Wife Watches On
"Darling, do you think I should buy some new underwear?"
At first, I didn't look up from my phone to engage with my wife who was poking her head around the living room door. I needed time to think. My initial thought whilst still scrolling on my phone was: Is this a trick question? I had to work out the parameters of the potential answers so as to not fall into any bear traps that could have been strategically laid. It should be a simple yes or no answer. Both answers had their problems.
"What and why?" I played the confused role as I finally looked up.
"Ben, it's just that I've just been thinking about it for a bit. Most of my bras and panties are literally falling apart. I got a load of them before we got married."
That seemed an innocent enough reason for the subject. I had not bought myself any recently either. "They've lasted pretty well - six years?" I hadn't meant to turn that into a question, but I always struggle to work out how long we've been married.
Sarah pointedly raised an eyebrow. "Seven."
Seven years... When we were dating, showing off new thongs and bras was often an excuse for Sarah to strip and happily show off her sexy body. She loved to do a fashion show just for me. It was a long time now since she had last done that, and I hadn't noticed her wearing new underwear - then again, my main interest in Sarah's underwear had always been just how quickly I could remove it.
"As always, darling," I said carefully, "it's up to you." Still, it was unusual for Sarah to be asking me about underwear, of all things, when she had work to do. "Aren't you meant to be writing that report?"
Sarah scowled. She had a looming deadline of the following Monday morning and had been working practically night and day for the past week to achieve it. "I am. Honestly, I'm just having a five-minute time-out, thinking about things, that's all."
"Okay," I said, holding my hands up in mock surrender, "I'm not your task manager." In these situations, I just try to make her happy. "Maybe," I added with an impish grin, "I could buy and wrap up some exciting underwear for your birthday?"
She inquisitively tilted her head. I could see in her eyes that she was definitely thinking about it, but a second later they clearly said no. "Ben, thank you, that would be lovely... but I do actually want them to fit."
That hurt, like a forceful punch to the solar plexus. I had once, shortly after the wedding, spent a small fortune on some lacy pink lingerie from Victoria's Secret. It got worn once and was never seen again. I later got told it itched. So much for me being romantic.
I looked up at her and tried to smile. "True. In that case, shall I bring you up a coffee?"
"Is that a hint I should get back to work?"
"Maybe, but trust me. You will look amazing in whatever you wear. Or don't wear."
She rolled her eyes a little at that but smiled. "Aw, thank you, you are sometimes an amazing sweetie."
"Maybe just close that M&S browser down and focus on the report?" I know that I really should let her do what she wants, but my mouth opens before I can close it.
Sarah gave me an intense penetrating stare. "Yes, Sir," she said with a sarcastic salute, turned and laboriously thudded back up the stairs to the spare room.
During the lockdown, the spare bedroom (not the box room, which was actually full of boxes) had been transformed into a workspace. The desk was up against the window so that she could look out during the day, and we spent a fortune on a brand-new leather chair, an IKEA desk and a bright desk light. The sense of space and comfort makes it a very nice room to work in, and we've kept it that way ever since. It's so comfortable in there she now hides for what seems like days on end. Most weekdays, Sarah is back in the office in town, but there's a lot of pressure on her to write reports that are always of course urgent and keep her working sometimes long into the night. Her excuse for working from home whenever she can is that the phone is not constantly ringing to distract her.
I made her a decaf coffee as she often complains that she can't sleep at bedtime and took it up the stairs. As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard the click of a light switch, and I entered the room to find her sitting in the almost dark, the only light coming from the small desk lamp and the computer screen. I put the drink down on the coaster beside the keyboard, kissed her on the top of the head and returned down the stairs and settled back on the sofa.
It was about an hour later, and I was half asleep in front of the television watching David Attenborough either talking about or fighting a lion or something supposedly interesting, I wasn't watching, when Sarah joined me on the sofa. "I've been thinking," she said tentatively, her phone held nervously and angled away from me. "What if I..."
I sat up straight, blinking, unsure whether to be intrigued or concerned. "Go on."
"What if I were to wear something like this to work?" She turned the phone so that I could see it.
