A New Way of Seeing Things

Author's Note:

I found the idea for this story on the Bulletin Board and thought it might be fun to try. I like to gradually develop characters and situations, so if you're looking for a quick story all wrapped up in two pages, this isn't it.)

Gwen pulled the dressing room curtain shut and sighed. She had never developed the desire for clothes shopping popular society had said all women should have, and if not for the damned Chamber of Commerce dinner in two weeks, she would not be here at all. However, a look in her closet at the time of the invitation had made it clear she would need something new to wear.

She glanced into the mirror before her. Someone else who might have been sharing the view would have seen a petite brunette in her late thirties or early forties, 5'2", with delicate features and shoulder length hair tied in a loose pony tail, blue eyes shining with intensity in the reflection. Her skin, at least what could be seen, was tan the way one might get from outdoor work. The woman's loose blouse and jeans blurred the contours of a finely-toned body, in particular her 34b breasts. A very full bra ("chest armor", her husband Tim occasionally joked), further concealed the graceful flowing lines beneath.

Gwen did not see what others might, however. Indeed, her purpose for her self-evaluation in the mirror was to ensure she was dressed "properly". Revealing attire was not very becoming and sent the wrong message, she had been raised to believe. It was her mother who had reminded her more than once during her teenage years that "a proper lady dresses and behaves in a manner to attract proper gentlemen," and that "a married woman has no need to attract a man at all." Her self-appraisal assured her everything was buttoned and aligned, everything loose enough as to not reveal the body underneath and perhaps send the wrong message. Years of horseback riding, stable work and proper diet had earned her what she had, but to show it to others would be wrong.

With another sigh she took her eyes from the mirror and kicked off her sandals before reaching to unfasten her blouse, buttons securing it high up her chest despite the early summer Georgia heat. Reaching the point where the garment disappeared under the waistband of her jeans, she worked the belt buckle before turning her attention to the copper button and zipper of her pants. Her shirt was freed, removed and carefully hung on a nearby hook before Gwen quickly shucked the jeans down her rock-hard thighs and calves, gracefully dipping to retrieve and hang them with her blouse.

She shivered at the shock of the air-conditioning against her skin, despite how much of it was still covered by her full panties and bra. The black dress was removed from the hanger and slipped over her head, hem falling to her knees. Gwen again looked into the mirror. The right length, she thought, not too short, but the neckline dips a bit too much—I can almost see my cleavage! Not my first choice, she decided, but at least I know it's here if I get desperate.

The process of undressing was reversed, and again the woman examined herself in the mirror for anything she might have missed before leaving the cubicle. Satisfied, she grabbed the dress and turned to pull open the curtain.

Gwen's hand stopped short of the edge of the divider as she found herself staring through a 6-inch gap between the fabric and the wall and into the eyes of a middle-aged man seated on the other side of the corridor. He quickly dropped his stare to the assorted shopping bags left at his feet by his wife while she occupied the cubicle next to where he sat. Pushing the curtain aside, face burning brightly, she hurried past the man and dropped the dress on the attendant's desk without saying a word.

Anger, shock and uncertainty flowed through her as she rushed out to the parking lot. How dare he look at her like that! Could she even be sure that he saw anything? The look on the man's face, and his refusal to look up again, told her he had. Still, she clung to the hope that he had not noticed while the shock and anger subsided.

Gwen was in the car before she realized uncertainty was being replaced with rationalization. C'mon, she told herself, even if he saw something, he didn't see that much. Natalie wears bikinis more revealing than my underwear. And there's no way he saw my front, right?

Her thoughts kept returning to Natalie, the wife of Gwen's youngest brother Adam. Nat represented many of the things Gwen's mother had warned her not to become. She was a little taller, maybe 5'4", with beautiful blonde hair that reached down to the small of her back. She was definitely more full-figured than Gwen, highlighted by the D-cup breasts and round bum she had no qualms about displaying. Camisole and bikini tops were the norm this time of year, and Gwen could swear she had seen her sister-in-law braless more than once!

