Mirari Imperfectus
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. 
