It was the first time in our eight years of marriage that Mitch had bought lingerie for me, so it's arrival that Valentines Day afternoon by express delivery from a rather exclusive upscale lingerie store caught me completely off guard, and, frankly, it left me feeling a little skeptical. I was never one much for the pretentious celebrations that surrounded Valentines Day, a holiday which I was convinced was nothing more than a commercial fabrication, and one which had passed little noticed at our house for the past five years.
Sitting at our kitchen table I gently lifted the mysterious gift from its elegant packaging to discover a beautiful sheer ruby red chemise. I had to admit it was gorgeous, even if it wasn't something I would have chosen for myself. Exquisitely crafted of silky-soft, deep red, fine-denier nylon, so whisper-thin as to be almost completely transparent, it was delicately framed with tiny black satin piping and an intricate black lace hem. Sophisticated and luxurious, yet definitely sexy, this was completely unique to my meager lingerie collection, which at that point largely consisted of comfy cotton PJs and a few oversized sleep shirts.
Despite its elegance, it wasn't the kind of thing I was ever very comfortable in. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that my husband had obviously gone to a lot of trouble and expense, I probably would have abjectly refused his request that I greet him at the door that evening wearing it and it alone. So I convinced myself that in light of the "special" day I should at least accommodate his desire to see it on me. Truthfully, the thought of donning this object of decadence in broad daylight caused my face to flush, probably to a shade not far from that of the chemise itself. I consoled myself that as soon as he got a good look I'd dash off to change back into something less revealing, something that was more "me," Valentines Day or not.
That was my plan anyway.
All afternoon, as I pondered the uncharacteristic gift, I vacillated between doubt and anticipation, between nervousness and excitement. His instructions to me that morning were clear and the message on my cell phone voicemail unambiguous, if even a bit brusque. "There's a Valentines gift arriving for you today. I want you wearing it when I get home - it and nothing else. I'll be home at the usual time, so be ready."
Mitch had never been one to display much interest or aptitude in the art of seduction, and I had so lowered my expectations along that line that the day's turn of events left me feeling as if a strange fog had suddenly settled over me. Who was this intriguing man of mysterious messages and exotic gifts, and what had he done with my husband?
Still, despite the unsettled feeling inside, my sense of expectancy grew steadily from the time I opened the stylish black and white box, until at long last I found myself slipping out of my clothes and into the gown a full ninety minutes ahead of my husband's usual arrival time. It was just as luxuriously soft on my body as I had expected, but even more see-through. As the afternoon sun streamed into my bedroom, lighting my silhouette from behind, I stood in front of my dresser mirror feeling practically naked. Though I was certainly impressed by the attractiveness of the finely crafted lingerie, I couldn't seem to overlook my many flaws that were left in plain view by its translucence. Fear over Mitch's potential disappointment soon welled up, and I went to my closet for the comfortable concealment of my long terrycloth robe.
Safely covered, I padded restlessly about our apartment, passing the time on nothing in particular and anything that would keep my mind occupied. The closer the clock ticked toward six thirty the more anxious I became, worried that Mitch would regret the expensive gift once he saw it on me. At 6:10 I stood again before my dresser mirror and peeled off my robe. Turning side to side, pinching every excess inch of flesh on my thirty-eight-year-old body, I couldn't help but worry about Mitch's pending reaction.
I plopped down on our over-worn living room couch to wait for him. I idly picked up my cell phone from the end table and, after my third game of Tetris, listened again to his message of instruction from that morning. I'd lost track of how many times I had done so that day. There was an edge of insistence and desire in his voice that was unrecognizable in my mild-mannered man. My heart thudded in my chest, and the fog settled over me afresh as I waited, squirming in the seat from pose to pose: demure to seductive to downright sexy. How should I wait for him? How would he want me to wait? Should I stand when he enters or stay seated? I had to admit to myself that my skills of seduction were no better than Mitch's.
I startled when I heard his keys in the lock, settling back into an awkwardly conservative position, legs crossed at the knee, hands neatly folded in my lap. Sitting like a schoolgirl -- dressed more like a call girl. My heart raced madly with anticipation as Mitch stepped through the doorway.
Without speaking a word, he set down his briefcase and removed his jacket, managing to hang it on the hook near the door without taking his eyes off me for a second. A broad, slightly wicked smile came over his face as he strolled slowly toward me, drinking me in with his eyes every step of the way. I sat still in awkward silence, watching him and waiting for him to say something. Anything. Instead he stood before me, leaned down and drew my hands from my lap, pulling them apart, obviously wanting to get a better look at the brilliant red Valentine gift that adorned my body.
Though my embarrassment forced my eyes to the floor, I felt his stare. After what seemed like several long, uncomfortable minutes, he pulled me suddenly to my feet and then stepped away, I supposed in order to more thoroughly look me over from head to toe. When I instinctively crossed my arms timidly in front of my chest, he reached up and firmly pulled them down to my sides. His fingers lifted my chin until my eyes at last met his, and I saw there his obvious desire. I didn't know if I was offended or turned on or both, but something raged inside me.
As I watched his eyes roam freely and intentionally over my body, I felt more exposed to him than ever before, so completely naked, despite the gown, and so deeply vulnerable. What was he thinking? How was he feeling about what he saw? I wanted to believe what I discerned in his wry smile and fiery eyes, but I couldn't push through my deeply held self-doubt. In fact, it took every ounce of self-control I could muster just to remain still and silent before the intensity of his gaze.
At last he spoke. "My god, Carly, you are so beautiful."
I deflected his compliment, looking down and stroking the frilly folds of the chemise. "Yes, it is lovely isn't it? Thank you. But I didn't get you any..."
"No," he replied firmly, interrupting me mid-sentence. "I said YOU are beautiful. Sure the gown is pretty and all, but it's the woman under it that makes it so incredibly amazing. You are one totally sexy woman."
I wasn't buying a word of it, and an uncontrollable smirk came over my face, which I'm certain didn't escape Mitch's roaming eyes.
