We are all so complex and have so may facets, the different faces we show to the world at different times. There is the person seen by our superiors or subordinates at our place who is somehow different from the person we present to, say, the Italian delicatessen when we buy our bread and olives on a Saturday morning. But we are different yet again when sitting quietly at a cafe table waiting for a friend to appear.
I am unashamedly bookish. Books tumble off the shelves in my house, I always have one or two on the dashboard of my car and I feel insecure without at least one in handbag I can dip into if at any point in the day there is time to kill. The public me is a quietly dressed, studious looking young female that any Mum out there would be happy for her son to meet.
But then there is our private self, the person we are when alone or in the company of our lovers, our brains seething with fantasy and our loins moist with longing as we anticipate the erotic pleasures about to be bestowed on us by the beautiful prapic man hungrily enjoying the sight of our languid limbs, or of course by our own probing fingers. And depending who is sharing this bedroom moment we can be different again, a wanton harlot, greedy for satisfaction, or a naughty little girl who needs a good smacked bottom before he decides what else to do with us.
I enjoy being all the different Elizabeths. I hope you take satisfaction in all your different selves.
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