Lingerie should not be visible through clothing. The proper undergarments enhance feminine features, and make a nice smooth line.

No, not 1950. Spanx.

But that does not explain why, when it was obvious he had seen the red lace peeking through my blouse, when I saw him staring at the bump of garter through my skirt, the conversation suddenly turned from the work at hand, the articles of practical consideration, the supposed purpose of the visit.

All at once, he spoke of bicycles and warm days, the love of snow and water, and he smiled and said he’d be back.

No, not smooth. I did not wear the t-shirt bra, the footless control-top panty hose, the beige foundation that really does make that outfit look so sleek and professional. No. I dressed that morning thinking of how intricate is the design of that gorgeous brassiere, how exquisite is silky black dotted nylon as it slips into heels, how liberating it truly is to wear stockings with absolutely no panties.

Now I think of how overrated smooth really is, when the bumps are the mystery, the invitation.

Smooth is nothing, in fact, if what matters is below the surface.


We meet tomorrow evening, drinks, maybe a bit of dinner, talking.

He says he wants to have privacy to explore, share, wonder, feel. Perhaps once a month.

I have no idea whether this appeals to me.. but my curiosity burns. I wonder what he will be. He has a name, a face. But I have no idea who he is. Will he share? Will he embrace the community of wonder that I want to create?

What is happening to me? I wonder this as I stretch out on the bed, wondering how far I can go if I let loose all restrictions.

What mysteries lie ahead?