OH SHUCKS!!!

 

heel

I have always had the childish need to show off whenever I wear new underwear, but of course my adult mind suggests I show it off in private, to one special or not-so-special person, and hope I get a compliment. It happens every time, even now; still. You see the thing is I like seeing myself in lingerie. I don’t know if it is a cause for worry, but it turns me on. I can just stare at myself in flattering lingerie, swooning at the sight of me. Then I start wanting to show it off, and then putting on clothes becomes a sad affair. It’s depressing when you get no chance to show it off! I am an unlucky woman.

Ok so that was how come I spent extra time in front of the mirror that Sunday morning, admiring myself in my new lacy, red and black lingerie. My hair lay disheveled on my head, tendrils framing my face haphazardly. I puckered my lips and with my right hand akimbo, pushed out my butt slightly, posing for effect. I looked seductive, I noted, and was pleased. For someone who has never been in any relationship whatsoever, be it serious or not serious, or been in proximity with a man who has the minutest feeling for me or interest in me, I am, surprisingly, a very sexual creature. Of course I’m still a virgin; one does not go breaking her virginity happily, all by herself. But my mind is fashioned such that, there is nothing I haven’t done before in my fantasies. So that morning, in front of the mirror, I nearly gave myself cause to change the underwear for a dry one. My thoughts were a breach against the law to keep the Sabbath day holy; raw and wild, my hands had gone up to cup my breasts without me even noticing. It was when I felt my nipples harden through the lace bra that I realized I was fondling them. The sigh that escaped threatened to generate into pitiful tears, so I quickly snatched my ironed knee-length African Print dress from my bed and put it on, sorry that I had to cover my semi-nude self so soon.

I managed to stay my mind on the sermon, but I couldn’t sing much. Why? The start of my troubles that day was seated right in front of me and sang in the smoothest Tenor, I wondered why he was not up there with the choir. His twi was impeccable too! I had noticed him before but as usual, he hadn’t; not even a glance. I stared at his back, down to his firm ass, his biceps pushing through the fuchsia-colored shirt he wore. There is something about guys in that shade of purple that always, always, catches my attention in a good way. Well, that and the fact that the heels I wore that day were fuchsia-colored too, one of my favorites.

It was after church closed that I was able to steal a glance at his entire frame, 360 degrees. People were socializing, and I was just loitering as was always the case. It’s not that I don’t have friends, I do. They’re just not the church-going type of friends, and well they aren’t like me, who goes for one reason alone. That day, I had a feeling I was going to get lucky so I stayed back a little longer; loitering in my fitting dress, with a slit that run up from my right knee, up to almost mid-thigh. Then I saw him approach. By the gods, I would have melted right there in the car park but I stood there, next to an open drain, averting my eyes and fidgeting with my purse like I hadn’t noticed he was approaching. He was a few meters away from me when I moved, not looking down. I heard the rip, felt the pain shoot up from my ankle and I screamed. I was on the ground, and he was by my side. I had lost my footing and hurt my right foot real bad, it had started swelling up when I looked down, but something more interesting, in my opinion, had happened. The slit in my dress had ripped through, all the way up to my pelvis and my lingerie was exposed. The young man, whose car, apparently, I had been standing next to, (which meant he was not approaching me to talk to me per se, just to get in his car, not that that bothers me) looked very worried. When hehelped me into his car and drove me to the hospital, all the way trying to keep my mind off the pain by talking to me, he never once looked at me. By the time we got to the hospital my feet was so swollen he had to carry me into the emergency room, and when he got in and they found a stretcher to place me on, I kept looking at his face, which was only clouded with worry, nothing more. His eyes were roving, not focused. He was busy asking what it was he had to do, and I was just lying there, hoping to God that he looks down at me and notices my lingerie! My eyes fell down to his hand, holding my shoe, the same color as his shirt like we had planned it. Then I noticed the wedding band on his finger and again, my hopes died.

“Sir, we’ll take your wife in for an x-ray now.”

One of the nurses said and I chuckled.

I wish! I thought, and closed my eyes. He hadn’t even looked at my underwear!

 r-red-black-ling

 

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