Member-only story
Like a Lady
Charm isn’t the only thing in her repertoire.
It’s another day where your love tempts you just by being so remarkably herself.
She wears a white brassiere combined with an old-fashioned pair of high-waisted panties, stockings, and lace gloves. Even her hair is beautifully twirled into a style that looks effortless despite your knowledge that she probably took real curling rollers to her hair hours before. But that’s the picture she seeks to paint at times like these: she wants to keep up the illusion of beauty that doesn’t need to be maintained or doctored.
Oh, there are other moments when she allows you to see the mask slip: those days when she wears hoodies and sweatpants as she does chores around the apartment, those evenings she curls up with a dog-eared bodice-ripper romance in her hands, those mornings when she wakes up with her face smudged from the make-up she forgot to take off the night prior. These are all shades of her, and you cherish each one you get to glimpse.
But you can’t help liking these occasional strolls through an era lost to time. She smiles at you with her lips painted red, and you wish you could just pounce and pin her down before your mouth finds hers. But, no, this game doesn’t work like that. Her eyes may go come-hither, but she hasn’t invited you near.
