wig

“Sex in a woman’s world has the same currency a penny has in a man’s. Every penny saved is a penny earned in one world and in the next every sexual adventure is a literary experience.”

-Harry Golden

Occasionally, I like to spice things up for my wife, Amy.

I bought a wig online a couple months ago. It was the first time I purchased a wig I didn’t intend on wearing Halloween. The locks are a reddish auburn, a color I would never try on my hair. But I wanted something different.

The wig arrived and I quickly hid it in my bedside table. Weeks passed. I held onto this wig, super nervous about revealing it. Amy never has any idea what I’ve purchased be it a new toy or lotion or outfit or whatever until I call her back to the bedroom and then bam! There I am with whatever sex-venture I’ve planned. I’m careful with my timing, spacing out our sex-ventures and making sure we’re both feeling good and energetic, and that the kids are out of the house.

A couple nights before Christmas, we were alone. Finally. The kids were off with other plans. We began making out on the couch. Though normally I would be thinking about her and our making out and touching, my mind was on the wig. I decided the time was right.

“Stay here,” I whispered and back to the bedroom I went to get ready.

I changed into lacy, black panties, the ones that accentuated my hips and round bottom. I darkened my eyeshadow and did up my eyes heavy with eyeliner, drawing a point up from my eye lashes. I brushed on blush and slid on a little lip color. I put on the wig unsure of how to line up the wig’s part with my face. I pulled one side down and adjusted the back. I tousled the long, wispy bangs covering my forehead. I couldn’t remember the last time I had bangs. I arranged the long curls to lay just so down my breasts and back. My hair was long, but the wig’s locks extended down about six inches longer to just a few inches above my belly button.

I walked to the mirror. I looked like I belonged at Trixie’s, one of the long-running local strip clubs.

I decided to go forward. Amy had been waiting a while at this point. So I lit two large candles, turned off the lights and called her back.

I heard her footfalls in the hallway. The door was ajar and she peeked inside. There I stood in wig, overdone eyes and curve-accentuating panties. She pushed the door the rest of the way open. Her expression read absolute shock.

I expected a giggle.

“I thought you were going to dress as Mrs. Claus,” she said.

She walked forward and touched the ends of the wig hanging below my breasts, nipples peeking. She wasn’t smiling. Just staring. I leaned forward and put my arms around her waist and drew her near. She lightly touched my waist. We kissed deeply. I leaned back and looked into her eyes and still there was no positive emotion. She looked confused.

“You don’t like it?” I asked, my feelings starting to burn. Maybe I don’t do it for her anymore as I used to. Maybe that’s part of marriage. I’ve always heard the flame extinguishes, but this soon? We’ve only been together a few years.

“You’re not you. You don’t look like yourself. I feel weird even kissing you, or touching you,” she answered, her hesitant body language reiterating her words. She stood just inside the doorway, her hands barely touching my waist. Usually she grips, grabs and pulls me to her, even tosses me around a bit.

I didn’t understand her reaction, and it pricked my ego. I felt a fear realize. I did look as ridiculous as I thought I might, standing before her nearly naked save wig and panty. 

She’s always loved every… I mean every… crazy idea I get for our bedroom antics. She’s up for it all. This was the first time I’ve ever received a negative response from her.

I loosely crossed my arms, asked if she wanted me to take off the wig and explained I hadn’t pinned it down. She affirmed and pulled it off revealing the blonde and brown twisted swirls of color on straight, fine hair down my back I’ve worn most of the time she’s known me.

“There’s my wife. This is who I want,” she said, finally smiling.

Her comment soothed my damaged ego but I still didn’t understand. I uncrossed my arms. It was just a wig. I asked how the wig was different than one of my outfits. She explained the outfits didn’t severely alter my appearance like the wig. That girl didn’t look like me and she hated it.

“Transforming yourself neck down and some make up is okay but please don’t alter your appearance so much that I can’t see you. I need you to look like you,” she said.

My heart exploded. My wife doesn’t need some version of me. Just me. I’m enough.

The rest of our evening was, well, rather amazing. And now I’ve got a wig for sale if anyone is interested. Tested but never used.

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “The Wig

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