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date night: the accidental exhibitionist


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My phone dings. "What are you doing this weekend?"

I smile big. I know he'd been wanting to cook me dinner, a recipe he wanted to try that involved brown butter and some sort of cheese that sounds as if it is from a Mythological ***.

"Well, hopefully pouring hot brown butter all over your naked body..." I type, and hit send.

His response: "Ouch!"

Hehehe. Sometimes it isn't what you say that is sexy, but how you say it. Or maybe just in my head!!

It's Friday, the day before Date Night. He tells me, "I'll pick you up at 4 for dinner at 6. Wear your fishnets, either after dinner or during. And something pink...your bra or panties. And wear something dark colored."

Even though he can't see me, on the other end of the phone call, I find myself nodding.

"Are you going to spend the night?" He asks.

"If you'll have me..." I purr.

"Oh, I'll have you, all right."




Saturday. I finish up work at around 2pm. Time enough to tidy the house a bit and get myself ready. Foremost on my mind is gathering the clothing items for the night. He, like a lot of men, is a visual creature and seeing a beautiful woman dressed beautifully is one of his things.

Sometimes, even the thought of having to dress for a man, or having a man dictate what I wear, sends me into a tailspin of anxiety. But not with him. Maybe, it's because we have been together for so long. Maybe it's because I trust him. Maybe, it's because he has seen me in all states and has always accepted me.

Quickly, I go through my drawers and closet and grab what I need. The retro-style pink bra and panty set...fishnet stockings...a black and red sweater that I know he likes, and a short black skirt to wear with it. It's fall, and the weather is forecasted to be cold at night. Which means...boots! I grab my red suede boots, the ones that almost got us into a weird swinger situation at a local Rite Aid a year or so back.

Chores done and clothes laid out...I head for a quick shower. Hard bop blasts from the local radio station. As the warm water hits my skin, the fast runs and swinging tempos swirl around me. It's going to be a good night.

Once dried, I dress and pack my overnight bag before putting on my makeup. I even go through my hair with the straightening iron---nothing crazy but with my grown-out "COVID HAIR" even a few swipes makes a difference. A little more sleek and glamourous. It's 3:35 now...perfect timing as I grab my pink nail polish and sit down in front of the TV.

As always, Sally Hansen "Insta Dry" saves the day and I get my nails done with 5 minutes to spare.




It's after dinner now and we are retired in the little room off of the side of the kitchen...the room used as a bar. I've had a few cocktails plus the wine with dinner...the music is swingin' and adds to my buoyant energy.

We drink, laugh, talk. A particularly sentimental song comes on and I ask if he will dance with me. It reminds me of Willie Nelson...it reminds me of Patsy Cline. We dance, holding each other close.

"I want to keep dancing, so I don't forget how..." I whisper to him, as the rich, warm baritone of Ray Price envelopes us.

Later, I'm sitting on the sofa, and he leaves the room for a minute. To get something, or to go to the bathroom, or some such thing. Drink in hand, I let myself relax, let my mind unwind. Another song comes on. It sounds like something from an old Hollywood musical...images of Marilyn Monroe, in a gold sequined gown, gigantic feather fans, a huge descending staircase and a dozen dapper back up dancers in tuxes flash through my mind.

In my mind's eye I let the platinum image of Marilyn fade, replaced by me on center stage. In my inebriated state I begin to imagine a little choregraphed routine. The song is loungy, funky, and bawdy. It reminds me a little of Henry Mancini---he later tells me it's a composition by Quincy Jones.

He returns and I tell him of my little flight of fancy...about doing a dance number to this song.

"Show me", he says, with a grin, sitting on the little sofa.

I stand before him and the liquor, plus the little bit of weed I'd smoked, quell my nervousness. It also quells my timing and coordination but I pull off a few moves that I think seem a little bit like an old Hollywood musical.

But it's harder than it seems and quickly I am floundering a bit. He sees this and pipes up...

"Put your hands behind your head...yes, like that." Raising myself up I put my hands on the back of my head. I know this posture brings certain of my assets to the forefront and I am sure he is enjoying the view.

"Swing your hips...no...slower..." I try to move my hips in time with the big hits of the orchestra.

Quickly I remember that I am not in fact, a famous Hollywood starlet of 70 years past. I start to giggle and totter on my heels a bit. There may have been some good natured flashing...I'd spin around and lift my short black skirt, spin around again and lift my tight black sweater.

Somehow I end up on my knees, worshipping his cock. Kissing him passionately. Becoming soft and pliable in his strong arms.

He ends up coming all over the tops of my breasts, spilling out from the pink retro-styled bra.




There is more music, and more laughter, and more cocktails. We also end up in a discussion about politics....something that we both try to avoid out of respect for another, but with all that is going on, how can you not.

Anyways. HE is the one that brought it up.

After a while I step outside to have another little toke of weed. It's well after 7pm on a Saturday night---maybe even 8:30 (time flies when you are having fun, after all) so I am surprised when I see the package left on the doorstep.

"Poor delivery guys working this late..." I think to myself as I pick up the package and turn to bring it inside.

As I turn I see it...the window. First, the window above the kitchen sink. But just a few feet further to the left...the window to the little bar room.

Lights on, blinds open...fully visible from the porch.

Fully visible from where I am standing...from where the delivery man was standing.

I run inside and tell him.

"OMG I think we may have given the delivery man a show..." I say.

We go outside to the porch. He looks to his left and sees what I mean. We laugh.

"Oooopssss!!!!" I say.

We talk about what his reaction may have been. Maybe he caught a brief video on his cell phone as he walked up to the porch. Maybe he will show some of his friends later at work in the break room.

"Or, you know, maybe the opposite happened." My lover pontificates thoughtfully. We're both on the porch, he with his cigarette, I with my pipe.

"How so?" I ask.

"Maybe he came when we were talking about politics..."

"Oh no!!!" I cry. "Poor guy. He was probably like, dang, I thought I'd heard the end of all this mess once the election happened."

We make a few more jokes about it before heading back inside.




I wonder what he saw or heard!!!

So remember friends, although a Date Night in is safe, cost effective, and a lovely way to let down your guard and inhibitions for a night, keep in mind that the Holiday Shopping Season is upon us, and the hard working delivery men will be working longer hours, even on weekend nights!!

So before the party gets too swingin', remember to draw your blinds...

Unless you are kinky like that!!!


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