I’d even suggested marriage counseling, but after his experience with doctors prescribing meds that didn’t help, Bryan refused to consider it.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said into Bryan’s shoulder while his chicken sizzled. “I feel like we’ve tried everything and we’re running out of ideas.”
11
That March, when winter refused to let go, I’d run out of ideas to reconnect with Bryan. And so I knew it was time. Time for lingerie.
Not that I didn’t have anything sexy. There was the St. Patrick’s Day bra with the shamrocks barely covering my nipples. A little skimpy Santa chemise. Somewhere in the back of my underwear drawer was a stretchy black thong. Truth was, Bryan and I hadn’t really cared about the wrappings; we were always in a hurry to get to the good parts. He was lithe and limber and adventurous in bed, which thrilled me after years of uninspired, vanilla marital sex.
I spent more than an hour shopping Amazon for racy, uncomplicated lingerie that I would be able to slip out of seductively, or at least without losing my balance and falling over.
Anything with a garter belt was out of the question, because it highlighted the exact part of me I wanted to underplay: my upper thighs.
There were hundreds of pleather bodysuits and over-the-knee platform boots, most accessorized with a whip. Not interested. I had no desire to dominate a man. If I were ever in a dom/sub relationship, I knew I would be the one submitting.
Crotchless panties? Pass. Role-play outfits? I considered a Little Red Riding Hood costume that was actually kind of hot. But it would barely cover my ass, another part of my body I hoped not to spotlight.
I finally went with a black lace peek-a-boo bra that exposed my greatest asset: my boobs. I threw in a pair of boy shorts I hoped would have enough spandex to suck in my stomach. I clicked the order button, hoping I wouldn’t look ridiculous and also hoping the lingerie wouldn’t stay on for very long once Bryan and I got our hands on each other.
The next Friday night, I made grilled chicken salad for dinner, hoping Bryan wouldn’t hunker down on the couch with a fleece blanket and turn on Netflix.
“Here you go,” I said, bringing a bottle of Moscato to the dinner table. “I got wine!”
“Why are you acting so strange?”
“Strange?” I was slightly offended, and the peek-a-boo bra had turned out to be extremely itchy, especially under a turtleneck. I was seriously concerned about breaking out in hives.
“I don’t mean strange, just…giddy,” Bryan said, holding out his wineglass to be filled.
After we finished eating, Bryan helped load the plates into the dishwasher, then headed to the living room.
I took a deep breath. How to be seductive? How to be serious at the same time? Giddy, I felt pretty certain, wasn’t sexy.
As predicted, Bryan was huddled beneath the blanket with little sheep carousing in a field.
I picked up a corner of the blanket and slid in next to him.
He put his arm around me. Good sign. And yawned. Bad sign.
I kicked myself for not planning ahead and wearing a cardigan that I could slowly unbutton instead of a turtleneck I’d have to struggle with to get out of. But something had to be done, and it had to happen before Bryan nodded off, which was about forty-five seconds. I got off the couch and gamely pulled the turtleneck off over my head. There I was, itchy black bra with my nipples exposed, and vampire leggings.
“Wow,” Bryan said, visibly stunned. “What is that?”
Either he didn’t recognize my boobs, or he’d never seen a bra without cups. I considered grabbing the turtleneck to cover up, but before I could, Bryan was off the couch and leading me to the bedroom.
Success.
I quickly unbuttoned his flannel shirt, then fumbled with the zipper of his jeans, which were snug over his erection. It had been a long time since I’d been that turned on. Pulling his jeans off, I got on my knees to take him in my mouth.
“Wait,” he said, pulling me up. “I want to see. Show me what else you have on.”
At the last minute, I’d left the boy shorts on the floor and gone with nothing on under my leggings. When I sat on the edge of the bed and began peeling them off, Bryan was the one on the floor ready to use his tongue.
But as soon as he opened my legs and touched me, it happened. I broke out nervous laughter, which I can tell you is a serious mood-breaker.
“Let’s try again,” I said, reaching back to unhook the bra.
“Leave it on,” Bryan said, pulling my hands away.
I loved to be told what to do. And with that, I was wet and ready. I wanted to just skip the foreplay, but Bryan wanted to make a night of it. He ran his hands across my breasts, fingering the black lace, which unfortunately made it itchier. I fought the urge to scratch and wished he’d let me take the damn thing off and just lie there naked. Bryan ducked his head to lick my nipples, and this time thankfully I didn’t laugh, but moaned instead. He loved to use his tongue, and I was the lucky recipient.
But I didn’t want to just lie there and make him do all the work.
I pushed him down on the bed next to me, effectively putting the brakes on everything he was trying to do. Well, that was a wrong move. Time to rethink. I decided to throw caution to the wind and get into a good, sweet 69, but there was the
