Getting My Clothes Bac

Getting my clothes back.

She wakes up only to find most of her wardrobe has disappeared!

Gone for a 10-day business trip, he sets up an unexpected challenge to keep his wife occupied and entertained for the period. A story of unplanned exhibitionism and casual extramarital sex.

Introduction

This story starts on a Monday morning -- the start of a ten-day period where I would be home alone, as my husband of 15 years left for a business trip. One of the major conventions his company took part in, after his recent promotion this year he had to stay there for the full duration and then some. As I was unemployed at the time I was prepared for a very quiet period, without much to do. My husband obviously thought he should do something about that.

When I woke up that morning I almost immediately noticed the huge padlocks on the doors to our wardrobe. That was of course the moment I realised I had been set up for something, I just didn't yet realise the full extent of it. Sleepy as I still was, I decided to simply get up and go about my morning routine, worrying about the padlocks later. Shower, then to the kitchen for breakfast.

It was now that I found a note on the kitchen table, together with a red rose. It did look really sweet, in that pink envelope, even though I just knew it spelled trouble.

"Dear Charlee,

For the next ten days you will be alone, as I have to go to this fair. I'm feeling bad for having to leave you for this long, so I set up a little challenge for you that hopefully keeps you entertained until I come back. You must have noticed the padlocks on your wardrobe, they're that ridiculous in size for a reason. As you no doubt realise by now, those padlocks are part of the challenge.

The keys to those locks, as well as the clothes from your drawers, are safely"

At this point I stopped reading, dropped the letter, and ran off to the bedroom where I opened my underwear drawer. To my shock it was empty. The second drawer of the chest was also empty, the third contained some of my clothes. Two dresses, two tops, a shorty shorts and a miniskirt, together with some footwear -- one pair of stilettos, two pairs of medium heels that were fairly high but rather easy to walk on and a pair of flip flops. Items that I normally kept in the wardrobe, the one with the locks. Even the laundry basket was empty, as were all his drawers.

So that was all I was going to get for the time being. How could I possibly go out like that, without any underwear? The last thing I was interested in was to get repped for indecent exposure, or worse... Then it also dawned on me that I had a lunch appointment with some friends later in the week, which I was really looking forward to, but how to explain my state of dress? They would notice instantly my lack of a bra. At least I had one set of panties, the ones I just slept in...

With my stomach in a knot and my brain hazy and confused I slowly walked back to the kitchen, to see what more you had to say. It turned out I dropped the letter onto my pancakes, so now I had to read in it through maple syrup and butter stains. Oh well. It figures.

The keys to those locks, as well as the clothes from your drawers, are safely stored in a self storage locker. Four people, all of whom you have met before, carry a part of the solution. None of them can access the locker on their own, you must get all four parts. Three pairs of numbers to form the 6-digit key, and finally the address of the facility. The locker has been booked by a third party, so you really need that code to get access."

He really thought about everything, as usual.

The letter then gave a list of three names and phone numbers. One of the names vaguely familiar as a colleague of his, the other two not. Three? Am I not supposed to get clues from four people? Three sets of two digits and an address, that's four. This could not be a mistake, I have that much trust in his planning skills. It's not just because he got that promotion. So I continued reading.

"To get your clue from them, your task is to find and meet up with them, be theirs for the following 12 hours, and then in exchange for the clothes you have on or with you when you meet them you'll get their part of the clue. Feel free to bring your purse, it's not a piece of clothing."

Great. So sex was obviously part of the deal, so that was going to be interesting. Now I just wondered who I was being set up with. I was hoping that at the very least they would be hot, then it could be quite entertaining. It's just that after spending 12 hours with them and receiving my clue I'd have to drive home naked. Presumably it'd be late at night or early morning, so at least I would have the cover of darkness and fewer people on the streets. It also meant I had to plan the use of the very few clothes that I still had access to carefully, to at least have something decent to go and get the keys from the locker. Buying new clothes felt like cheating.

I was feeling nervous and excited at the same time. Scared as well.

