Saturday night, December 23:
Beverly was trepidatious as she toweled herself dry. However; her apprehensions didn't dissuade her from critically appraising her nude body in the full length, bathroom mirror. For the first time in years, she was pleased rather than dismayed by the sight of herself. She was now confident that she remained a desirable woman.
The encounter at the impromptu holiday party last night had renewed Bev's confidence. She could rationalize that she hadn't gone to far with the guys that her friends had introduced to her. Technically; she hadn't crossed the Rubicon. She hadn't become an adulteress. At first she'd been able to rationalize that she'd indulged in much the same flirtatious behavior with men that she'd danced with at the at the airline's corporate holiday parties she'd attended with her husband. Ben had never chastised her or complained.
Bev felt giddy as well as guilty about her behavior last night. Her suitors had been nearly twenty years younger rather than two decades older than she. Her suitors hadn't been vice presidents of the airline nor valued customers or vendors. She hadn't been flirting so outrageously with her suitors in an effort to advance her husband's career. She hadn't been indulging in the customary, subtle whorings that were so often necessary to enable husbands to prevail in corporate dominance games.
Beverly's flirtatious behavior had escalated so outrageously because her suitors hadn't been ostensibly respectable men. They hadn't been merely exploiting the holiday season as an excuse to take only a few, minor, drunken liberties with another man's wife. Bev hadn't been invoking the customary holiday indulgence sanctioned by the mistletoe. While she had been drinking, probably to drunk to be driving, she hadn't been so drunk that she could honestly invoke that excuse.
Last night's transgressions were all the more outrageous because her suitors hadn't been some clumsy, drunken neophyte who was unaccustomed to actually consummating a seduction. Her friends had introduced the guys to her because they were real studs. She'd flirted so shamelessly with her preselected suitors even though both were so obviously accomplished Casanovas. She'd soon understood that they were in the habit of seducing respectable, married women just like her. She'd flirted so shamelessly with them because she had known, deep down in her soul, that ultimately, she wanted to become more notches on their whittled down bedposts.
For the first time in years, Beverly felt confident. Perhaps motherhood really had enhanced rather than ravaged her body. Last night's suitors obviously wouldn't have difficulty seducing women their own age, yet they had focused their attentions on her. The encounter had convinced her that she looked pretty damn good for a forty-something mother of three.
Standing in front of the full length mirror, Beverly appraised herself. It was undeniable that her belly remained gently rounded and soft rather than flat and firm. Her efforts to loose weight and get in shape had been only partially successful. However; she now realized that her wider hips combined with her big breasts contrasted with her admittedly thicker waist, giving her an almost classic, hourglass figure. She had become thicker rather than fatter. Unlike her complacent husband, the men at the clubs certainly seemed to find her somewhat voluptuous body alluring.
As Beverly continued to inspect herself in the mirror, she conceded that her maternal breasts sagged quite a bit. There were occasions when she'd been tempted to yield to Ben's not so subtle suggestions that she get implants or at least a lift. However; she'd already had to endure a cesarean section to deliver their youngest. Ben had also been badgering her about getting her tubes tied. She didn't want to go under the knife again, not even for contraception let alone cosmetics.
More importantly, Bev's husband shouldn't find her more attractive if she got implants because he'd know that her breasts weren't real. The only men who might be fooled were other men. Their opinions shouldn't matter. She had considered getting her breasts lifted, but assisting in the gruesome surgery had changed her mind.
In an effort to appease Ben, Beverly had begun wearing sexier, lower cut bras that supported and accentuated her breasts. Last night, her friends had coaxed and cajoled her until she agreed to slip off her bra while she was in the ladies' room. She'd had no doubt that upon her return to their table, the clinging fabric of her dress had made it obvious that she was braless. The sensations of her unrestrained breasts swinging and swaying pendulously as she danced with her paramours had been almost as exhilarating as their reactions.
Glancing down at her sparse growth of dark pubic hair, Beverly was reminded of all of the times that she had been accused of being a bottle blonde. She'd intentionally worn stockings rather than pantyhose for her evening out clubbing. She'd even gone commando under her dress even though the hemline was above her knees! She was certain that not only her paramours but their Brothers had been treated to more than a mere glimpse of her pubic hair. They had obviously been to pleased to make any such accusations.
Ben's incessant suggestions that she should shave her vulva weren't entirely unreasonable. However; she'd already had to endure the itching and discomfort of her pubic hair growing back each time she gave birth. More importantly, she wondered why. Did her husband think she was unclean? Did Ben want to fantasize that she was a young girl? That last thought was the most disturbing.
