Laura – Falling Angel Pt. 01 by OpenMouth
Laura, through no fault of her own, found herself divorced and childless in her late 30s. A medical administrator in an English city, and a pillar of her local church group, she had been devastated to learn of her husband’s affair with his secretary. She had in small part blamed herself, both for the hasty marriage and his infidelity. She never encouraged recreational sex and thought he had got such urges out of his system by the time their unsuccessful attempts to procreate had run their course. The humiliation she felt at the discovery of his betrayal left her with no choice, and he readily agreed to a quick and painless divorce.
He moved out, leaving her comfortably off and she settled into a life of books, quiet dinners and occasional drinks with friends. After one such meal she drank just a little too much red wine.
She woke up around 2 am, with the notion of having had some kind of erotic but unremembered dream. She had a drink of water then got back into bed, but was unable to get back to sleep. She turned over a few times, feeling mildly uneasy as snippets of her dream came back to her. She seemed to recall a sequence where she was putting on red lipstick; another where she was walking in the street, her blouse unfastened and her bra visible.
Laura was a brunette. She had a generous bust which had always made her self-conscious. Her attempts to minimise her curves by folding her arms made her appear round-shouldered, and she usually wore low heels. In bed, though, her large boobs had a tendency to make her feel wanton and sensuous, which, with the light inebriation and the dreams, she was experiencing now.
She remembered Peter’s magazines. She had found a few of the glossy, A5-sized publications under a drawer in the bedroom, some weeks after he had moved out, and transferred them to a shoe box in a cupboard on the landing where they languished now, while she waited for a safe way to dispose of them. She found herself getting out of bed, and she switched on a lamp before retrieving the box from the cupboard.
She sat up in bed with the box beside her, and took a sip of water. She opened the box, tutting to herself; she felt her cheeks flush as she read the titles – Private, Climax, Extreme. Scantily dressed women gazed at her boldly, unsmiling, from the covers – streaked blonde hair, heavy makeup. She surmised they must feel shame for what they do – how could they not? – but appeared to be able to hide it. Had peter really been attracted to women like this?
One such woman was on the cover of a magazine with the title ‘Gloryhole’. She was wearing a tiny vest top, lots of shiny rings in her ears and nose, with her arms and chest heavily tattooed. She was wearing thick eye makeup – dark eyeliner and mascara, shiny eyeshadow, and appeared to be on her knees in some kind of small, dark room, with her fingers in a small porthole of sorts. What struck her the most was the girl’s radiant smile. Laura couldn’t reconcile how the young woman – a prostitute or pornographic actress, obviously – was dressed and made up, with the most beautiful, happy and healthy smile she presented to the camera. For a brief, fleeting moment, she was reminded of the teenage daughter of one of her church friends, and felt vaginal fluids surge into her knickers. Her face flushed angrily, and she put the box under her bed in shame and disgust. She put the light off and fell asleep thinking of prosaic domestic matters.
******
Laura filed the incident deeply away and lived her quiet life as before. A couple of months later and approaching the Christmas party season, she overheard her colleagues discussing plans for a night out, and was surprised to hear her name mentioned. There had been a momentary pause which didn’t go unnoticed by Laura, but as she considered the majority of the office to be more fashionable and worldly than herself, and on average younger, she was happy just to be considered. She was even happier a day or so later when it was made informally official.
She didn’t admit it to herself at that point, but life had become a little predictable. The ladies at the church group, although pleasant enough, were a very conservative and inward looking bunch, and she was looking forward to mixing with her colleagues. She had worked there a couple of years in which she felt they hadn’t really warmed to her, but with her divorce behind her – it hadn’t been acrimonious, but nevertheless had been an enormous strain on her – maybe she could allow herself a little fun. It was Christmas, after all.
She bought a little black dress from M&S. Initially, she had been drawn to a pinstripe halterneck top with matching trousers, but didn’t feel she could carry off a strapless bra just yet. She settled on a short embroidered dress with a square cut front, and a pair of strappy black suede block-heel sandals.
The Christmas display in Victoria’s Secret was very sparkly; she had been brought up to consider such displays sinful and crass, but she told herself there was no harm in looking. A leopard print bra and knickers caught her eye, with its deep plunge and black lace fringe. “When were you last measured?” asked a red haired sales assistant. Laura genuinely couldn’t say. “You’re a 38 DD, almost an E cup,” she smiled, and as she leaned in to look at the tape Laura could smell her beautiful scent, and a not unpleasant trace of cigarettes on her breath. “I bet you get a lot of attention from the boys at this time of year, with your figure!”
There was a whole world out there about which Laura clearly knew nothing.
******
It was Friday evening, and Laura tried on her new purchases. The satin dress felt exquisite as she wriggled it up over the animal print bra. She took a sip of her wine, leaving a red lipstick kiss on the rim of the glass, and observed herself in the mirror. She looked outrageous by her usual standards. She put on her sandals, fastened the buckles and stood up. The posture dictated by the heels really enhanced her bust and she blushed at the sight of herself, the deep cleavage and her breasts thrust out before her like offerings. She turned sideways on, held up her hair. Scandalous.
She couldn’t have imagined dressing like this a few months earlier, she didn’t really see a situation which would justify it. She was really looking forward to the night out in a couple of weeks.
She put on more of the red lipstick and pouted at the mirror. She wondered how the redhead in Victoria’s Secret would react to her appearance. She also wondered what she was wearing now, and what she was doing. She was probably only 5 years or so younger than herself, she speculated. Maybe out with friends herself, or having an intimate moment with a handsome boyfriend. She looked in the mirror and smiled. “I need a glamour accessory!”
She carefully negotiated the stairs, aware she’d already had a big glass of cabernet. In a sideboard drawer, she located a taboo item which, along with the magazines, she had been waiting to dispose of. Peter’s brother, Ian, had left a pack of cigarettes on his last visit before the divorce. She liked Ian; he was an atheist with a dry and irreverent sense of humour, and always managed to make her smile with some silly comment.