I grew up in a small, conservative town in Texas. It was kind of a one-horse town with barely a traffic light, where everybody knew everybody and everybody's business. Boring beyond belief and I escaped as fast as I could.
My husband and I married very young. They said it would never last and maybe it shouldn't have, but here we are over 40 years later. He's always been very sexual and me, not so much. Not that I haven't had my moments but I was never really at his level and when I was fired up it was pretty much because he was pushing my comfort zone.
Now, all these years later, we are still mostly in that same mode. He's not as horned up as he used to be but, thanks to a hysterectomy many years ago, my hormones are essentially non-existent and my sexual desire out the door with them. I don't like it and don't want it, but it is what it is. I try to work myself up but it is work and I'm not terribly successful with it more than once every few months. It's downright depressing. It's like you feel your life is over and there's not much you can do about it.
Luckily that horn dog husband of mine has never given up trying to get me sexually motivated. He's constantly arranging romantic get-aways, buying sexy lingerie and even a few toys here and there to try to light the fires of passion. This is a story about one such recent attempt.
Searching for something to spark up our sex life, Steve has promoted public role-playing as a psychological stimulant. I've never fully bought into it and we've only really gone out once to try it out. That evening was okay but nothing spectacular and, as usual, did a lot more for him than it did for me. I'm not much of an extrovert, so I found it hard to really get into character and just wasn't fully committed to the whole idea.
A few weeks ago Steve suggested that we try the role-play shtick again. I was less than enthusiastic for all the reasons already mentioned, but thought I would try to at least fulfil Steve's fictional concept of generating sexual excitement.
So the basic plot line was about as standard as they come, identical to the first half-hearted attempt. Steve had planned that we would go to a local hotel bar where businessmen were known to hang out for happy hour at the end of the day. I would go in first and take a seat at the bar, strike up some conversation with the male clientele and generally flirt my way to a few rounds of free drinks. I would entice them along the way with some sexual innuendo and maybe some light physical contact to give them hope of more action later. Steve would come in a half hour or so later and take a seat further away and watch the show. He told me how it turned him on to watch other guys get worked up over me. He was certain that if I saw that a gentleman or two were attracted to me, that I would uncover at least some of that long-lost confidence in my appearance and my sexuality. And while it was true that I no longer thought much of myself as pretty or sexually attractive, I was totally skeptical of the notion that a brief spell of attention from a couple of bar flies would somehow resurrect those long-buried feelings. I'm 60 not 20 or 30, and I just figured I was way past that.
Now, I didn't feel terribly attractive. Wrinkles, a few extra pounds and no estrogen will do that to you. I guess my best appearance asset is my tits. Steve says I have the best natural tits west of the Mississippi and that most 30 year old women would trade up to have mine. So, I'll go along with some of that although I do believe he is highly prejudiced. I'll admit that they are exceptionally perky for my age, now a C cup (used to be a D cup before kids!) with long and quite hard nipples. They are without doubt my best asset.
In our first outing, I wore a nice cocktail dress; nothing flashy or super sexy. There was nothing about it that flashed a "hey, look over here" sign when I walked into the room. So this time I decided I would up my game and go big; really big, no gigantic. I would grit my teeth and escape my comfort zone. I would drop my boundaries. This was going to take some alcohol, early and often.
I had Steve pour a glass of champagne for me. Tequila and champagne are my inhibition destroyers and I needed something to knock down those walls. A hot, soaking bath wouldn't hurt either.
I drew a bubble bath and stepped into the tub and quickly downed the champagne. After I guzzled the first glass, I sent Steve back to pour another. He brought it in and I was more prudent in drinking the second glass. I relaxed and let the warm water and the bubbly start the magic transformation from motley housewife to voluptuous, erotic siren. I carefully shaved my pussy, leaving a v-shaped patch at the top. I'm not a big fan of that but Steve absolutely loves it and I wanted to give him this little present.
After the bath, I pulled a totally sheer black blouse out of the closet and a black skirt to go with it. The blouse was collared, had long sheer sleeves and buttoned up the front. I called Steve into the master bath and asked him what he thought of the outfit I had selected. His eyes lit up, and his eyebrow rose up quizzically. He looked at me and said "Very nice. But what are you
really
going to wear?"
I gave him a wicked grin and responded "Oh yeah. I see what you mean. I need a bra and some panties".
