By

Lazlo Zalezac

Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2004

I look at the reflection in the mirror knowing that it is a reflection

of myself, yet I could not help but wonder what the eyes of that

stranger staring back must think of me. Does my reflection see the

same imperfections in me that I see in her? The list of

imperfections is too long to mention, but I know each and every

one of them. The mirror is too perfect, reflecting each and every

detail without distortion. Would not a less perfect mirror reflect my

image with sufficient distortion that my imperfections would

disappear? That would solve the problem of what I see in the

reflection, but the reflection would still see the real me. I needed a

better mirror, one that presents an image of me as I appear to

others so that I will know the truth of my appearance.

The used book store had that cozy and warm atmosphere that I so

loved. The smell of old paper and leather bindings tickled my nose.

I could never enter a bookstore without a sense of awe at the

knowledge and wisdom that was contained within it. This was an

old store that had been here for more than a century. It held

thousands of books, some of which may have been present the day

the store was opened. On entering, I knew that amidst the stacks of

books was one book that I would find, fall in love with, and take

home with me.

Hours passed as I looked through stacks of books before I found

the one that captured my attention, an old handwritten diary dated

a hundred years ago as the 1800's turned to the 1900's. Within the

pages, was contained the life of a young woman as she recorded

events minor and major, hopes and dreams, fears and worries, and

her growth from young woman to a woman. Nowhere was her

name given, the cover page long lost and references to herself

always used the word, 'I.'

I took the dairy home to read it at leisure, to savor the real

experiences of a woman who I would never know except through

the words that she used to describe her life. On going to bed each

night, I read the entry for a single day, savoring each word

describing the events as experienced by her. There were times

when it was tough limiting myself to one day. Some entries told of

hopes for some event to follow the next day and I would want to

discover how it turned out for her. Throughout the day I would

wonder what was going to happen next to this mystery woman.

I emphasized with the young woman in terms of how she described

herself. She thought her feet were too large, her knees too bony,

wrists thick, and nose overly large. My heart went out to her as she

was introduced to possible suitors only to have her hopes crushed

by a lack of interest on one side or the other. She blamed her ugly

features for driving away the potential suitors. I knew only too well

those feelings, as I blamed my imperfections for keeping men from

being interested in me.

My life paralleled hers in so many ways. An invitation to a party

would raise hopes that I would meet a man who would love me for

myself. One who could see the inner me and not this imperfect

shell that was my presentation to the world. The day of the party

would be spent dressing in my finest clothes, hoping to hide my

imperfections. Then there would be the party, when the man

would talk of nothing about himself paying no attention to me or

my needs. Afterwards, there would be the sad recriminations that I

would never find a man and a general depression would settle over

my spirit.

For months I rode a roller coaster of emotions as my life and her

life ebbed and flowed as chance meetings with men raised hopes

and then crushed them. The last months had been particularly

rough as I had gained four pounds and now felt like a whale. What

man in his right mind would fall for a woman that was obese?

None, that was the lesson I was learning. It was reinforced with the

events in the diary where exposure to the sun had caused the

freckles on the young woman to become more pronounced.

Apparently, freckles were not appreciated in her time.

The night came when I realized there were only a few more entries

in the diary. The realization saddened me as I felt as if I was

loosing a dear close friend that shared her innermost thoughts with

me and me alone. I didn't want to read the end nor did I want to put

it down. With great restraint, I held myself to reading it one day at

a time.

It was the last two entries that changed my life, although it would

be a week later before the change would occur. Even today, I

wonder why I waited so long.

The second to last entry described in great detail a ritual that was

titled Mirari Imperfectus. With a little research I found that it

meant imperfect mirror. The young woman had placed such

desperate hopes on the results of performing this ritual that it

almost broke my heart. She said that it would allow her to see

herself as others saw her. I feared for her and wondered if the last

entry was a farewell to the world.

After reading the entry with the ritual, I could not restrain myself

from reading the last entry. To my shock, the entry was a single

line, "Having found how others see me, I no longer need to keep

this diary as I have found true happiness and discovered a

multitude of suitors." I wondered what that meant. Had she found

what she was seeking? What was that about a multitude of suitors?

I pondered the meaning of the last entry for days.

One night, I read the diary from beginning to end in a single

sitting. The story that emerged from that reading was particularly

spellbinding. It was like I was reading a story of my life. By the

end, I was crying in sympathy with her and in despair for myself. I

wondered if the spell had worked and she had found happiness.

Reading that last entry over and over, I decided that it had. Would

that ritual work for me as it appeared to have worked for her?

A week after reading that last entry, I stood in front of a full length

mirror staring at my reflection. My eyes moved automatically from

one imperfection of my body to the next, dwelling long and hard at

each site. With great hope and fear, I invoked the ritual that I had

memorized by heart. When I was done, I saw no difference in my

reflection. Each imperfection was still there. It broke my heart as I

concluded that others saw me as I saw myself.

