Out of curiosity, I had Molly show me how to find pornographic videos. Observing the graphic physicality of contorted sex taught me little of what I sought; quickly enough, I decided such fare was not for me. I disliked how shallow and gratuitous the sex was; the acts seemed absurdly mechanical with disingenuous passion sounds. Regular movies with suggested or simulated sex aroused me more because I felt involved with the characters’ emotions.
One porn video piqued my interest in the existence and purpose of dildos. After admitting she used them, Molly bought one called a Wild Rabbit for my birthday. Why it was called that was a mystery to me; it didn’t look anything like a rabbit. It had an erect penis shape with a little protrusion near the bottom.
Molly explained the protrusion stimulates the clitoris when the penis part fully enters the vagina; both parts vibrate. When I tried it out the first night, I had multiple, wild orgasms that had me hopping on the bed. I continued to use it almost daily, grateful for the rechargeable batteries.
I observed the fashions in movies and in public, looking for an image I wanted for myself. Clothes made statements about the character of people. I didn’t like gaudy or vulgar, but preferred simple and comfortable.
I was particularly interested in how clothes could improve or merely highlight a person’s attractiveness. I was ready to come out of hiding with a new wardrobe but afraid to be discovered by someone who knew the former me and therefore might judge the change as evidence of moral collapse.
Molly suggested moving to another state where I wouldn’t encounter people who knew me or be critical of what I did, said, or wore. I could make a clean start; become anybody I wanted to be. It took me several months to accept the necessity of selling the home I lived in more than half of my life. I was uncertain about stepping out into the world with no home. Molly gave me the needed encouragement and had me call a realtor friend of hers.
Her friend gave it to me straight. My neighborhood was upscale and a hot commodity but my house was small and outdated. I had two options. Without spending any money, I could sell it fast as is. People would pay the fair market value just for its location; complete teardowns or large expansions were the norm. Otherwise, I could remodel first. It wouldn’t be a bad investment; I’d make extra profit over the costs; but the work would delay the sale only to have my decorating choices redone by eventual buyers anyway.
Making more money was unconscionable with all that I already had. I was anxious to move by then so I set the price fifteen thousand under the appraised value for a quick sale. The open house generated three offers. During the first hour, the realtor received a signed offer. It was a cash offer at my asking price with sizable earnest money and no contingencies other than passing an inspection. I accepted the offer that night. The other offers came later but I didn’t consider them in deference to the accepted contract.
With four weeks to move out, I flew to Miami to look for a new home. My interest in the area stemmed from two vacations spent there. I loved the climate and beaches but I was hesitant to pay a hefty premium for beachfront property I knew little about even though I could afford anything. Rather than commit to any purchase on short decision time, I entered a one-year rental contract on a modest house ten miles inland.
The three bedroom rental was furnished and I planned to buy new appliances and less stodgy furniture for my eventual purchased home so I spent several weekends selling off everything but some of my clothes. What didn’t sell, I donated to charity. Wanting to make a clean break from my past, I kept very few things as mementos. Greta and I left Atlanta with everything I owned packed into a new SUV.
* * * * *
Moving in was simple and completed after only a few days, allowing me a quick start on learning my new surroundings. I joined a health club with an indoor pool and running track so I could maintain my workout regimen. I found a beach that allowed dogs and a dog park with both a large leash-free area and long walking trails. Greta and I enjoyed the new places almost every day the first couple of weeks but they weren’t close enough to be convenient for continuing daily visits.
We spent hours driving around neighborhoods looking at houses. I wasn’t house hunting yet, instead deciding what styles and neighborhoods appealed to me, plus what extra features I would have on my want-list. A swimming pool and a screened-in lanai were my top two; my rental had neither.
I made several shopping trips to the mall. After seeing what most locals and tourists wore to remain comfortable, I was ready to reset my wardrobe. I went to light colors and lighter weight fabrics of course. Shorts and leggings were new choices for me but I was still modest enough to select loose fitting sizes. I intended to buy a bikini for the beach but I didn’t know what I wanted and I was reluctant to purchase any of the ones I considered.
I bought bikini panties instead of full panties for the first time. Such a change may not sound dramatic, but where the low waistband touched my skin made me feel sexy. I became self-conscious about how certain new clothing clung to my vulva, developing a cameltoe. Rather than avoid wearing that type of clothing, I developed a habit of tugging the fabric even though the telltale crevice returned after walking a few steps.
After about six weeks, our trips to the beach or dog park were down to once a week. Most other days, I walked Greta around the neighborhood. I met some neighbors; most were either working parents with children that I only encountered on weekends or retired seniors that avoided the outdoor heat of the day. I still hadn’t met my immediate neighbors; I only saw them coming and going in their cars.
One exception was Mr. Rogers who lived a block away around the corner. He was a seventy-something widower who had the best looking landscaping in the subdivision. Gardening was his retirement hobby so he was outside in his yard most days when we went by. After I stopped to chat a few times, he would drop what he was doing to pet Greta and chat me up. He lived alone and I imagine he treasured our company; I enjoyed practicing simple social behavior with a man.
As summer arrived in earnest, I figured out that the intense sunshine made asphalt roads in particular, and concrete sidewalks to a lesser degree, uncomfortable for Greta to walk on. I allowed her to walk on grass as much as possible; but except for the median of the main feeder road through our development, all grass was somebody’s lawn, and Greta still had to cross driveways.
One bright morning, I mentioned Greta’s discomfort to Mr. Rogers as we chatted. He responded by inviting me to come into his back yard. We stopped to view his stunning garden that covered almost his entire backyard, but his immediate purpose was to show me what was behind his property.