Adventures in the local supermarket
- 2 years ago
- 30
- 0
The Supermarket free porn video
The Supermarket
"Oh my God, I never know how to answer that question. I
mean, I never was any good at trying to figure stuff like
that out - what difference does it make after all? I mean,
who really cares, except for you of course. I didn't mean
to offend you, I hope you didn't take it the wrong way. But
really, does it really matter? I don't see how it does. I
really don't.
"But these days I am so distracted this kind of stuff
throws me for a real loop. It really does. I just cannot
stop my head long enough to get a grip on even the
simplest, little bitty thing. I just can't do it. It is
totally and completely beyond me.
"Like this morning. I get out of bed and go to the bathroom
and do my thing and then get ready for the shower. Now I
like to exfoliate my skin every three days. Can I remember
if today is the third day? Are you kidding? Of course not.
I don't have a clue. Not a clue.
"So anyway, I decided I'd skip it for today because that
stuff's so expensive and I get dressed and brush my hair
and wouldn't you know it, I hit a big tangle and almost
yank this huge clump of hair out of my head. Now look at
this - I don't have all that much to spare. So I have to
stop what I'm doing and untangle this mess and then it's
time for my nails and I can't decide for the life of me
what color polish to wear today.
"Now you wouldn't think that this would be a big deal,
would you? Time was, nail polish meant red and that was
that. But that was before. Now I have almost a whole box
full of the stuff and there's bottles in there I haven't
used in a dog's age but it's still there and now I've got
to match the color to what I'm wearing and what I'm doing
and how I'm feeling and oh my God what's a girl to do? I
guess I'm supposed to flutter my eyelashes when I say
something like that, aren't I. I'm sorry, I'm still new at
this. So anyway, I completely freeze up when confronted
with having to pick out my nail polish. My brain, puny as
it is, just decides it is going to shut it's damn self down
and it felt like I was standing there in front of my vanity
for five hours or something waiting to decide what color
nail polish I was going to wear. Ridiculous, I know, but
that's the way I am.
"So anyway, finally, I just reach in and grab something and
it turned out to be okay because it was kind of a light,
neutral beige that sort of goes with almost everything I
have that I'd wear out in the daytime. But that just goes
to show you, doesn't it? I just can't make a decision.
"Well, there was this one decision I made, but I can't get
into that right now.
"You know, my wife used to do all that sort of stuff for
us. She always knew exactly what she wanted and how things
were supposed to be done. 'There's always a right way to do
something.' she'd say.
"Now she's gone and I can't even figure out what kind of
nail polish to wear. You'd think I was a blonde or
something.
"I guess I should have expected her to leave, but I didn't.
Sort of came out of the clear blue sky. One minute she's
there and the next minute she isn't and that's all th-th-
that's all folks. I guess I shouldn't talk about it like
that but I can't get too serious about it because it still
hurts. Oh boy does it still hurt.
"I still love her. But I don't think she understands that.
"What I don't understand is how she could leave me. I mean,
just because this shirt buttons one way and another shirt
buttons another way, what's the BFD? I mean really, I don't
understand. Is it that big a deal that I like pants that
don't have a pocket on the butt? No, it isn't. I don't
think so anyway. We're talking about pieces of cloth,
sometimes they're arranged this way sometimes they're
arranged that way but we're still talking about pieces of
cloth, right? What's the big deal? Am I wrong? Tell me if
I'm wrong.
"I'm not wrong. Doesn't seem to matter though.
"There was this one time we had to go to a funeral. It was
late in June and it was hot. Really hot. You could see the
heat rising from the pavement in waves. This was the
funeral of the husband of a friend of hers and I didn't
want to go but we had to so we both got dressed in our
funeral clothes and went to the church and graveyard and
the get-together at a neighbor's house afterwards. I must
have sweated off about five pounds in my suit, but
sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do - so I
did.
"So anyway, we get home around five in the afternoon and
it's still hot. We head upstairs to the bedroom to change
and she looks out the window and sees the guy across the
street, sitting on his steps with his shirt off sucking
down a Bud Lite.
"'You guys have it made' she says to me. 'I would love to
take my shirt off when it's hot but I can't because I'd
have every man for miles ogling me. Maybe even I'd get
attacked or raped and he'd get off because I was asking for
it. And you want to be a woman. Jesus.'
"Now I never said I wanted to be a woman. I don't. I just
like the clothes and I'd told her that before but it didn't
seem to sink in. But that wasn't the point right then.
"'Honey,' I said to her. 'I've just spent that last four
hours in a dark, lined, long sleeved suit over a starched,
fully buttoned shirt and a tie. I've sweated like a pig and
felt like I was trapped in a gabardine sauna. I have on
socks and heavy black shoes. You're wearing a little cotton
dress and sandals and you look great. So don't tell me you
feel cheated 'cause you can't take off your shirt. Not
until you've worn a suit in weather like this.'
