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Archive-name: Couples/necklace.mf

Archive-author: S. B. Douglass  1991

Archive-title: Necklace





Part of me wanted Alex with me, but part of me was glad I was doing this 

on my own.  I parked the car, stepped out into the hot July sun, and 

walked up the block towards the small jewelry store I'd found.  As I 

approached the store, I thought about Alex.  He was a good man, but over 

the last few years, our relationship had grown a bit stale.  We'd talked 

about it, on and off, but I can't say anything much had come of our 

talks, and on a few occasions, I'd even thought about divorce.



My thoughts skittered in another direction as I stepped into the cool 

shade of the store.  What was I doing?  Proper middle-aged housewives 

don't do things like this.  "Why not?" part of me wondered.  "Why not!"  

another part of me asserted.  I'd had this fantasy for a long time, and 

now that I knew I could make it real, I was sure I'd never forgive myself 

if I didn't do it.



"Can I help you?"  It was Sue Austin, jewelry designer, and she was 

certainly dressed for the hot day.  "Alex would like that," I thought.  I 

felt a mix of annoyance and envy as I noticed how little she wore, just a 

pair of very short and very frayed cutoff jeans and two small triangles 

of leather over her breasts.



"I'm Elizabeth Arnold, we talked on the phone," I said.  I'd gotten her 

business card at an art fair a year ago after I noticed the ankle 

bracelet she wore.  It was the stuff of my fantasy, an unbroken gold 

hoop, welded closed.  It had taken me most of the past year to get up the 

courage to dial the number on her card.



"Ah," she said, and motioned for me to follow her.  The shop was small, 

with a neat display of her somewhat eccentric jewelry on the walls and in 

one large display case.  I followed her into the back room, a cramped 

combination of workshop and storeroom.



We talked about what I wanted.  She showed me the different sizes of 

stock we could use, told me the costs, and discussed the methods.  A 

chill went through me when she explained silver soldering.  It wasn't 

welding, but it did involve a flame that could sear flesh held only 

inches from my body.



She demonstrated how she could do the soldering safely by building a heat 

shield on her bare thigh and playing a torch over it.  The shield was 

surprisingly simple, a dry cotton towel over her thigh, then a sheet of 

heavy aluminum foil, a vapor barrier, she explained, then a wet towel, 

and then a sheet of copper.



After I selected the stock I wanted, a half-inch oval tube, I watched 

while she bent it into a circle of the right size using some kind of 

rolling machine, then cut and dressed the ends and fit a splint made of 

silver into the joint.  We cooperated in the job of springing the gold 

circle over my head, and then I pulled my hair up and sat on a chair, 

leaning forward while she worked the layers of a heat shield into place 

between the back of my neck and the gold ring.



While she worked, she explained what she was doing.  It took her longer 

to arrange the heat shield than to silver solder the joint in my new 

necklace, but she spent even more time afterwards, working with a file 

and then some kind of power tool to polish the newly soldered joint.



And then she was done; I looked at my watch, and saw that I'd been there 

for less than half-an-hour.  The best way I can describe my feelings as 

she removed the towel from over my head is to say that I felt high.  I 

tossed my hair back where it belonged, and then we went back to the front 

half of the shop so I could look at myself in the mirror.



The still-warm ring of gold around my neck weighed more than a few 

ounces, but it felt good hanging loosely at my collar bone.  I couldn't 

see any evidence of the newly soldered joint until she pointed it out to 

me, and then I paid her the fairly steep price we'd agreed to.



Driving home, I couldn't help fingering my new necklace.  The feel of it 

around my neck fascinated me to the point that it was almost erotic.  It 

had started as a private fantasy of mine, but now, it was very real.  

What would Alex think?  What would the kids think?  I asked myself these 

questions for what seemed to be the thousandth time, but this time, I 

didn't have to remind myself of the answer.  It didn't matter.  I'd done 

this for me, not for him!



