The tall black man sat in an arm chair, with his laptop in his lap, Latte on the glass coffee table in front of him and stared into the screen. He wasn't that interested in what was on it. He came into the Decadent Delight Coffee Shop a couple of times a week just to see who might come in. It was the high end of town. The converted 150-year old Garment District oozed on high end design. Pizza in the next shop was $18.00 for a medium size. The restaurant next to that had several indoor Bocce courts, just for the people waiting to get in. Across the street, the aquarium shop had a variety of glass fish tanks in the range of $ 24,000.00 and up.
The coffee shop he was sitting in was pleasant; from the chair rail, or wainscot down, the walls were a dark chocolate. Above that, the walls were a cream gray. The tables or chairs seemed to have a number of pin lights focused on their tables. You could get a peanut butter cookie for $5.00. The small standard coffee was $3.00. Obviously the prices for Crème Brule and everything else was astronomical. The only ceiling was the bar joists and metal deck about 16'-0" above, and was painted black so it seemed to go on up forever.
Never the less, this dark skinned behemoth seemed to fit right in. Sitting down in the soft leather chair, it was hard to tell that he might be in the range of 6'-8" or so. No fat on him. His crossed legs revealed enough of his shoes beneath his boot cut Levi's to tell that they were the belly leather of Egyptian Crocodile; no longer legally made in the U.S. His starched, button-down collar, oxford blue dress shirt was tucked in and pretty much hidden under the Oleg Cassini, western cut sports coat.
The Café was almost empty, except for two young Chinese men and a beautiful Chinese woman; all about 24 years old. It was hard to tell what they were talking about, or whether they spoke English. They looked like Bananas; a derogatory terms used by Asians (yellow on the outside and white on the inside). The black man ignored them.
He tried not to look up as the door chimed open. He tried, but couldn't help but notice the couple who came in. there was something not quite right; something that didn't make too much sense. The couple didn't seem to match.
The woman was about forty, but very regal. Very regal, but to a degree out of her realm. He tried not to stare. Was she a tall for a woman, or was it just her very slender build, very short dress and high heeled boots that skewed her appearance? Her grey suede boots zipped up the sides and stopped just below her knees. Her legs were covered in a ribbed leggings or hose. Her dress was a button-front with a hem that stopped just above her thumbs. She was elegant, but clearly uncomfortable with something. The dress fit like a glove; tailored to fit. Her breasts were not huge, liked most men idolized. They were "perky" and bobbed when she walked. He would have sworn she had no bra. It was hard to tell. Maybe the kind made out of the clear hose fabric? He swore he could see the outlines of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric. "What kind of work did she do?" he wondered. He had seen many women like her when he was in college. Blanka Vlasic was the first that came to mind; the Olympic high jumper; tall, lean, athletic and regal. She seemed clearly uncomfortable about something.
Her husband seemed to be no match for her. He must have been a good fifteen years older than her. He had graying hair, thinning at the top and was dressed; almost shabbily? What was their relationship?
Jennifer Marie Stephensen did not look around as her husband opened the door for her. She was terrified. "Would this be the day?" she wondered. They had been on several dry runs over the last few months. She was terrified, but did not seem to be able to dissuade her husband.
She had caught him using the internet. She had inadvertently found the computer in a sleep mode after he thought he had turned it off. She had bumped into his "favorites" list and found all the porno. She had been devastated.
Terrified that she had not been enough woman for him, she had tried to talk to him to see why he had seemed to have lost interest in her sexually. Her husband, Jon, had tried to convince her he had not lost interest in her. But he saw his chance.
"I have had fantasies over the years. Have you ever had the urge to be with other men?" he had asked. "Not this again," her mind screamed. Jennifer tried to mask her horror over the perpetual question. "Absolutely not!" she had replied for the thousandth time. "I would never consider doing anything outside of our marriage. I never even had sex with anybody else before we were married." She had said.
Jon felt maybe he had an opening. Her outrage had seemed to be wavering after this latest issue. Gradually over the months, he began to plant subtle suggestions that perhaps a change in their interests could spice up their marriage. Jenny refused to consider the idea. However, she noticed that every time they had this conversation, her husband lit up. His interest in sex seemed to skyrocket for a day or so.
