Ah, Wednesday- my mid-week day off... but not really a "day off." Sure, I get to meet my girlfriend for breakfast and maybe do some shopping, but it's really a day that I can use to catch up on the mundane household tasks of vacuuming, dusting, etc., etc. Not too exciting.
By way of introduction, my name is Kelley and I am a 50-something year-old married mother of one who works as a part time administrative assistant.
This day starts out with breakfast Gillian's Diner with my friend, Marge. She's a bit late as usual and while I sit idly waiting for her to arrive, I think over my plans for the rest of the day:
I have my normal housework to do and I want to get the mowing done before the day turns too hot for outside work. Late July in eastern Ohio can be a real scorcher. In my mind, I tick off the to-do items and try to figure out what time I'll be done so I can relax in the air-conditioned comfort of our small, suburban ranch home.
As Marge pulls into the parking lot and angles toward the first available space, I guess that I'll have about two hours after I finished my work before I need to start making supper for my husband, Dan.
Dan's schedule is rather predictable when he's in the office- off in the morning at 7:30 and home at 5 pm. Field work is a different story with widely variable hours, but today Dan is in the office, so I'll see him pull in the drive on his motorcycle at 5- give or take.
Marge bustles into the diner and we greet with a sisterly hug and are ushered to a table. Breakfast at Gillian's is always a treat, with good home-style food served piping hot and some of the best coffee around.
After ordering cream dried beef on home fries, our conversation winds around our lives and families- particularly focusing on our grown children... the topics typical for women in their 50s. Marge has three kids, two married and out on their own and one (the eldest) still at home. Dan and I have been blessed with just one, a son who serves proudly in the military.
Although I have known Marge and her children for more than 25 years, she tends to recount their various life situations each time we're together. By now it's just review for me.
Today, while Marge goes over her kids' goings-on, my mind drifts to thoughts of my husband. Even after more than 30 years of marriage, I love Dan more that I can express and look forward to every moment I spend with him.
On top of that, the sight of him still makes me tingle inside. Not that he's some super-handsome hunk, no, Dan is a 56-year-old man in reasonably good shape with thinning and graying hair and decidedly average looks.
He's average in pretty much every way, except for two notable areas: his intellect- he's really smart, and his sex drive- he seems to be horny all the time! What makes me tingle is not what's on the outside, but what's on the inside- his inside, and the fact that he's my man and I love him with my undying love.
As Marge drones on this morning, I respond with "uh-huh" and "yeah" at the appropriate time, while my mind was busily calculating my day.
In the middle of my mental multi-tasking my brain suddenly latches onto the realization that, if I work out my routine efficiently, I'd have more than enough time to relax, primp a little, and take a bubble bath before Dan comes through the door at 5.
That way I could surprise him with something far more delicious and appetizing, to both of us, than a home-cooked meal. Secretly, I am planning an
ambush
!
With my mind wrapped around my new-found goal for the day, it isn't long before Marge notices that I disengaged from the conversation. She asks, "Is something bothering you, Kelley?"
"No, not really. I just have a few things I want to get done today and they keep popping into my mind. Sorry if I seem distant, Marge, it's not intentional," I reply. A bit of a dodge, but none of it untrue.
As we finish our breakfast, we agree to meet again next week, same time and place. Marge picks up the tab and says, "Let me get this- Dan made that photo disk of Amanda and he wouldn't let me pay him for it. This is the least I can do."
"OK," I respond, "but I'm leaving the tip," as I tuck three one-dollar bills under my empty coffee cup and step away from the table.
While Marge pays with her credit card at the cash register, I idly observe that nearly all the patrons in Gillian's on a weekday morning have gray hair and seem in no hurry to do anything- obviously a favorite spot for retirees. My mind wanders to the plans Dan and I have for retirement and then wonder if we'll look just like these folks someday.
With, "You better get on with all these things you have to do today," Marge snaps me back to the present. We share another sisterly hug and I step outside to feel the beginnings of the day's heat.
On the three-mile drive home, I think about my plans for later in the day and squirm a little in the seat. Whenever I "cook" up a sensual encounter between Dan and me, I always heat up a little with the anticipation.
"Keep your head on straight," my inner voice tells me, "You've got a lot to get done today and you can't let yourself get sidetracked." That voice in my brain can be a real kill-joy at times.
As soon as I've backed the car into the garage and stepped from the garage to the kitchen, I'm accosted by my "starving" cat loudly demanding her noon feeding more than two hours early. I think, "If I feed her now, maybe she'll stay out of my 'hair' while I get my to-do list done." A couple forkfuls of Fancy Feast later and she is hurriedly and happily eating.