I'd fantasized about permanent jewelry for years.  The idea had grown on 

me from just one fantasy among many to the point where I couldn't resist 

it.  There were times when I wondered if it was an appropriate fantasy 

for a middle-class housewife, but I knew that my doubts were silly.  I'd 

finally decided that the whole question was wrong.  There isn't any such 

thing as an inappropriate fantasy, as long as it's just a fantasy, and 

the social norms that dictate what a middle-class housewife should wear 

are silly.  Now, I'd declared my independance from those norms; it was 

time for me to lead my life the way I wanted.



I drove up the driveway to our empty house, parked the car, and walked up 

to the door.  Alex was at work and the kids were away, so I had the place 

to myself.  As I came inside, I saw myself in the hallway mirror and 

stopped to look.  The gold ring around my neck was pretty, resting 

lightly on my collarbone, just inside the neck opening of my T-shirt.



I looked pretty good in the mirror.  Somehow, the ring around my neck 

made me look at myself in a way I don't think I'd ever seen myself 

before.  I saw myself as almost a stranger; I saw a woman such as I'd 

imagined but never dared imitate.



I liked what I saw.  My T-shirt and shorts showed off my arms and legs 

nicely, but something bothered me, my bra.  I could see it outlined 

through the fabric of the T-shirt, and even though that's how I've always 

looked when I wear a T-shirt, I realized that I didn't like it.  It would 

be better to see bare nipples outlined through the thin fabric than to 

see the marvel of engineering that is a bra.



I walked to the bedroom wondering about my bra.  I was so used to the 

feeling of a bra that I hadn't thought much about it.  Why was I wearing 

it?  I was so used to it that I didn't notice the discomfort, but it 

wasn't really comfortable.  It was supposed to support my breasts, but my 

breasts don't need supporting.  They'd always been too small, even when I 

breastfed the kids.  I was wearing a bra because my mother had started me 

wearing a bra back before my breasts started growing; I wore it because 

social convention dictated that middle class housewives always wear a bra 

and because I'd never wanted to be identified with the hippies and 

feminists of decades ago who didn't wear bras.



In the bedroom, I took off my T-shirt and bra, then looked at myself in 

the mirror and admired the gold ring around my neck once again.  It 

looked good against my bare flesh, far better than it had looked with my 

T-shirt next to it, and it seemed natural for me to slip off the shorts 

and panties I was wearing to see what I looked like posing nude.



I stood in front of the mirror, hands on bare hips, then cupped a breast 

in my hand and grinned at myself.  I don't think I've really taken a hard 

look at my naked body since I was in junior high, and again, it was as if 

I was looking at a stranger, a new woman.  She looked OK.  The woman I 

saw had breasts that were small, but not too small, she was thin but not 

skinny.  I saw a woman who I suddenly realized had the potential to be 

beautiful.  I couldn't remember really feeling beautiful, not ever, and 

it was almost a shock.



What kind of clothing should this woman wear?  I wasn't sure, but the 

thought struck me that she was the kind of woman who might sometimes wear 

nothing at all.  I was inside my own house, the kids were away for a long 

weekend, I didn't expect visitors, and it did feel rather nice to feel 

the warm summer air against my skin.



The phone rang as these thoughts ran through my mind, and I ran into the 

living room to get it.  It was a salesman trying to sell some new lawn-

care system, so I hung up quickly enough, and only then realized that the 

curtains were wide open and that I was standing there by the picture 

window wearing absolutely nothing.



Part of me wanted to do something about it, to close the curtains or run 

for privacy, but another part asked why.  What would this new woman do?  

I realized that the answer was nothing.  I turned to face the window and 

looked outside.  It was a clear day, and the view out across the valley 

was spectacular.  Nobody was on the lawn looking in, and the street was 

empty.  Even if there had been someone there, I don't think the new woman 

would have cared, though.  Somehow, she wasn't the type to let that kind 

of thing bother her.



I sat on the couch and felt the smooth hard surface of the ring around my 

neck as I looked out the window.  I'd never sat on the couch in the nude 

before, and the leather cushions felt cool and sensuous against my skin.  

I fingered the circle of gold around my neck, and then leaned back on the 

couch, overcome with what I'd done.  What would Alex think?



