I held the lingerie up by its tiny straps. A froth of cheap, bubblegum pink nylon with little round doilies of gold lace over the nipple areas. Matching lace ruffles around the legs. Open crotch.
Not mine.
"I'm going to kill him." The thought formed slowly and the words were whispered behind clenched teeth.
"Then, I'll kill her." I didn't even know who she was, but I was damn well going to find out.
Blood pounded in my head and I felt sick to my stomach. A little dizzy. Then I realized I was hyperventilating. I sat down on the unmade bed and tried to breathe normally.
It was hard because this wasn't normal.
I knew what normal was. It was my life. I took care of my husband, our daughter, Sheridan, and our home. I decorated the house, orchestrated our schedules, volunteered at Sheridan's school, and played hostess to Craig's business associates. I played tennis at the country club, grew flowers in the front yard and tomatoes and strawberries in the back. My hobby was taking photographs that chronicled our lives, a selection of which were included with the family newsletter every Christmas. My life was the definition of normal. Until now. When the nausea faded, I looked at the dreadful evidence of his unfaithfulness again.
Outside of being wrinkled, it didn't appear to have been used. At least it hadn't been laundered from the condition of the papery tag sewn into the back seam. I fingered the tag and squinted at the information printed in English, Spanish and French. Nylon/acrylic. Hand wash, line dry. Size XXL.
XXL? Craig Williams, my husband of nineteen years, was having an affair with a fat woman. I cringed at my attitude. There was nothing wrong with being fat. My friend, Lily, was plump. I was carrying a few extra pounds myself. Nothing wrong with it. Besides, XXL didn't necessarily mean fat. She could be big boned. Or tall. Maybe statuesque.
She was probably a freaking Amazon goddess.
In my bed. With my husband.
That certainly explained why we rarely had sex any more. Craig was having Amazon-sex with his voluptuous mistress instead of Pygmy-sex with his five-foot-two-inch wife.
"Skye?" Craig's voice floated up the stairwell to me. "I'm home."
I froze like I'd been caught sweeping dirt under a rug. I glanced around the room, searching for a place to hide the lingerie. What the hell was I thinking? I didn't need to hide the damn thing. I wasn't the one who'd hidden it under his side of the bed.
"Hey." Craig walked into the bedroom, looked at the sleazy pink confection in my hand and stopped. His mouth opened then closed into a grim line.
At that point, I really had no choice. I would have preferred to confront him at a different time, in a different place. Perhaps with all my wits about me. Even with some of my wits within arm's reach.
"What is this?" I held out the handful of wrinkled pink and gold teddy.
He looked confused. It was a decent attempt. Genuine, almost. Maybe it was more surprised than confused.
"What do you mean?"
What did I mean? Oh, okay. We were doing the I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-talking-about thing.
"I mean, what was this," I shook the thing at him, "doing under the mattress on your side of the bed?"
"Why were you looking under my side of the mattress?" he asked.
Oh, no. I was not going there. I wasn't about to play his game of making me feel guilty for doing something he construed as snooping. I'd played that game before and lost every time. Besides, I had not been snooping. I'd been changing the sheets and the mattress pad. As any good housewife would every freaking Wednesday for the past nineteen years. I lifted an eyebrow.
He stared at me.
I glared back.
I watched several emotions flicker in his eyes and wondered why I couldn't put a name to any of them. A smile wavered on his lips.
"I bought it for you, sweetie."
Bull shit!
Any possibility that I might believe him was killed when he said sweetie. Craig never used endearments with me. A fact that had annoyed me to no end the first few years, but I'd adjusted. He just wasn't an endearment kind of guy.
"Liar!" I threw the lingerie on the still unmade bed and stomped out of the bedroom.
"Why would I lie?" Craig followed me down the hall and stopped at the stairs.
"I have no idea, Craig. But, I know that you did not buy that cheesy piece of garbage for me. For one thing, it's not my size. By a long shot. For another, you know I'd never wear anything like that."
"Well, maybe you should."
