Anticipation made her antsy all day, kept
drawing her back to the window from which
she would see whether her husband was
alone or had company.
She caught herself playing with her hair, something
her mother had warned her against—“It’s a
signal, dear, that you’re interested”—but she
was interested, was curious, was scared.
She knew she should get dressed though she
often greeted her husband naked, but with
someone else it would give the
wrong impression, wouldn’t it?
If she saw him/them arrive there
wouldn’t be time to dress, but
watching was so hypnotic and
waiting was such a powerful aphrodisiac.
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)