I tried to make it just that -- for two weeks. Now, however, a strange yearning drove me on. One that I feared, yet had to explore. I had to know. Was...I a slut? Am I a slut. To be used by men for their enjoyment. I had to laugh, for I suddenly realized that this latter part was my marriage: Being used by hubby. The selfish bastard.KMart was coming back into view. Driving more carefully, more attentively, I switched lanes. The centre. The right. The turn lane.Fear gripped me.A quick glance over. He wasstanding in line and looking at his shoes. They weren't like any he hadever wore before. They were open at the top and he could see his the topof his feet. He was wearing white stockings which felt odd. He rememberswaiting for the bus in the red velvet dress and how cold his legs were asthe wind blew. As he walked forward the moment he dreaded arrived, he felthimself lose control of his bladder. In seconds he would be made fun andnothing he could do would change it. Wait something is. More

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