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Part of me wanted Alex with me, but part of me was
glad I was doing this on my own. I parked the car, stepped out into the
hot July sun, and walked up the block towards the small jewelry store I'd
found. As I approached the store, I thought about Alex. He was a good man,
but over the last few years, our relationship had grown a bit stale. We'd
talked about it, on and off, but I can't say anything much had come of our
talks, and on a few occasions, I'd even thought about divorce.
My thoughts skittered in another direction as I stepped into the cool
shade of the store. What was I doing? Proper middle-aged housewives don't
do things like this. "Why not?" part of me wondered. "Why not!" another
part of me asserted. I'd had this fantasy for a long time, and now that I
knew I could make it real, I was sure I'd never forgive myself if I didn't
do it.
"Can I help you?" It was Sue Austin, jewelry designer, and she was
certainly dressed for the hot day. "Alex would like that," I thought. I
felt a mix of annoyance and envy as I noticed how little she wore, just a
pair of very short and very frayed cutoff jeans and two small triangles of
leather over her breasts.
"I'm Elizabeth Arnold, we talked on the phone," I said. I'd gotten her
business card at an art fair a year ago after I noticed the ankle bracelet
she wore. It was the stuff of my fantasy, an unbroken gold hoop, welded
closed. It had taken me most of the past year to get up the courage to
dial the number on her card.
"Ah," she said, and motioned for me to follow her. The shop was small,
with a neat display of her somewhat eccentric jewelry on the walls and in
one large display case. I followed her into the back room, a cramped
combination of workshop and storeroom.
We talked about what I wanted. She showed me the different sizes of stock
we could use, told me the costs, and discussed the methods. A chill went
through me when she explained silver soldering. It wasn't welding, but it
did involve a flame that could sear flesh held only inches from my body.
She demonstrated how she could do the soldering safely by building a heat
shield on her bare thigh and playing a torch over it. The shield was
surprisingly simple, a dry cotton towel over her thigh, then a sheet of
heavy aluminum foil, a vapor barrier, she explained, then a wet towel, and
then a sheet of copper.
After I selected the stock I wanted, a half-inch oval tube, I watched
while she bent it into a circle of the right size using some kind of
rolling machine, then cut and dressed the ends and fit a splint made of
silver into the joint. We cooperated in the job of springing the gold
circle over my head, and then I pulled my hair up and sat on a chair,
leaning forward while she worked the layers of a heat shield into place
between the back of my neck and the gold ring.
While she worked, she explained what she was doing. It took her longer to
arrange the heat shield than to silver solder the joint in my new
necklace, but she spent even more time afterwards, working with a file and
then some kind of power tool to polish the newly soldered joint.
And then she was done; I looked at my watch, and saw that I'd been there
for less than half-an-hour. The best way I can describe my feelings as she
removed the towel from over my head is to say that I felt high. I tossed
my hair back where it belonged, and then we went back to the front half of
the shop so I could look at myself in the mirror.
The still-warm ring of gold around my neck weighed more than a few ounces,
but it felt good hanging loosely at my collar bone. I couldn't see any
evidence of the newly soldered joint until she pointed it out to me, and
then I paid her the fairly steep price we'd agreed to.
Driving home, I couldn't help fingering my new necklace. The feel of it
around my neck fascinated me to the point that it was almost erotic. It
had started as a private fantasy of mine, but now, it was very real. What
would Alex think? What would the kids think? I asked myself these
questions for what seemed to be the thousandth time, but this time, I
didn't have to remind myself of the answer. It didn't matter. I'd done
this for me, not for him!
I'd fantasized about permanent jewelry for years. The idea had grown on me
from just one fantasy among many to the point where I couldn't resist it.
There were times when I wondered if it was an appropriate fantasy for a
middle-class housewife, but I knew that my doubts were silly. I'd finally
decided that the whole question was wrong. There isn't any such thing as
an inappropriate fantasy, as long as it's just a fantasy, and the social
norms that dictate what a middle-class housewife should wear are silly.
Now, I'd declared my independance from those norms; it was time for me to
lead my life the way I wanted.
I drove up the driveway to our empty house, parked the car, and walked up
to the door. Alex was at work and the kids were away, so I had the place
to myself. As I came inside, I saw myself in the hallway mirror and
stopped to look. The gold ring around my neck was pretty, resting lightly
on my collarbone, just inside the neck opening of my T-shirt.
I looked pretty good in the mirror. Somehow, the ring around my neck made
me look at myself in a way I don't think I'd ever seen myself before. I
saw myself as almost a stranger; I saw a woman such as I'd imagined but
never dared imitate.
