"Your family thinks I'm a prude!" Amanda sounded frustrated.
I glanced away from the road a minute to check; despite her tone, she looked just a bit exasperated rather than genuinely upset. But it still surprised me -- I'd thought the trip to introduce her to my family had gone well.
Everyone who can make it shows up at our Tahoe cabin for one last skiing weekend in late March or early April, so it had seemed like the easiest way for her to meet my family and friends. Days on the slopes or the cross-country trails, family dinners, and chances to talk at night.
We'd been up there a couple of weekends since we got engaged there on Valentine's Day, but we'd had the place to ourselves both times. This was our first visit as part of a group. Even though we'd been relegated to the bunk room with the other "kids" this time, we'd still had fun, and I'd been proud to have a chance to introduce my fiancé and show her off.
I couldn't believe that anyone would have been rude to her; as far as I could see, everyone had been on their best behavior, and I'd thought they liked her, and she liked them. If anything, they'd been impressed by my good taste; my folks had seemed to consider her family already, and my uncle Lars had pulled me aside to congratulate me.
So I risked a question: "Why do you say that, Amanda? I thought everyone liked you, and they seem to think I'm lucky to have found you.
I
certainly think that!"
"Oh, last night. When I didn't want to join your brother and cousins in the sauna." She sounded a bit embarrassed.
"Well, it was going to be crowded. And if you don't grow up with it like we did, seeing our parents and grandparents using it that way, a nude sauna can be a bit daunting. Did anyone say something bad about it when you said no?"
"No. In fact, they said pretty much the same thing you did. But it made me feel like a little girl they were making allowances for." She sounded unhappy. After a moment she added. "I should have said yes. I didn't have any problem when it was just us two! Now they probably all think I'm a prude. Dave, do
you
think I'm a prude?"
Her last question sounded rather plaintive. And utterly ridiculous -- the words
I
might have chosen to describe her during our times together would have been something like "playful", "sexy", or even "shockingly uninhibited." But she seemed serious.
I wanted to head off that line of thought, so perhaps I answered too fast. "Of course not! Amanda, you may be modest outside the bedroom, but when we're alone together you're the most delightfully bawdy wench a man could hope for!"
"Modest? What do you mean?" Trust her to seize on that word. I tried to phase my next words as carefully as I could.
"Amanda, you aren't a prude. But you are a little ... conservative in how you dress. At work, you're very professional and don't show off. You usually wear pretty unrevealing clothes at home, too; I don't think I've ever seen you without a bra, even on weekends. That's not a bad thing, but it was one of the reasons I had trouble realizing you were interested in me -- I thought you dressed that way to discourage unwanted attention." I shrugged. "But that may just be me -- you're right that I'm Captain Clueless sometimes."
I paused a beat and added: "It's one of the reasons it hit me so hard the first time I saw you in a bikini. I'd never suspected what a nice figure you have."
"So you think I only dress like a prude?" Despite the astringent wording, she sounded slightly mollified.
"Amanda, in the bedroom that's the last word I'd use to describe you!"
"Oh? What would be your first choice?"
"Umm ... How about seductive? Demanding? Enthusiastic?"
I breathed a sigh of relief -- another quick glance showed that she was fighting to hide a smile.
ooOoo
Whatever had brought on her self-doubts, Amanda seemed to have dealt with them enough to drop the discussion. The rest of the drive home, our conversation was disjointed -- the weekend past, plans for the future, things we saw on the wayside -- but cheerful.
It still felt a little odd that "home" meant that we were living together. Even if we'd been unconsciously falling in love with each other for more than a year, admitting it -- to ourselves, even -- was much more recent, and we'd only been engaged for a couple of months. But it just made sense: her lease was almost up, and mine had nearly a year to go. After the closeness of the vacation week that had led up to our engagement we really didn't want to be separated; even before she formally moved in, we'd seldom spent a night apart.