Inspecting herself in the mirror provoked a decision. She needed a distraction as well as an excuse to procrastinate. Beverly grabbed a comb and scissors then sat on the edge of the bathtub. It took her only a few minutes to trim and even out her pubic hair. She had to admit that she did look neater and more groomed. Her labia as well as her mildly protruding clitoris were also far more visible.
Beverly; inspected her nude body again. One of the men that she had recently been introduced to while out clubbing with her friends had commented that she resembled the late actress Jayne Mansfield. The other had suggested that she was a dead ringer for Ellen Griswold of the Vacation movies. The bruises on her breasts attested to how enamored her suitors had been with them. She had every right to resent her husband's chronic complacency that had convinced her that she was no longer a desirable woman.
As she was hanging up her towel, Beverly contemplated the dreadful talk with her husband. She'd been vacillating about the potential conversation for weeks now. The encounter that'd she'd enjoyed while she was out clubbing with her friends last night had transformed her nascent infatuation into not just blatant temptation but intention. She'd remained with the group when the four women, with as many men accompanying them, decided to have a more private, holiday party at Belinda's house. Ultimately; she had almost given into temptation. However; she could still claim that she hadn't crossed the Rubicon. She'd just gotten her feet wet before turning back.
Unfortunately; it was now unlikely that Beverly had even a few days to make up her mind. Perhaps she no longer had the luxury of deciding if she would tell her husband before the ski trip, after the trip, or never. All of her friends, including the two whose husbands knew about their extramarital dalliances, had been urging her to say nothing, ever. They had argued that what Benjamin never knew, wouldn't hurt him.
Unfortunately; Bev couldn't rationalize that she was at liberty much less entitled. She wasn't separated, either legally or informally. She wasn't recently reconciled with an understanding that certain provisions of the traditional vows were no longer valid. She couldn't imagine that Ben could be as open minded as Bettina's husband much less Belinda's. His desire for a reconciliation had been so overwhelming that he'd granted her a perpetual Hall Pass as a concession to persuade her. Their explicit understanding was that she was at liberty so long as she was reasonably discrete but not deceitful. Belinda had become an evangelist of carnality, proselytizing about the joys of interracial sex to her friends. First Bettina and then Betty had become her converts. Beverly had now become the focus of Belinda's proselytizing. She'd reluctantly conceded to herself that ultimately, her seduction was inevitable. Now it seemed as if there might be no need for her to broach the subject with her husband.
Beverly wasn't certain how much of her conversation with Betty that her husband might have overheard. Ben hadn't texted her to warn her that he'd been reassigned to an earlier flight. He'd wanted his earlier than expected arrival home to be an early Christmas present.
Bev had been surprised then mortified when she discovered only after Betty had left that her husband was laying on the living room couch!. It wasn't unusual for him to take a nap after a flight to cope with the jet lag. He'd just flown across the Pacific. However; he hadn't pretended that he was still asleep. He hadn't said anything that might reveal how long he'd been awake either. There had been no angry confrontation. There hadn't even been any comments that might suggest that he'd overheard the most incriminating portions of her conversation with Betty. Ben hadn't angrily confronted her about last night's transgressions much less the impending skiing vacation that she'd been contemplating with her friends.
Now it might not matter if Bev's resolve faltered. Depending on how much of her conversation with Betty that her husband might have overheard, some variation of that conversation might be unavoidable. Beverly once again silently rehearsed the opening line in her head. "Honey, we need to talk." She'd been unable to find the words to progress beyond that one, simple preamble. She had known that it was a conversation that could damage or even destroy her marriage.
Beverly gathered up her sleep bra and one of her dowdy nightgowns. She hesitated as she began to put her bra on. She was briefly tempted to present herself to her husband nude, emulating that scene in that Jayne Mansfield movie that Ben enjoyed so much. Her conversation with Betty had certainly rekindled her inflamed arousal.
She glanced at her smartwatch. Thanks to the recently introduced biometric features, almost all of the female nurses and doctors at the hospital had one. All of the younger women had downloaded certain applications. A familiar icon discretely urged caution. The ovulation tracking app estimated that she had already entered the potentially fertile phase of her cycle. However; she remained several days away from her predicted ovulation. She was only a few days away from peak fertility, or at least as fertile as a woman her age could be. No wonder she'd been feeling so amorous last night!