That afternoon, I went to the convenience store a couple of blocks

from my apartment to get a quart of milk. I had been there

hundreds of times, this trip was nothing special. I always chatted

with the man that owned the store thinking nothing of it. I glanced

at him and suddenly my mind was filled with an image of a

goddess on a pedestal. The image lasted for less than a second. I

couldn't remember the details of the image, but the overall effect

was that of an extremely attractive woman that was unobtainable.

The longing and adoration conveyed in that single glimpse was

overwhelming. I was staggered and barely able to hold a

conversation with him as the image was repeated each time he

glanced in my direction.

As I left the store, an elderly man held the door open. As I glanced

at him, the image of a proper young woman full of life and

potential filled my mind. The vibrancy of youth had engendered a

feeling of envy within the old man, yet there was an appreciation

of my feminine form. When I smiled at him and thanked him for

his courtesy, I sensed a gratefulness at having been noticed.

Returning to my car, I stopped to think about what I had

experienced in the store. Could it be that the clerk had a long

standing crush on me? Was that Goddess on the pedestal how he

viewed me? Was the old man really that grateful that I had taken

the time to smile and thank him? I drove away with more questions

than answers.

At a traffic light, I caught a woman looking at me. When I looked

at her, I had an image of my face and hair. She was envious of my

hairstyle! How could that attractive woman envy anything about

me? This, in many ways, was more shocking to me than either of

the two men. Surely a woman would be much more critical of my

appearance. The light changed and our cars parted ways. I drove

on mechanically as my mind generated even more questions.

Returning home, I paced my apartment thinking of what I had

experienced. Could this have been the same as what the young

woman who wrote the diary had experienced? I decided that it

must have been my imagination at work. There was no way that I

could be viewed so attractively by others. Wishful thinking, that's

what it must have been.

My hopes for finding a man returned as the afternoon passed. I had

an invitation to a simple barbecue party thrown by Susan and her

husband, Steve. Susan had hinted to me that there would be lots of

single men there. The promise of single men threw me into a

tizzy. What does one wear to an informal barbecue party that

would attract men? Tight fitting blue jeans would show off my fat

thighs and big butt. Loose fitting clothes would make me look

dumpy and no man likes a dumpy looking woman. I settled for a

simple skirt that came to my poor ugly knees and a simple white

blouse. Underneath, I wore a plain bra, cotton panties, and

pantyhose. The clothes were not sexy, I never felt sexy.

Susan, lovely as always, answered the door when I knocked. We

looked at each other and again I experienced an image flashing

through my mind. This image conveyed pity. Pity? She pitied me?

My very best friend pitied me? How dare she pity me? The image

flashed again after we kissed cheeks. A pretty princess locked

within walls of glass with a sign that said, look but don't touch.

Could it be that she pitied me because I was so lovely and yet so

emotionally distant to those around me? It was not possible, I must

have been dreaming.

I glanced at Steve and received an even greater shock at the image

that flashed through my mind. I was making love to Susan as he

made love to me. The image was not sharp and pornographic, but

soft as though seen through gauze. I was pretty and the

attractiveness of my body complimented Susan as we lay in bed

together. This was accompanied by a feeling of desire that I had

never sensed existing within another person. It took me by such

surprise that I stumbled as I entered the room. Steve caught me

before I could fall to the ground. As I looked up at him, an image

of a beautiful desirable woman flashed through my mind.

As I was introduced to others at the party, I received flashes of

images, feelings, and thoughts. Women looked at me with

jealousy, their insecurities making them envious of me. My hair,

breasts, legs, weight, and height were envied. Each woman, no

matter how attractive, had found features of my body that they

wished they had. Incredulous at this since there wasn't a woman

there that I wouldn't have traded my soul to have a body like hers.

While the women were envious, the men desired me more than I

ever thought possible. They looked at my lips, eyes, legs, breasts,

and ass with desire. Even my neck, that I had always thought of as

too long, was admired by the men. While they looked at me with

desire, I realized there was an undercurrent to their feelings

towards me. I intimidated them with a standoffish attitude that

shouted look but don't touch.

I was thankful when the introductions were over and could I stand

by a table filled with snacks. I ate distracted by flashes of images

from those around me each time I looked at someone that was

looking at me. The flashes had an effect on me as my thoughts

became increasingly distracted. It soon became too much for me

and I needed a moment of peace away from the sight of other

people. I slipped from the room to hide in the bathroom where I

would be assured of solitude.

The isolation was absolutely necessary. My mind was

overwhelmed by the images that I had received from the people at

the party and couldn't process it. I had not realized how often

people looked at me over the course of even a few minutes. Nor

had I recognized the desire in their eyes when they looked at me.

Ugly me was desired? Did they not see my many flaws and

imperfections? Confusing me was the fact that I had not had a

single image that showed me as I saw myself.

Under control, I left the security of the bathroom to face the crowd

once more. A handsome man approached. When I looked at him, I

had the image of being a trophy mounted on his wall of conquests.

I was angered, embarrassed, and thrilled at the same time. The

source of my anger lie in the fact that he thought I was something

to be hunted and bedded like some sort of trophy animal. My

embarrassment and thrill found root at the thought that I was

worthy of being considered a trophy.