I wanted Alex.  I didn't want his approval, I wanted him, I wanted his 

male body.  I wanted him to touch me, to finger my new jewelry, to stroke 

my body with his big hands, but he wasn't home.  As I relaxed on the 

couch and looked out the window and across the valley, I slid my fingers 

from the gold ring around my neck down my chest.



My nipples had always been large and sensitive, decent compensation for 

the small size of my breasts.  As I fingered them, they hardened and sent 

their signals of desire to my groin.  It had been fifteen years since I'd 

breastfed a child, but I'd never forget the near orgasmic pleasure of 

breastfeeding.  As I remembered, my other hand slid to my thigh, and then 

I spread my legs, parting my lips to gently slide a fingertip into the 

space between.



My world closed in until I was all nipple and clit, and then I came.  I 

felt the blush spreading over my body, I felt my new jewelry cool on my 

skin, and I continued to stroke myself, sliding a couple of fingers into 

the moist crevace between my legs.  My body was eager for more, my 

nipples ached to be touched, my vagina wanted to be filled, my clit 

wanted to be squeezed under the base of my thumb, and I came again.



I lay there, looking blindly out the window for some time, relaxing in 

the calm limbo that follows orgasm, and then I smiled.  What had come 

over me?  What was I doing?  I don't think I'd ever had two orgasms so 

closely spaced, not in my life.  I'd never masturbated much since my 

teenage years, and even then, I'd always felt a bit guilty about it.  Why 

didn't it bother me now?  Why wasn't I rushing to wash my hands?



This thing about the new woman in me, I knew that it was nonsense.  I was 

still Elizabeth Arnold, wife of Alex and mother of Kim and Nathan.  The 

thought of the kids jerked me back to reality.  What would they think if 

they saw their mother naked on the couch masturbating?  Somehow, the 

question made me laugh.



A day earlier, and I think it would have made me jump out of the couch 

and scurry for cover, but now, all I did was chuckle.  Kids always seem 

to have a horrible time understanding that their parents have any sexual 

feelings.  It's almost like, deep in their hearts, kids believe that they 

are the product of virgin birth, and they believe it deeply enough that 

even if you told them in graphic detail how they were conceived, they 

wouldn't believe you.



My stomach grumbled, and when I glanced at the clock, I was surprised to 

see that it was after one.  I'd eaten an early breakfast with my family, 

and I was hungry.  I got up and went to the kitchen, still thinking about 

what I'd done.  Who was this new woman I'd found in myself?  She was part 

of me, that was clear, but I was acting in a way I'd never acted before.  

What had come over me?  Why should a gold neck ring make such a 

difference?



As I sipped at a glass of milk, washing down a cream-cheese and jelly 

sandwich, I continued to think about what had happened.  Back when I was 

in college, a good twenty years ago, I'd been pretty conservative, but 

looking back, I most of it seemed like a reaction to what I saw going on 

around me.  The problem was that I'd let the reaction continue for far 

too long.  Now, it was time for me to stop reacting and start living.



While I picked up after myself in the kitchen, I wondered what to do for 

the rest of the afternoon.  It was awfully nice to have kids who were old 

enough to take off on their own with friends; this time, they'd gone as a 

group to visit a Renaissance festival.  With the drought, the lawn didn't 

need cutting and the weeds in the garden were dormant.  There was laundry 

to do, however, so I went down to the basement to start a load.



The cool basement air felt refreshing on my bare skin, and I realized 

that I'd completely forgotten that I still had nothing on.  Along with 

the sight of some of my own clothing among the dirty laundry, that turned 

my thoughts to how this new woman I'd discovered should dress.  Some of 

my clothes were purely practical, decent clothes to wear for work or 

play, but so much of it seemed downright frumpy.



After I started the load, I wandered back up to our bedroom wondering 

what had possessed me to buy some of that stuff.  It wasn't pretty, it 

wasn't practical, but it was the kind of clothing a middle-aged mother of 

two was supposed to wear.  I was half tempted to spend the afternoon 

trashing my way through my wardrobe, but common sense got hold of me and 

I realized that I needed to know what I really wanted to wear before I 

started tossing things out.



