She went through the bedroom, snarling, and into the bathroom. The shower glass was still misty from Tom's morning bath and she could smell the cologne he'd dabbed on his face. He never used to use cologne, said it was a cheap gambit by the cosmetics companies to get business from men as well as from gullible women. Said a clean body didn't need any perfumed scents to mask its natural tangy aromas. Said that what he liked best about Joanne, when they first met, was that she was so fresh and natural, her face unmarred with cover up makeup and cheaters. He used to enjoy kissing and touching her face, not to mention the rest of her. What had happened?

Joanne wiped sweat from the steamy mirror, then stood for a long moment looking at herself in the glass. Is it me? she wondered. Have I changed? Aren't I attractive any longer?

She eyed herself from head to toe and she couldn't find anything that looked like a flaw. Thirty-one years old, and she could have passed for eighteen. Almost. There were laugh lines around her mouth and eyes not uncharming in their own way, but she'd had them for years and Tom had never mentioned any discontent. Her hair was long and silky, a chestnut brown with highlights of red here and there. Once upon a time her husband had enjoyed running his fingers through her hair, gently massaging the scalp underneath while his lips brushed time and again across her full, naturally pink lips, while their tongues played back and forth, in and out of one another's mouths in sweet loving foreplay that anticipated the even sweeter in and out motion that would take place when he slipped his fat hard cock into her wet and twitchy twat.

Her tits were good. Small tits, sure, but round and firm and high set, and capped with large brown nipples that covered almost the whole of her cuppable mounds. She cupped and squeezed her tits. Someone had to feel her tits when they ached the way they ached right now.