I liked what I saw. My T-shirt and shorts showed off my arms and legs
nicely, but something bothered me, my bra. I could see it outlined through
the fabric of the T-shirt, and even though that's how I've always looked
when I wear a T-shirt, I realized that I didn't like it. It would be
better to see bare nipples outlined through the thin fabric than to see
the marvel of engineering that is a bra.
I walked to the bedroom wondering about my bra. I was so used to the
feeling of a bra that I hadn't thought much about it. Why was I wearing
it? I was so used to it that I didn't notice the discomfort, but it wasn't
really comfortable. It was supposed to support my breasts, but my breasts
don't need supporting. They'd always been too small, even when I breastfed
the kids. I was wearing a bra because my mother had started me wearing a
bra back before my breasts started growing; I wore it because social
convention dictated that middle class housewives always wear a bra and
because I'd never wanted to be identified with the hippies and feminists
of decades ago who didn't wear bras.
In the bedroom, I took off my T-shirt and bra, then looked at myself in
the mirror and admired the gold ring around my neck once again. It looked
good against my bare flesh, far better than it had looked with my T-shirt
next to it, and it seemed natural for me to slip off the shorts and
panties I was wearing to see what I looked like posing nude.
I stood in front of the mirror, hands on bare hips, then cupped a breast
in my hand and grinned at myself. I don't think I've really taken a hard
look at my naked body since I was in junior high, and again, it was as if
I was looking at a stranger, a new woman. She looked OK. The woman I saw
had breasts that were small, but not too small, she was thin but not
skinny. I saw a woman who I suddenly realized had the potential to be
beautiful. I couldn't remember really feeling beautiful, not ever, and it
was almost a shock.
What kind of clothing should this woman wear? I wasn't sure, but the
thought struck me that she was the kind of woman who might sometimes wear
nothing at all. I was inside my own house, the kids were away for a long
weekend, I didn't expect visitors, and it did feel rather nice to feel the
warm summer air against my skin.
The phone rang as these thoughts ran through my mind, and I ran into the
living room to get it. It was a salesman trying to sell some new lawn-
care system, so I hung up quickly enough, and only then realized that the
curtains were wide open and that I was standing there by the picture
window wearing absolutely nothing.
Part of me wanted to do something about it, to close the curtains or run
for privacy, but another part asked why. What would this new woman do? I
realized that the answer was nothing. I turned to face the window and
looked outside. It was a clear day, and the view out across the valley was
spectacular. Nobody was on the lawn looking in, and the street was empty.
Even if there had been someone there, I don't think the new woman would
have cared, though. Somehow, she wasn't the type to let that kind of thing
bother her.
I sat on the couch and felt the smooth hard surface of the ring around my
neck as I looked out the window. I'd never sat on the couch in the nude
before, and the leather cushions felt cool and sensuous against my skin. I
fingered the circle of gold around my neck, and then leaned back on the
couch, overcome with what I'd done. What would Alex think?
I wanted Alex. I didn't want his approval, I wanted him, I wanted his male
body. I wanted him to touch me, to finger my new jewelry, to stroke my
body with his big hands, but he wasn't home. As I relaxed on the couch and
looked out the window and across the valley, I slid my fingers from the
gold ring around my neck down my chest.
My nipples had always been large and sensitive, decent compensation for
the small size of my breasts. As I fingered them, they hardened and sent
their signals of desire to my groin. It had been fifteen years since I'd
breastfed a child, but I'd never forget the near orgasmic pleasure of
breastfeeding. As I remembered, my other hand slid to my thigh, and then I
spread my legs, parting my lips to gently slide a fingertip into the space
between.
My world closed in until I was all nipple and clit, and then I came. I
felt the blush spreading over my body, I felt my new jewelry cool on my
skin, and I continued to stroke myself, sliding a couple of fingers into
the moist crevace between my legs. My body was eager for more, my nipples
ached to be touched, my vagina wanted to be filled, my clit wanted to be
squeezed under the base of my thumb, and I came again.
I lay there, looking blindly out the window for some time, relaxing in the
calm limbo that follows orgasm, and then I smiled. What had come over me?
What was I doing? I don't think I'd ever had two orgasms so closely
spaced, not in my life. I'd never masturbated much since my teenage years,
and even then, I'd always felt a bit guilty about it. Why didn't it bother
me now? Why wasn't I rushing to wash my hands?