Later I talked to another man who hardly looked at me all. The

whole time I was there, he prattled endlessly about his job as an

accountant. When I did catch his eye, the image I received was so

bright that it staggered me. I was a sun Goddess shining brightly,

dispelling the darkness in his life. Under it all, he wanted to

convince me that he could support me in the way that I would love

and that he would care for me for life. His prattle was a bid for my

attention. He was shouting, I am stable and earn good money, look

at me and show me the least bit of interest. How could I have

missed his intentions?

As food was being served, I found myself sitting next to an

engineer by the name of Harry. He was a quiet man that said little

and tended to look away from me. When I caught his eye, the

image that I received was far warmer than I could have possibly

expected from a cold engineer. Again, his words concerned his

occupation and living conditions, but internally he was bidding for

my attention as well. He was hoping that I would consider him a

good catch and worth my consideration. Telling wry subtle jokes,

he hoped that I would find him interesting and fun. I knew that

because when we looked at each other, the image I saw was of me

as a woman that would find such jokes amusing. I liked that image.

Harry left and returned with two bottles of beer. As I caught his

eye, I received the image of a knight in shining armor serving his

lady. The romantic nature of the image sent tingles down my spine.

It was unbelievable that a man could view me as a fairy tale

princess. Sure this was a schoolgirl fantasy, but it made me feel

warm and wanted all over. It made me look closer at this goofy

looking guy with overlarge ears and crooked smile.

I started paying more attention to him and the images I received

back were even better. It was when I started rubbing my hand up

and down the beer bottle that the images changed their nature.

Suddenly, I had visions of my hand wrapped around a cock. Even

though it was just a mental image, the emotional power that I had

over him took my breath away. It excited me in a very sexual way.

I had to cool off, so I took a sip of beer as I looked over the bottle

at him. That was a mistake. The beer bottle was replaced by a

cock. It would be a lie to say that I felt degraded by that image

when the converse was true. He saw me with the head of his cock

in my mouth looking up at him with wide open eyes and adoration.

I knew this was accurate as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Each time that I sipped my beer, that same image flashed through

my mind. The adoration that was conveyed by me in that image

was nothing compared to the intensity of his feelings towards me. I

knew that this man would walk through fire if I asked it of him.

The image excited me far more than I could have ever entertained.

I had to set down the beer half finished before my excitement

became too obvious. I think we were both squirming in our seats.

As the evening wore on, I talked to other men and saw myself

through their eyes. In each case, any little attention that I paid to

them was reflected in desire. The men liked my mouth, nose, neck,

breasts, legs, shape, and hair. Even features that I detested were

found attractive. The body that I occupied, that I had hated for

years, was desired by men of all ages and occupations.

The list of imperfections that I kept was replaced by a list of

features that others liked. To discover that after years of keeping

others away so that my ugliness would not be used in insult, I had

found that others viewed me very differently. If there was any

negativity in the images, it was that I was cold and indifferent to

the attentions of the men around me.

That night I left the party with Harry for a cup of coffee at a local

diner. I knew, even as I departed, that I could have gone with any

man there, single and married. The interests of the single men

ranged from lust to companionship to possible love. The interests

of the married men ranged from mistress to a third in a threesome

with their wives. I was shocked to learn that Steve was not the only

married man to feel that way towards me.

Harry and I took separate cars to the diner. Due to catching a

traffic light, I arrived after him. When I spotted him looking and

waving at me, a sensation of intense relief washed over me that

originated from him. I could see a picture of me with two subtitles,

bitch and angel. The word bitch was crossed out and I realized that

he had feared that I had stood him up. Despite the potential for

insult, I understood that it reflected his insecurity. Yet, I also knew

that if I had stood him up, then I would have warranted the title of

bitch.

As we drank coffee, I was given further insight into how men and

Harry, in particular, viewed me. When he looked at my lips, he

thought of kissing them, being kissed by them, and my lips locked

around his cock. When he looked at my breasts, it was in terms of

touching and kissing them. I was almost shocked when the image

of his cock sliding between my breasts flitted into my mind.

I came home late, sexually excited, and yet fundamentally

changed. As I stood naked in front of the full length mirror, I saw

myself as others saw me. The words from the last entry in the diary

came back to me, "Having found how others see me, I no longer

need to keep this diary as I have found true happiness and

discovered a multitude of suitors."

The next morning, the spell that I had cast ended. My insights into

how others viewed me in the here and now were gone. It did not

matter, for when I looked in the mirror it was a different reflection

staring back at me. For now, I knew what I looked like and was

happy with my appearance. I had found true happiness and

discovered a multitude of suitors.

I returned to the used book store with Harry on a date. I know it

sounds like a strange date, but he's an engineer and was more than

happy to spend an afternoon in a used book store. As I pretended to

go through the stacks of books, I slipped the diary in amongst

them. Perhaps one day, another young lady would discover the

book and it would help her as it had helped me.