Viv and Harv Robinson's anniversary fell on a Sunday. To celebrate the quarter-century of their legally coupling in the eyes of the state and God, Viv had the bright idea of spicing up their perfunctory conjugal interlude that she knew Harv would engage in only as a token courtesy to her (or else face the silent deep freeze for the next six months). She got the notion from a woman's magazine that dared to broach the kinkier side to human sexuality nestled between an article about organizing your bathroom sundries and another pertaining to expert nail care.
For his gift, Harv had bumped up their life insurance policies. He had set a dry kiss on her cheek with the trite explanation that neither of them were getting any younger and that they needed to prepare for the event that either of them could go at any time from heart attack or some other equally acute health problem. Viv had smiled to cover the hard swallow she took for the gruesome thought.
Viv knew Harv had long since lost interest in her sexually, beginning with the arrival of their first-born just six months beyond nuptials followed by their second two years later. Suffering the daily grind as a public accountant with a local tax firm to provide for his family didn't help raise the libido factor. Viv had tried enticing perfumes, naughty negligees, ersatz-Spanish Fly, sex toys, and Tantric techniques to get him aroused, but Harv remained perennially placid and flaccid. With their two sons grown and gone from the nest, Viv grew more desperate to fill the void. She craved the ravishing affection her husband managed to dole out over his shiny candy-apple red late-model Corvette but not on her. Since shiny red things seemed to turn Harv on, she'd give him something shiny and red to polish then bite into for their anniversary.
Her project had been four months in the making. She swiped Harv's tape measure from his tool box to gauge how much space would be required to carry out her project. She shopped for her props, beginning with a beat-up 1950s steamer trunk, procured from a junk shop in Baltimore some fifteen minutes from her home in Glen Burnie. Later she came across a cane chair with heat-shaped back and tattered padded seat. A four-foot mirror left her by her grandmother would complete the assembly.
The chair and mirror were easy for her to sneak into the house and hide away in a closet, but the trunk remained the unconcealed ugly white elephant. As soon as Harv saw the teal-and-terracotta tiled territory of his beloved gas grill and patio set irreverently infringed upon by a worthless piece of moldy junk, he pettifogged. Viv did her best to convince her husband that she had nowhere else to put it, that she planned to restore it and re-sell it -- a notion he dismissed with a grunt as he settled on the couch with his beer and pretzels to watch the Ravens v. Steelers game.
While Harv sated himself on beer and ball, Viv set to cleaning up the 56" x 30" x 30" upright 1933 cedar-lined trunk. On days when Harv was at the office, she applied layer after layer of bright red lacquer to its exterior shell. Once dry, she lined the inside walls with quilted pink satin padding. She used the same material to cover the torn seat of the chair with the heart-shaped back.
The last addition was the mirror mounted inside the trunk's cover. She wedged it in at an angle from the lip of the lid's front to its top. This way, she could sit and observe herself without completely closing the cover. With the affects in order, she practiced sitting inside the upright trunk and pulled the lid partially closed. She would have to let her eyes adjust to the dimness, but her arrangement would suffice for her purposes.
Two weeks before the big event, she purchased several silver satin sashes. She'd sit before the trunk's interior mirror and hold the long strands of fabric strategically over her body. She tested the fabric's thickness and tautness. Her final addition to the props was a set of fur-lined handcuffs.
On Saturday, she asked Harv to help her move the trunk to their bedroom. When he asked why, she explained she wanted to put it in a boudoir setting to take digital pictures before posting it on an online auction. When he commented how no one in their right mind would buy a furnishing so godawfully, glaringly red, she gave him that face she knew would made him cringe and do as she asked. He grumbled about his back then called up Jake to come by and help carry the ghastly trunk up the stairs of the split-level tract house and into their bedroom.
Jake Morgenstern was their tenant. To make a little extra on the side, Harv thought it would be a good idea to rent out the basement once the boys had moved out. The story of how Jake wound up being the likely candidate remained a jumble in Viv's mind. She heard Harv had met him in a bar somewhere, that Jake explained how he was an unemployed veteran living on disability for a war injury, and that Jake could certainly be useful doing odd jobs to keep up the place. He'd been living downstairs for six months and proved to be a pleasant, respectful young man. Forty-six year old Viv thought she heard him say he was in his thirties.
The trunk in place, Sunday began in the usual fashion. Harv got up and went for his five-minute jog to try and maintain the forty extra pounds he'd gained over the past two decades. He finished in time to snarf down Viv's breakfast of French roast coffee and oatmeal bars. Then he worked out on the weight machine in the rec room until he barely broke a second sweat. By ten a. m., he was out in the driveway lovingly lathering turtle wax over the sleek airfoil frame of his red Corvette. Like suburban clockwork, Jake popped out of the basement to split up a six-pack, talk sports and ogle the ritual.
While doing the breakfast cleanup, Viv stared out the kitchen window and marveled at the two men sharing their common interests with enviable intimacy. Her bulging hubby with wisps of blonde thinly coating his pale pate had a good fifteen years on Jake, their swinging single, gym-trim tenant with his chiseled features and full head of lavish chestnut hair. Despite his superior youth, strength and attractiveness, Jake admired Harv for achieving the Dream by owning a home, putting kids through college, having a devoted wife and a bright red Corvette – everything a god-fearing, sports-loving, hard-working American guy wanted in life. By his third beer, Harv had set a soapy arm about Jake's pumped-up shoulders as though to take him under his plump wing as a lifestyle mentor.
Viv wondered what the two men spent hours talking about. Harv could hardly entertain a two-minute conversation with her at any given time. Miffed, she turned away from the scene to raid a bottle of Vodka from the liquor cabinet. Using a store-bought mix, she brewed up and sucked down three Bloody Maries. When the buzz was just right, she penned a note on a tablet atop the kitchen table. It read: "Your Silver Anniversary gift awaits you in the bedroom, my love. Tell Jake to go then come and enjoy the surprise I have in store." She proceeded upstairs to the bedroom to set up the extravaganza.
The cherry red trunk stood before her. She took the longest and widest of the silver sashes and draped it from the top of the trunk and down over the lid. In the center she fastened a large bow and pinned on a cardboard tag printed in computer-generated Edwardian Script: "For my One and true Love on Our Anniversary. Don't Wait to Open." Dangling from the end of the bow was a small key. She applied generous quantities of mascara and liner around her sea-green eyes then thickly lacquered her lips with shocking red smudge-free lipstick. She brushed and perfumed her auburn-hair-from-a-box before stripping naked but for a black thong and a pair of a pair of black stilettos. She made sure to empty her bladder before taking her place on the chair inside the trunk. Once settled. She pulled the lid to the angle whereby she could gather in enough light to see her reflection in the mirror.
In her hands she held the strips of satin along with the handcuffs. She set the items on her lap then bent down to wrap a satin band around her ankles. She looped it twice tightly and tied a large bow at the top of her feet. She did likewise around her knees, her pelvic area, and her breasts with large bows centered down her front. She took up another sash and drew it between her teeth. She wrapped it around her head and brought its ends back over her mouth where she tied a thick double knot and a large bow. She studied the reflection of her bright red lips pursed around the silver bow. She straightened the bows so they would line up evenly down the center of her body. The feel of the bands riding across her sensitive areas and the silken knot holding down her tongue filled her with tingling titillation.
