This is my entry for the
Valentine's Day Story Contest 2024
. It could have been placed in Fetish or Exhibitionism or even (friendly) BDSM, for there is a trace of each in it, but on the whole, it contains too much laughter to be placed anywhere but here in Humor, especially on this special day for lovers.
Please enjoy.
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I dropped the bag on my bed before looking out the window. The day had been clear and cold and the sun was just on the horizon. Such trees as I could see against the sunset were still, hardly moving.
Hesitant, not yet fully committed, I examined myself in the full-length mirror on the wall. I stared at my eyes in the reflection, waiting for them to blink, an unwinnable game of Owl.
Uncertain but eager, my mind was racing like a mouse on its wheel.
I could, I knew, go with the simpler Plan B - a romantic dinner at an elegant dinery before returning to his place. Millions of couples around the world would be doing much the same.
And the 'after' be world-class, I knew. Todd, my boyfriend for almost six months now, had proved an excellent lover - thoughtful, knowing, empathetic, gentle but strong when needed.
And delicious! His body was lean rather than buff, a runner rather than a gym-rat, but he was in very good shape. He was eye-catching, too - clean-shaven, eyes the colour of a mountain stream and always — always — well-dressed. Square-jawed and broad-shouldered, had he been a bit taller, he might have done very well as a model.
His smile had lit my fuse the first time we'd met. He was a keeper.
I'd made reservations for an intimate, four-star French restaurant on the main drag, within walking distance of our places. I'd gone so far as to order and pay in advance, including a handsome tip to the maître d' for his people. I was confident both in the meal and what was sure to follow.
There was just one question remaining. The vanilla Plan B would please him, I knew, but...
Plan A.
Plan A was the evening I
hoped
would happen, the one for which I had been working up my courage - the daring one, in other words, the one making me challenge myself.
Turning away from the mirror, I emptied the bag onto the bed.
+
"Really?" He'd initially seemed uncertain when we'd discussed it, that gentle dance of boundary surveying all new lovers eventually do.
"I think so," I'd replied. "I mean..."
I'd waved my hand over the two of us enmeshed in a happy tangle of sheets.
My heart still working on a double-beat pace, I'd pulled my body closer against his, gloried in his warmth and strength and love, the blessing of shared skin.
I'd kept my voice low.
"You're a wonderful lover, Todd, but I'm open to trying new things. If you want to."
Todd was easy-going and pretty open-minded, but I'd suddenly wondered if I had been too forward, had strayed inadvertently into some unknown emotional minefield. I'd lifted my head off his shoulder so I could see his eyes.
"I'm asking what would please
you,
Todd."
I'd lowered my head and, ear on his chest, listened to his heart in the dim light. The room smelled of love and sex and the roses he'd given me on arrival. He'd been gently stroking my head with his free hand, thinking perhaps. I'd waited, wondering if I should say more, maybe explain. I'd counted about ten slow double-beats before his arm over my body tightened in a gentle hug.
"I do love you, Kate. And you're a very good lover, too. So, yes. Experimenting might be fun."
His hug grew had grown stronger.
"Thank you."
+
But that had been weeks ago. I'd wondered, thought of asking again, eventually decided that this was the 21st century, that I could take the initiative. Then, of course, I'd changed my mind. And again. Last week, I'd made up my mind for sure.
More or less.
I knew him pretty well, I thought. I knew me. And I'd done some research, with results running from
ick!
to
whee!
I thought had a pretty good idea what he would like, what he would find exciting without going too far over the line. Men like daring, right? Still, how daring would I allow myself to be?
With the obvious day approaching, I'd made some calls, done some discreet shopping and had managed to invite him without losing my nerve. I was committed.
Mostly.
+
I was surprised to find my hands shaking now, just a little, but it was time to get dressed. I took a deep breath, found my courage and watched myself in the mirror unfastening the buttons of my blouse, a deep-breath pause between each one.
The tails of the garment caught a little in the waistband of my skirt when I tried to pull it loose. I unzipped that, let it fall to the floor. Bending down, I picked it up, folded it neatly and put it aside.
The blouse proved easier to manage now, sliding off my shoulders and down my arms. I folded it too and placed it on my skirt.
Unhooking my bra, I spent the usual minute rubbing the red lines on my shoulders and ribs. For the ten-thousandth time, I wondered why it was so difficult to design an affordable brassiere that wouldn't leave marks.
Hello? Half the world's got boobs! There's a market out here!
Thumbing pantyhose and panties off my hips together, I pushed them down my legs to the floor. A small shuffle and a toss of my foot raised them to my hand. I placed the panties with the rest, examined the pantyhose and, seeing the beginnings of a run, dropped them with a pout into the garbage pail.
I turned my attention back to the figure in the mirror and smiled with her.
I shook my head, watched a wave flow down the length of our hair. I'd considered having my stylist put together something showy and maybe even formal, but realized it might be a distraction. We'd settled on just a trim, letting it go loose, with the ends just touching the upper side of my breasts.
I licked my lips, watched my tongue run over them, smiled again experimentally.
Yes.
I returned my attention to the pile on my bed, poked through it with a forefinger, separated the various items.
Where to start?
I'd showered, of course, and had shaved that morning. I'd considered trimming my usual designer triangle of fur into a heart but had discarded the thought as just a bit too cutsie. I checked my nails for cracks or chips, ran one nail over my tongue tip.
My makeup needed no major work, but I took a moment to touch up a couple of minor flaws. I smiled at myself and felt a slight weight grow in my abdomen, an acknowledgment of sorts.
Looking good, girl!
I again examined the small pile, decided to start with the most obvious, a very simple red — no, scarlet — corset.
Leaving both my boobs and hips free, it was less than an underbust corset, more than a mere waist-cincher. I ran a finger over stiff stays hidden under creamily-soft satin. I smiled again, then frowned at the tangled thing in my hands.
