What Lies Beneath
I usually pick at the tissue paper with my fingertips, breath held, teeth nibbling my lower lip, my entire body quivers until I see that first glimpse of colour folded against itself. I tend to stay with the same tones--black or blush-- love how the silk, in those hues, looks against the ivory of my skin, which is pale for a brunette.... my veins show through on my neck, my inner arms, my thighs, breasts... the silk accentuates this, making me feel delicate.
I have a ritual, lying the beautiful lingerie on my quilt, walking quietly around the room, admiring it, loving the idea it's already been hand laundered, ready for me to wear. As I pass, I touch where the silk will rest, blush.
Long bath, rose-scented salts, I let my hands glide over my skin once again, dream of his tenderness when he removes the delicate bits of silk in the next room. Where he removes my inhibitions, too - and leaves me open, willing and wanting from him all I need, all I can give.
I dry and in the coolness, goosebumps ripple as I lift the bra and slip it on, hook it, adjusting cups, straps and let fingertips drift over the front, feel the dainty lightness of the material. The tap short knickers follow, and settled on my hips, I feel very 30s, very perfect and inviting - whether he takes them off or not.
I stand - on the verge of going over the edge, flushed- brought here by the perfection of these overpriced bits of silk and hooks I have sent from France. I skimp elsewhere for the simple pleasure to open my drawer, see matched sets, scented by roses from my garden. Worked into complete sensual bliss by grazing my palm over the shirt or sweater I wear, feel the silk pressed against my skin, my hardened nipples. I am as content leaving these bits on, as I am when they are removed - and he knows this. Feeling them against his skin, as it slides against mine, makes me breathless. He knows this, and uses them as foreplay, a prelude to our lovemaking.
Skin warmed, I leave the house, head for Ralph's, simple chores, life - there is a pleasurable swing to my hips... beneath my jeans, my cotton sweater.... the $400 of silk undergarments... and resist temptation, the make the detour, slowly peel off my clothing in his office, a preview of things to come. I resist, maneuver the cart, an aimless smile on my lips.
It really is better to give than receive, right?