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to look up at him. He had a sheepish grin on his face that just pissed me off even more. "Are you saying that I am somehow lacking as a woman because I don't wear trashy lingerie?" I turned on my heel and continued into the kitchen. Craig followed me.
"I'm saying that maybe I'd like to see you in something like that."
I stopped in front of the refrigerator and turned to him. Had he lost his mind?
"You would? You want to see me in that pink piece of dreck?"
"Why not?" Craig lifted his shoulders and grinned.
"I don't think so. I think you want to see someone else in that." I held up a finger. "Correction. I think you have already seen someone else in it." I jerked open the refrigerator, pulled out the T-bone steaks I'd marinated for dinner, slammed them down on the counter, and turned back to him.
"You think I'm having an affair with another woman?"
I had to hand it to him. He had the whole shocked-and-disappointed look down pat. I almost felt bad about accusing him.
"Skye, I would never want another woman over you."
Damn, if he didn't sound sincere. Craig looked like his feelings were hurt. I had a momentary twinge of regret before righteous indignation boiled up inside me again.
"You really expect me to believe that? You are so full of shit!"
"Skye, I swear. There is no woman in my life but you." He laid a hand on my shoulder and I shrugged it off.
"Just get away from me."
Craig shook his head in a sad way, held his hands up in defeat and walked out of the kitchen.
Nice try. I looked down at the plastic bag of steaks swimming in red wine, herbs and olive oil and realized I hadn't made the salad. Or the garlic bread. I hadn't even fired up the grill yet. I glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. I hadn't done all those things because it wasn't dinner time.
Besides, why should I prepare dinner for that jerk? Bad enough that he was screwing around. I certainly didn't want to feed him so he would be strong enough to cheat on me. I threw the steaks back into the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. One of Craig's beers. I'm usually a wine drinker, but the idea of drinking his beer appealed to me. Opening the pantry, I took the last bag of his favorite chips and headed to the patio.
I downed half the beer in one swill, which calmed me down some. Also gave me a little buzz. The buzz felt so good that I decided to switch to wine. Craig came into the kitchen while I was filling my glass with Merlot.
"What's for dinner?"
At least he hadn't asked in a demanding tone. Still, he surely didn't think I was in any mood to cook?
To be fair, I had trained him to expect dinner at seven every night. The only exceptions were when we dined out, the night I'd gone into labor with our daughter Sheridan, and the night I'd spent in the hospital with her when she had her appendix removed. Our lives were structured and predictable, because that's how Craig wanted it. I'd left my own spontaneity at the altar, and after so many years I was accustomed to the structure and predictability too.
"I'm having wine." I took my wine back to the patio and listened to Craig fumble around in the kitchen for a while. Finally, I heard the ding of the microwave and then silence.
Once the anger died down to a cold knot in my stomach, I wondered who she was. And when they did it. And why. What had happened in our marriage to make him want someone else? And how had I missed the signs? Weren't there always signs that pointed to this sort of thing? Was I just one of those women who ignored flagrant indications that her husband was cheating? Maybe I was.
There was no point in trying to continue the conversation with Craig. I was half drunk and I knew he would be in shut-down mode. I rinsed out my wine glass, threw away the empty chip bag and went upstairs.
The bedroom was dark and empty. Craig was probably in the den working, which was his usual method of not dealing with something. I changed into a set of short cotton pajamas and looked at the unmade bed. No way was I going to sleep in that bed with him. Fortunately I kept the guest bedroom made up, so I went in there and cried myself to sleep.
* * *
I woke up disoriented.
Not quite sure where I was, I closed my eyes again. After I realized I was in the guest room, I tried to think of why I would be there.
Oh, yes! Craig was having an affair. And lying about it.
Rotten bastard.
I opened my eyes again and turned my head. The clock read nine-fifteen. Normally, I'm up by seven. I make breakfast for Craig, see him off to work, then get on with my day. Craig would have left for work already, so no breakfast duties today. I could get started on my list of things to do. Shopping for groceries, washing the car, taking old clothes to Goodwill, cleaning the bathrooms.
