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In our bedroom at home, it had seemed both sexy and classy, but now I was worried that I looked frumpy and mumsy, a suburban housewife out of her depth.
“Sorry, sweets,” he grinned, tugging my dress down so that my thighs were covered again.I straightened up, tugging down my skirt, and smiled at my husband. He took my hand as we walked towards the swingers club. ” “Right.” I squeezed his hand, grateful for his support as I was still wobbling a little on the tarmac in my heels. Greg and I had been married for six years, and our daughter had been born four years ago.“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he reminded me. “And the same goes for you.” “I mean it,” Greg insisted. With all the experiences and responsibilities that came with being parents, our sex life had taken a back seat, and it wasn’t until about a year ago that we started looking for ways to make things more lively.I’d been planning for weeks what I would wear, but as we approached the swingers club I suddenly felt self-conscious.I was wearing the sexiest dress I possessed – a flowing green silk knee-length number gathered just under the breasts, with a deep plunging neckline.