Still, she had to admit, it was impossible not to like Natalie. She was honest, very caring and giving, devoted to Adam, and a wonderful mother. Even Gwen's parents had considered her a "loose woman" when they first met, but had grown to love her like their own.

Natalie shows more in public than I did in that dressing room, Gwen continued to reason. She doesn't seem embarrassed—why should I? And while she continued to wrestle with her shame, another feeling began to compete for her attention.

Despite her best efforts, the warm tingling feeling of arousal began to spread through her body, seeming to radiate from her sex. She had been almost naked in front of a strange man, and it appeared he was only too happy to look! Letting another man see me was wrong, she argued as the feeling grew, and it's even more wrong to get pleasure from being that man's object of desire! Still, the scene played in her head, and she found herself imagining exactly what the stranger had seen and thought.

In truth, Gwen was uncomfortable with sex in general. She had been taught while growing up that a woman's job was to make babies and give in to her husband's needs, but sex was something that 'good girls endure rather than enjoy'. Rumors and misinformation from the all-girls school she had attended only strengthened this belief, and while her exposure to a bigger world after her marriage had at least softened her conscious stance and permitted her to at least not pass on the worst of it to her daughters, subconsciously there was still a resistance she could not overcome.

Despite her efforts to distract herself, Gwen's mind continued to play with what had happened, what-if scenarios popping into her head as she struggled to push them out again. The thought of what would have happened had she needed to remove her underwear made her gasp before she could focus on what to prepare for dinner that night.

By the time she reached the house she was frantic. A swim might help cool me off, she thought, not even acknowledging the double entendre to herself. Gwen hurried to the bedroom, closing the door despite the being the only one in the house, and shed her clothes before moving to the dresser where she kept her bathing suits.

Her reflection in a nearby mirror caught her eye. Normally she would have hurried by, unwilling to appear conceited, even to herself, but her excitement and her desire to examine what the man might have seen caused her to stop and look. Tan lines were very much in evidence, creamy white skin showing to what lengths she normally went to cover herself. Her breasts were firm and capped by pink areolae, nipples standing erect in the chill of the air conditioned room. A flat stomach led down to a verdant patch of pubic hair, her thatch grudgingly trimmed enough to avoid any potential embarrassment in the very modest one piece bathing suit she normally wore. Her mind began to wander, back to the events in the dressing room, and with it her fingers began to wander as well, gently tracing lines through the valley of her breasts...

"You're sick," she muttered, and angrily took two steps to the right to the dresser to retrieve her suit. A cover-up followed, a towel was retrieved from the bathroom, and she made her way up the small hillock at the back of the house to where the pool sat.

The refreshingly cool water did take her mind off of her situation for the moment. Still, the day's events, and their possibilities, continued to push uninvited into her mind and the 'itch' was stronger than it had been in a long time. Gwen weighed her options as she hung from the side of the pool.

"You could touch yourself," a voice deep inside quietly suggested.

Another voice, strong and sounding much like her mother, reacted in moral outrage. Gwen had tried to masturbate a few times in the past, and while the physical pleasure had been wonderful, the guilt afterwards had been worse. She decided she was not yet desperate enough for that yet. Another plan began to form despite her efforts to concentrate on the proper cooking times for chicken.

Gwen was putting the finishing touches on dinner when she heard Tim's truck pull into the yard. She and her husband had purchased the plumbing business from his old boss shortly after they had married and turned it into a very profitable enterprise, with five employees and three trucks. The business had been so successful that her husband had also managed to purchase the property their house now stood on, relocating the business here as well as building a barn and paddock for Gwen and their children to stable their horses. Gwen managed the business' office when she was not busy caring for the kids.

With both children out of the house—Alison living down in town with her new husband, KD off at college—the house was finally quiet and had allowed their parents to develop a comfortable routine as husband and wife.

"Dinner's ready, go get washed up," she called over her shoulder as he came up behind her and kissed her cheek.

