It seems that my sex life is like waves breaking on the beach-they build up, crash with a lot of energy, and then withdraw. Sometimes, though, there is a dangerous rip tide-I call it
PMS.
I'm not sure what it was that set me off. But I can remember how I wound up at the hotel. "Fine!" I shouted, furious at some look he gave me or stupid thing that he said. "
You
make dinner.
You
take the kids to school in the morning!
You
make breakfast. I...I'm going to a hotel for the night!"
"Honey..." he sighed.
Oh his
sigh
! How it infuriated me! I stormed into the bedroom and grabbed the smallest bikini I had, a black little number that barely fit me even before my period started to blow me up. Then I grabbed the sexiest outfit I had β black silk top, black bra, black mini with a long slit up the side and my black garters and stockings. I stuffed the clothes into a suitcase, slammed it shut and stormed out of the house.
My husband called after me. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know!" Of course, I did. I was going to treat myself to the nicest hotel in Fort Lauderdale. I was going to lay on the beach and relax and have a nice dinner. I was going to drink expensive wine. I was going to pamper myself.
I arrived at the hotel at two, slipped on my bikini and managed to get a couple of hours of sun. I showered and dumped the rest of the contents of the suitcase. When I got dressed and looked in the mirror, I froze. The sultry vamp staring back at me almost frightened me. Maybe, I thought, I should have worn panties. But, no, it's so hard to take them off with garters on. Oh well, I
did
want to be looked at. I actually wanted to be ogled and, when I crossed my legs and my bare thighs showed above the top of my stockings, I
would
be ogled.
I went to the hotel restaurant and ordered a thick steak and a salad and, by seven o'clock. Afterward, I sat at the bar, sipped a club soda and waited for the parade of oglers. By seven o'clock I was bored to tears. Just as I was about to go to my room to lay in bed, I became vaguely aware of the little man sliding up next to me and clearing his throat. "What...what will this get me?" he stammered.
I glared at him with angry, smoking eyes. He was about five four, balding, chubby and dressed in a wrinkled suit. Under his hand were three hundred dollar bills that he inched towards me. I, in my insanity, was going to say something like-
what can you get with that? How about a few new wardrobes at Goodwill?
But then I realized what he was asking. He thought I was a hooker! I didn't know whether I should have been angry or excited. The wetness between my legs gave away the answer. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, letting the slit in my skirt fall open. "What do you think you can get?" I asked.
"Oral...relief," he gulped.
God how I struggled not to laugh.
Oral relief
!? But I was cool. "Normally," I huffed, "you wouldn't even get manual relief, but I have a half hour to kill." I wrote my room number on a napkin, slid it to him, took the three hundred and motioned for him to follow me.