We argued about it a bit; she hated hunting generically, while I was of two minds about it. Hunting for the dinner table, well and good, as I saw it; ...t culled the herds to prevent overpopulation, it was a lot less cruel than the vagaries of natural selection and winnowing by casual starvation and disease, and the meat went to good use. She reluctantly conceded that point. On the other hand, we shared a distaste for trophy hunting.Catching a lull between new registrations—by then six vehicles. Almost as immediately she came down stairs, still in her gown. I apologised for having cause any embarrassment and she told me not to worry but she had asked me not to have come upstairs.I said I was sorry again and she huffed. Then without any warning she asked, was I listening at the door. I was rocked. I mean the question wasn’t unexpected, but it did take me by surprise. “Well”? she demanded. “Were you? I mean you’ve been through my nicker draw, you’ve riffled though my mags and my. Two nights later I came home from a job interview and there was a note pushed under my door. In Frieda's printing. Dinner upstairs at 7. That's all it said. Not asking me. Telling me. I got hard thinking about it. How friendly would she be in front of her husband? I was sure to wear her soiled panties under my pants. You never know what she might have planned. I had been sniffing them and jacking off to them several times a day. I knocked on the back door at seven and she took her time. "Changing..." I tell him."Should I go home?" he asks."What?!" I blurt. "Why?" I don't know..." he mutters and hesitates. "Can I come in?" Gimme a sec," I tell him.Come in here? Now? With me half-dressed as a baby? I'm trying to changeback to my clothes. I'm harder. What the hell!"I want to change," I tell him.The door opens a bit. He whispers."Change?" he asks quietly."Yeah," I tell him. "Out of these clothes." You don't have to," he tells me.I don't have to? Yes I do. I must change out of.