Elizabeth shut her bedroom door and a sigh of needed relief escaped her wearied body.  It had been a long day, working her full time job plus taking care of her 3 kids.  It hadn’t just been a long day, it had been a long year.  A year in which Elizabeth had been forced to be stronger than ever before, even when she felt at her weakest.

Walking across her bedroom, Elizabeth began unbuttoning her white oxford shirt, all the while kicking her black heals into her cramped closet.  Running her hands across her supple chest, she trembled at the thoughts running through her mind.  She stood in front of her full length mirror and admired the woman in front of her.  Her full breasts filled the cups of her bra and spilled out as Elizabeth reached behind and unhooked it.  The opalescent skin that she had always lamented, positively glowed in the pale moonlight.

She shook her long black hair over her shoulders and continued to perform her own personal tease.  She reached to the side and slowly, oh so slowly, lowered the zipper on her knee length skirt.  She pulled the skirt down from her ample bottom and let it drop to the floor, again running her hands over her body, she admired that which she had always hated.  Here she stood, a woman of 35, alone in a world made for men.  Looking in the mirror she realized that it no longer mattered, for she had herself, and a very vivid imagination.

Elizabeth turned and sashayed to her queen-size poster bed, pretending she had an audience.  Slowly she crawled up on the bed, staying on her knees for just a few extra seconds before laying herself back against her piles of silky pillows.  She closed her eyes and began to imagine a pair of strong, yet gentle hands touching her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach.  Every inch of her ignited as she ran her own hands down her stomach and spread her

“MOM!  I don’t feel good!”

And another one bites the dust.