I certainly didn't want to dress like a grown up version of my daughter 

Kim; she's no Madonna wannabe, but kids her age can't escape the 

influence.  For that matter, I didn't want to dress like I had when I was 

her age.  I'd been as influenced by the silly fashion trends of that age 

as anyone else, dressing because that was how you were supposed to dress 

instead of dressing the way I really wanted to look.



I looked at myself in my bedroom mirror again, fingering the beautiful 

gold ring around my neck, posing and trying to critically evaluate my 

body and the clothing it called for.  What use is clothing?  It protects 

from the weather, it provides a clean surface to sit on, and it can be 

modest.  I didn't feel particularly modest.



The laundry machine buzzed, signalling that I'd spent half-an-hour in 

front of the mirror, so I went down to the basement, moved the load to 

the dryer, and then went back to my thoughts about clothing.  What I 

wanted was something that frankly exposed what I had, and if not that, 

something that didn't so much hide as draw attention to my body.



I had a few sheer blouses, the kind that's meant to be worn under a coat 

or over a camisole; when I tried one on over nothing, I liked what I saw.  

It was the wrong time of year for turtleneck sweaters, but I tried one on 

and found that, once I pulled the neck of the sweater inside the hoop 

around my neck and turned it down, it looked wonderful.  The hoop looked 

good resting on the red knit cloth, and without a bra on under it, the 

sweater clung to me and clearly showed the shapes of my breasts and 

nipples.



By the time I heard the car pull into the driveway, I'd taken a bath, put 

away the clean laundry, and gotten dressed.  As Alex came walked up the 

driveway, I walked to the door to meet him wearing a long denim skirt and 

a big silk scarf.



It had taken a bit of inventing to figure out how to wear the scarf.  I 

tried a few ideas before I hit on the idea of pulling the scarf around 

behind my back and then bringing the ends up under my armpits and loosely 

clipping them to my new necklace.  I used a pair of small gold hoop 

earrings as clips.  The scarf hung open between my breasts, and I tucked 

the bottom edge into the waistband of my button-front denim skirt before 

buttoning just enough buttons for minimal modesty.



I kissed Alex on the cheek as he came in, then stepped back and posed.



"Wow," he said, after a long pause.  His eyes were on the shadows of my 

breasts, barely visible through the almost sheer scarf, and I liked the 

attention.



"Like the new necklace?" I asked.



"Yup," he said, and I could see his eyes rise to the gold ring around my 

neck.  "Gold?"



"The real thing," I said, and then kissed him, pulling him to me and 

giving him a bearhug as I forced my tongue between his lips.  He seemed 

surprised, but he responded.



Alex pulled back, still hugging me.  "You're acting pretty horny," he 

whispered, and then knelt to kiss between my breasts.  I didn't need any 

foreplay, it was as if my entire day had been been foreplay.  I wanted 

him now, and as his lips touched the soft skin between my breasts, I knew 

that I wanted to feel his lips lower on my body.



I pushed him down and away from me, and he sat down on the living room 

rug, looking up at me with a puzzled look on his face.  I knelt behind 

him and began to massage his shoulders, and then let him lie back against 

me, cradling his head on my thighs as I leaned forward over him, sliding 

my fingers up and down his shirt-covered chest.



I bent down to kiss him, chin to nose as he lay in my lap, and his hands 

reached up to finger my breasts through the thin scarf I wore over them.  

My loins ached for his kisses, and without thinking, I spread my legs 

behind his back, letting his head fall to the floor between my thighs.



If I'd planned it, I couldn't have done better.  My unbuttoned skirt 

spread to each side as I knelt straddling his head, and then I leaned 

forward, spreading my legs farther, parting my lips as I lifted myself 

over his face.  Wordlessly, his hands took my hips as his lips met mine.  

I felt his tongue gently touch my clit, but it wasn't enough.



