"Come on Yvonne, you know it ain't right."
"Oh stop your whining Dion. I can't help it that you were raised a prude. I wasn't and I'm not going to become one just to suit you."
"This ain't got nothing to do with being prudish Yvonne, it's got to do with decency."
"You calling me indecent Dion?"
"I'm just saying that it ain't right. The boys are at an age when things can get misunderstood."
"The boys can misunderstand what?"
"You know Vonnie, things."
"Things Dion?"
"Well yeah Vonnie, things."
Suddenly I knew what Dion was getting at and almost as suddenly I realized that he had a valid concern.
I am a forty-five year old woman with two grown and married daughters. My mother, my daughters, even my grandmother and aunts, along with myself, have never been ashamed of our bodies and we never worried about being scantily clad in front of the men in our family. I'm not talking nudity here; we just didn't spend a lot of time covering up around the house. My father, brothers, and an occasional uncle or two have seen me nude and it was no big thing. I grew up not being ashamed of my body and not thinking it wrong to see anyone else's. When I married at nineteen I lucked out and got a guy who was a free spirit and we eventually became nudists so I've never been overly concerned about clothes, especially in my own house.
I lost Don to cancer when I was thirty-nine and I mourned him for two years. Then I started dating and four years later I met and married Dion. Dion had two sons: Phillip who was nineteen and going on twenty, and Todd who had just turned eighteen. Almost from day one Dion was on me for the way I dressed around the house and I shrugged it off. That is I shrugged it off until I finally figured out what Dion's problem was - he was afraid of what might happen - he was jealous of his sons and he was afraid that they might see the way I ran around the house as a come on. Dion was afraid they might get lucky sometime when he was wasn't around!
To understand his concern you had to go back to that period in my life when I stopped mourning Don and started dating. There is no nice way of saying it; for those four years I was an absolute slut! The last year of Don's illness had been sexless and so had the two years I'd spent in widow's weeds. When I finally decided that it was time to get on with my life I went just a little overboard. I didn't mean too, but too much to drink one night had led to some multiple partner sex and I found that I liked it. I was never what you might call a gangbang queen; never did have sex with really large groups, but three or four was pretty common. It was during that period that I met Dion.
At first he didn't appear to be anyone special. He wasn't bad looking and he was a more than adequate lover, but he was just one of many. I didn't really pay much attention to him until I started noticing that he always seemed to be one of the three or four that I ended up in bed with. One morning, after one of my rare large groups - eight I think it was - I woke up and Dion was in bed with me. That was not a normal occurrence. Usually my sessions ended around three in the morning, everyone left, and I went to bed alone, but there was Dion in my bed at nine in the morning.
"What are you doing here?"
He reached over and began rolling my left nipple between his fingers and said, "Trying to make points."
My breasts are very sensitive and I moaned and said, "Well that's certainly one way of doing it."
After a little mutual head and a slow leisurely fuck Dion took me out to breakfast. Over coffee I asked, "So, what's the deal with trying to make points?"
