That's the deal.
*****
As little sister Amy, I was always shy and self-conscious. I didn't really have much going for me in the looks department when I was a kid, which contributed greatly to my poor self-image. I never wanted attention drawn to me; I wore conservative clothing for all occasions, and primarily interacted with only a few female friends.
Fortunately, when I was growing up boys were never really mean to me - they primarily ignored me. They probably were never mean because they didn't want to irritate my older sister or mother - both of whom had goddess status in our community. I had only a few dates my freshman through junior years in High School, with nice but nerdy guys.
It didn't help that my older sister was not only always beautiful, but was elected "queen" anytime there was an election (Homecoming, Prom, Miss Town-that-we-grew-up-in, you name it). Nor did it help that my mother was not only as good looking as my sister but was considered "plasma hot" by all of the men - and boys - that she came into contact with. The term "MILF" could have been coined with my mother in mind.
Not possibly being able to compete with either my sister or mother I became as withdrawn as they were vivacious, and as unadventurous as they were audacious. My physical appearance ultimately changed quickly, but my outlook never really did.
According to everyone who knew me I had a real metamorphosis between my 18th and 19th birthdays, my senior year in High School. I went from being a proverbial wallflower to being constantly ogled by virtually every heterosexual male in my school. Among the many changes that occurred were: my skin cleared up completely so that my complexion changed from acne-prone to sparkling; my hair got a luster that I never had as a child, and natural auburn streaks; my boobs went from an A cup to a D cup, and my nipples seemed to get proportionately even larger; my ass got round; I lost eight to ten pounds to my present weight of 128 pounds despite the fact that I grew two inches to my present height of five feet seven; and my thighs got sculptured. Only the sculptured thigh part (and partially the weight loss) did I have anything to do with, by constant exercise; the rest was my mother's genes finally coming through.
Once I was into my full-fledged metamorphosis my mother suddenly started to take an interest in my appearance - something that she had never really done before. While Mom had always been kind to me, until my transformation she never really complimented me on my looks, or encouraged me to get the best that I could out of my appearance. I guess that she figured that I just didn't have much to work with. However, when my face cleared up and my boobs erupted she started giving me hair and makeup tips, and "poise" suggestions.
My physical evolution was apparently complete when my father seemingly honestly told me -in my mother's presence - that I was as beautiful as my mother was; and she said "more beautiful, darling," as she hugged me.
*****
Having been basically a recluse for so long, my physical makeover didn't result in a commensurate alteration of my personality or outlook on life. I continued to dress conservatively, eschewed being the center of attention, and remained shy. Even constant efforts by dozens of guys to get me to date them didn't snap me out of my condition, although I did go out on some dates, including to the senior prom where I was elected to the Court. I also actually made out with a few guys and even let one feel me up.
After High School I got a job as a secretary at an Insurance Agency and went to Junior College at night. While many women would have loved the male attention that I got both at work and at school, it was too unsettling for me. I quit my job after six months and started working for an exclusively on-line company doing order fulfillment, so that I no longer constantly got hit on. I did continue with Junior College, however, and got an associate's degree in business administration after two years and two summers, and continued with the regular exercise program that I had started my sophomore year in High School.
I did date some during this time, but it seemed like most of the guys that hit on me wanted me to be some sort of wild, hip, skip-and-go-naked Momma - and that just wasn't my nature. Therefore I had no relationship that lasted more than four dates.
Just before my twenty first birthday I met twenty three year old Derek Jones in the stands at a Junior College baseball game. He was different from most of the other guys that I had met or dated in that he didn't really come on strong, and respected my inhibitions rather than trying to change me. He was the first guy that I had intercourse with. Although sex was not the toe-curling, mind-blowing experience that I had read about - or had been told about by my sister, who does have a tendency for hyperbole - it was very nice. Derek was gentle and considerate, and I fell in love with him.
Derek and I got married after dating exclusively for about fourteen months. I went from the distinctive last name of "Bertelsen," to the fifth most common surname in the United States, "Jones."
Derek's attitude toward my inhibitions seemed to change shortly after we got married. At first it was almost imperceptible. "Hey, Amy. Did you see Kate Upton in that yellow bikini? I'll bet that you'd look even better in it that she does."
"Oh, Derek, don't be ridiculous. Of course I wouldn't. Plus, that's way too revealing for me to be seen wearing in public."
"What, afraid that you'd be responsible for too many heart attacks?" he replied, followed by a laugh, a twirl, and a kiss.
Some of our best friends had pools, and during the summer after we had been married about eight months we started attending pool parties. Looking back on it, Derek may have been partly responsible for what started to be more and more peer pressure on me to "loosen up" at the parties.
All of the other women at the pool parties went from bikinis, to string bikinis, to sometimes sunbathing topless for part of the time. I remained in a fashionable, but far from daring, one-piece suit. Typical of the ever escalating girl talk was:
"Amy; if I had your body I'll flaunt it, girl."
"Hey, Amy, that one piece just doesn't do it for you. You'd kill just in a regular bikini."
"Amy, my husband Rick has asked for only one thing for his birthday - to talk you into going topless for just one minute at the next pool party!"
Despite the best efforts of all of my friends I went through the summer conservatively dressed. However, I kept Derek from complaining too much by ensuring that we had sex as soon as we got home. By that time, having been married about a year, I was no longer particularly reserved around him, and certainly had no hang-ups about having sex in many different positions. Sex with Derek was almost always satisfying - more so after pool parties - although still never the mind-blowing experience that I had been told about by my girlfriends, all of whom I assumed were exaggerating.
Once the summer, and the associated pool parties, ended Derek seemed to begin a full-fledged campaign to get me to dress more provocatively everywhere that we went. At first I brushed it off. However, after several months it really started to get irritating.
"What is this thing of yours to get me to look like a slut?" I finally inquired after he insisted that I wear the totally skanky looking outfit he bought me a night we were supposed to go to a nightclub with friends. "My boobs would spill out of that, and anyone could see my camel toe if I bent over."