Considering the events of last night, the list was a bit overwhelming, so I settled for brushing my teeth and putting on a pot of water for tea.
"Skye?"
"Craig, what are you doing here?" He should have been in his office an hour ago.
"I wanted to talk to you."
The tea kettle whistled and I poured the hot water in my cup, added a tea bag, and sat at the breakfast table. Craig spooned coffee into the coffee maker, turned it on, and leaned against the counter, studying his feet. I waited. Years of living with him had taught me that if I did anything to try to hurry him along, he would just dig in and take even longer to speak. I was halfway through my tea when he finally spoke.
"About that lingerie." He cleared his throat. I straightened in my chair and watched him. Whatever he was about to say seemed to be a struggle.
"Yes?" My stomach flipped and fluttered.
"This is really hard." Craig turned and poured himself a cup of coffee. "It's mine."
"Excuse me?" I heard his words but my mind just couldn't assimilate them.
"I've been curious about stuff, you know?"
Craig passed his coffee cup from one hand to the other. "About what it would feel like to wear something like that. So, I've been chatting on-line with some other cross-dressers,"
Oh, God, was I married to one of those men who wore evening gowns and pancake makeup and sang show tunes? Weren't they all gay? Craig couldn't be gay. We'd been married forever. We had a daughter. We had sex. Not often, and maybe it wasn't really hot, but still.
"I know it's probably weird to you. But, really, it's not that big a deal." He shrugged. "I was just curious."
Not that big a deal? Just curious? I took a deep breath and thought it would have been easier to deal with the Amazon goddess. Then it hit me. "That thing is too small for you."
"I thought it would fit. I wear XXL in a sweater."
He was still turned away from me and I wished I could see his face so I'd have a clue as to whether he was lying to me.
"I just didn't want you thinking that I was having an affair with another woman. I'd never do that to you."
"Okay." I wasn't sure what I really meant by that. Was I okay with him being a cross-dresser? Did I believe he wouldn't have an affair? I had no idea. But it seemed to work for him.
"I have to get to the office. I'm late." Craig set his cup down, turned and leaned over to give me a quick peck on the lips.
I don't think I moved for half an hour. Cross-dressing? My Craig?
Eventually an image formed in my mind and I almost fell off my chair laughing. Craig is a big, masculine guy. Several inches over six feet, hairy, barrel chest, biceps as big as my thighs. The thought of him in a lacy teddy was not a pretty one. But was it worse than the thought of him in bed with another woman?
I finally set my cold tea down and looked at the phone on the kitchen wall. I really needed to talk to someone about this. I had two friends close enough to share this with. Lily would be busy at her new age shop which left Bobbi Jo. The phone rang just as I reached for it
"Hey, Skye, you won't believe what happened." Bobbi Jo's familiar Texan drawl made me feel like life was normal again.
"What?"
"Edward's car was broken into last night."
"Where?"
"In the garage at his office. He had a late meeting and when he got to the car, the lock was popped off. They stole his laptop."
"That's terrible, Bobbi Jo, but at least they didn't take the car."
"The police said something must have interrupted them, so they just took what they could get their hands on and ran."
"Didn't the alarm go off?" I asked.
"I guess not. Edward said he couldn't remember if he'd turned it on when he parked it. It just a weird feeling to know somebody's been rooting around in our car."
"Speaking of weird, can you come over?"
"Sure, but why is that weird?"
"Sorry, it isn't. It's just that something weird has happened and I need to talk about it."
"You sound serious, darlin'. What's up?"
"It's too much to go into on the phone."
"I'm at the salon getting my nails done. I'll be there in an hour."
I hung up the phone and headed for the bathroom. After a quick shower, I pulled on shorts and a tee shirt, slathered some mousse onto my hair, slapped on some moisturizer and called it done. I knew Bobbi Jo would be hungry, so I arranged a small platter with mini-muffins, fruit, and cheese. I'd just put on more water for tea when the doorbell chimed.
"It's open," I called from the kitchen.