This thing about the new woman in me, I knew that it was nonsense. I was
still Elizabeth Arnold, wife of Alex and mother of Kim and Nathan. The
thought of the kids jerked me back to reality. What would they think if
they saw their mother naked on the couch masturbating? Somehow, the
question made me laugh.
A day earlier, and I think it would have made me jump out of the couch and
scurry for cover, but now, all I did was chuckle. Kids always seem to have
a horrible time understanding that their parents have any sexual feelings.
It's almost like, deep in their hearts, kids believe that they are the
product of virgin birth, and they believe it deeply enough that even if
you told them in graphic detail how they were conceived, they wouldn't
believe you.
My stomach grumbled, and when I glanced at the clock, I was surprised to
see that it was after one. I'd eaten an early breakfast with my family,
and I was hungry. I got up and went to the kitchen, still thinking about
what I'd done. Who was this new woman I'd found in myself? She was part of
me, that was clear, but I was acting in a way I'd never acted before. What
had come over me? Why should a gold neck ring make such a difference?
As I sipped at a glass of milk, washing down a cream-cheese and jelly
sandwich, I continued to think about what had happened. Back when I was in
college, a good twenty years ago, I'd been pretty conservative, but
looking back, I most of it seemed like a reaction to what I saw going on
around me. The problem was that I'd let the reaction continue for far too
long. Now, it was time for me to stop reacting and start living.
While I picked up after myself in the kitchen, I wondered what to do for
the rest of the afternoon. It was awfully nice to have kids who were old
enough to take off on their own with friends; this time, they'd gone as a
group to visit a Renaissance festival. With the drought, the lawn didn't
need cutting and the weeds in the garden were dormant. There was laundry
to do, however, so I went down to the basement to start a load.
The cool basement air felt refreshing on my bare skin, and I realized that
I'd completely forgotten that I still had nothing on. Along with the sight
of some of my own clothing among the dirty laundry, that turned my
thoughts to how this new woman I'd discovered should dress. Some of my
clothes were purely practical, decent clothes to wear for work or play,
but so much of it seemed downright frumpy.
After I started the load, I wandered back up to our bedroom wondering what
had possessed me to buy some of that stuff. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't
practical, but it was the kind of clothing a middle-aged mother of two was
supposed to wear. I was half tempted to spend the afternoon trashing my
way through my wardrobe, but common sense got hold of me and I realized
that I needed to know what I really wanted to wear before I started
tossing things out.
I certainly didn't want to dress like a grown up version of my daughter
Kim; she's no Madonna wannabe, but kids her age can't escape the
influence. For that matter, I didn't want to dress like I had when I was
her age. I'd been as influenced by the silly fashion trends of that age as
anyone else, dressing because that was how you were supposed to dress
instead of dressing the way I really wanted to look.
I looked at myself in my bedroom mirror again, fingering the beautiful
gold ring around my neck, posing and trying to critically evaluate my body
and the clothing it called for. What use is clothing? It protects from the
weather, it provides a clean surface to sit on, and it can be modest. I
didn't feel particularly modest.
The laundry machine buzzed, signalling that I'd spent half-an-hour in
front of the mirror, so I went down to the basement, moved the load to the
dryer, and then went back to my thoughts about clothing. What I wanted was
something that frankly exposed what I had, and if not that, something that
didn't so much hide as draw attention to my body.
I had a few sheer blouses, the kind that's meant to be worn under a coat
or over a camisole; when I tried one on over nothing, I liked what I saw.
It was the wrong time of year for turtleneck sweaters, but I tried one on
and found that, once I pulled the neck of the sweater inside the hoop
around my neck and turned it down, it looked wonderful. The hoop looked
good resting on the red knit cloth, and without a bra on under it, the
sweater clung to me and clearly showed the shapes of my breasts and
nipples.
By the time I heard the car pull into the driveway, I'd taken a bath, put
away the clean laundry, and gotten dressed. As Alex came walked up the
driveway, I walked to the door to meet him wearing a long denim skirt and
a big silk scarf.
It had taken a bit of inventing to figure out how to wear the scarf. I
tried a few ideas before I hit on the idea of pulling the scarf around
behind my back and then bringing the ends up under my armpits and loosely
clipping them to my new necklace. I used a pair of small gold hoop
earrings as clips. The scarf hung open between my breasts, and I tucked
the bottom edge into the waistband of my button-front denim skirt before
buttoning just enough buttons for minimal modesty.
I kissed Alex on the cheek as he came in, then stepped back and posed.
"Wow," he said, after a long pause. His eyes were on the shadows of my
breasts, barely visible through the almost sheer scarf, and I liked the
attention.
"Like the new necklace?" I asked.
