Part One
Okay, so to begin with, this is not only the very first story my husband Mike and I ever sat down to write together, you should also know that it is the completely true account of how he nudged me into admitting a few VERY naughty things about myself, things that I had kept on a very tight leash up until then. Not only did he coax me into admitting who and what I really was at last, but also into embracing my inner Bad Girl and enjoying her to the fullest, without shame or second thoughts.
We had been together only about four months, and I knew I had something I needed to get off my (42DD--ahem!) chest. I had kept it from Mike because, well, it's hard to say now why I did, actually. I wanted him to know, I wanted to be completely open and honest with him, but I had somehow convinced myself that he would react badly to this particular part of me, probably even break up with me when he learned the sordid truth.
Since we had just decided to get married around that time, you can imagine how worried I was about such a thing happening, although I had no real basis for thinking my confession would bother him. For one thing, he had never for a moment shown the slightest hint of jealousy, possessiveness, or insecurity. In fact, his rock-solid confidence, the way he was so obviously quite comfortable in his own skin--sure of who he was, never a trace of anything but proud of it, at the same time never coming across as conceited or boastful--was one of the things I was most attracted to, and a HUGE turn-on for me. Mike was, and is, a MAN. And hey, I LIKE men. God KNOWS I like men!
But still, I was worried, and kept putting off The Big Conversation. After I mentioned that I had a few things I'd like to talk over with him, there were several days of nervous dithering before I finally screwed up the nerve one Saturday afternoon when we were both home and decided I would just...tell him.
"Honey, can you come into the bedroom for a sec? We need to talk about something. Something important, something serious." He told me later that my somber, grave tone and long, anxious face nearly caused him to have a heart attack right then and there; his very first thought, he said, was that he'd done something so terrible, so godawful and unforgivable I was about to break up with him and move out over it. To tell the truth, he DID go a little pale at the time, but that only occurred to me well after my ordeal was over and done. I was WAY too preoccupied with my own mounting anxiety to notice then.
We sat down hip to hip on our big King-sized bed, the bed I loved so much for all the hot, sweaty, sexy memories we had already made in it, and I swallowed hard while he sat down next to me, clearly getting nervous now himself. I said I had something I needed to tell him about, something from my past I hadn't shared with him yet, and it was a big enough, bad enough thing that I was afraid it might make him upset or angry with me. I could only hope he could find it deep in his heart to realize that it had nothing whatsoever to do with our relationship, and that he could forgive me and overlook it.
