Image by amandabhslater via Flickr

The young man and woman had been married one year.  This day was their anniversary.  They had just finished a romantic candle light dinner at home and now sat on the sofa to exchange gifts.  The golden rays of the sun coming through the picture window filled the living room with a soft golden haze.

“Black stockings,” the young wife said.

“Don’t you like them?”

“Honey, you gave me black stockings on our honeymoon and for my birthday.”

“I know.”

“They were just like these.  Black stockings with elastic tops.”  She was looking down at the black stockings in the tissue-thin white wrapping paper in the white box.  She looked up at her husband.  “But I don’t wear stockings.  And I only have two pairs of pantyhose.”

“You have another gift.”

“Max, don’t tell me you’ve developed a fetish.”

“Of course not.”  He laughed uneasily.

“I never knew you had a fetish.”

“I don’t have a fetish.”

That night in their bedroom they made love.  He was nude on his back and she was on her knees nude straddled over his lap, the palms of her hands on the bed on either side of his head.  She wore the black stockings, his hands on the elastic tops.  They had been making love in this position for some time.  Moonlight streamed through the window pane.  The young wife trembled with excitement.  She leaned down to kiss her husband and to say in a voice thick with passion, “If it’s going to be like this I’ll wear black stockings any time.”