"Smells good," he rumbled as he headed down the hallway to change. She watched him go. He was not a large man, 5'8" according to his driver's license, lean and wiry in build, clean shaven with a neatly-trimmed crop of salt-and-pepper hair. His daughters had joked that many of the women who called for his plumbing expertise were actually hoping for another type of service altogether, something straight out of a porno. Gwen would give them her best disapproving stare when she overheard these conversations. In truth, she never doubted her husband's fidelity—he had never given her a reason to. And she certainly had no intentions of ever being unfaithful to him.

Dinner was put on the table and life progressed as it did most nights, both of them sitting in their favorite spots, watching TV after chores had been done. As was normally the case, Gwen kissed her husband goodnight at 9 and headed to bed, knowing he would be along in a bit.

Tim made his way into the bedroom a half-hour later. He smiled to himself when he saw his wife clad in her traditional knee-length nightgown with the covers pulled about her waist, propped up on a pillow and reading. It was the same scene, every night. Only the nightgown changed, and only the color, never the length. Just once, he mused, I'd like to walk in here and find her naked and waiting for me, legs spread wide. Or maybe on her knees, ass pointed up for me to take.

He knew those were just ridiculous fantasies. Gwen was who she was, the woman he loved more than anyone else in the world, who made him extremely happy and content. She was not a sexual creature—it just wasn't her thing. While she tolerated his more relaxed attitude towards nudity and sexuality, those topics made her very uncomfortable when applied to her own state of being. So, he willingly accepted the once- a-week sex (always missionary, always with the lights out, always with just enough foreplay to get them both ready) and found enough alone time to relieve his sexual stress with the help of his hand and an active imagination. If Gwen knew he was doing this, she never let on. He sometimes wondered how she would react if she knew.

Tim dropped his shorts and climbed under the covers wearing his customary pair of boxers and t-shirt while Gwen placed her bookmark and turned off the light. Leaning over, he kissed her where he imagined her lips to be in the darkness. "G'night honey."

"Good night."

Tim lay there, staring through the darkness at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts while waiting for sleep to come. Beside him, Gwen shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. "Need to remember to put some more inch and a quarter PVC on the truck," he thought. "That job on Blaylock Street is going to use the last of it..."

A hand—Gwen's hand, he reminded himself before realizing how stupid that was, of course it was hers—landed delicately on his stomach just below his navel. It paused only briefly before sliding down until it made contact with the waistband of his shorts, fingers pushing down against his skin to give it enough room to slide under the elastic and on to the head of his flaccid penis. Gingerly, Gwen began to pet the slumbering length.

Tim was afraid to move, not wanting to break the spell. Slowly he turned his head towards where Gwen lay while his member began to grow under her hand. "Tonight?" he asked when he could dimly see her face in the darkness.

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked as her hand quickly withdrew. "If you're too tired, or don't want to, I understand," she said with a touch of panic in her voice.

"No, no," he quickly reassured her. "I want to, it's just that we don't usually, on a weeknight...and when we do it's me who, y'know, starts things..."

The hand withdrew from his stomach altogether. "I'm sorry, You're right--I should have let you start..." her voice trailed off.

Tim wanted to slap himself in the forehead for scaring off her advance. "No, that's not it—I like it when you start—it just surprised me, is all." He quickly brought his knees to his chest and pushed his underwear over his ankles in one swift motion. "Here, let me make it easier." Shorts discarded, Tim put his legs back down and lay still while his cock tried to decide whether to continue its rise or return to its dormant state.

"Are you sure?"

"Very!"

The hand returned, Gwen nervously watching her husband's face in the near darkness for any signs of a negative reaction to her advance. She went directly to his rapidly swelling member this time, petting and stroking gently. Tim rolled to his side as gently as he could and kissed her, anxious to show his approval of her boldness.

Their lips found each other while his hand went to her hip, smoothing and stroking her body through the fabric of the nightgown. He continued to move upward, first to the curve of her waist, then to her ribcage before softly gliding across her breast. Gwen sighed gently at the touch, leaving Tim wondering if it was a sign of pleasure or annoyance. She continued to gently stroke him and he decided not to press his luck. Sliding his hand back down to her thigh, he pulled her nightgown up far enough to get underneath the garment. Long experience had taught him that Gwen normally only allowed him access to her sex long enough to get her to lubricate, making their coupling more comfortable for her. Once she was wet and he was hard, it was time for the main event.

