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The slip
It was about the third or fourth time my future wife and I went out. We were going to hear a visiting Bible Scholar at a church across town. The drive was normally about 50 minutes or so. My “date” had on a beautiful plaid wool skirt the type is tailored at the waist and flairs out the further you go down. It was a beautiful warm day and she was gorgeous. As we drove we made small talk about the church we were visiting, college classes, and work, nothing really in particular. I noticed she was moving her legs and shifting around quite a bit and I asked her if something was wrong as she normally did not behave this way.
She replied that the skirt she was wearing was wool and even with pantyhose on it was beginning to itch a lot. I asked if she wanted to go home, she said “no but could we stop at a store before we attended the lecture”. I agreed, as she seemed quite miserable squirming in her seat. There was a Penny's store near where we were going and that is where we went. We hurried to the women's section, then to the intimate apparel section. I was intrigued but very uncomfortable standing where I was. Finally we found a rack of half-slips. “You aren't going to just stand there, help me find one,” she said. Looking over the vast collection, I could not believe the variety, in styles, fabrics, lengths and colors.
Her skirt was combination of browns and tans and about mid calf, so we limited ourselves to shades of white. Again, I did not know white could come in some many hues, camel, bright white, bone, off-white, eggshell…. it was endless. I was beginning to understand why it takes women so long to buy anything. We finally found something. It was ivory, satin, flared like her skirt and the right length with just enough lace on it to make it interesting. She did not have a purse with her, so I bought my first lingerie. The sales women just smiled at me. I was so embarrassed. After I paid for it, my date disappeared into the dressing room and returned much more comfortable.
I don't remember much of the lecture but I do remember holding my future wife's hand, our hands resting on her leg and me knowing that, our slip was under her skirt. Over the next year we dated, every time she wore a skirt I always wondered if she had it on. “A gentleman never asks and a lady never tells”.
Almost a year later on our wedding night, she appeared out of the bathroom wearing a smile, our slip and not much else.
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