Like a lot of women, often when I feel especially frustrated or ill at ease about something I try to get it out of my system by going shopping. So I suppose the constant rounds of shopping I was engaging in recently must have been linked to an even greater sense of frustration than usual. By now I had completely given up on my attempts to revive my husband's utterly deadened interest in any kind of intimacy with me. At this point, even if he suddenly awakened from his numb slumber, and wanted me again, I don't think I'd have him. I had crossed a line and now was seriously thinking about leaving him and eventually filing for divorce. I was young. I was full of zest and energy. I knew I had a lot to offer men. And, God knows, I was still brimming with sexual desire, probably more so than ever.
But in the meantime, until I set all that in motion, shopping was one of my great outlets. And that's what I decided to do one day after Matt crept off to work with barely a hello when he woke up or a goodbye when he closed the door behind him.
I went down to my local mall and headed right over to my favorite store.
I was casually looking over the new clothes when I noticed this rather handsome man glancing my way. Like me, he was idly walking past the racks, looking at various items. I thought it a bit strange, because I was in the women's wear section and he was unaccompanied. Maybe he was shopping for a present for his wife or his girlfriend, something Matt used to take relish doing for me but never did any longer.
After I noticed him staring my way several times, I caught his gaze rather boldly the next time he looked over at me and gave him a sly little smile. He immediately turned away, but then he turned back to me and smiled himself. Soon we were acting like two young teenagers, all cute and coy with each other, slowly walking around the garment racks and tables, tap dancing around one another. He was probably in his early thirties and had a very attractive face, with warm, but piercing brown eyes and a friendly, engaging smile.
I found myself in the lingerie section and I lingered here, checking out the underwear, looking his way as I did. I'd pick up a bra or a pair of panties and examine the fabric, looking up to see if he was watching me. He was. I'd pick up more and more provocative garments, little lacy half-bras and bikini panties. I'd do something rather intimate, like looking closely at the lining of the crotch of a pair of panties and running my fingers over the fabric there, as if to note how it would feel against my pussy, making sure that he noticed me doing this.
For some reason this was exciting to me, looking at intimate women's apparel while being eyed by a strange man. Lately the idea of sudden intimacy with a strange man turned me on. Turned me on immensely. Recently I'd become quite the flirt, but by now I was ready to do more than just flirt with such a man. But still I wanted to avoid any sort of 'affair' or 'relationship.' Running into a guy in this serendipitous fashion and feeling a charge from the encounter was exactly what pressed my button.
Now I decided to be a little bold. So I wandered over his way. He was standing in front of a panty display and I picked up a pair of very sexy panties, lifting them up.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"I think they'd look very nice on you," he said.
I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring and I thought I'd get right to the point and let him know I noticed it.
"Buying something for your wife?"
"Yes, I thought I'd get her some alluring lingerie, you know, liven things up a little," he confessed.
"Do they need livening up?" I asked flatly.
He smiled knowingly, then looked down at my hand.
"I see that you're married too. Do you think your husband will like this item?"
"Frankly, I don't care if he likes it or not. If I decide to buy it, I'd be buying it for myself, not for him. He wouldn't even notice."
It felt so liberating to be talking so forthrightly to a strange man and I was certain it was provocative to him as well.
"With the season almost over, there's a sale on swimsuits. So I was thinking of buying myself a bikini for next summer," I said to him. "Would you care to wander over to the rack with me and help me select a bikini? I could use someone else's opinion, particularly a man's," I said, stunned myself at just how bold I was being.
At the bikini rack I picked up an especially skimpy and sexy item imported from France.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"I think it would look terrific on you."
"Do you really? Maybe I should try it on," I said.
"Maybe you should," he said. Then he paused and lowered his voice. "I only wish I could see it on you,"
"Is that so?" I said, pausing a moment. "Well, why don't you come with me to the dressing room then? And maybe you could do exactly that."
In just a few words we had established so much. I was married, he was married. I frankly admitted, albeit indirectly, that the last thing on my mind was my own husband. In his even more oblique way he told me pretty much the same thing about his wife. We were obviously coming on to each other, talking about sexy underwear and bikinis and what they would look like on me.
When we got to the dressing room, I turned to him.
"The only problem is if I go in there and try it on I can't very easily come out here to have you see what I look like in it, can I? After all, it's a little bikini I'm going to try on, not a pair of jeans. And there's all these people out here. That's too bad, because I'd really like to know what you thought."
I pretended to think this dilemma over a moment.
"I know!" I said brightly, continuing my flirtatious seduction of this stranger. "Maybe you could come inside the dressing room with me?"
"But they wouldn't allow that, would they?" he said, looking around a little nervously.
"I don't know but, anyway, if you could, would you like to come in?"
"Sure, I'd love to," he said, looking me right in the eye and speaking with a soft, but low, masculine purr.
"Let's see what we can do," I said.
I walked over to the salesgirl who was watching over the dressing rooms.
"Do you think he can come into the dressing room with me?" I asked her. There were three individual dressing rooms, each completely self-contained. I had been here before and I knew the set-up.
"You know," she said half-heartedly. "It's only supposed to be one to a dressing room."