"Hey, how ya doin'?" Bobbi Jo whirled into the kitchen, folded her arms around me for a fierce hug, then stepped back. "Now, what's weird that you want to talk about?"
If I didn't love Bobbi Jo so much, I could hate her for being so perfectly groomed all the time. Something I'd never mastered. Sure, I could pull my self together for a special occasion, but I just didn't have the same raw material. I was short with an average build plus a couple of pounds that had crept up on me the past few years. My hair was a medium brown, cut to a medium length.
Bobbi Jo, on the other hand, was tall and slender with a short mop of flaming red curls. At thirty eight, she could easily pass for ten years younger and everyone assumed she was a trophy wife to Edward Melrose, her husband of twelve years. They were wrong. Bobbi Jo and Edward were a love match in spite of the twenty-four year difference in their ages.
"You want something to eat?" I asked. "It's probably going to be a long story." The teapot whistled and I poured the hot water into a ceramic pot, set it on a tray with cups, sugar, milk, and lemon, and carried it into the living room. I turned to go back for the tray of food, but Bobbi Jo had picked it up and followed me.
Bobbi Jo poured herself a cup of tea and lifted an eyebrow. "So, tell me everything."
I popped a bite of muffin into my mouth to stall for a little time. Bobbi Jo sat back on the sofa and waited. Bobbi Jo tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the arm of the sofa and sipped her tea. I finished chewing the mini muffin and swallowed.
"Craig is a cross-dresser."
Her blue-gray eyes sparkled under raised eyebrows. A smile slowly spread across her lips. Then she laughed. A big, boisterous belly laugh.
"Oh my gawd! Skye, that's the funniest thing I ever heard."
"It's not funny!" It was, of course. Hadn't I just been laughing earlier?
"What makes you think he's a cross-dresser?"
"He told me so. This morning."
"Now, wait a minute." Bobbi Jo set down her tea cup and held up a hand. "Craig just woke up and said he's a cross-dresser?"
"Not exactly." I told her about the frothy pink nylon with the gold lace doilies and missing crotch.
"So, that's why."
"What do you mean?"
"A man isn't about to tell his wife he's a cross-dresser unless he's caught with the lingerie. I should know."
"You should know?" I asked.
"My first husband was a cross-dresser. He didn't admit it until I walked in on him in his undies and stockings. Well, his undies. They were my stockings."
"You never told me that!"
"Well, what was the point? He was gone and it didn't seem to matter."
I nodded. Bobbi Jo's first husband had been killed in a boating accident just a year into their marriage.
"I don't know what to think. Last night I was sure he was having an affair and now he tells me he's curious about wearing lingerie. What's next? Is he going to tell me he's gay?"
"There are a lot of regular men who just like to put on women's clothes. "Who knows why? But they aren't necessarily gay."
"That's a relief. So what should I expect?"
"It depends. Some men just like to cross-dress as a sexual outlet. Others like to dress up and see if they can pass for a woman. A few of them actually want to be a woman, but that's a whole nother issue."
"I don't think Craig wants to be a woman. I doubt he even wants to pass as a woman," I said, unable to picture my tall, masculine husband trying to pass as a woman.
"Yeah, there's no way he could pass. I'd bet with Craig, it's a sexual thing. And, darlin', that part of it can definitely be fun."
"Fun? You mean he'll want to wear stuff when we make love?"
"It was the best sex my husband and I ever had. After a while, I started to think a man in see-through panties was the hottest thing on God's green earth. But, I think it was mostly that he was so turned on by wearing them."
I dropped my head into my hands afraid I was going to hyperventilate again. Was I ready for this? Probably not. On the other hand, Craig and I weren't having much of a love life lately. None actually, for several months.
"Is that why we never make love anymore?"
"What? Problems in the bedroom?"
"Not problems, really. Just nothing. I think it's been five or six months since we've made love." Or had it been longer? Possibly. Mostly I tried to not think about it.
"Darlin', that's just not right. Have you talked to him about it?"
