Matryoshka by Elizabeth Woodham

Author:Elizabeth Woodham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: erotic, anal sex, oral sex, promiscuity, hot romance, sex with strangers, lesbian sex, older man younger woman, literary erotica

oOo

Sadly, I know that Mother would approve of Dan, his status, his work, his car, his family; perversely and importantly, I keep him secret from her as I keep all my secrets from her as I have always kept everything from her, my blossoming womanhood rolled a baying mob through our relationship, totally revolutionised on the day that she remarried, and chose separate rooms allowing her husband free rein with me, whenever I was home from boarding school, which at first was too often, and eventually wasn’t often enough.

I craved him. Lara to his Kamarovsky, and wondered what is it about men who want to fuck mothers and their daughters, grateful that he didn’t have the appetite for gobbling us together. My mother never sees anything unpleasant, she turns her face away, my mother could freeze the sun’s rays at twenty paces, and I know my Kamarovsky was pleased with his Lara, teaching me things I later practised on my school friends, a delightful education.

‘Is it okay to try these?’ I hold up an array of items, hastily dragged from the rails, the hanger hooks digging into my palm.

‘Sure.’

The girl gives me a plastic entry disc and waves me through.

I choose the communal area, it appeals to my latent, or perhaps not so latent exhibitionism but finding myself alone, I drift back to the time that Kamarovsky took me shopping and had me measured by the tight-lipped disapproving assistant. ‘34B, 22, 32,’ she hissed a whisper of stale coffee.

I shed my clothes into an untidy heap and step into the skirt. Too big, far too large at the waist, I wonder when and how I lost weight, my waist has shrunk, and even the size eight is a misfit. It’s a fluid, gauzy fabric, soft, button-through, removal would take little effort, I check the waistband, a couple of adjustments will do, I’ll cover the top with a t-shirt and an oversize cardigan, cashmere, slouchy, casual and expensive, I am suddenly expert on the look I need, they don’t sell smaller than a size eight, and I can’t be bothered to try anywhere else. I twirl again, check myself from the rear, I’m naked apart from the skirt, it’s faintly opaque, a suggestion of thigh revealed when lit from behind, I try the rest of the stuff, discarding everything except the skirt, tee and cardigan.

I think of my shrinking waistline, gaze deeper into the mirrors, reflecting me in all my poses, all angles, every side, there is no distortion and yet, I see a face that isn’t mine reminding me of mirrors draped in black as if in a house of mourning and I shiver involuntarily at the thoughts which rise unbidden like a murder of crows scattered from carrion.

‘Chloe! Chloe, are you in there?’

‘You’re late,’ I call, hoisting jeans, buttoning the fly, I pull my jumper over my head, and Susie enters as I zip my boots.

‘Yeah, sorry, I couldn’t get away, what did you get?’

I show her.

‘Hmm, not your usual style, but you know what? The skirt’s pretty, and you’d look sexy in a bin liner.

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