Knowing they must be his friends I opened my laptop. My fingers were shaking as I logged in to my hubby's Facebook account, and sure enough, there they were. At least they all looked good in the photos. But here again a surprise: I didn't expect Morgan to be a woman. Indeed, it's a name used for both genders, but my husband knows I'm only really interested in men.

When I saw her face I realised I had met her before, at one of my husband's company functions two, three years ago. I must admit I mostly remember the guy that was at her side, her husband. A bit older than me, I estimated him to be in his early or mid 50s, making him some fifteen years older than me and seriously hot. Morgan was so nice to lend him to me for a dance or three, and he really got my juices flowing. Hubby must remember my state of arousal after that party, as I normally can easily wait until we're home. This starts to look interesting. I'd absolutely be happy to spend some private time with this guy.

Next I looked at Donald. I liked his photos. Blond, blue eyes, muscular chest and tanned. He looked young, late 20s, maybe 30. His Facebook feed showed he spent most of his time at the beach as a surfing instructor. I've always wanted to learn surfing, but why didn't he at least leave me a bathing suit of sorts? Of course on the beach I wouldn't stand out too much in my skimpy clothing, but what I had in that drawer didn't feel suitable for swimming, let alone surfing.

Now I really had no idea where I would have met him before. The letter said I knew all these people already. The whole setup suggested that there must have been some kind of attraction as well. I'm no stranger to flirting, on the contrary. A bit of a tease, a hint of seduction, just for the fun of it, and when hubby is on one of his longer trips I'm allowed to go further. However I really could not recall Donald. I wonder what he would even see in an old fart like me, easily having a decade or more on him. He looks like he won't have a shortage of female attention, especially with that job of his, getting to show off that chest all the time.

Oliver turned out to be the owner of a strip club. I am definitely owed an explanation on how my husband got to know the owner of a strip club that well. I again really could not recall having met him before. At least in his picture he looked hot, wearing a pretty nice suit. I didn't expect that for a strip club owner, but then I realised I had no idea what I expected a strip club owner to look like in the first place. Or did I meet him before... it must be. I suddenly remembered a Christmas party, a year and a half ago, where we ended up being invited by an old business acquaintance of mine. I managed to get pretty drunk, and hubby had to pull me from the embrace of this guy I was making out with at the end of the evening when our ride home arrived. That was quite embarrassing, for both of us. That's gotta be him. I smiled as I thought back to the ride home, that Uber driver no doubt ended up with yet another interesting story to tell.

Now I knew a bit more about these people, I found my phone to call them. A bit shaky, it took me a while before I got myself to enter the first number. I knew I just had to, no choice, being unable to get the keys to my clothes given this much time would constitute a total and utter fail.

I decided to start with Morgan. She answered after a few rings.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, this is Charlee, I'm looking for Morgan."

"Hi Charlee, Morgan speaking. How're you doing?", a cheerful voice responded.

"Fine, thanks. I got your number from my husband, asking me to contact you," I continued in a rather formal voice. No doubt Morgan could hear the nervousness in my voice.

"Yes, I was expecting your call. Wednesday, 2pm, at the club. That time it's always quiet, and we can have a chat about this. Don't bother dressing up."

A bit overwhelmed, I stammered my agreement, and she gave me the address of where to meet her. I was instructed to simply tell the receptionist I was her guest. Confused, I hung up. I could have known that it was all fully prepared, and that my calls were expected.

I called the next number, and it was also answered immediately.

A friendly sounding female voice answered, "Donald's surfing school, this is Donna speaking, how may I help you?"

Expecting to get Donald on the phone, not some assistant, my nerves got the best of me again. "Oh... hi... euhm... I'm looking for Donald."

"Donald isn't here at the moment, I'm his office assistant. What can I do for you?"

"Euhm... my name is Charlee, I got a note telling me to contact Donald. So that's why I'm contacting Donald. But he's not in. How can I reach him?" I stammered. I'm so not good at this.

"Oh, Charlee. Yes. Donald told me to expect your call. First time surfing for you, right?"

"Yes."

"Good, good. He told me to tell you he has scheduled you for this afternoon, at two."

"Two this afternoon. OK," I replied. So that means game on. "How can I find him?" Oh man, this was getting real, fast.

