Satisfied with how clean he felt, he turned off the shower's water and reached for the nearby towel. While he was towelling off, his wife informed him through the closed bathroom door that the clothes she had selected for him were laid out and ready on the bed. There was a hint of urgency in her voice, but he knew her well enough to know that she was just anxious about the big event this evening. He wasn't a very good dresser and had no objection to her choosing his outfit for the evening. It was an important event, of the 'see and be seen' kind. It was not really his thing; he'd rather sit comfortably around a table in t shirt and his favourite pair of pants, with two buddies, just talking about random stuff, drinking a few beers. But instead the evening would have to be spent standing around looking formal, holding an expensive drink in a fancy glass. And of course, a lot of pretending to be interested in some twat boasting about how he's such a well-connected twat with oh so many friends in high places he's on first name basis with. Blech.
But her career required it, and he was quite happy to sacrifice the occasional evening for her. She really didn't like these events either, she'd much rather sit around alone at home in her most comfortable pyjamas. They both faked their way through those evenings, pretending to be impressed by the boasting and faking awe at the tales of wasting money on whatever is in vogue now. Last time it was a new luxury brand of silver drinking bowls for cats. Not gold, that would be crass. Well, the actual reason is that too many 'commoners' have golden items nowadays. But they did come decorated with gemstones, because Sir Mittens demands the best, and how else would house guests know you've got more money than sense?
They both helped each other get through the evening without breaking character. It's why they always walked arm in arm. The physical contact allowed them to sense each others mood and to communicate non-verbally. For example, if he was getting annoyed at the boastful tales of money wasted, his muscles started tensing up and the look on his face gradually began to lose its fake smile. She would then gently rub his arm to help him keep his calm. But most of the time he had to rescue her. If the situation became too stressful for her, maybe the person they were talking to was absolutely essential to her career and she was stressing out, she'd sweat and sometimes he could feel her heartbeat in her arm. If he thought she was getting close to breaking, he'd give an excuse and drag her off. Where to didn't really matter, as long as it got her out of the conversation. His personal favourite was pretending to suddenly notice a refill of an item at the buffet. All that delicious food and you're supposed to stand around and talk instead of enjoying it.
He did try to limit the escape trips to the buffet. She too loved the buffet, but she rarely ever had the chance to actually eat from it. Her social anxiety would twist around and convince her everyone was staring at her eating, judging and gossiping. Proper ladies don't eat, she figured. Ever. They just look pretty and die. But she had nothing to worry about in his mind. She always seemed stunningly beautiful in those expensive dresses. And he couldn't rationally explain it, but her high heels did do something for him. And helping her take the dress off at the end of the evening. Usually nothing happened, these evenings were very draining for the both of them. But still, there are worse ways to end an evening than carefully unzipping a dress.
"Are you still in there? You need to get dressed!" His wife's voice sounded more stressed than before.
"Sorry, I was daydreaming while towelling off. I'll be right out," he said apologetically while tying the towel around his waist, but it got snagged on something.
He looked down, at his full erection keeping the towel from easily closing. For a second he considered jacking off, but it wouldn't be right, he needed to get dressed and soothe his wife's nerves. It'll go away on its own, he thought as he adjusted the towel so that his erection could stick out unhindered. It was a simple matter of starting in front instead of at his hip. It looked a bit unorthodox, with everything out in the open, but the towel wrap held and it was just for a short walk to the next door bedroom anyway. He opened the bathroom door and began walking to the bedroom, to get dressed, as instructed. He was immediately greeted by his wife explaining her fashion choices for him for the evening.
"Ah finally, this time I opted for a maroon coloured tie, it combines well with..." She stopped mid-sentence and looked down. "What are you doing?" she asked.
He responded calmly, "Going to the bedroom? To get dressed? For the evening?"
"So you should be! But why are you...," she waved her hand up and down at his erection, "at attention?"
"Oh, that. I was daydreaming about you. It'll go away, don't worry, I'll get dressed."
