Chapter 01: The Beginning
You always seemed to know just what I needed and usually long before I realized I did.
Even the ad in the personals column – we'd never met or even knew each other existed (well at least I had no idea there was someone like You out there) and yet the words cut through the fog that I would refer to as my "being" at that point in time, like a preprogramed missile with the coordinates of my soul embedded in it's circuitry.
I'd never perused the personals before and was amazed at the general tawdriness of them, the ineffective prose, the hopelessly infantile grammar. I liked to think myself as above this melange of human desperation and yet here I was, at first appalled, then amused, and eventually sucked in by the vortex of desperate souls.
Perhaps I belonged there. I had just turned thirty and walked away from a marriage of a decade that had grown more and more miserable by the year, the month, the day, and finally the hour. My sanity was on the line by the end. No longer could I stand the lectures and dismissals of a man who had evolved from simple undemanding high school companion to born-again holier than thou sycophant. By the end he barely acknowledged my existence. I had not borne him any progeny nor had I relented and gone under the blade to achieve the voluptuous décollete that so distracted him on other women whenever we were out somewhere. My 32b cups only seemed to disgust him and he refused to even pay them a glance, much less any physical heed.
Sex in general had degenerated. We had never been particularly adventurous, only ever tried three or four positions and for many years it had plain and simply been missionary style and then only (and only) on Saturday night. I would wear a babydoll and lay there until he decided it was time to pull my panties down, flop on top of me and struggle to stick his often barely erect "manhood" into my uninspired vagina. When I finally resorted to using lubricant one night in preparation for his incursion, he accused me of being a "worthless and wanton slut" and then didn't touch me for months. When he finally did, he couldn't get hard and once again it was my fault, supposedly due to my diminutive breasts. When I tried to respond, he hit me and that was the end. I moved out the next day.
For several months I was depressed and felt unworthy, but also somehow liberated. Gradually I began to realize that other men looked at me not in disapproval, but positively, sometimes even lustily. When I began to pay more attention to my appearance, it grew more so. I went clothes shopping, thinking about what others might find appealing or what I felt good in. I got new makeup. I was no longer concerned with what he might or might not approve of.
It all started to click. My employers noticed a new attitude and I received a salary raise. I contacted a divorce attorney and began the official procedures.
One day I went lingerie shopping. At first I was a little put off by it all. I had never been in a Victoria 's Secret store and felt awkward and alone, but I persisted and bought a purple silk bra and bikini panty set as well as a silky teddy. I'd never owned anything like this before and the mere fact that my ex would not have approved made me follow through on the initial impulse.
When I got home, I slipped into the teddy in the privacy of my apartment. I poured a glass of wine. I put a Marvin Gaye disc on. I felt good.
Damn, but I felt good. I wore the teddy for the rest of the weekend. Even when I went out grocery shopping, I wore it under my jeans and T shirt. It was like a silken aphrodisiac. I bought more wine.
I was drinking that wine wearing that teddy a few weeks later as I browsed the personals on a balmy evening in May reading one pathetic imploration or absurdly lascivious double entendre after another. And then there it was, the paragraph that grabbed me in a way I never imagined a few lines printed on pulp ever could.
"M for F: devout sensualist seeks novice desiring introduction and guidance leading to transcendent wantoness. Succumb to a level of pleasure you never thought possible."
You have no idea how profound an impact that had on me that night. At first I ignored the compulsion to respond, but midway through a restless night that found me waking repeatedly with the words playing in my head, I resolved to go the next step and in the morning I rose early to compose a letter.
"Hello, my name is Corrine. Your advertisement seems to have struck a chord in me. I am a thirty year old woman who has been living a life of repression until just recently and I am now dying to explore the world of sensuality but either don't quite know where to start or haven't the nerve to. I hope you will respond and that I'm not too old for your consideration. My telephone number is xxx-xxxx - please call soon. - C
Ten days later my phone rang in the early evening. Interestingly enough I had just changed out of my work attire and into the teddy. My mind was wandering off about how sweet one of the office clerks had been that day and how flattered I had been when he got flustered as I caught him sneaking a peek down the front of my blouse. I'm not quite certain just how much he saw, but I was glad I had worn one of my new lace bras.
The voice on the other end of the line was soft and even with just the slightest trace of raspiness to it, sexy and seductive without trying to be. Sitting there in my little lavender wisp of silk I felt as though I was on display and glanced around to make certain that I'd closed all the curtains. The feeling of exposure was both unerving and at the same time rather arousing.
"Is this Corrine?"
"It is." I replied.
"This is David. You replied to my ad and said that I could call you at this number. Is this a good time for you to talk?"
"Yes." was all that I could muster.
"I'd very much like to hear more about you."
And at that I proceeded to blather on my whole story, probably telling You far more than was necessary. You were very patient with me (as You would be later as well). At one point You stopped me and asked that I describe my physical appearance to you.
"Well, I have straight brown hair just past my shoulders, brown eyes, and a medium complexion. I stand about five three and weigh one thirteen. My father was Italian and my mother Irish descent, so I guess you could say I look a little like each of those cultures. I'm not very voluptuous"
"You mean you don't have big breasts?"
"No, I don't. I only wear a B cup size bra."
"Sounds lovely to me."
Suddenly I was tongue-tied. It had been a long time since I'd heard a compliment about my appearance, but then again You hadn't yet seen me. Still, I felt my nipples hardening with my breasts being the topic of conversation.
"Do you like the way you look?"
