MIRANDA – C2011 JoJo

Miranda awoke from her deep sleep and carefully stretched her arms above her head, pulling her body to full length. She did this every morning to determine before getting up, whether this was going to be a slightly, moderately or extremely painful day. Arthritis riddled her bones, a painful reminders of an abusive childhood, (bones don’t forget old injuries) coupled with advancing years.

Today was an important day. Come to think of it, every day that she breathed, had all her mental faculties and had lost none of her passions, was an important day.

Miranda carefully made her way to the bathroom, stripped off her nightie then stepped into the shower. She luxuriated in the sensation of the hot water pouring over her breasts and the rest of her body. She lingered a moment longer than necessary, enjoying the sensations that tingled over every nerve of her skin, then stepped out and wrapped herself in a plush Turkish bath sheet.

Drying herself off, she stood in front of her full length mirror and looked at her nakedness with a critical eye. Yes, she could stand to lose a few pounds, and indeed, age and gravity had caused her once perky breasts to sag a little, but what the hell, they were still nicely proportioned, firm and milky white, like the rest of her body. Once she’d dried herself off, she generously sprinkled talcum powder all over herself – she loved the silky smooth feeling it gave her skin, and took a moment to rub her hands over herself, spreading the talc evenly.

She picked out her clothes carefully. Miranda had a weakness for sexy underwear few knew about. She loved the sensation of silk against her skin, so she opted for some black silk panties, and black lacy bra. Then she chose a pair of pull up black stockings and carefully threaded them onto her legs, smoothing them over her calves and upper thighs so there would be no wrinkles.

Once again, she gazed upon herself in the full length mirror. Yes, she thought, that would do very nicely.

There were some who would say a woman of Miranda’s age shouldn’t wear a skirt above her knees, but she didn’t care. She knew she had nice, shapely legs, slim ankles and delicately boned knees, so she plucked a favourite short black skirt off it’s hanger in her wardrobe, and stepped into it, doing up the side zipper so that it clung to her waist, and sat snugly over her hips. She loved this skirt – it was beautifully tailored, and hung with graceful lines that screamed class and elegance.

She pondered on what blouse to wear. She decided she needed to wear something light, frothy, feminine and soft to offset the severity of her skirt. She opted for a soft pale blue organza blouse, with a frill around the shoulders and plunging neckline, showing a nice cleavage.

After eating a sparse breakfast, she readied herself for going out. Looking in the mirror, she applied her makeup, carefully outlining her lips with her favourite colour lipstick, a bit of blush on her cheeks and a touch of blue eye shadow on her eyelids. She looked at her reflection critically – well not too bad for an old broad, no wrinkles as yet, a clear complexion, bright blue lively eyes – yes things could be worse. People often took her for being much younger than her years, which Miranda attributed completely to her genetic background. Both Mummy and Grandma Miranda (for whom she’d been named) had been blessed with perfect , peerless complexions. Miranda had never applied face creams, anti wrinkling potions or any of the many products that proliferate the market promising a youthful vibrant skin. She merely washed her face with soap – that was it.

Grabbing her purse, she put on her jacket and trundled her four wheel walker to the front door. Pulling it over the door stop, she carefully lowered it over the one step that led into her bungalow. Applying both brakes, holding firmly onto the handles, she carefully stepped down.

A bright, sunny day awaited her. She took the time to look around and sniff the air. It was going to be a fine day after all and she was grateful. Getting to the bus stop in the pouring rain with a walker, would’ve been onerous.

As she made her way up the street towards the bus stop, she passed various people, some of whom greeted her, while others looked and on seeing her walker, quickly glanced away. “What a shame,” she heard one man comment to another. “She might’ve been beddable if it weren’t for that walker.”

“Yes, it is a pity, but there you are.” They passed her and went up the street.

Miranda grinned to herself, and walked on.

When she arrived at the bus stop, there was a gaggle of teenagers waiting in line for the bus which was running late. Once again, Miranda was aware of their scrutiny, saw the sneers and observed one young man bend over, raised his hand over his mouth, and whispered something to his companion, who then instantly looked at Miranda. They both giggled as if she was the object of some humorous joke. Oh yes, they were talking about her, and not very kindly either. She was used to it.

She told Jim about it, after their second passionate love making on his upper sun deck that afternoon. As usual, he found it hilariously funny. “Oh my darling,” he said, his brown eyes twinkling “If only they knew the sensual, sexy and utterly delectable lady behind that walker.” Then taking her in his arms he ran his hands up and down her naked back, cupping her buttocks in a languorous gentle caress and whispered “Damn good thing they don’t know or I’d have to fight them off, wouldn’t I?”

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I wish to thank Oldbull for having suggested the theme of this story. But for him, it would never have been written.