"That seemed like a pretty convincing argument to me. Not
her, though. She just flung one of her sandals at me and
stomped downstairs. Damn thing came within a couple of
inches of hitting me, too.
"If she flung both shoes, I prob'ly woulda kept them. Aww,
I'm just kidding. We didn't even wear the same size. Ha ha
ha, isn't that just too funny. I'm being sarcastic, in case
you can't tell.
"We argued a lot in those days. We talked, we discussed, we
fought, we considered, we rationalized, we blew up, we
calmed down. We went to the library, we went to counseling,
we surfed the web. Mostly, we drifted apart.
"You see, it all started when this friend of mine called me
up. His divorce just became final and he wanted to blow off
some steam and celebrate, so he called me. We did up the
town right, but it felt sort of sad and hollow to me. I got
home around three in the morning but as drunk as I was, I
just couldn't get to sleep. There was too much going on in
this itty-bitty brain and I stayed awake all night.
"When she woke up, I needed to talk. We had a good
marriage, we really did. But I couldn't keep my secret
secret any more, if you know what I mean. If our marriage
was really together, then being completely open could only
make it better, right? How could being honest hurt anything
if we both loved each other? It couldn't, right? Aren't I
right here?
"What I couldn't take was knowing that we weren't being
honest with each other, especially with me being the one
doing the deceiving. I just couldn't do that anymore.
"So I said, 'Honey, can we talk about something.'
"And I told her all about me. Actually, it was probably way
more than she wanted to know or I wanted to tell, but once
my mouth started working it got hard to stop. I have that
problem, can't you tell? And when I wound down, she didn't
say a word, which surprised the heck out me. I don't know
what I expected, but I didn't expect her to hug me and sob
quietly into my shoulder. It confused me in a big way, but
I got used to being confused pretty quick.
"For a couple of weeks it seemed like everything was
wonderful. I couldn't imagine life being any better. We
even spent an afternoon shopping together, although I saw
her blanche white when I asked one of the salesgirls for
directions to the dressing room so I could try on a skirt.
I guess she was embarrassed or something, I don't know. I
wound up buying a blouse and she paid for it, but she made
damn sure that the cashier didn't know the blouse was mine.
"Those were the happiest days of my life. In my wildest
imagination, I couldn't have asked for anything more.
"There was this one day, I'll tell you the truth, I'll
never, ever forget. It wasn't even the whole day, it was
just a moment... but this moment said it all. I'll never
feel like that again, but... Jesus Christ I still cry just
thinking about it.
"I had this skirt I bought a couple of years ago. It was
long, almost down to my ankles and I'm a tall girl, if you
haven't guessed. It was a patchwork skirt, mostly black
with patches that were sorta floral and a combination of
dark neutral colors, ivory and green, which has always been
my favorite color. There was just something about the way
it draped around my calves and flowed when I walked that
was so nice. I loved that skirt, long before I talked to my
wife. I'd purged a couple of times in the last few years
but I always held on to this skirt.
"So anyway, this one time, I'm out shopping with her at
this mall and she pops into a hardware store to pick up
some bulbs for the light fixture we have on the porch and I
pop into this clothing store and I see a display of
sweaters marked down 50% because it's February and they're
getting ready for spring. I see a bulky ribbed long-sleeved
mock turtleneck in black in my size and I buy it. It's the
very first time I ever bought anything in a women's store
for myself when shopping with my wife, but by this time I
didn't think she'd mind and it all seemed so totally
natural. I really and truly didn't think twice about it.
Just buy the damn sweater.
"So I'm still not quite sure how she's going to take
things, so I'm very careful. One step at a time, you know.
Like, up to this point, I haven't worn a skirt or dress in
front of her. I've worn girls' pants and tops and once even
worn nail polish, but I haven't tried makeup or skirts yet.
At least not in front of her. I've been wearing skirts and
makeup for 30 years, but, you know...
"So anyway, this one Saturday she decides she's going
shopping with a couple of friends and she'll be out for
most of the afternoon. As soon as she's gone I zap myself
upstairs, strip out of my boy clothes and put on undies,
black tights and a camisole.
"About a month earlier I screwed up my courage enough to
get a full makeover at the Estee Lauder counter at the
local department store, so I had a complete set of tools to
play with. I shaved again, started with the foundation and
then tried as much as possible to duplicate what Marguerita
did with me back then. The foundation and blush wasn't too
hard. The eyeshadow took a couple of tries. The goddamn
eyeliner took forever because I just could not get that
right. I kept wiping my eyes clean and starting over but
after about 45 fucking minutes I got it right.
