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18 A Girl Changes Into a Woman
18 A Girl Changes Into a Woman

18 A Girl Changes Into a Woman



The next Saturday night, I stayed home due to hubby's jealously. The Saturday after, however, unable to stop myself, I announced.

“I’m going to girl’s night out.”

Hubby was sullen, asked me not to. My mind grasped about to devise a plan which would stabilize my domestic safe world swirling out of orbit but still see Edward. I used my bowling with the girls' canard again, a desperate temporary stopgap.

Again, in the evening hubby watched from the kitchen window, like Mom did, again I backed out the driveway to meet another like Dad did. Driving to Edward’s, I experienced a spasm of indecisiveness and stopped at a supermarket. With my head on the steering wheel, I told myself to go home. After a hesitation rest, I got out and hurriedly brought cheese and crackers for wine.

Back in the car, I drove straight to his concealed parking space. Edward moved his car to the street and reserved his space for me in the parking labyrinth. I exited my station wagon and walked swiftly to his apartment with my supermarket purchase. I didn’t think of home as I strode to his door. I was in a fantasy fog, on remote, out of control. The best I could do was try to manage events to keep my family as my enrapture with Edward played out.

When he opened the door, instantly I was in another world, his. We kissed, he took the cheese and crackers but instead of serving wine, led me to his car on the street. Sunk in the bucket seats, we zoomed to the Japanese sushi restaurant he liked. There, munching uni maki, his favorite delicacy, he watched me intently as I nibbled on a California roll. I drank sake, he Asahi beer. He was quiet as he watched me intently. His silence versus usual conversation leadership, his stare, confused me.

Afterward, he drove back faster than his usual fast. I was thrust into the seat with each gear change and veer swayed on the turns. Parked, he jumped out, opened my door and led me by the hand to his unit and up to the bedroom, wordlessly. His continued odd silence unnerved me.

Perhaps he’s upset about something I said. Is he already tired of me? Has he met someone new, is a nurse or a woman doctor chasing him?

Standing next to the bed, I worried he thought me a "silly girl" below his intellectual level. Leading me hurriedly to the bedroom, not even pausing for wine and my cheese and crackers began to upset me.

Maybe I’m a silly girl but I’m not being taken for granted!

He undressed me slowly, deliberately, led me to the shower, turned the water on, waited until it was warm, opened the glass door and told me to shower. I obeyed but as the water streamed on me I wondered.

Why isn't he joining me? Isn't he going to shower? Why is he belittling me, leading me around as if I'm just meat?

Out of the shower, he wrapped me in towels, dried me off thoroughly and sat me on the bed naked. As he undressed, I thought.

This is how it ends. I assumed too much. It's obvious, I'm just his sex toy. He didn't even shower. So be it. Get it over so I can go home, I should've known better than expect him to love me. I'm a simple girl, a stupid girl. Lancelot's a jerk. He's destroyed my world just to use me. I hate him!

Undressed, he spread me on the undulating water bed. I just wanted him to be done and leave. He moved my feet and hands near the bedposts, turned me into an “X”. Vulnerable, exposed, spread eagle before him, I shifted from hate to fright.

Is he into some tie-up game? Don't let him. Don't submit. Get ready to resist. If he brings out tie-up stuff, get up, run. Scratch if he tries to stop me.

Watching scared from the bed, prepared to leap out, grab my clothes and run, he lighted candles in brass holders.

He’s going to drip hot wax on me! Oh, God, I’ve no chance to run. No one even knows I’m here with him, who he is?

In terror, I whimpered.

“Leave me alone. Don’t touch me. I want to go home.”

Seeing my panic, he smiled down to me reassuringly, said softly he would never harm me, to relax. He bent down and whispered he was only going to explore my erogenous zones, teach me to be a woman, the candles were only to provide romantic lighting.

His voice calmed me, its tone more relaxing than his words. He told the romantic effect of the candles were for my enjoyment to enhance my pleasure as I looked at the flickering shadow light they emitted. I didn’t mention my fear of hot wax. I glanced back and forth from them to him nervously but mostly kept an eye on him. The trickled tears on my cheeks dried. He gently kissed my cheeks, sat on the bed edge and massaged the knots in the nape of my neck. I removed my arms and legs from being an X. He didn’t object. I began to relax.

