn’t be defined by superficial qualities, but by his genuine appreciation for beauty, his willingness to embrace life's pleasures.

As I sank deeper into the water, I allowed my imagination to run wild, conjuring up a perfect Christmas scenario. I saw my father, a kind, gentle soul, greeting us at the door, his eyes twinkling with admiration. My mother, radiant and confident, embracing my new husband, her smile conveying a sense of deep satisfaction. My husband, a passionate and ardent lover, eager to explore the depths of our connection.

Lost in this idyllic vision, I began to explore my own body, focusing on the sensations, the textures, the rhythms of my own pleasure. My fingers traced the contours of my breasts, finding the perfect spot for stimulation. I pressed my fingertips against my clit, feeling the familiar heat building within me. The pleasure intensified, spreading through my body like wildfire.

As the climax approached, I leaned back in the tub, letting the water support my weight. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensation, losing myself completely in the moment. The rhythmic splashing of the water, the scent of lavender and vanilla, the warmth of my own body – it was a symphony of pleasure, a celebration of self-love.

With a final, desperate push, I released the tension, my body trembling with exhaustion and exhilaration. I let out a long, satisfying moan, savoring the lingering afterglow. As I pulled myself from the tub, dripping wet and breathless, I looked at my reflection in the mirror once more. The woman staring back at me was transformed, radiating an aura of confidence, joy, and self-acceptance.

My fingers danced along my curves, tracing the contours of my body, feeling the softness of my skin. The pleasure lingered, a warm, comforting sensation that filled me with a sense of profound gratitude. As I stood there, naked and vulnerable, I realized that this was exactly what I needed – a night of uninhibited pleasure, a celebration of my own sensuality, a reminder that I am worthy of love and happiness.

Taking a deep breath, I whispered, “Mr. Right, you’re out there. And I’m ready for you.”

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