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Never one to be attracted to women who were all girly-girl...

It contained nothing of her. No longer surrounded by her own furniture, and belongings she was suddenly adrift. Free from the pressure of a past history the woman in the mirror might have been anyone at all. She could be a saint, a dancer, even a whore from the Tuileries and the room would not contradict her. The room would have no opinion at all. She had not felt this sense of freedom in her short adult life. No one knew she was here. No one knew who or what she was. As she stood gazing at her reflection, she was not sure that she knew either.

The breast seemed to grow fuller under her fingers. The nipple showed itself proudly through the soft chemise. Now she watched the hand as if it were no longer hers but the hand of a lover. Saw him slip the thin strap from her shoulder so that the breast emerged, full and round. Half dressed like this the image in the mirror seemed somehow more shocking than if she had been wearing nothing at all. A laugh escaped her lips. Standing alone with a breast exposed in this tiny room in a foreign capital she felt reckless and alive

Lena understood that in many things she was still an innocent. She had never seen a man's penis - even her husband's. She had felt it as he pushed into her, but even this left her no clear picture of what it might be like. Her acquaintance with her husband's member was always brief. So much so that for the early weeks of her married life the first nudgings of its rounded head were immediately followed by the sensation of warm liquid spilling over her thighs. She lost her virginity by slow degrees, surrendering a little more on each of his weekly visits to her bed until one night to her great surprise -- and indeed to his -- the cock finally found what it had been seeking and she felt herself enclose him for the first time.

Even this did not herald the step forward in their life together she had imagined. For some weeks after he did not visit her bed. It was as if in penetrating her he felt his job was done. Two months had passed before he appeared again at her bedroom door. He seemed genuinely surprised that his conquest of her had not produced the expected pregnancy.

Cupping her breast in one hand she let the other slide over the flat plane of her stomach to the space between her legs. Alone in her bed she had allowed herself to explore this place. Protected by the shuttering dark her fingers had found the soft nub where the lips parted. She learned that by pressing her thighs together and stroking this precious piece of her flesh she could bring herself to experience the little death she had read about. In the heavily carpeted room she had heard the little whimpering cry that emerged from her throat and at once choked it back guiltily lest anyone should hear -- even though her husband lay far away in his own bed on the other side of the house.

Outside the sun emerged and poured through the tall window from the street, softened by the lace curtains but still filling the tiny room and driving out the shadows. In another moment Lena had slipped the chemise over her head and stepped out of her underskirt. She faced her own nakedness in the mirror. The light fell on her pale skin so that even the tiny blemish on her shoulder stood out clearly. Nothing of her was hidden. The space around her seemed to echo with possibilities.

Now she took a breast in each hand, and offered them to her image in the glass. She let her fingers circle the nipples and felt darts of electricity spread through her. Saw the colour rise in her cheeks. She thought of her husband. How shocked he would be to see her now. She pictured the confusion on his face if he were to walk into the room and find her naked. How much worse then for him to discover that the body he had claimed as his was not just a receptacle for his seed but had desires of its own. It was she discovered a surprise to her.

Daylight changed things.

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