There was a very pretty brunette with tanned, flawless skin wearing a matching bra-and-thong set. Very sexy at first glance, with scarlet red lace, and already very unlikely to be worn anywhere except bed. But what really had me spluttering in utter surprise was that the thong was crotchless.
Of course, the model was photographed in such a way with her thighs together that her vagina wasn't seen, but that didn't stop me quickly trying to imagine that I had got a glimpse of it.
"Um," was all I said.
Maybe buying expensive, lacy underwear was something in early twenties; now it was very out of her character. Sarah was someone who, as our marriage has gone on, and definitely more recently, had bought the cheapest, most comfortable range of clothing available. She often bought her clothing a size too big, just for comfort, as style and sexyness did not come as part of her wheelhouse. Sexy underwear was reserved for the most special of occasions. Nowadays, even those events are now extremely rare.
"Thank you, darling. I will buy them." She took the phone off me and smiled happily as she focused on the screen again. Nodding away, she turned and hummed a happy tune as she headed up the stairs.
We don't have children. Taking the pill each night is almost a religious regime, something that is double-checked before the lights go off. Sarah is determined to put her career first, and I have always supported her fully in this. I have my own career to work on too, and although the idea of having kids one day does appeal, I'm in no hurry to embrace fatherhood and all the responsibility that goes along with it.
One of the benefits of there being no children is that Sarah could, if she wanted, wear sexy lingerie around the house. As exciting as that idea was, it was alarmingly out of character for her. Clearly something was going on. Was this a sign that her body clock was ticking? We hadn't had a deep and meaningful conversation on the if or when of trying to conceive. Not recently, anyway.
Or was it something else? I was really quite happy with our marriage routine, but was Sarah? Were we, maybe, 'stuck in a rut'? Or was I all in a panic over nothing? Maybe it was just a whimsical fantasy of hers...
Eventually, about an hour later, she returned to the lounge and settled down next to me with a chocolate biscuit and a cup of tea to watch a repeat of last week's Gardeners' World. Nothing further was said about the sexy underwear and eventually I dismissed it all as a bizarre and momentary fantasy.
That night, however, once I was in bed, she undressed and didn't bother to get into her usual warm, snuggly, cotton pyjamas. She practically dived into bed, grinning and very naked, and landed heavily on me as she gave me a very passionate kiss. I felt the cold air of the bedroom as she snatched the duvet out the way but quickly forgave her as she reached down and slowly began to tease my swelling cock.
With a smile of seductive promise, she shuffled down the bed and wrapped her warm lips about my now erect length, provoking a moan of startled pleasure from me. Normally I have to submit a request in writing, three weeks in advance. In triplicate. That night, I didn't even mention it. Sarah was energised and intense. Her eyes glimmered with excitement as she stroked and sucked. Amazing as this delightful blowjob was, her confidence and determination growing as the tension built within me, my hips thrusting up urgently to meet her devouring mouth, it did seem to me that Sarah was almost possessed.
Sarah was so hungry for sex that night she practically consumed me. Don't get me wrong, I didn't complain. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. It was loving, it was passionate, it was intense... It was just completely out of character.
But if putting last week's Gardeners' World on the TV had that response, I would absolutely put it on every night for her to give me sex like that.
***
Sarah questioned me the following morning. She was intently spreading the butter on the bread as she dutifully made my sandwiches before I went off to work. "Have you heard or seen if the Jones on Firkin Drive have maybe got in a young lodger?"
I watched on as I did my tie up as she picked up two slices of ham and put them on the bread, squeezing the other slice on top. I had to think. I had not seen them - or, more accurately, heard them - for a while. "No, I haven't. What gives you that idea?"
Gordon Jones was getting on a bit. He kept himself busy in the shed and, at times, was extremely loud and frequent with his hammering and banging, thus the distinctive yells of "Goooordon" from his wife, Felicity, who was forever standing at the back door, hands on hips, demanding attention. She was a slim brunette, far younger than Gordon. You could see why he married her. She was extremely easy on the eye with her rather large chest and matching hips. Our house backs on to theirs, sharing a slatted wooden fence. It gave no noise protection, especially when he was hammering away in the shed.
