The Changing Room_(1)

I am using the name Jennifer Doalfer, even though for obvious reasons it is not my own name. However, it is similar to the name of a friend I had in university and whose personality I like to adopt when I write.


I am 35 years old and live in an old house in the suburbs of Copenhagen, Denmark, (that’s a country in Europe – in case you don’t know). I have two children and I am happily married. And no – I am not going to tell you what I look like – just imagine whatever turns you on. I can tell you though, that I am still attractive enough to make men’s heads turn.

I am sorry to disappoint you; I am not a husband-cheating slut who cannot get enough sex. But what am I like then? I don’t really know. I have always liked to write, and from when I was quite young, I have both documented real sexual experiences in my diary, and written fiction. Usually the fiction is based upon something that has happened, and which in itself hasn’t been very naughty or exciting, but for some reason has got my imagination going. When my husband is away I often sit at the computer writing what I dream could happen. That really excites me and I love to write when I am in that condition. Later however, when I read them again I can feel quite embarrassed.


I am a little bit of an exhibitionist; I like people looking at me. In Denmark topless swimming at the beaches is quite normal. I love being at the beach, knowing people are looking at me. Fortunately stiff nipples can be explained away by the cold wind, of which we have a lot of there. I like to wear loose blouses or dresses and get quite excited when I discover somebody looking at my tits. I know my husband likes me to do it, and he often encourages me, but I cannot get myself to admit to him that I actually enjoy it. I just let him believe I accept it for his sake.


I have only had a few extramarital affairs, and they are not really anything I feel bad about, because they have only been single occurrences, and only driven by sexual desire, and not because I loved somebody else. Before I met my husband, I was quite wild and I feel I have experienced enough during that time, so that I don’t need more than the relationship with husband can supply (which I am pleased to say, is quite a lot).


However, I do have these wild dreams. I wouldn’t dare to dream of them coming true, but I like to write about them. The other day I found a site, which asked for people to submit their own naughty stories. I had never really thought of publicising any of mine, but all of a sudden, the thought excited me tremendously. I took one of the few stories I have written about a real occurrence and sent it in. I don’t know what will happen to it – I can’t be bothered to pay for access to the site to see if they feature it, but having done it and experienced the thrill of it, it has made me want to write and publish more of my writings.


What I would like to do is write stories and publish them in this newsgroup. There is a lot of SPAM, but some people seem to request real-life stories, so I hope to find an audience. My stories are either based upon some occurrence that has triggered my imagination, or they entirely fictitious or possibly some of the real occurrences of things I have written about in the past.


The following is the only thing that has come to my mind recently, but I hope you like it. Comments are welcome at [email protected]


In preparation for a big party we were invited to, my husband Poul and I went to the shops in Copenhagen. I wanted a nice, somewhat “daring” dress, and we had to go to the more expensive shops to find a suitable one. I used Poul as an indication as to whether the dress I was trying on, was “exciting” enough. I knew he wanted me to wear something which would show my body off, and I let him believe I was doing it for his sake. He likes the simple type with a bare back and just a couple of strings to hold up the front, usually tied at the back of the neck, or perhaps with a more elaborate string system. I like that sort too, as they show off my body nicely. As I tried on the third one in as many shops, I started to suspect that Poul just had me trying on so many because he liked that fact that I had to strip practically naked in the fitting-room to change into them.

He would usually manage to slip aside the curtain just as I was getting a dress over my head, and I know from the look at his face that that he was getting excited from watching me. I actually felt a bit excited myself, so I let him leave the curtain open a bit, so he could see in from outside as I changed into the next dress. I expected him to be looking at me, so I was surprised when I looked through the gap in the curtain, that I could not see him.