Victoria didn't know why she bothered. If she had known, she wouldn't have spent so much time on her outfit.
She arrived at Simon's place a little after sunset, so she wasn't too worried the neighbors would spot her in her slutty clothes. But... just to be safe, she put on a long skirt and overcoat as camouflage. She used the key Simon gave her last night and stepped inside the duplex.
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I was so damn glad to be home. Work had sucked all fucking week long, and I was looking forward to a weekend of not really doing much of anything. If the wife pulled out her "to do" list, I'd simply refuse and deal with whatever repercussions I had to. At the moment, my sole plan was to get inside, put on some comfortable clothes, grab a beer and take root in front of the TV.
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We had been married for three years when my wife and I took a vacation and traveled to stay with one of her childhood friends. He is quite openly and flagrantly gay and was living with a gay friend, Dan. They were not serious lovers, just two young gay guys who shared an apartment and enjoyed the gay party life together. They were both handsome, openly friendly young men who no doubt made quite a stir at some of the parties they went to.
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About 3 years ago I had an experience that changed my life. I only regret that it did not happen when I was much younger. I was then a 68 year old woman and had been a widow for 12 years. During this time I had no real relationships and certainly no sexual ones. My name is Victoria. As I live by myself one could imagine that this would be lonely and unsatisfying but I gain enough satisfaction from my work and family who visit me about once a month. I work as a tourist guide in the city.
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After eight years, Paul and I were trying to keep our marriage fresh and romantic and, yes, sexual.
So on a Tuesday night in May, I prepared for Paul's return home after work by dressing up in one of the sexy outfits he liked when we fooled around in the bedroom.
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I first found out when I was somewhat young that I loved the way panties looked. Especially on a woman. Their body was just a beautiful shape. The curves, the outline and then you add the tight, thin covering of that body with cotton, satin, nylon or silk and it is especially exciting to me.
It didn't take long to find out that to know what different girls wore was even better. To know what only one or two guys knew what was under their tight jeans or skirts was so exciting.
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I had just arrived home on break from college and was in Chip’s neighborhood, so I figured I’d just drop in and see if he’d gotten home yet. No one answered when I rang the doorbell and I was about to head back down the driveway when I heard a splash, indicating that someone was using the pool. I walked around the side of the house thinking it might be Chip but stopped before I opened the gate to the backyard. I could see the diving board still vibrating and a figure just surfacing at the shallow end of the pool.
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It's the feel, I think, more than the appearance. Yes I'm interested in how they look, but I am more interested in the touch. Sure, the cut, the style, how much is covered and how much is revealed are important, but nowhere near as much as the sensations I receive. I get so aroused by simply holding the garment in my hands that sometimes it's nearly impossible for me to put it down.
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Mary was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate.
Mary had been my wife for over twenty years, mother of our kids, confidant, no doubt the best thing that had ever happened to me. She was not, I hasten to add, perfect, nor was I, by any means, and we had the usual ups and fortunately few downs. However, one morning, Mary just didn't wake up.
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It was Thursday night, ladies' night at the local Sheraton's hotel bar. This was always the happening place in town because the DJ was the best and everyone in the whole city would go there to hang out, drink, and dance. Well, I called several friends and tried to get them to go out with me, but no one wanted to go for various reasons.
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