Chapter: Chapter 50, 36 C At 40 Instead Of Orange Dress
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50, 36 C At 40 Instead Of Orange Dress
After Elliot, I snuggled back with husband,
spent more time in the office but by
1990, three years after Elliot, on turning forty, I rebelled against being a
middle aged woman.
The children in college no longer needed my cinnamon rolls. I was their past
tense mother, the mom who raised them. Now we were all "adults", my
position the one who took care of holidays and paid household bills.
At the office I could be replaced by a book keeper. My business card title,
"Office Manager" was a misnomer for social secretary. I didn't have a
real job and finding one outside of the office made no sense for what the
business generated. I was simply an appendage, not necessary for anything.
While trying to accompany my husband on business trips with his frequent flyer
miles I often was left home, alone.
He had his mistress, the business. Who was I, simply the provider of domestic tranquility?
Financially well off, I became a Nordstrom's and Sak's Fifth Avenue attired ornament who spent
half a day once a week at a salon, maintained shoulder length hair, bathed in a
bubble bath, used exotic lotions to keep a supple skin and layered it with
expensive French lingerie. I drove a SL500
cream colored hardtop Mercedes with vanity license plate, in short, stereotype
rich bitch ornament, a title which didn’t annoy me.
It kept me from seeing myself as past tense but wasn’t enough to avoid mid-life
crisis; I needed something dramatic, a statement greater than wearing an orange
After wishing for larger breasts since Erica I decided the ornament needed a
boob job. They went from 34 B to 36 C on a summer afternoon in a plastic
surgeon's office with periareolar saline
implants, not to big boob bimbo, just a notch up, so I told myself. Once
the soreness receded I put on heels and stood naked before my full length
mirror and admired my new shape. Maybe I was a boob girl, they looked great.
They needed to be shown off, a test drive, if only Erica could see them.
Shopping, I tried different outfits to see how to enhance them, selected bras
which promoted them and developed other attire accents which made my presence
known. I selected a perfume few wore to announce my presence by smell, wore
heels which drew attention by their walking tap, decorated like a Christmas
tree with expensive jewelry and used TV news anchorwomen as role dress models.
It was a full 40 year old life crisis.
The attention my upscale appearance garnered ensured I was not a past tense
woman. I wanted men to notice my eyes, hair, neck nape, legs, clothes and
breasts, walking by, entering a building, getting in or out of a car, I wanted
to be noticed, the opposite when young. I smiled thinking about my Pee Che
folder hiding once upon a time. Now I was the crudely referred to, attention
whore. It was fun to flirt as a forty year old woman but only if men flirted
back. I made sure they did.
With enhancement, I was top heavy. Like a teenager rapidly growing my enhanced
outline bumped into little things. With their soreness eased, hubby having his
playtime with them, my enhanced profile incorporated in my movements, it
was time to see what they could accomplish.
While originally blaming my husband's swinging
idea for my unfaithfulness, with Elliot I realized I was promiscuous and
stopped blaming hubby for who I was. I was addicted to affairs, their
excitement, and self-esteem assurance. They were a craved drug stimulant which
controlled me. Even while with Elliot I fantasized milking three men.
ended I knew it was partly because it was time for his replacement.
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