Curious, she began to explore the subject with him; just to see how it would change his behavior. Every time she asked him for details, his libido went through the roof.
"J ... j ... just w ... w ... what would, would you want me to ... to do? Do you actually want me to have sex with another man?" she stammered. It was the same question and answer. This time, Jon seemed to sense more desperation in her voice; less conviction on her part.
"Look, hon, you don't need to do anything you're uncomfortable with. But can't you just loosen up a little bit? Look at how you dress. It's like you're ready to teach Sunday school every day; everywhere we go. Why don't we just take some baby steps? Let's go out. Let's go somewhere we haven't gone before. Let's go do something we haven't done before."
Jenn felt like she was having her teeth pulled; without Novocain.
"Where ... where ... where do ... do you want to go? What ... what do you want me to wear?" she stammered; wondering whether she was actually considering it.
"Let's go out somewhere tomorrow; Friday night. You dress up and we'll try something new. We can go where nobody knows us."
Jennifer's head dropped. It was a triumph of sorts. She had not protested. She had not given that indignant look. She had not bagged on him being a pervert. He had to be careful; "Don't overdo it." He told himself.
The next evening when Jennifer got home, she walked in and threw her keys on the end table. She was surprised to see her husband dressed and ready to go. She went up to the bedroom to check her makeup. There on the bed was a bunch of clothes laid out on the edge. Jenn looked through them curiously. They were her daughter's. Who had laid them out; her husband or her daughter? Then she remembered the conversation from the evening before.
She had tried to blot it out of her mind; hoping he had too. No luck.
Dakota had teased her on occasion about her matronly choice of clothes. "Lighten up; Mom. You're pretty. Let it show." She had told her on so many occasions. Still, she could not imagine her daughter would have laid these clothes out for her. She had even forbid her daughter to wear this dress once before. Now, here it was; on her bed.
"I guess I'll do it just this once; just so Jon can't say I never do anything." She muttered to herself. Jenn sat down in front of her mirror and combed out her reddish brown hair so it cascaded down her back. She took the hair at her temples and braided it all the way and tied them together with a green butterfly at the back of her head. It kept her hair off of her face.
She put a faint red lipstick on; just enough to say she had used makeup. Her skin was soft and tanned, with the faint fine down of a baby; hardly noticeable on her face and arms. Her complexion was a contradiction for a redhead. Most redheads don't tan. Her hours of daily jogging gave her just the suggestion of freckles below her soft medium tan. Although she never wore makeup, nobody would have ever noticed. Her green eyes were intoxicating.
She was a little shocked at the panties and bra that were laid out. "Where had they come from?" she wondered. Dakota didn't dress that way and neither did she. The bra was a quarter-cup contraption like hose that stopped just below her nipples. She was outraged. "Just get the fuck over it." She tried to tell herself. "Nobody but Jon or I are ever going to know." She told herself. The thong was just as outrageous. It was not a real thong; the kind that gets stuck in your ass, like dental floss. The outrageous part was it was the same transparent, hose fabric. The front was skimpy, but the back was a full panel that went to her hip bone. "Nobody will ever fucking know." She told herself.
She put the dark, ribbed hose/leggings on and then the high boots. She looked at herself in the mirror as she slipped the dress over her shoulders. She watched herself as she buttoned the front. The square-cut front was pretty low in the front, but didn't really look slutty. "Can they see my nipples?" she wondered. Probably. Jenn looked around. She went to her closet and pulled out a cashmere sweater. It had long sleeves. She decided that she could leave it unbuttoned, but the sides would give her enough modesty as long as she didn't twist around or bend over too much; she told herself.
Jenny looked at herself nervously in the full length mirror. She looked nervously at the hemline. Outrageous. Never-the-less, it isn't any shorter than any of the other women seem to be wearing them now, she told herself. Maybe her husband was right; maybe she just needed to let go a little. Maybe they would go where nobody else knew them.
.... There is more of this story ...