I picked out that same pair of smooth white stockings and garter belt that Mom had worn that week when Dad and Jim had both fucked her pink pussy. To this I added a matching white lace bra to give the illusion that I might have a chest to match hers.I shaved my body completely clean of any masculine hairs until I was a smooth and soft as Mom, paying special attention that my long legs were just as soft and hairless as hers, as was the area around my crotch, my "pussy". I then put on make up and. I followed him around trying to get the courage to take him back to the restrooms. He was still holding it when I finally came up in front of him and grabbed his hand and asked him if he wanted to use what he had in his hand? He had a questionable look on his face and I lead him back to the restrooms. I took him to the f****y restroom where we can lock the door. I quickly texted my husband and told him where I am and where to find the cart. I sat on the toilet and had him come stand in front of. We blame the pull, the completeness, on desperation. Loneliness. The moon, the tide, anything. Anything at all. But not that. Happiness is something earned and to have anything greater than the knowledge of this man would be more than my life has been worth. But I see his eyes. I know his thoughts. I just pray he learns the fallacy. That, without pain, he learns that I have nothing to offer, nothing to give in return for the beauty he has shown me. I feel his touch again, losing myself to what. He was dragging his left leg but he was actually moving it. He got into the lift then turned and smiled before the doors closed. As I took the roses back into my flat, I ran the conversation through in my mind‘Desperate for the company of a beautiful woman’ he’d said. He’d actually called me beautiful. He’d given me red roses. I couldn’t believe that he didn’t know of their significance. I tortured myself all afternoon trying to decide what the invitation really meant. Was it just an invitation.
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