"Oh, he didn't tell you? Oh, OK, just go to the beach restaurant. La Paloma. The tapas restaurant on the north beach, we operate from there. You know?"

"I do, thanks. Sorry for sounding a bit odd in my questions, but I don't know much about this. I didn't arrange anything. I don't know what's the plan even. I mean, what should I bring? I suppose we're going surfing?" My nerves got the better of me at this point and I started rambling.

"I see. Someone else booked this for you, as a surprise gift, right?"

"I guess so..."

"Right. So what's happened, someone booked you a private introduction class for surfing, and they actually booked Donald for the whole afternoon. Much longer than usual, I hope you're fit and swim well as surfing is pretty demanding. You'll obviously be having breaks. Oh, I notice the restaurant is included, refreshments during class and dinner. You really got a nice package booked for you. Of course all equipment is included, so you're all set."

"Sounds good. I'll be there at 2. La Paloma. Right?"

"All correct. Have a nice day, and have fun, bye!"

"Bye."

A bit confused, I ended the call and put down my phone. I was too embarrassed to ask whether bathing suits are included in the promised "all equipment", I just hoped Donald would know about that part.

I looked at the clock. It was just past 10 now, meaning I had a few more hours to get ready. It was now that I remembered the mention of my purse in the letter, and realised that must be a hint. I grabbed my purse and of course there was yet another surprise. My car keys were gone, in their place I found a public transit pass. Thanks hubby dear for being so considerate. That meant I had to forego the privacy of driving, instead being subjected to the ogling schoolboys while on transit. The fact that half of my footwear consisted of high heels was also suddenly seriously unappealing. I was in for a seriously hard time remaining decent enough to get away with this all.

I grabbed my wallet and checked it -- by now unsurprisingly it was nearly empty -- just a minimal amount of cash, my ATM cards and credit cards of course gone. At least he didn't mess with my phone, so I'd be able to order food deliveries, paid by pre-registered credit card. But there would be no monetary tips available for the delivery guy... I may have to think of something else.

In the purse I also found an invitation to the opening of an art exhibition in a gallery on the other side of town on the day before hubby's return. There would be a collection of nude photos on display. That was interesting, as a year or two prior I had done a nude photo session myself. I don't remember the name of that photographer, but I very much remember he was hot, and the whole experience left me seriously wet between the legs. A handwritten note on the back of the invitation card mentioned a cafe near the gallery and a time, a few hours earlier than the opening, and presumably meant to be at that date. It was signed: Calvin. The name did not ring a bell. I figured I'd worry about this part later.

That left one final number, the strip club owner, Oliver. I've never stripped for an audience before, and that was no doubt what I was set up for. But I really wanted my clothes back before his return, if only to complete the challenge. So I got my nerves together and called the final number.

Again the call was expected. Sunday was the day, it was their weekly amateur night. A combination of open stage for girls to try stripping, and a little friendly competition that doubled as try-out for those that were serious to continue. While Oliver did admit that most of his regular girls were under 25, he didn't mind me being quite a bit older. He was of the philosophy that as long as a person feels good in their skin, they're beautiful, and that everyone should feel good in their skin as everyone can be beautiful that way. An interesting statement for a strip club operator where raw sex appeal is what his clients come for.

I was told to arrive mid afternoon for a training session, before my first time on stage that evening. Oliver confirmed that we indeed met on that Christmas party, that he very much remembers me and our flirting, that he almost pooped his pants when my husband showed up, then was very embarrassed when I gave him a final quick goodbye kiss, very confused as I simply left with my husband, and that he was definitely looking forward to seeing me again.

So that was it.

That just left me planning my clothing for the week, knowing that I would lose whatever I was wearing after each encounter. Hubby must have taken my pyjamas into account as that'd be all that I'd have left on the final day!

Luckily it was summer, sun shining, a beautiful day, and the weather forecast called for more of the same for the week to come. At the very least I was dressed somewhat appropriately for the season. The long evenings were also a plus, as the last thing I would want in those clothes, or lack of it, is to be out alone after dark...