I bore down on him, grinding his chin into my clit as he drove his tongue 

into me.  Time seemed to stretch as I knelt over him on the living room 

floor, my clit and nipples were everything, my tension mounted, and then 

I felt the release, the contraction deep in my groin, and I relaxed, no 

longer intensely excited, but still enjoying Alex's dreamy attention.



After a while, I pulled myself off of him and smiled down at him as he 

lay with his head still between my thighs.  He looked stunned, and I 

couldn't help but chuckle as I looked at the expression on his face.  I'd 

certainly given him nothing in the way of warning about what would hit 

him when he came home.



"What's gotten into you?" he asked.



"Does it matter?" I asked, smiling down at him.



"I don't know," he said.  "It's just, nothing you've done since I got 

home matches anything I expect from you.  I mean, that get-up you're 

wearing, you're not wearing any underpants, making love on the living 

room floor, my God!"  He looked towards the picture window.  "The drapes 

aren't even closed."



"So what was there to see?" I said.  "I mean, we didn't undress, and the 

fact that we make love isn't any secret."



He sat up and turned to me with a troubled, almost angry look.  "What do 

you mean?"



I couldn't help but laugh.  "I mean, we're married.  That means people 

expect us to make love.  I mean, we've got two kids and they sure aren't 

the products of immaculate conception."



"I guess nobody could see in the window anyway," he said, glancing out.



"Come on," I said, "as long as the kids are away, let's go out and 

celebrate."  I kissed him, and suddenly it hit me, I'd never before 

kissed him so soon after oral sex.  I could taste myself on his lips, and 

I could smell myself on his skin.



Alex went to the bathroom to wash up while I sat on the couch wondering 

about what had happened.  The thought of kissing right after oral sex 

would have disgusted me only days before, and wondered why it hadn't 

bothered me.  On the other hand, I wondered why it should have bothered 

me in the past.  Did I taste bad?  Did I smell bad?  The brief taste of 

myself on Alex's lips didn't seem bad, but the experience had been so 

brief that I wasn't sure.



As the sound of the toilet flushing came from the bathroom, I realized 

how little I knew about myself.  Alex and I rarely had oral sex, and when 

we did, it was always his lips on my vagina.  He certainly knew what I 

tasted like, but I didn't know how I tasted.  I knew it would be easy 

enough to find out what I tasted like, but in all my life, it had never 

occurred to me to find out.



As I sat on the couch, I slid a finger between my thighs and into myself.  

I was still very wet, and it felt good as I explored myself with my 

finger.  It felt good enough that, after I licked and smelled my finger, 

doing my best to critically judge how I tasted and smelled, I slid my 

finger back in, curling my fingertip around my pubic bone and pressing on 

my clit.



The taste wasn't terribly different from sweaty skin, less salty, a bit 

more acid.  The musky smell was a bit strong, but it suddenly hit me that 

the musk reminded me a bit of some perfumes I'd run across.  Are those 

scents attractive because they smell like a woman's crotch?



I chuckled at the thought, but my attention was focused on the feel of my 

fingers as I stared blindly into the yard.  Touching myself was such a 

simple pleasure.  Why had I avoided it for so many years?  When I came, 

it wasn't a big orgasm, but it surprised me, being so soon after Alex had 

satisfied me.  Just then, the water stopped running in the bathroom and I 

heard the door open.



"You want to go out?" Alex said as I stood up.  "Where?  And do you 

really want to be seen dressed like that?"



I turned to him.  "Do you want to see me dressed like this?"



He looked at me, then the expression on his face softened.  "Well, yes, 

I'm surprised, but I guess I like it.  You really don't mind if other 

people see you dressed like that?"



"Nope, come on.  Got money?  How about that place in the old factory 

building by the river, I forget it's name."



Dinner turned out to be pleasant, but Alex acted shy and didn't have much 

to say.  Considering the way I was acting, I don't blame him, but it was 

something of a letdown.  I asked about his day at work, and he told me, 

but that was about all we had to say while we ate.  The way he looked and 

acted as he sat across the table from me reminded me a bit of the way 

he'd been on our first two dates, a cute but awkward guy.



