Xavier’s Other Woman
(c) 2010 Catt Foy
After refilling her coffee travel mug, Madeline left for the office.
Xavier kissed his beautiful successful wife—an interior designer with her own shop in the local well-heeled east village. He watched through the sidelight flanking the broad Spanish doors as she walked to the car.
Her hips swung subtly up down left right with each step, accentuating her well-shaped derriere, set off this morning by a black pencil skirt. Not quite callipygian—hers was not an ample bottom—but sufficient to spark his love and admiration anew.
In the same mental breath, he thought of his other woman, whose bottom also swung seductively in her tight skirts, her long legs shapely beneath her hose. She often wore patterns in her stockings that created the illusion of graceful animal legs, or suggested the poses of a dancer. Her waist was thicker than Madeline’s, but her ample bustline more than made up for it.
He walked away from the front door, thinking now less about Madeline than about the other woman. A secretive seductive thrill gripped him as he contemplated her presence in his life.
He loved her clothes, often lacy, sometimes demure, always feminine. She wore things like feather boas and sequined bodices, slit skirts or svelte dresses, the feel of which was enough to drive a man insane with pleasure. As he crossed the lushly appointed living room with its art deco sculptures and oversize paintings, he looked through the opposite glass wall revealing trees and well-groomed paths, roses in sunny places, ferns and hostas in the shady ones, all terraced down five levels to the creek below.
He passed the credenza sitting beneath one of the paintings and glanced at a photo of Madeline. She was squinting against the sunlight, standing on the deck of their boat, in short white cotton pants and a tank top. She wore a white Gilligan hat that made her seem whimsical and girlish, a water nymph teasing him. The other woman, he thought with a sigh, rarely went out-of-doors, though he longed to bring her someplace wild and windy. Madeline had his heart, without a doubt, but there was a special place for his other woman as well. Perhaps someday, he could allow the other to show herself in more public places.
He pictured her long blond hair, saw her brushing it in his mind’s eye, letting it cascade over one shoulder, hiding the place where her breasts would be—so coquettish. He imagined her delicately painted toes, her long nails, her richly glossed lips, the smoky eye makeup that he found so alluring.
Now he could see her before him, primping in the mirror. She had sifted through several pairs of panties, choosing the lacy black ones and tossing the others carelessly on the bed. Now she was trying on this dress or that skirt until she settled on tight black pair of capris to show off her behind. He especially like the way they focused the eye on the line of demarcation between the buttocks and the legs, that curve where the two met. He loved to feel that curve, the meeting place of her visual virtues. A light black heel lifted the buttocks ever so slightly, enhanced the arc of the calf, the hollow of the knee, the turn of the ankle. He thought how the structure reminded him of the beautiful structure of a racing horse with its promise of swiftly delivered thrills.
A long white men’s shirt, open to reveal her décolletage provided a contrast which only sharpened her femininity. A black velvet choker complemented the dangle earrings and the gypsy bracelets and the silver and onyx Indian rings in various shapes on several fingers. Today her hair was long, but black, like Cher’s, and she arranged it casually, gathered loosely at the neck. Unlike Cher, she wore bangs and two long strands that curled in a simple swoop close to her cheeks. He watched excitedly as she put on her lipstick, pouting lips outward as if to kiss the mirror. When at last she stepped back, he saw perfection and delighted in his view.
“I forgot my briefcase!” shouted Madeline, as she tapped down the hallway.
He turned suddenly, frightened, uncertain what to do. It was too late to hide the other woman.
“Oh my God!” Madeline exclaimed as she entered the room. “Xavier?”
The man standing in high heels and black capris with the white shirt, his makeup and hair done to perfection, could only stare in disbelief.
“What on earth are you wearing?” A long heartbeat passed between them. Madeline looked at the clothing on the bed. “Are those my panties?”
(c) 2010 Catt Foy
After refilling her coffee travel mug, Madeline left for the office.
Xavier kissed his beautiful successful wife—an interior designer with her own shop in the local well-heeled east village. He watched through the sidelight flanking the broad Spanish doors as she walked to the car.
Her hips swung subtly up down left right with each step, accentuating her well-shaped derriere, set off this morning by a black pencil skirt. Not quite callipygian—hers was not an ample bottom—but sufficient to spark his love and admiration anew.
In the same mental breath, he thought of his other woman, whose bottom also swung seductively in her tight skirts, her long legs shapely beneath her hose. She often wore patterns in her stockings that created the illusion of graceful animal legs, or suggested the poses of a dancer. Her waist was thicker than Madeline’s, but her ample bustline more than made up for it.
He walked away from the front door, thinking now less about Madeline than about the other woman. A secretive seductive thrill gripped him as he contemplated her presence in his life.
He loved her clothes, often lacy, sometimes demure, always feminine. She wore things like feather boas and sequined bodices, slit skirts or svelte dresses, the feel of which was enough to drive a man insane with pleasure. As he crossed the lushly appointed living room with its art deco sculptures and oversize paintings, he looked through the opposite glass wall revealing trees and well-groomed paths, roses in sunny places, ferns and hostas in the shady ones, all terraced down five levels to the creek below.
He passed the credenza sitting beneath one of the paintings and glanced at a photo of Madeline. She was squinting against the sunlight, standing on the deck of their boat, in short white cotton pants and a tank top. She wore a white Gilligan hat that made her seem whimsical and girlish, a water nymph teasing him. The other woman, he thought with a sigh, rarely went out-of-doors, though he longed to bring her someplace wild and windy. Madeline had his heart, without a doubt, but there was a special place for his other woman as well. Perhaps someday, he could allow the other to show herself in more public places.
He pictured her long blond hair, saw her brushing it in his mind’s eye, letting it cascade over one shoulder, hiding the place where her breasts would be—so coquettish. He imagined her delicately painted toes, her long nails, her richly glossed lips, the smoky eye makeup that he found so alluring.
Now he could see her before him, primping in the mirror. She had sifted through several pairs of panties, choosing the lacy black ones and tossing the others carelessly on the bed. Now she was trying on this dress or that skirt until she settled on tight black pair of capris to show off her behind. He especially like the way they focused the eye on the line of demarcation between the buttocks and the legs, that curve where the two met. He loved to feel that curve, the meeting place of her visual virtues. A light black heel lifted the buttocks ever so slightly, enhanced the arc of the calf, the hollow of the knee, the turn of the ankle. He thought how the structure reminded him of the beautiful structure of a racing horse with its promise of swiftly delivered thrills.
A long white men’s shirt, open to reveal her décolletage provided a contrast which only sharpened her femininity. A black velvet choker complemented the dangle earrings and the gypsy bracelets and the silver and onyx Indian rings in various shapes on several fingers. Today her hair was long, but black, like Cher’s, and she arranged it casually, gathered loosely at the neck. Unlike Cher, she wore bangs and two long strands that curled in a simple swoop close to her cheeks. He watched excitedly as she put on her lipstick, pouting lips outward as if to kiss the mirror. When at last she stepped back, he saw perfection and delighted in his view.
“I forgot my briefcase!” shouted Madeline, as she tapped down the hallway.
He turned suddenly, frightened, uncertain what to do. It was too late to hide the other woman.
“Oh my God!” Madeline exclaimed as she entered the room. “Xavier?”
The man standing in high heels and black capris with the white shirt, his makeup and hair done to perfection, could only stare in disbelief.
“What on earth are you wearing?” A long heartbeat passed between them. Madeline looked at the clothing on the bed. “Are those my panties?”
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