Date: September 3, 1995
Bud and I started dating when we were sophomores in high school. We went to the same college together, married after we graduated. We have a nice home, but Bud does not want children.
Our home is outside the city limits. I don’t have any girlfriends nearby. I can not get Bud to take me to the movies, or even out to eat. Dancing? Not in the last three years. Bud is a good dancer. We danced together in school. But now he works, and then comes home. Period.
Things have to change, or I’m going to file for divorce. That is how drastic this problem is.
Oh, I should mention that when we have sex, it is good. Bud complains that once every two weeks is not enough.
Here comes Bud in now.
“Bud, have you seen today’s paper?”
“Yes, Honey. Why do you ask?”
“Did you notice that their having the Policeman’s Ball in three weeks?”
“No. Don’t pester me about going.”
Raising my voice. “Damn you, Bud. It is time for you to take a look at yourself. You owe me some fun times, something that I want to do. You owe me.”
As Bud turned my way, his face was beet red. “Owe you? Owe you?” Screaming now, “You mean that I should take her majesty out so she can display her body, tits, and face to everyone, Yaw, there goes lucky Bud. He gets to sleep with her. Lucky Bud, who gets sex only two God damn, motherfucking, son-of-a-bitchen nights a God damn month. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. You’re a kid in a woman‘s body.”
Sobbing, I ran upstairs, slammed the bedroom door behind me, throwing myself onto the bed. Never before had Bud turned on me like that. After I settled down, one thing he said ran over and over in my mind. “You’re a kid in a woman’s body.”
What did he mean by that? Was that the key to his taking me out?
Pouting. A woman has to pout. I started downstairs. Whoa. Kids pout. I let my face soften.
“Can we talk, Bud?”
Looking at me to see what face I was wearing, and trying to determine how I had taken his comments, Bud said to me. “Yes Betsy, we can talk.”
“If we each change, maybe we can be happy?”
“It would take a lot of changes, Betsy.”
“Like what?” I was expecting that he would want sex once a week, or maybe even have me give him a blow job.
“If you are serious, I have some things for you to read. It will take a couple hours of your time.”
“Okay.”
He brought up on the computer a site called “Literotica.” Soon, he had on screen the list of the “Loving Wives” top stories.
“I want you to read the first twenty-five stories. You are to consider what these women do for there husbands. Make a list of five daring thing that you are willing to do to arouse me. If you come up with a list, and then do the things on the list, indicating that you are willing to become a real woman, I will happily take you to dances, or whatever, that you wish to go to.”
As I begin to read, a thought came to mind. I had been shopping with Elaine Donaldson, a local girl, who I had known for years. She saw Bud coming down the street. Turning to me, she had said, “Betsy, I’ll bet you have no idea how many women would like to steal Bud away from you. He is one gorgeous hunk of man.”
I frowned as I also thought that he was very successful. His income last year was eighty-three thousand dollars. Perhaps I had been playing with fire when I demanded that things go only my way.
Oh, my God! The “Literotica” stories were not a how-to for husband and wife sex. No, they were far more exotic, more adult. These women were flirting, playing sex games, even sleeping with other men, sometimes right in front of their husband, with their husband’s approval. Is this what Bud wanted? When I got to the twenty-first story, I found out exactly what my husband was thinking. It was called, “Last Chance For a Cold Wife.” The story had an eerie ring to it. When I checked the writer’s profile, I knew why. The e-mail address of the writer was Bud’s.
In the story, it was not a dance that caused the wife to come to the husband wanting to know what she could do to save their marriage. It was the husband having an affair. The wife had agreed to five things to prove she is really a woman who wanted to preserve their marriage. I read and reread the five thing at least twenty-five times.
1) Wife will go to any bar/club of her husband’s choosing for a period of two hours from time to time. While there, she can not say no.
2) The wife will allow an ad to be placed in a swinger site asking for men to meet with her for sex. She is to meet with one new man each month. She is to tell the husband the details of the meetings.
3) The husband will pick out the clothes for her to wear on these occasions.
4) The husband agrees not to have any affairs, but he may have sex with any strange women he meets who resides more then fifty miles from his home.
5) Should the wife take a job, she is to agree to having sex with her boss, or any of the clients that the boss wants her to.
Bud had not missed a trick when he wrote his story. His story was written July 13th. I had mentioned to him on the 8th that I was considering taking a job with Herman Brown Imports. I had interned for the company when I was in college. Mr. Brown had offered me a position paying very well. Recently, he had phoned, again asking if I was interested. I had said to Bud, “I would love to take that job. Except that one of the older woman warned me that he would expect me to have sex with him, and some of his customers.”
Right in front of me, in black and white, was Bud’s reaction to that. He wanted me to be taken by Mr. Brown. He wanted Mr. Brown to take me to meet with some client. He wanted them to take me to a hotel room. He wanted them to have their way with me. Their way with me? I was shaking. I had always been totally in control. Their way with me…
That’s what this was all about. I had it now. If I let all these things happen to me, there was no doubt in Bud’s mind that he could have sex with me when and how he wanted it. He wanted me to experience all sorts of sexual situations, so that I would become a savvy, experienced, woman. Their way with me!
