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."
"But he's my husband and I want him to tell me what he thinks of this before I buy it," I said, holding up the exceptionally minimal bikini. "You don't expect me to come out in front of everybody wearing this, do you?"
The guy was stunned hearing me say this and obviously quite excited by what I was proposing to the salesgirl. Then I leaned over and whispered something to the girl, who laughed raucously and then happily let us both enter the cubicle together.
"What did you say to her?" he asked, curious, as we went inside the dressing room.
"I told her, what if my husband should get horny seeing me in this? That she wouldn't want to see him getting a big old erection out in front of everybody in the store."
He stood there, smiling, amazed at my audacity.
We walked into the cubicle and locked it. It was completely private inside, with a real door, not one of those half-doors where you can see legs. Normally I like those booths; I always get a little turned on seeing other women scampering around barefoot, putting on and taking off skirts and pants and undies. But now I was happy we had this privacy.
"Alone at last," I said, turning to him. Then I held up the bikini. "Turn around and I'll put it on."
He was a little disappointed. I knew he was hoping I'd rip off my clothes right in front of him. I fully intended to do that, but I wanted to tease him, and have him hear the rustling of my clothes as I took them off and the sound of my snapping the bikini top on and pulling the bottoms up over my thighs and hips. I've always felt that dressing and undressing sexily for a man is something I really like to do and find very provocative. I used to do that for my husband all the time, but he could care less about that sort of thing these days.
"First I want you to see me with the bikini on," I said as I took off my clothes. I knew he could hear every sound I made as I disrobed. We were in such close quarters I'm sure he could smell me. I had showered just before going shopping and had put on a new, and what I thought was a very provocative scent.
"Okay, you can look now," I said.
He turned to look at me and his eyes almost popped out. I knew that my rather perfect figure was barely concealed by the tiny bikini. With him just two feet away I saw his eyes dwell on the contours of my body -- my firm breasts, slender waist and flat stomach, my cute and very tanned round, firm buns which, as I now turned around for him, were nearly all visible with the exceptionally skimpy bikini bottom I was wearing.
"How do I look?" I said.
"You look just great," he said.
"Me, or the bikini?" I teased.
"Both," he said, "but especially you."
"How do I compare to your wife?" I said. I couldn't help teasing him. I was glad I had brought that right into the open, that we were both married and were wearing wedding rings. I had already decided I was never going to have to pretend to be single and to have to deal with that awkward moment where I'd need to pull back and tell a guy that I was married and that I had to go because my husband was expecting me.
"There's no need for us to talk about my wife," he said.
"Sorry," I said. "There's sure no need to talk about my husband."
We stood there.
