That I was quieter. Distracted. "A nap, honey. That's all I needed was some sleep." Softly I sighed as I mechanically made my way through the rest of my day and evening. Well, that excuse will have to work again -- if he asked.I awoke the next morning feeling energetic -- alive. He hadn't noticed. Hadn't asked. He, himself, seemed more distracted than usual. Rather than get myself into an unwanted discussion about my day, I avoided asking him about his. And I got away without him finding out anything. Now, all I wanted to do was get him off to work and go find that man again. Yesterday wasn't very exciting, not as exciting as that first time, but I had a feeling things were going to progress -- going to be more severe.This time, I was going to dress the part -- like a slut. As I heard the car pull out of the driveway, I headed to the bathroom for a quick shower and shave. I had just finished slicing away the stubble from around my lower abdomen and legs when I got this wild idea to. Unless he's quite unfortunate, eh? When you're standing up there, those people are going to remark, 'My oh my, That is one healthy male specimen.' The rational part of my brain was right, as usual. I decided there was nothing to be insecure about, so I called and got the info. That night I did a few extra push-ups, no big deal.I wore a white t-shirt and blue jeans like I always do, not that it mattered. When I got to the studio, the instructor, the lady who placed the ad, paid me up front and showed me to the dressing room. I figured if things went south, or even north, I could just dash with the money in-hand, knowing I was already paid. Puns aside, it was a reassuring thought. I put on a bathrobe and she directed me to an elevated platform that sat a couple inches above the carpeted floor. It was a classroom-type setting, fifteen desks, a few men, but mostly women. The instructor introduced me to the class, and asked if I'd like to know all their names. I was straight forward and.
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