Things came to a head in the car on the way home.  "All of a sudden, I 

feel like I don't know my own wife," Alex said as he drove.



I didn't really know what to say.



"I mean, I come home to find a woman who's dressed like nothing I've ever 

seen before, beautiful but so sexy I'm almost scared of you, and then you 

just about rape me "



I hadn't seen what I'd done in that light, and the word "rape" bothered 

me.  "I hope you didn't mind," I said, lamely.



He glanced briefly at me and smiled.  "No, and I hope I did a good job, 

but it left me a bit frustrated.  I hope you're in the mood for more."



I reached over the gap between the seats and rested a hand on his thigh.  

"Don't worry, I am."



The occasional bounce on the ride home drew my attention back to my neck 

ring, and I reached up to finger it as thoughts of Alex's body ran 

through my head.  My fingers slid down over the thin scarf that covered 

my breasts, and I was horny again.



My long skirt was still unbuttoned almost to the crotch, and it was a 

simple matter for me to drop my hand to my lap and slide a finger into 

the warm moisture between my legs.  As I began probing myself, I idly 

wondered what I was doing masturbating with Alex sitting right there 

beside me.  Would he notice?  Would it bother him?  Would it turn him on? 

Somehow, instead of inhibiting me, these questions only added to my 

excitement.



I was about to climax when Alex stopped the car.  We were home, and as I 

got out and closed the car door, I ached for it.  My whole body wanted a 

climax.  As Alex unlocked the front door, my desires shifted to him.  I 

wanted him in me!



"Alex," I said, unclipping the scarf from the ring around my neck, "I 

want you in bed, now!"



"OK," he said, and then bent down to kiss me on the nipple, sending a 

thrill through me.  "I don't know what's come over you, but I like it."



I took off my skirt on the way to the bedroom, and kicked off my sandals 

as Alex began undressing.  As he pulled down his pants, exposing his 

erect penis, I touched it.  He sat down to take off his shirt, but I was 

too impatient to wait, so I climbed into his lap and sat on him.



There was a brief surprised look on his face as I took him into me, but 

then he smiled at me and leaned back on his hands.  It felt good to feel 

him deep inside my body as I sat there, pressing my clit against his 

pubic bone.  I leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips, and in 

my already excited state, the stimulation and added pressure pushed me 

over the edge to an orgasm, a small one, but very good.



I shuddered, and then broke the kiss and began to unbutton his shirt as 

he sat there smiling at me.  "I don't believe how horny you are," he 

said.



"It's a bit of a surprise to me too," I said, puling his shirt off his 

chest and sliding my fingertips over him.



"What brought it on?" he asked.



"Getting this," I said, fingering my new neck ring.



"Really?" he asked.  "How's it come off?  I want to look at it."



"It doesn't come off," I said, leaning forward to kiss him.  With the 

pressure of his pubic bone on my clit, that simple motion was enough to 

send me to another orgasm.



"What do you mean?" he asked, breaking the kiss.



I caught my breath before I answered.  "What I said, it doesn't come off.  

It's permanent, welded on, a solid ring of gold."  I was still high with 

the feeling of his erect penis deep inside my body, and as I spoke, I 

began to rock my hips, driving myself to another orgasm.



His face looked intense but boyish, and I knew I had him on the edge of 

an orgasm.  He briefly fingered the ring, then dropped his hands to my 

breasts before pulling me hard against him.  Waves of contractions pulsed 

through my groin as I came again and again; I floated in limbo, feeling 

him come inside me as his arms pulled my body against his and his tongue 

drove between my lips.  It was the climax I needed, the climax I'd wanted 

for years, and if we hadn't been locked in a kiss, I know I'd have moaned 

with ecstacy.



We held our embrace for a long time as I sat in his lap on the bed.  It 

took time for the tension of orgasm to flow out of me.  I felt his penis 

slowly shrink within me, and then Alex broke off our long post orgasmic 

kiss and leaned back, looking critically at me.



"So explain this necklace of yours," he said.



--



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