Sitting there in the quiet of his den, with Bud in the living room, it seemed so easy, clean, neat. That’s all that I had to agree to. That’s all.
I typed the five conditions, word for word. Under the heading, “I dare to:”
At the bottom it read, This agreement is in effect from September 3, 1995 until December 3, 1995. Signed, Betsy Morse.
I walked upstairs. I handed the agreement to Bud, who read it before saying, “Since it is Saturday tomorrow, you and I will go shopping for clothes for you.” Looking me in the eye, he added, “You will be going out to a club that I know of tomorrow night.” A gleam came to his eye as he added, “If you put on a good show, I’ll buy tickets to the Ball, Monday.”
During my shower, I decided that I would decide if I really should go through with this based on the clothes that Bud wanted me to wear. After all, I would not look like a slut for anyone. There!
Bud took me to a small shop that I had never seen before which was located close to his office. It was very pricey. The first outfit that he chose for me was a high neck, satin dress, with long sleeves. It was burgundy, with black trim. “It is adorable,” I told him.
Bud, turning to the sales woman said, “please measure her. I want this to be form fitting. I would expect that you can accentuate her breasts.”
“Certainly, Sir.”
His next choice was a soft, red, velvet, low, neckline-cut dress that went well below my knees, but had a slit up the left side. There was black scroll strips on each side. After finding one that generally fit me, Bud said the woman, “Please lower the neckline two inches. Be sure that it is tight below the breasts. And, we will need to see a nice platform bra which lifts her as much as possible.”
Bud told me. “Pick out some black garter belts, and black hose, plus matching three-inch high heel shoes. From now on, you will not be wearing any panties, so don’t bother looking at them.”
I was about to protest the whole thing when Bud turned to long rack of full length ballroom gowns. Picking out a pink one that was beautiful beyond words, he said,“this would be perfect for you to wear to the Policeman’s Ball, say what?”
I was so excited. We went to the “Emerald” for lunch. After, we returned to the dress shop. All the dresses were ready. I tried each one on. Each contrasted beautifully with my skin, which is milky white, since I do not get a tan for fear of skin cancer. They also contrasted with my hair, which is coal black, and falls to six inches below my neck. No one had to tell me that they were stunning. I had never worn anything like them in my life. When I caught Bud’s eye, he gave me a wink.
Bud surprised me by telling me to dress in the high-neck, long-sleeve, burgundy dress Saturday night. All my fear of the evening evaporated. Who would come on to a woman in a classy outfit like this one? Yes, I might have to make small talk with some guy, but a man would be very careful when he talked to a woman dressed in as fine an outfit as this.
Bud was dressed in a black tux when he came downstairs. We lived at the time in Foxboro, Massachusetts. He got on I-95 south, then took I-495 south to route 6. I noticed the sign, Hyannis. Bud stopped the car. “Betsy. The club that we are going to is one of the most exclusive clubs in the United States. The members are the movers and shakers of the eastern US. Do you remember when we went to Phil Steins wedding. A very important man, after seeing you, approached me. He suggested to me that some of the member would be interested in having us attend a few nights to determine if we and they might be comfortable in pursuing a membership for us. He said that I should discuss it with Phil, who would fill me in on what social events took place. I did. Phil said that probably both the women and men members would come on to us. In my position, I can not have you blow off some corporate president. So remember, you are not to say no.”
We pulled up to an estate, complete with guards, located on the water. We got out at the main entrance. A valet took the car to the parking lot.
All this was nothing like I had imagined going to a club would entail. The place was enormous. Later, I was to learn that it is thirty-thousand square feet, with twenty-two enjoyment rooms, each with its own gold plated bathroom. And let us not forget, mirror ceiling. It would not take second fiddle to the “Playboy Mansion.”
What the hell am I doing here? I thought. I’m a twenty-six year old woman, with an associate degree, who grew up in Manchester, New Hampshire, a one-horse old mill town. Who on earth would be interested in having a conversation with me? I know, I thought, if I just sort of slowly walk around, no one will notice me.
Bud whispered in my ear. “Phil told me that we should separate so that the members can meet us separately. I just asked a waiter. He said that there is a lounge set up in that area. You go through that door there. Go sit on one of the sofas. I’ll wait a while. Then I’ll come peek to see how things are going for you. Have a good time. Remember, you are not to say no.” He was gone.
The lounge area was bigger then most restaurants. Instead of tables and chairs, there were deep sofas, and large love seats. As soon as I was seated a waiter appeared. “Drink, Madam?”
“Gin and tonic please.”
There was a jazz quartet playing softly. They had just started Nat King Cole’s version of “Route 66” when a gentleman asked me, “May I sit down?”