"Yup," he said, and I could see his eyes rise to the gold ring around my
neck. "Gold?"
"The real thing," I said, and then kissed him, pulling him to me and
giving him a bearhug as I forced my tongue between his lips. He seemed
surprised, but he responded.
Alex pulled back, still hugging me. "You're acting pretty horny," he
whispered, and then knelt to kiss between my breasts. I didn't need any
foreplay, it was as if my entire day had been been foreplay. I wanted him
now, and as his lips touched the soft skin between my breasts, I knew that
I wanted to feel his lips lower on my body.
I pushed him down and away from me, and he sat down on the living room
rug, looking up at me with a puzzled look on his face. I knelt behind him
and began to massage his shoulders, and then let him lie back against me,
cradling his head on my thighs as I leaned forward over him, sliding my
fingers up and down his shirt-covered chest.
I bent down to kiss him, chin to nose as he lay in my lap, and his hands
reached up to finger my breasts through the thin scarf I wore over them.
My loins ached for his kisses, and without thinking, I spread my legs
behind his back, letting his head fall to the floor between my thighs.
If I'd planned it, I couldn't have done better. My unbuttoned skirt spread
to each side as I knelt straddling his head, and then I leaned forward,
spreading my legs farther, parting my lips as I lifted myself over his
face. Wordlessly, his hands took my hips as his lips met mine. I felt his
tongue gently touch my clit, but it wasn't enough.
I bore down on him, grinding his chin into my clit as he drove his tongue
into me. Time seemed to stretch as I knelt over him on the living room
floor, my clit and nipples were everything, my tension mounted, and then I
felt the release, the contraction deep in my groin, and I relaxed, no
longer intensely excited, but still enjoying Alex's dreamy attention.
After a while, I pulled myself off of him and smiled down at him as he lay
with his head still between my thighs. He looked stunned, and I couldn't
help but chuckle as I looked at the expression on his face. I'd certainly
given him nothing in the way of warning about what would hit him when he
came home.
"What's gotten into you?" he asked.
"Does it matter?" I asked, smiling down at him.
"I don't know," he said. "It's just, nothing you've done since I got home
matches anything I expect from you. I mean, that get-up you're wearing,
you're not wearing any underpants, making love on the living room floor,
my God!" He looked towards the picture window. "The drapes aren't even
closed."
"So what was there to see?" I said. "I mean, we didn't undress, and the
fact that we make love isn't any secret."
He sat up and turned to me with a troubled, almost angry look. "What do
you mean?"
I couldn't help but laugh. "I mean, we're married. That means people
expect us to make love. I mean, we've got two kids and they sure aren't
the products of immaculate conception."
"I guess nobody could see in the window anyway," he said, glancing out.
"Come on," I said, "as long as the kids are away, let's go out and
celebrate." I kissed him, and suddenly it hit me, I'd never before kissed
him so soon after oral sex. I could taste myself on his lips, and I could
smell myself on his skin.
Alex went to the bathroom to wash up while I sat on the couch wondering
about what had happened. The thought of kissing right after oral sex would
have disgusted me only days before, and wondered why it hadn't bothered
me. On the other hand, I wondered why it should have bothered me in the
past. Did I taste bad? Did I smell bad? The brief taste of myself on
Alex's lips didn't seem bad, but the experience had been so brief that I
wasn't sure.
As the sound of the toilet flushing came from the bathroom, I realized how
little I knew about myself. Alex and I rarely had oral sex, and when we
did, it was always his lips on my vagina. He certainly knew what I tasted
like, but I didn't know how I tasted. I knew it would be easy enough to
find out what I tasted like, but in all my life, it had never occurred to
me to find out.
As I sat on the couch, I slid a finger between my thighs and into myself.
I was still very wet, and it felt good as I explored myself with my
finger. It felt good enough that, after I licked and smelled my finger,
doing my best to critically judge how I tasted and smelled, I slid my
finger back in, curling my fingertip around my pubic bone and pressing on
my clit.
The taste wasn't terribly different from sweaty skin, less salty, a bit
more acid. The musky smell was a bit strong, but it suddenly hit me that
the musk reminded me a bit of some perfumes I'd run across. Are those
scents attractive because they smell like a woman's crotch?
I chuckled at the thought, but my attention was focused on the feel of my
fingers as I stared blindly into the yard. Touching myself was such a
simple pleasure. Why had I avoided it for so many years? When I came, it
wasn't a big orgasm, but it surprised me, being so soon after Alex had
satisfied me. Just then, the water stopped running in the bathroom and I
heard the door open.
