I never did stop thinking of that man. Two weeks had gone by and all I could do was think of him. Think of the humiliation. Think of the pain. Think o... the "what ifs" if I'd... If I'd what? There I go again. Thinking about that overbearing excuse of a man and what it'd be like to continue allowing him to do... Do what? Make me feel like a slut? To make me shed my prudish mien? To force me to see myself as something sexual? Something other than a baby-making, frumpy old housewife?Panic crept in. My eyes followed her brown legs up to her thicc (yes, I imagined it spelt that way) thighs, perfectly visible under a small bit of black fabric that passed for a skirt.Above that was a red top with thin straps that barely held in her delicious breasts. I'd never seen so much cleavage (outside of the internet). Moving upward I saw that her make up was carefully done, but also that she was staring back at me, with an amused expression."You've never seen me all done up before, have you?" she. She hastily and nervously apologized for her ‘clumsiness’, and then took him by the hand and led him into the middle of the island, until they were out of sight of the outside. ‘I better get out of these wet clothes’ she said, trying to keep a straight face, and also trying not to beg him right there to touch her body. Her dress came off in one motion (she had planned this, after all), leaving her in nothing but the sexiest bra and panties a princess could manage. He was about to say something,. We had both had a long emotional talk and were getting quite tired. She and I went up stairs. “Oh dam” she said. I haven’t made the guest bed. The linens are in the wash.”“Oh.” I said. I can crash on the couch for the night.” I said turning to go back downstairs. “don’t be silly you can sleep in my bed tonight.” She said turning down her bed. I felt strange and excited at the same time. I shrugged as trying to look as laid back as I could and stripped to my underwear and got into bed. She.