"At first I thought it was his back. He had a bad sprain and had to wear a brace for a couple of months. Then he seemed tired all the time and then he was working really long hours on a new project."
"But did you talk to him about it?" Bobbi Jo asked.
"Well, I asked him if anything was wrong, but he said no. I didn't want to push him because he had so much other stuff going on."
"And before that, was everything all right?"
"I guess so. I mean, we've been married for a while. It's not like we're on our honeymoon."
"Just how often do you two make love?"
"Not as often as we did in our twenties," I admitted. "But, that's normal. It just drops off over the years. I think we usually make love once a month, most of the time."
Bobbi Jo's eyebrows crept toward her hairline. "And you're okay with that?"
"I just think he has a low sex drive. Besides, it's not like we aren't affectionate. Sex isn't everything." How the hell had we started talking about my sex life? Much less picking it apart?
"Well, of course, everyone's sex drive isn't the same. Still, once a month doesn't seem like much of a sex drive at all." Bobbi Jo sounded concerned enough to make me wonder if that was true.
Had I just gotten used to infrequent sex? More importantly, was this the key to revitalizing our sex life? The comment Bobbi Jo had made about having such great sex with her first husband when he wore panties was intriguing.
"So, you had hot sex when your husband wore panties to bed?" The idea titillated me. More than a little. The thought of Craig in lacy little nothings still made me want to giggle but the thought of hot, sweaty, screaming sex was nothing to laugh about.
"Oh, darlin'! You would not believe how hot it was. Brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it."
"Maybe I should buy Craig some panties, then." As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized that I wasn't joking.
"Oh my gawd! Are you ready for that Skye?"
"Is anyone ever ready for something like this?" I didn't know what I was ready for. But I wasn't going to let that stop me. "Why not?"
"Great. Fix your hair and get your purse. I know just the place to go."
What was wrong with my hair?
* * *
Adult videos and toys.
Rentals and sales.
Obviously, I had lost my mind.
I took a deep breath and fought the urge to hyperventilate. Surely they didn't mean to say they rented adult toys. Next to the sign offering to sell or rent videos and toys, glowing neon script proclaimed the name of the establishment.
"Silky Secrets?" I asked as Bobbi Jo pulled her Range Rover into a parking spot in the strip mall. The display windows held a variety of lingerie. Teddies trimmed with feathers. Stockings with seams up the back and elastic lace at the top. Really, really high heels. There were the usual outfits—French maid, stripper, nurse. Outside of the grammatically incorrect sign, the store wasn't sleazy looking. Still, did I really want to do this?
A Lincoln Navigator pulled up next to us and a young woman with perfectly streaked hair, burst from the vehicle. The enormous diamond on her French manicured hand drew my attention to the fact that all she carried was a platinum credit card and her car keys as she ran into the store.
"You think she's having an erotic emergency?" I asked.
"Haven't we all, at one time or another?" Bobbi Jo waggled her eyebrows at me. "Let's go buy your husband some panties."
The store was much nicer than I'd thought it would be. The woman from the Navigator stood in front of a rack of videos in a room set off to one side of the store. I wasn't quite curious enough to check out the selection of entertainment. The front of the store was dedicated to the milder lingerie, and the further back we went the more imaginative it became. Bobbi Jo pulled me over to a section marked Plus Sizes. I guessed that's what Craig would wear. I picked up a pair of large bikini panties in black nylon with a red glittery design. Bobbi Jo shook her head.
"You want something crotchless."
"Crotchless?"
"Well, how else are you going to get to the goods, darlin'?"
She had a point. This was supposed to be as much for my benefit as his and having his family jewels encased in nylon probably wouldn't do me much good. Bobbi Jo pawed through the selection and finally held up a pair of fire-engine red sheer panties with black sequins and lacy black ruffles around the high cut legs.
"These are perfect." She stuck her hand through the open crotch and waved it around.
"I think these are nice." I held up a pair of not-quite-sheer white panties with sparkly pink ribbons on the sides. Unfortunately, the crotch was intact.
"Too tame."
"Really? I'd wear them."