His hand slid up to where he expected her panties to begin, only to find bare skin. He continued up. "No underwear?" he asked, breaking their kiss.

"I didn't think I'd need them right away," she answered softly, unwilling to make eye contact. "Is that OK?"

"It's great," he replied enthusiastically, renewing the kiss while his fingers slipped through the thick carpet on her mons and down to the furrow beneath. Rather than smooth, dry lips needing a gentle stroke, he found his wife soaked and ready, his finger plunging deep into her slit without effort, her opening ready and willing to accept him. Gwen's breathing grew ragged at the touch. Tim slid his finger in and out of her a couple of times, then reluctantly began to withdraw his hand. He knew the routine; when she was wet enough to take him, it was time to finish the act.

Gwen's hand flew from his cock and pressed him back into her crotch with enough force to make it clear she wanted him to stay. Only after she had helped him slide his finger back into her and firmly plant his palm at the top of her furrow did she return her attention to his manhood.

Her hips began to twitch, almost imperceptibly at first, then with more force as her sex pushed against her husband's hand. She kissed him with more passion than he could ever remember, her lips mashed against his, tongue tentatively exploring. Suddenly, her thighs snapped shut, locking his hand in place while she ground against it. Gwen broke her kiss and began panting, seeming to fight to keep silent as her climax built.

Tim watched with fascination. He could easily count the number of times he had seen her orgasm; every time had been with the aid of wine and a vacation setting. Never on a work night, and never in their bed. Gwen continued to thrust against him, finally squeezing her thighs together so hard he thought his fingers might break while her body stiffened. She let out a soft cry, even seeming to squelch this, then went limp. Tim didn't dare move, lying there next to his panting wife while she recovered. After a couple of moments, her eyes fluttered open while her thighs relaxed enough to allow his hand to leave. She looked back at him, her face a mixture of orgasmic bliss, nervousness, and guilt. Tim grinned at her in reassurance while he rolled her onto her back. Putting one knee, then the other, between her thighs, he opened her enough to allow him to crouch between her legs, poised to mount her. Tim pushed the nightgown above her hips and thought about removing it altogether to take in the beauty of her naked body as he penetrated her, but he knew she preferred it on when they made love—he was not anxious to ruin the moment and contented himself with imagining her naked instead.

Tim bent over his wife and kissed her as his hips flexed forward, his cock making contact with her nether lips before pushing through and burying itself in her channel. He began to thrust slowly and evenly, surprised to find Gwen's hips rising to meet his. She had always just lay there and let him do as he wanted—this night was just getting better and better.

His orgasm came quickly, Tim passionately kissing his wife as his thrusting became urgent before he buried himself in her with one last lunge. They lay locked together for several moments before Tim rolled off while Gwen quickly rose and moved to the bathroom. They lay there together for several moments after she returned, Tim spooning her.

"Tim?"

"Hmm?"

"Was that OK? I mean, me starting things, and, you know, what happened to me?"

He hugged her tightly. "It was great. Did you enjoy what happened to you?"

"Yeah, I guess, but..."

"But what?"

"Never mind. Not important."

"Gwen, it's OK to feel good, remember? We talked about that."

She nodded quickly, but said nothing. Tim kissed the back of her head and drew her in close. "Good night."

"Night."

Gwen lay awake long after her husband was breathing deeply behind her, re-examining everything that had happened, and what she had caused to happen. The guilt over her orgasm was not as bad as she thought it would be, and Tim did seem to enjoy her making the first move, and making him happy was part of her job, right? The whole reason she had needed the orgasm in the first place still bothered her, though. Another man had seen her nearly naked, and used that to create pleasure for herself. That just had to be wrong. And yet, different scenarios continued to dance in her mind, scenarios where it might happen again.