Friends and those of you who have read my stories before already know this, but new readers may not. This story, like all I write, is true. In this case, the names are even true, though I usually change them. But Leighton has said it was OK, and you already know Paul and I, so there is no reason to change names.
The dialog is as I remember it, which means it's not totally true, but it's close. The rest? True. Not because I am proud, but because I have found I can't write fiction worth a darn. If something hasn't happened to me, I write all stilted, like a sixth grader. But if I write of what I have experienced, then it comes out better somehow.
It was a Friday night, just two weeks after our wedding, and I was in a bad mood. Not awful bad, but a little down. Paul had arranged for a young man to share our bed in DC for the weekend, a threesome which was part of a reassurance that I needed, because I was nervous about being married. I love Paul with a borderline crazy love, but I was afraid that if I married him, the adventurous sex life I've finally gotten for myself (or that Paul has made happen for me.) would end, that some how he would get jealous and it would all fall apart like my marriage did six years earlier.
To reassure me, Paul had, even before the wedding, found a man to share me with, a younger man, early thirties and in simply deliciously good shape. We only do this a few times a year, so it's an event and the whole week before, I was getting more and more excited at the prospect. If you've never been shared by more than one man, you can't understand how exciting it is, and I was positively quivering at the thought.
But just a week before we were set to meet, the young man chickened out. He was married, and while the idea of a threesome was exciting, he found he could not cheat on his wife. I admire his morals, and I am glad he found out before he did it and the relationship died of guilt, but still, there I was with the sexual rug pulled out from under me.
And there is another side of it too. I know guys chicken out. I get that. But there is something inside me, left over from being young and from my marriage, that had left me feeling somehow I wasn't good enough. If I only HAD been good enough, pretty enough, charming enough, sexy enough – then he would not have bailed out.
I tried to make the most of it. Paul was out of town for a few days before the weekend, and I went lingerie shopping, and even bought a new corset to greet him with Friday when he came back. Light blue satin with little pink flowers stitched into it, complete with matching thong, and.... a matching blindfold. I smiled as I took it home, imagining his pleasure when he saw me in it.
Because I did look good in it. I was reminded of that Friday morning as I got ready for work. I showered, and shaved myself extra smooth all over. I put on the corset and looked at myself in the mirror. Not bad for 43, I thought. My breasts, all 36C of them, were held up nicely. The corset cinched in my waist and held in the little tummy I've never managed to lose since my divorce. And it flared over my hips just right. Yes, I thought, not bad at all. I slipped on my pumps and headed to work.
I left off the thong, put on my dress for work, and stuffed the blindfold in my purse. Paul was flying in late in the morning, and so I would not have time to change if I wanted to surprise him. So I wore the corset all under to work.
It was an OK day. I went sort of up and down. Excited to see Paul after a few days away, then bummed because our plans had fallen through. Up and down all day. Paul called from the airport. He was a little late, he said, but he was heading home. "I have a little surprise for you.", he said. That was sweet, I thought, he knew I was disappointed, and he knew how I would be feeling.
I thought work would never end, but it did and I drove out to the country.
I moved into Paul's place when we got married. I had a nice little house in Sleep Hollow, but it was much smaller than Paul's converted barn in the country. And too, the house had divorce memories, while Paul had bought and converted the barn since we had met. In a way, it felt like ours before we even got married.
It's big, and most of it has been turned into living space, but part of it he turned onto a studio and part of it he left rustic, so he could drive cars in to work on them when the spirit moved him. We moved the weekend before, so things were still a mess, and part of me just wanted to work on putting things in order instead of sex.
But I was dressed for sex, and I knew Paul would expect it, so I began to think about him, his touch, his kiss. I began to warm up to the idea on the drive home.
His car was outside when I came up the lane through the woods. He was standing outside, smiling at me, still in a suit and tie.
We walked into the kitchen together and he had already opened a bottle pf wine. From the looks of it, he had had a glass or two. He poured me one, and I gulped it down fast, still balancing between "who cares" and being in the mood. He stepped up close.
And began unbuttoning my dress. As my cleavage and the baby blue satin started to show, he smiled more. "Nice." he said, finishing the buttons off. I lowered my arms and the dress slid off to the floor. He stepped back. "Very nice." he said.
Seeing his pleasure was starting to get me in the mood. "That's not all." I said. I reached into my purse, and pulled out the blindfold.
"Perfect." he said. "Put it on."
I did what he said. I always do.
"Now, come with me to the studio. I think it's time for your surprise."