I check email, tidy the cat litter box, put a load of laundry in the washer, and then check the mail. Seeing nothing that needs immediate attention in the mail, I stack it neatly on the counter and straighten the nearby clutter.
I walk to the bedroom and quickly change into my yardwork shorts and tee-shirt. While changing, my thoughts drift to my plans for "the ambush." I snap myself back to the tasks that I must accomplish first with a silent reminder- "Focus, Kelley, focus."
After changing, I am off to the lawn shed to attack the yard with our (actually- my) riding mower. Dan bought the rider at my request, since I said I would do the mowing if I could ride rather than push. That way, there'd be less for him to do. I keep my end of the bargain, while he maintains the mower and counts himself a lucky man!
The heat outside is beginning to border on "stifling," so I decide to forego breaks and work straight through until the yard is done. In total it takes just over an hour from start to finish. More than just a little sweated up; I park the mower in the shed, being careful to leave plenty of room for Dan to park his motorcycle when he arrives home from work.
With the first item out of the way, I set about my "housewifely" chores in the welcoming coolness of the house: vacuuming, dusting, and tidying up this and that. My usual routine is to give the house a once-over touch-up so that it doesn't look too "lived in" if unexpected visitors drop by. The detailed cleaning is reserved for days when I don't have "other plans."
Picking up after Dan is usually simple: a magazine or two on the end table instead of in the magazine rack, shoes by the back door instead of in the closet, a coffee cup on the counter that belongs in the dishwasher, and the perennial clutter of miscellaneous papers, keys and a tool or two on the kitchen counter- no big deal compared to the mess lots of wives deal with.
Doing the repetitious and mundane tasks that are my usual on Wednesdays, I find my mind wandering to my plans for the ambush and I keep feeling a tingle between my legs. More than once I feel like I might just be a little bit moist.
I find myself wanting to shortcut so I can get ready for Dan sooner. But my inner voice keeps repeating the obvious: "Getting done sooner won't bring him home sooner... that will be 5 pm, no matter what."
Finally, around 2 pm, I'm done- the house looks presentable and I can give my clingy little she-cat a lap for an hour or so while I unwind with a few word games on my Kindle. It is, after all, our routine on my day off.
Two hours later I am jolted awake by the phone- another "restricted number" on the caller ID... probably someone calling to tell me that "this is not a sales call," when it actually is. I let it go to voice mail and am thankful the caller woke me from my unplanned nap in time for the preparations that I still need to make for my special surprise.
I go to the bathroom and rifle through Dan's drawer in the vanity, disorganized as it is, and find what I need- his electric shaver. I grab a chair from the kitchen, carry it into the hallway, and place it facing our full-length mirror.
Now it's time to get naked, and I tingle with delight. I strip off everything and place it all in the empty clothes basket in the bedroom closet. Returning to the hallway, I position the chair close to the mirror and sit facing it. I lift and spread my legs so that I have a good view of my pubic area in the mirror.
Now for something totally new- I will try to shave myself. Dan and I found out many years ago that sex is much more enjoyable if I am shaved smooth from my anus to just above my clit hood. I found out that he loves to shave me, which usually takes ten or fifteen minutes and is a very enjoyable (especially for me) prelude to a romp in bed.
But here I am with my legs hiked up trying to do it in a mirror. I brace myself by planting a foot against the wall on either side of the mirror. This is new to me but I want to be "ready" for Dan when he comes home. Having been shaved just two nights before, I've grown little more than short bristle on and around my pussy lips.
I fumble for a few moments trying to figure out how to work the shaver, but I persist and dive in. I have a little trouble seeing what I'm doing, so I have to feel my way. The sensation from the vibrating shaver is turning me on, but I'm able to get my pussy smooth as silk in a few very, enjoyable minutes.
I return Dan's shaver to the vanity and muse about how he'll react to the scent I've left on it when he shaves his face tomorrow morning.
Now for my bath. I fill the tub and take my time relaxing in the soothing waters. I shave my legs and spend extra time thoroughly washing around and in my vagina- Dan loves to lick a fresh clean pussy (mine, that is). Oh, the thought of it! "Focus, focus, Kelley," I keep telling myself.
After the bathing and toweling off, I dry my hair, brush my teeth and examine myself in the mirror. I tell myself that I look good, very good indeed, and remind myself that my husband considers me a knockout.