"You want to go out?" Alex said as I stood up. "Where? And do you really
want to be seen dressed like that?"
I turned to him. "Do you want to see me dressed like this?"
He looked at me, then the expression on his face softened. "Well, yes, I'm
surprised, but I guess I like it. You really don't mind if other people
see you dressed like that?"
"Nope, come on. Got money? How about that place in the old factory
building by the river, I forget it's name."
Dinner turned out to be pleasant, but Alex acted shy and didn't have much
to say. Considering the way I was acting, I don't blame him, but it was
something of a letdown. I asked about his day at work, and he told me, but
that was about all we had to say while we ate. The way he looked and acted
as he sat across the table from me reminded me a bit of the way he'd been
on our first two dates, a cute but awkward guy.
Things came to a head in the car on the way home. "All of a sudden, I feel
like I don't know my own wife," Alex said as he drove.
I didn't really know what to say.
"I mean, I come home to find a woman who's dressed like nothing I've ever
seen before, beautiful but so sexy I'm almost scared of you, and then you
just about rape me É"
I hadn't seen what I'd done in that light, and the word "rape" bothered
me. "I hope you didn't mind," I said, lamely.
He glanced briefly at me and smiled. "No, and I hope I did a good job, but
it left me a bit frustrated. I hope you're in the mood for more."
I reached over the gap between the seats and rested a hand on his thigh.
"Don't worry, I am."
The occasional bounce on the ride home drew my attention back to my neck
ring, and I reached up to finger it as thoughts of Alex's body ran through
my head. My fingers slid down over the thin scarf that covered my breasts,
and I was horny again.
My long skirt was still unbuttoned almost to the crotch, and it was a
simple matter for me to drop my hand to my lap and slide a finger into the
warm moisture between my legs. As I began probing myself, I idly wondered
what I was doing masturbating with Alex sitting right there beside me.
Would he notice? Would it bother him? Would it turn him on? Somehow,
instead of inhibiting me, these questions only added to my excitement.
I was about to climax when Alex stopped the car. We were home, and as I
got out and closed the car door, I ached for it. My whole body wanted a
climax. As Alex unlocked the front door, my desires shifted to him. I
wanted him in me!
"Alex," I said, unclipping the scarf from the ring around my neck, "I want
you in bed, now!"
"OK," he said, and then bent down to kiss me on the nipple, sending a
thrill through me. "I don't know what's come over you, but I like it."
I took off my skirt on the way to the bedroom, and kicked off my sandals
as Alex began undressing. As he pulled down his pants, exposing his erect
penis, I touched it. He sat down to take off his shirt, but I was too
impatient to wait, so I climbed into his lap and sat on him.
There was a brief surprised look on his face as I took him into me, but
then he smiled at me and leaned back on his hands. It felt good to feel
him deep inside my body as I sat there, pressing my clit against his pubic
bone. I leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips, and in my
already excited state, the stimulation and added pressure pushed me over
the edge to an orgasm, a small one, but very good.
I shuddered, and then broke the kiss and began to unbutton his shirt as he
sat there smiling at me. "I don't believe how horny you are," he said.
"It's a bit of a surprise to me too," I said, puling his shirt off his
chest and sliding my fingertips over him.
"What brought it on?" he asked.
"Getting this," I said, fingering my new neck ring.
"Really?" he asked. "How's it come off? I want to look at it."
"It doesn't come off," I said, leaning forward to kiss him. With the
pressure of his pubic bone on my clit, that simple motion was enough to
send me to another orgasm.
"What do you mean?" he asked, breaking the kiss.
I caught my breath before I answered. "What I said, it doesn't come off.
It's permanent, welded on, a solid ring of gold." I was still high with
the feeling of his erect penis deep inside my body, and as I spoke, I
began to rock my hips, driving myself to another orgasm.
His face looked intense but boyish, and I knew I had him on the edge of an
orgasm. He briefly fingered the ring, then dropped his hands to my breasts
before pulling me hard against him. Waves of contractions pulsed through
my groin as I came again and again; I floated in limbo, feeling him come
inside me as his arms pulled my body against his and his tongue drove
between my lips. It was the climax I needed, the climax I'd wanted for
years, and if we hadn't been locked in a kiss, I know I'd have moaned with
ecstacy.
We held our embrace for a long time as I sat in his lap on the bed. It
took time for the tension of orgasm to flow out of me. I felt his penis
slowly shrink within me, and then Alex broke off our long post orgasmic
kiss and leaned back, looking critically at me.
"So explain this necklace of yours," he said. |
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