Something that drifted. Something that made her look like his bride. Never one of the wash-and-wear sweater sets that made her look like a third grade...teacher. When he came home, she was his Tabitha, sexy and loving, not Tabby, the patient and mothering schoolmarm.He'd walk to her. He never pushed through the crowd, but somehow people just seemed to move out of his way, and he'd drop his briefcase at her feet, wrap his hands around her shoulders, and look down into her eyes. And he always. I excused myself saying I wanted to take a shower while they both talked and of course in the back of my mind, I wanted this guy to somehow see me naked "accidently" of course. I took out a thin robe which I always wear after a shower and in about 20 minutes entered the room wearing it. I saw his eyes wander over my body as he tried to see through my robe and purposely walked in front of the large window since it was till daylight so he could see me. Wow, was I ever so horny. My husband, to. M. and, too tired to bother cooking, I decided to drive to a local Indian restaurant on my way home. It was a place I had previously frequented every week, but a change of jobs had taken me to a different locality. For some reason on this night I thought to revisit after more than a year, even though it meant a circuitous route home that added a couple of miles to the journey.The place had been redecorated since my last visit and now had a minimalist feel. The carpets had been replaced by. She pointedto my single bed and told me to crawl up on it and get on my hands andknees. My mother had always been the disciplinarian in our family (I wasan only child), so I had an idea of what was coming, but never did Iexpect what happened next. As I started to cry, she made me put my headdown on the bed, but told me to stay on my knees. She lifted the hem ofthe skirt that I had on, and slowly pulled it up over my head. It waslike being in a tent, and I could only hear, not see what she was.
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