Note to readers: Thanks to everyone for the feedback, especially from those other middle-aged moms (and boy are there a lot of you!) for whom my story struck a nerve. Keep the ideas (and yourselves!) coming! I may incorporate some of the suggestions in a later, fictional, chapter, but for the next few episodes I want to tell the story as it actually unfolded.
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I lay there, motionless, watching my husband emerge from the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around his waist. Thanks to twelve years of regular exercise, he was in good shape for a 42 year old – muscular legs, solid arms and a broad chest. A slight spare tire around his waist was the only part of him that wasn't in good shape.
I closed my eyes and thought back to the previous night, amazed by the sexual energy we had produced. I couldn't remember the last time Jack had come twice in one session. And had I really passed out from my climax? Was that all from both of us fantasizing about me having sex with Derek?
As Jack brushed his teeth and put in his contact lenses, I decided that if the fantasy could generate THAT much excitement, I'd play along with it. I didn't actually have to fuck Derek, after all, I just had to prepare myself the way Jack wanted, right? And maybe I'd flirt a little bit and then come home and I'd tell Jack about it and we'd screw like teenagers.
Who knows, maybe Derek was a happily married regular church-goer. (Though, I realized, so was I). Maybe he was gay.
But I sure wasn't going to do anything to derail this little fantasy that had done so much to spark both of our libidos.
I opened my eyes as I felt Jack climbing onto the bed, wearing only a pair of boxers. "That has got to be the best 'welcome home' I have EVER had," he said with a smile as he kissed my forehead. "Mmmmmmm-hmmmmmmm," I purred in response, "hope you liked it as much as I did."
He pulled back the sheet and rubbed his hand slowly down the camisole. "Black silk looks so good against your white skin," he said, brushing a finger across an exposed nipple. "I think we should get you a lacy, black bra for Tuesday."
My heart started pounding – OK, he was serious about the plan he had detailed last night.
"If you think black lace would get Derek's attention," I whispered, "then black lace it'll be." I saw his smile widen and his eyes sparkle as his hand worked its way south.
"That day spa isn't open on Mondays is it?" he said, his eyebrows furrowed in apparent frustration. In the past, Jack had given me gift certificates for massages at one of the nicer spas in town. (He would tell me later that he bought them because he was turned on at the idea of me being naked and touched by another man or another woman, even if it was 'just' a massage).
"No, no, I don't think it is," I said, somewhat confused. "Why do you ask?"
His fingers spread out and combed through my pussy. "We should get your pussy waxed. The more naked and exposed you feel under the skirt, the sexier you'll be."
At that moment, our five year old knocked on the bedroom door, informing us that he was hungry. Jack pulled the sheet up over my breasts and opened the door. "Just give daddy a minute to get dressed and I'll take you downstairs for breakfast, OK?" After he quickly tossed on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he leaned back onto the bed and gave me a peck on the cheek. "You have yourself a nice, hot, long shower, and I'll have a coffee waiting for you when you get downstairs."
With a laugh, he picked up Jack Jr. and carried him downstairs, telling him that he'd brought surprises for him from Europe.
I contemplated the latest addition to the fantasy. Jack had been pestering me to let him shave my pussy for years, and I had resisted, thinking the scratchy stubble would be uncomfortable.
On the other hand, I remembered my hair stylist (in whom I, like many of her clients, had confided many things about my sex life) had told me she had her pussy waxed regularly and the sensitivity was phenomenal.
I also remembered that I had told her once about Jack's fantasies about watching me with other men. Her advice echoed Nike's old ads: just do it, Tammy.
"What's the worst that can happen if I get waxed?" I thought as I threw back the covers, picked up the tap pants off the floor and walked to the shower. "So I might be a little itchy for a couple of days. If that's what Jack wants to enhance the fantasy, why not?"
I luxuriated in the shower, not having to worry about any of the kids' needs and anticipating one of Jack's delicious lattes when I got downstairs. I carefully shaved my legs, and ran a finger through the wet, dark blonde curls between my legs, curious about what my pussy would feel like bald.
Part of me was tempted to masturbate, but I decided to let myself simmer instead – maybe we could have another little session tonight.
After toweling myself off and opening my "everyday" underwear drawer, I briefly considered wearing a thong all day – that was something Jack always liked. I decided against it, though – he almost always regarded a thong as an invitation to anal sex, and I'm not sure I could take it two nights in a row, considering how tender my sphincter was this morning. Instead, I picked out a pair of smooth, black, cotton panties, finished getting dressed, and headed downstairs to begin another busy suburban Saturday.
"Here you go, Tam," Jack said, putting a foam-topped cup at my place at the kitchen table. "Hot, thick and creamy, just the way you like it," he said with a wink. I gave him a peck and whispered "thanks...I guess it's too bad I don't like my coffee black, huh?"