"Exactly." She waved her hand in dismissal of the too tame undies, then grabbed my arm. "Oh! Good point. What are you going to wear?"
"Me?" I usually wear an oversized tee shirt and cotton boxers to bed. I didn't think that's what Bobbi Jo wanted to hear. "I have a long negligee. It's black and it's very low cut in the front."
"Can you see through it?"
"Not unless there's a light behind me."
"We need to get you something. Does Craig have any fantasies?"
"Sexual fantasies?"
"That you know about?" she added.
Hell, I hadn't even known about the panty thing until this morning. "None that I'm aware of."
"Okay, we'll just wing it. Go with something standard." Bobbi Jo dragged me back to the front of the store.
Half an hour later, we left with the panties for Craig and a French maid outfit for me which included high heels, mesh stockings, a garter belt and a boned black satin teddy with holes for my nipples and a bright green satin bow tie that Bobbi Jo said brought out the green in my hazel eyes. I don't know how because the bow was on my butt.
Bobbi Jo pulled into my driveway and shooed me out of the car. "I want to hear every detail tomorrow. Now, go get ready."
I dumped my purchases on the bed in the guest room and considered my options. How, exactly, should I present this little set up to Craig? I had no idea. Planning and shopping with Bobbi Jo had been fun, but the reality of getting my husband into panties and then seducing him was intimidating.
Could I really look at Craig in frilly see thorough panties and not laugh? I reminded myself that hot sex would be my reward. We'd never really had hot sex. It was okay, but nothing to scream about. Hot sex would be good. If I could just not laugh or throw up.
I ran a bath and soaked for a while. I shaved my legs and under my arms. I washed my hair and even used conditioner. I rubbed my expensive lotion everywhere, then styled my hair, taking more than the usual three minutes.
That didn't seem to be really enough, so I painted my toenails a bright red and applied makeup with a heavy hand while they dried. The make up didn't look so bad, but the toenails were a mess. I spent ten minutes with a box of cotton swabs and nail polish remover to neaten them up a bit. I considered polishing my fingernails, but looking at the job I'd done on my toes, decided I was better off with the natural look.
Bobbie Jo had insisted I forget about dinner. We could always eat later, if we still had the energy. That thought left me a little light headed and it had the added benefit of me not having anything in my stomach to throw up. I left a note on the table in the entry way telling Craig to meet me in the bedroom. Not that I would be waiting for him there. But I had laid the crotchless, sheer panties on his pillow.
My plan was to wait in the guest room until I heard him arrive. Give him a few minutes to find the undies and get into them, then saunter into the bedroom and get the games underway. I refused to think about exactly what might happen. I'd be open to everything. I'd go with the flow. I'd give Craig a night to remember. Maybe this would rejuvenate our marriage. We'd start another phase of our lives together. At the very least, I'd get laid.
I poured myself a glass of wine and took it to the guest room to get dressed. Craig was due home in fifteen minutes. I wriggled into the outfit, struggling with the zipper in the back. The boned garment pulled in my tummy and pushed up my breasts. I'd never had such a tiny waist or so much cleavage. I tried to ignore the fact that my nipples protruded from the little fur-trimmed cut outs. Standing in front of the full length mirror, I regretted that I'd been skipping the gym for the past few weeks. Or was it months? I turned to look at my backside. The big green bow did nothing for my butt and there was a jiggle to my thighs that I hadn't noticed before. No problem. I'd just keep the lights low.
I'd gotten a really big glass of wine, but it wasn't making a dent in my nerves. I sat on the bed, one mesh clad knee crossed over the other, my high heeled foot jumping up and down until my shin started to burn.
Finally, I heard the front door open. Oh, shit! What if he came to the guest room? I lurched across the room and locked the door, then sat on the bed and concentrated on being quiet. That was better than thinking about what I would be doing in just a few minutes.
I heard Craig walk up the stairs. I heard the bedroom door open. The clock read five forty seven. I waited until it read six oh one, slugged down the last of my wine, and stood on wobbly four inch heels.
Showtime!