"When I finally got my eyes and lips and cheeks and
everything else the way I wanted, I carefully combed my
hair as neatly as I could and stepped away from the mirror,
being as careful NOT to look at myself as I could. I didn't
want to spoil the total effect.
"So I went back into the bedroom and pulled on my skirt.
Boy, I loved that skirt. Every time I put it on I got a
little thrill. Then I grabbed that sweater and pulled it
on, being supercareful not to muss my makeup. The only
thing left was shoes. I didn't have too many shoes (shoes
are expensive, you know. I don't want to spend a fortune on
something I'm only going to wear a couple of times) but I
did have a pair of ankle boots in black that worked well
with this skirt. So I dug the boots out of the closet and
put them on.
"Just had a couple more things. I loosened my watchband so
my watch hung like a bracelet. Then I grabbed one of my
wife's necklaces. Up to that point I had never, ever worn
anything of hers. Really. I always had my own things. But
for some reason, I thought it was important to wear
something of hers right then. Back then, I don't know why I
did it. It was a total impulse. Now, I think I know. I
think it's because I know that she and I are really made
for each other and I'm not complete without her. I know
that sounds hokey and I know, given everything that's
happened, you'd have trouble believing it's true, but it's
true goddamn it. It really, really is. At least now I know
it's true. Then, it was just some sort of instinct in the
back of my head.
"So this instinct tells me I need to wear a necklace. My
wife has great taste in jewelry (lousy taste in clothes,
but that's another story altogether). The first one I grab
hangs a little lower than I'd like it to, so I take
another. This one is made of yellow, amber and brown beads
on a thickish chocolate brown strand with silver owls every
couple of inches. I always liked it on her and thought it
might look nice on me.
"Then I stepped in front of the mirror.
"One thing you gotta know is that I was gonna be 45 in two
weeks. Now I've read all about mid-life crises and all that
bullshit, but I never believed in it. Not a single fucking
word. But one thing I do know is that this particular day I
walked into a goddamn crisis and I don't know if it was
midlife or what. I just know it blew my life fucking apart.
"Because when I looked into the mirror, I liked what I saw.
"That's all it took.
"For the previous 45 years, I'd looked in the mirror
thousands of times. Millions maybe, and I'd never really
liked the image looking back at me. I don't know why - I
never thought about it for the longest time. I just know
that when I looked at that person with the black patchwork
quilt skirt, bulky black sweater, amber necklace, honey
ginger lipstick and plum eyeshadow in the mirror that I
LOVED the person I saw. There was nothing rational about
it. It was a totally emotional response but that didn't
matter. I LOVED that reflection. Then my rational mind
kicked in and recognized that I was responding to that
mirror image in a way that I had never responded to a
mirror image before and 'Oh boy, we're in trouble now,' it
said. And every other synapse in my body replied 'Fuck you,
we like it.'
"For minutes I was mesmerized in this state. Not once in my
entire life had I looked in a mirror and really and truly
liked the person looking back at me and now I did. Except
that now, the person looking back at me did not look like a
man was supposed to look. My brain knew that I supposed to
make something of it all, but my heart just kept responding
to the image that my eyes saw.
"Then my wife's face floated into the background of the
image in front of me. I saw that image say 'You goddamn
fucking son of a bitch. Fucking goddamn faggot.'
"It took a couple of seconds for my brain to register that
she wasn't a figment of my imagination but was real flesh
and blood.
"I remember that she reached out and grabbed my necklace -
her necklace - and ripped it from my throat. Then she flung
it into space. As she did it, she kept screaming at me.
Vile, horrible things. I don't remember a lot of it, but
there are some things I just can't forget. I can't forget
that she said I made her sick. I can't forget that she said
I made her feel dirty and sordid. I can't forget the
expression on her face.
"I also can't forget that image in the mirror. And I can't
forget how I felt when I saw it.
"Anyway, we fought for about an hour or so before running
out of steam. I slept on the couch that night and at a
motel for a couple more nights that week. I came back and
we were on and off for about three months. You know, we'd
have four or five good days, then a fight, then a week of
sulking, then a make up and a good week and then it would
start all over again. She finally left.
"I think she made up her mind to leave when I told her that
it wasn't that I couldn't stop dressing, but that I didn't
want to.
"I miss her every single day.
"But sometimes a girl's just gotta do what a girl's just
gotta do, right? I mean, there comes a time when you have
to do what YOU think is right. I just wish it didn't take
me 45 years to figure that out.
"Oh well, what the hell, isn't that what they say?
"I'm sorry - I got carried away. What did you ask me?"
The bagger just stared at me with gaping eyes. "Paper or
plastic?"
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