As he continued in his calm voice, his massage created a wave of relief which replaced fear. He was not some kind of pervert. Things were going to be okay. The release from hate, then fear to pleasure was a rapidly changing emotion I'd never experienced before.

He moved to the base of the bed and massaged the heels and insteps of my feet, kissed each toe. Moving on the bed he massaged up my legs from the ankles to the knees, to my thighs, one leg and then the other as the water undulated in agreement. He rolled me over. I clutched a pillow under me to steady myself with the pitching water as he massaged my back. It was my first massage experience. As he kneaded each taut muscle their pent-up tension dissipated. Soon, fully relaxed, face down in the covers I was smiling at the silliness of my recent panic.

He moved up and kissed the nape of my neck. I thought he was going to enter but instead, he rolled me back over, spread my legs, kneeled before me and kissed my thighs, each kiss a little higher up. Soon I was giving little moans of pleasure. Eyes half-closed, I enjoyed the romantic enhancement of the flickering candlelight as instructed.

No longer afraid, I sought his entry. His caresses and kisses moved me. When my back arched up he eased off until I receded from the cusp of sexual oblivion and calmed.

The water still again, he renewed his erotic assault. As if playing a piano, he started with soft notes, increased the tempo and intensity as he caressed and kissed my sensitive keys until I was twisting and moaning, receptive and pleading for more. He at last entered.

I leaped about, thrust up to his downstrokes, suddenly shrieked my first verbal sexual exclamation.


he pulled out, I curled into the fetal position and fell deep asleep.

He shook me awake to tell me it was time to leave. As I arose, my body tingled. My skin was alive. We ate the brier cheese with toast, naked at his little kitchen table. The flavor of the tea, the crunch of the toast and the tang of creamy cheese tasted different.

Aware of the time, I rushed upstairs, showered again and dressed. The shower water gave a shudder of pleasure to my skin. My clothes caressed me as I put them on. My body was alive with sensations.

He walked me through the parking labyrinth to my car. We separated with a last kiss. My lips hungered for another as we broke apart; my cheeks yearned for another caress. Driving home at 2 AM the range of emotions experienced swept me.

Love's blind fog drove me to meet Edward. Confusion at his silence and intense stare unnerved me and lifted the fog. His indifferent rush to undress, shower and plop me on the bed as a sex object changed love to hate. Spread X on the bed, candles alight, switched hate to terror. Then came relief with his massage and assurances he wouldn't harm me. The rapid emotion shifts, like the gears of his Porsche, jerked my emotions and ended in explosive overdrive pleasure. Combined they changed me, changed me more than he intended with his exploration of my erogenous zones. He was right. The night changed me into a woman but not the one he thought.

As before, my husband waited to take me. He led me to the bedroom without questions, stripped me, pushed me on the bed and roughly entered me, his lust hate, the strike or hit origin of the word, "f", he "f: "ed me.

As he crudely re-claimed me as his, I experienced another emotion, acceptance, love’s acceptance I was his wife, the mother of his children and he was my husband, a husband who I needed to turn hate back into love.

When he withdrew, it was too late for questions. They would wait until morning. I curled again into the fetal position and slept until noon. Once up, I fixed lunch but did not know what to say or think and stumbled through motions awaiting my grilling.

Everything was otherworldly, my parochial repressed sexuality sloughed off, replaced by sensuality. I had to feel, taste, smell, hear and see all anew.

I experienced love, hate, fear, hate, and love again. My compulsive love's rush to see Edward, its confusion with his silence, its sudden change to hate then to fear, that changed me. Acceptance of my husband's hate, his claim I was his wife, the mother of his children, that love of submission, to reclaim his love changed me too.

No longer did I think of myself as a girl who still had to grow up. I was a woman, a woman in love with two men, one sexually, the other as my husband and father of my children. I had to understand who I was and be a woman, an adult one, perhaps like my mother.

As soon as the kids finished their lunch and went to the backyard to play the inquisition began.

Author Notes: From a husband's swing suggestion a woman enters an affair never expected on the wedding altar.

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28 Jun, 2017
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