After seven years of marriage, I sensed my husband Tom was growing restless. The first little rumbles of boredom had been easy to ignore, but then I began to notice a pattern in our sex life. At the same time, Tom’s eyes lingered on attractive women. This made me hornier than ever, and my eagerness for sex, at any time of the day made him less than enthusiastic about satisfying me.

Finally, I blurted out, “So why is everybody else able to catch your eye?” Tom was startled but said, “I’m faithful to you.” He paused a moment and then added, “I guess I just enjoy the sight of females who really look like women.” I felt that maybe I needed to change a bit, maybe visit a salon or get a make-over.

I thought about it for a few days and then began doing some intense mirror-gazing. When Tom and I had last talked I was wearing faded jeans, a baggy sweatshirt and my tennis sneakers. My short-cropped hair and the fact that I wore neither makeup or jewelry had never really bothered me before. But I had always assumed that he liked me lean and plain, the natural look. I didn’t need a bunch of external trappings. When I told Tom what I had been thinking, he revealed that he did like the way I looked, but felt that if I tried something more stylish, I might feel good.

He apologized for his roving eye but said he couldn’t help admiring fine-looking females. He said that since it seemed so important to me, he wouldn’t mind if I wanted to stay casual. I read “sloppy” and “plain” into the word “casual” and got determined again. “But what’s so bad about looking a little sexy, anyway?” he concluded. “Not every woman who dresses up is trying to look like a hooker.”

While I was proud of not being caught up in the foolish fads of the I980s, I had to admit that I was still comfortable in the antiestablishment, anti-fashion of the seventies. Both of us had been like that in the beginning, but Tom’s talent and ambition had moved him into the ranks of promising junior executive and he dressed the part. I seldom attended social functions involving his business connections and in fact even bragged about not owning a formal dress. “If I can’t wear pants and a top to an affair don’t want to be there,” was my final word on the subject.

“What’s so bad about looking a little sexy, anyway?” Those words haunted me after I closed the bath boutique that I run, and as we started across the mall I said, “So show me what is sexy to you.” I nodded   in the direction of a passing woman. What about that long gray skirt? A slit up the side showed a lot of sheer, black stockinged leg. “Yeah, I like it,” Tom said sheepishly. I muttered something about how she was overdoing it and how sorry she would be trying to walk across the parking lot in those heels. “The shoes look nice, too,” he added. “I like the way she walks in them.”

We hardly spoke during dinner. Then as we walked to the car from the restaurant, Tom broke the silence with what was, or seemed to me as being a little awkward, “I like the feminine look. I think that you would be the hottest woman if you gave yourself a small chance.” I mulled this over and decided a little experimentation wouldn’t hurt.

On my lunch hour the next day I stopped at a jewelry shop and bought a pair of small plain gold hoops. It had been years since I had worn earrings. When Tom came home he did a double take and then gently straightened one hoop which was not hanging right. We both brightened because of the erotic charge this small gesture gave us. I kissed him gently and at the same time pressed his crotch. “Thanks,” I said. “You can do that for me any time.” “Then you’ll have to wear them again,” he said. “I will,” I replied as seductively as I could. I felt the swelling of his penis through his slacks. I had everything off but the earrings by the time we got to the bedroom.

We began a better sex life at that moment, but after a few weeks things seemed to level off. I decided to act on some of the broad hints he had been dropping, so I skipped lunch one day and went to a lingerie shop in the mall. I felt terribly out of place and a kind saleslady sensed my awkwardness. After a few perceptive questions, she suggested a lacy red teddy and dark sheer-to-waist pantyhose. Just before I closed shop, I stepped into the rest room and slipped my new clothes on under my jeans and sweater.

When I got home I asked Tom to help me undress. He undid a short zipper at the top of the sweater and gently eased it over my head. “Hey, what’s this!” he shouted. I tried to look coy as I lay back on the bed so he could tug off my tight jeans. He couldn’t stop running his fingers up and down my legs from toes to teddy. He unsnapped the teddy crotch and over the next hour we had the most exciting sex of our libidinous lives.

The next day I went back to the lingerie shop and the lady smiled knowingly. Then I bought a black teddy and several more pairs of pantyhose to match.

They did feel slinky — good inside my jeans and sneakers, but to get that attention from my husband I was so glad I was trying something new. Tom got home before I did that evening and he had taped a small gift box to the bedroom door. It contained a pair of very expensive diamond stud earrings.

I was taken aback because they were just too prissy-frilly for me to wear in public. I tried them on, but they still seemed too much. I told Tom I needed time to grow into this ladylike image. He smiled and said he could wait. His tenderness was very moving and I decided right then that he was a good, gentle man who loved me with all of his heart. In the weeks that followed, a saleslady in one of the better fashion stores took me under her wing and helped me build a better wardrobe.

Now every time a new season rolls around I try to do something to surprise Tom — and revitalize his libido. For his last birthday dinner I showed up in a long gray dress with a slit up the front and black stockings and heels. He was delighted. As a special treat. I wore the diamond earrings.

My jeans have gone into semiretirement; I use them only for painting and working in the yard. When we play tennis, I wear pale pantyhose under my white shorts to cover my shaved pubis. During my period I wear a garter belt with my seamed stockings. Tom loves to run his finger along the little ridge of the seam. My hopelessly straight brown hair is still short and a problem, but I often wear a cute little blonde wig over it when we go out on the town. Tom finds the temporary change to blonde a turn-on.

As time goes by and I continue the transition from tomboy to sexy lady, my erotic identity has expanded and deepened, as I discover this feminine aspect of myself. And I have an attentive husband who will be looking at a sexually contented wife.