My wife loves the feel of soft, buttery leather. Her affinity for its touch has developed quite recently. My Elaine, who is so all-American, even conventional, for whom intercourse with the woman on top was practically the Kama Surra, is all of a sudden into straps, buckles, metal studs and, most of all, leather undergarments. Not that I’m complaining; I’m just surprised. Elaine was twenty-two when I married her, a former student of mine who had recently graduated. She is extremely attractive, with what I call a dancer’s body: long, slender legs, and breasts that are full, high and firm. Her short, curly hair bounces energetically when she walks, and her smile can light up a room. But I never thought of her as all that adventuresome.

Of sturdy Scandinavian stock and raised on a Midwest farm, she comes... Read More