Welcome or not, though, it had still been a major shift in our relationship. No matter how much we both wanted the closeness, being together full-time wasn't all sweetness and light. Except for college roommates, neither of us had ever lived with someone before, and it had taken some give-and-take adjustments on both our parts to make it work. But despite the bumps, it had soon felt natural to split chores, take turns cooking, and all the rest of the details of day-to-day living. Best of all, even when things felt awkward, we were together. Even if we were still learning things about one another, I was sure of one thing: she loved me as much as I did her. It still gave me a little jolt of pleasure to wake up and see her face on the pillow next to mine, and I thought -- I hoped -- it always would.
So I was in a cheerful mood as I carried our bags in. We'd gotten a late start and eaten dinner on the drive back down from Tahoe; it was late, almost bedtime. Once I'd finished unpacking -- really, just putting everything I'd worn into the clothes hamper -- I grabbed my robe and headed in to shower while Amanda was still sorting through her bags. I'd be in and out fast, so she wouldn't need to rush with her own.
As expected, she didn't -- as practical as Amanda is in most things, it hadn't taken long to learn that she's positively sybaritic about bathing when she has the chance. One of the things I liked about this apartment was that it had a tankless hot water heater -- you could shower as long as you wanted without running out of hot water, and Amanda usually took full advantage of that. So it didn't surprise me at all that she took over half an hour in the bathroom that night.
What did surprise me was what she was wearing. In private, at least, she'd proven to be comfortable in her skin, and she was an eager, uninhibited lover. But she'd usually either worn a warm, practical nightgown or chosen to go nude; I hadn't even known that she owned the scanty lingerie she was almost wearing. "Almost" because it seemed designed to more showcase than conceal the woman inside; though some key areas were slightly translucent rather than transparent, I could still easily see the shape of her body and make out the darker outlines of her nipples and her neatly-trimmed pubic patch.
She giggled happily at my pole-axed expression and did a pirouette to show it off from all angles. "Do you like it? Not bad, for a prude, is it?"
Despite her light tone, that caught my attention. Why had she brought that up again? And it was her choice of words, not anyone else's. She was showing a side I'd never seen before, and one I hadn't expected. Until today, I'd never have imagined that Amanda might think of herself that way, or worry about it if she did. She's too sensible a person, and though I'd describe her as a basically modest person she knows that she's an attractive woman. She certainly seemed to enjoy it when I look at her; she's not at all body-shy or prudish when we're alone.
I didn't think it was anything I'd said or done. I was certain I'd never said anything negative about how she dressed, and while I might have enjoyed seeing her dressed to impress, it had never been that important to me. If anything, I was relieved she didn't push things too far - I'd dated a couple of girls in the past who'd seemed to enjoy skirting the edge of the indecent exposure laws. "Modestly sexy" would have been fine, but given the choice of "elegant" and "slutty", I knew which one I preferred.
And Amanda did "elegant" well. Despite her restrained dress style, I had ample evidence of the warm, sexy woman inside the deceptively modest wrapper. I'd thought she knew who she was, and that she -- and I -- were happy with that.
But it sounded as if she might not be.
"Amanda? Where did 'prude' come from? I'm sure I've never used it -- I've never even thought it about you! Do you feel comfortable telling me why you called yourself that?" I was a little worried, but didn't want to show it; instead, I tried to sound concerned without pressing too hard.
I must have succeeded; though she didn't reply at once, after a long pause Amanda nodded. "I suppose I should."
She looked rather embarrassed, and bit her lip for a moment, but continued without further prompting. "I hadn't really thought about it until last night. But I realized that I've been letting old bad memories control how I act, and how I dress. I don't think I'm a prude. But I've been dressing and sometimes acting like I'm one. Like I'm trying to hide. And I'm tired of hiding."
"Old bad memories? How bad?" It was an effort, but I kept my voice as soft and sympathetic as I could manage.
She might have caught the effort -- she gave me a grateful smile before answering.
