Things I’d forgotten

There’s a sponsors message on TV at the moment – you know the sort of thing – The Family Entertainment Show was brought to you by Butt Plugs Of Distinction Inc – which features a couple sat on the sofa, and their conversation runs something like this:

Wife: When we get home we should get changed ..
Husband: … into comfy clothes …
Wife: … with

elasticated waists. Not leather trousers …
Husband: You have leather trousers?!
He seems both shocked and excited at this revelation.

It reminded me …

Many, many moons ago, when my Wife and I started dating, She had a pair of leather trousers. They weren’t worn on a regular basis, but nor were they reserved for special occasions. Perhaps the occasional evening out with friends. I’d completely forgotten about them. And I’d completely forgotten how great Her arse looked in them too. I dicn’t even know when I last saw Her wearing them – probably more than a decade ago – nor if She still had them. Even if She did, whilst neither of us are in particularly bad shape for out ages, time has been even less kind to Her waistline than to mine, so there is little hope they’d still fit Her.

From where we are now, it would be easy to disbelieve She’d ever owned leather trousers. She has always been a diehard feminist, and has long complained about the objectification and over sexualisation of women. So how does a tight pair of leather trousers square with that? How does Her (historic) lack of objection to my admiring Her arse in those trousers fit with Her desire not to be regarded sexually? Has been a change that I have not noticed?

She has always been a mostly conservative dresser, but thinking back, there were the occasional hints of restrained flamboyance. The occasional splash of vibrant colour. I wondered if that old style could be loosely indicative of Her former residence: Brighton?

For those not familiar with this not-so-sleepy seaside resort, it is proud to have the only Green MP in the UK, a vibrant and very out gay community, more than it’s fair share of funky little independent retailers, and probably the greatest concentration of vegetarian eateries per square mile. If the concept of bohemia were incarnated on the British Isles, Brighton is where it would be.

In our early days of dating, not so long since She’d moved away from the coast, She did jokingly refer to Herself as a fag-hag a couple of times, a phrase I had never heard before. Perhaps the overt sexuality of gay Brighton rubbed off on Her a bit? Perhaps She has always had an inner extrovert and in the right company found it easier to be comfortable expressing it? I guess not so much these days.

Oh, I don’t know! I could chase my tail trying to analyse this, but I miss those trousers, and getting to lustily admire Her arse in them, and the more relaxed mindset they accompanied.


Footnote: I went looking for Her leather trousers. Just to see if She still had them. They were surprisingly easy to find. Just for kicks, I pulled out my old PVC jeans as well …

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