I put the vodka bottle back into the cabinet. Then I picked up another olive for my martini before I placed the jar on the top shelf of the refrigerator. This was my third martini this evening and I was beginning to feel the alcohol.

The TV show I had watched this evening had not helped my feeling of frustration. After the show I had taken stock of my situation again and found it had not changed. If anything, I felt more frustrated and neglected than before. Just yesterday we had had another of those arguments, and it had followed the same old script.

What was wrong? Was it me? No, I decided. I still lived the life I had been taught. I was without a doubt a model wife. I dressed properly in sensible, modest clothes. I cooked, I did the laundry, and I even let my husband Dan have sex with me when he asked for it. Maybe my hormones had changed? For many months now I had missed the sex twice a month.

I decided to talk to Dan again right now. He had come home late as usual and immediately had retired to his small office at the end of the hall. He was staring intently at his computer screen when I walked in and placed my hands on his shoulders.

"Not now," he said, more to the screen than to me, his wife. "Can't you see I am busy?"

"Dan," I pleaded, "can you take some afternoon off this week or next and just relax in the back yard with me, or go to the fair that's coming to town, or anything? I am not picky."

Dan's answer was the same as it had been lately. "Hon, you know it's the height of the season. I just can't."

"I know how important your business is to you," I came back. "But you also have a wife that needs some attention."

"Sweetheart, I am right in the middle of some important negotiations and you start to hang a heavy on me."

"I have heard all that before, Dan." My voice had risen in pitch. It started rising another octave as I threw some final words at the back of his head.

"Let's be blunt about it. Your wife needs some loving. I could be more blunt and tell you what your wife needs. But I won't use those words even while I am angry." I turned and marched out of his office without waiting for a response, but I did turn back when I heard him giving me an angry answer.

"Stop bugging me, I am trying to concentrate," Dan answered impatiently.

Now it was my turn for a cutting answer. "Maybe you want me to take a lover to satisfy my needs, eh?"

Dan's anger made him say something he should not have said, but it just slipped out.

"Well, if you are so highly sexed and horny that you cannot wait till the heavy season is over, maybe you should consider not just one but several lovers."

I bristled at my husband's sarcasm. I turned and stalked out of his little office again, extremely angry. The anger was still with me when I rose the next morning. Instead of making breakfast for my husband I decided to run a mile or two. That helped, when I came back I felt much better.

Dan had left already when I returned and I had breakfast by myself. My anger had begun to fade but it returned with a vengeance when I recalled Dan's parting shot. So he wants me to take several lovers, I recalled. How ridiculous. There might be some sluts who screw several men, I admitted, but never this proper girl, I assured myself.

It was after breakfast the next morning, while I was reading the newspaper, that an advertisement practically screamed at me. It was a short and simple ad.

"Hostess needed for newly formed exclusive men's club. No prior experience needed. Applicant must be trim, personable, outgoing, and willing to please. Special dress code required. Excellent tips."

On a whim I dialed the number and a Mr. Benson answered. His voice was low and well modulated the kind of voice that inspired trust. He explained to my great joy that the job did not involve any office work.

"You will be dealing with live people here, not lifeless pieces of paper," Mr. Benson told me. "Your personality, your willingness to please, your sexy looks, that is what your customers are looking for."

That made sense. After all this was a men's club and they want some eye candy. I resolved to give them plenty of that if I got the job. I even bought a sexy dress at a boutique for the interview. I had been told not to wear a bra for the interview and I didn't mind, I was very proud of my boobs. They are firm with just a hint of sag. My large aureoles get dark when I get excited. And I knew that my nipples are sexy, except no one besides my husband had ever seen my boobs or my nipples.

Mr. Benson greeted me with a firm handshake and an appreciative look. He was the perfect gentleman with the looks of the aristocratic gentlemen one sees in magazine ads. I judged him about fifty. He looked me over from my auburn hair on my head to my painted toenails and seemed to be pleased with what he saw.

"Turn around slowly," he asked. "Now walk the length of the office. OK. Do it again. Turn away from me and bend over. Hold it there for a moment. OK, relax and take a seat. Cross your legs for me. Good. Stand up and raise both arms straight up, then turn sideways. Nice boobs. Are they real?"

"Absolutely," I assured him laughingly.

"I seem to see your nipples getting hard and pushing at the front of your dress. They seem to be quite sensitive. Are they?"

I blushed deeply, because I could feel that they were erect and swollen, and pushing hard against the fabric of the dress. I knew they stood out a half an inch and so I nodded slowly, admitting that they were indeed sensitive, as if this was not obvious.

The next request shocked me. "Let me see your boobs," commanded Mr. Benson. I was speechless.

Mr. Benson laughed at my embarrassment and the calmed me with his deep, melodic voice.

"Young lady," he started. "Modesty is laudable under most circumstances. But to really be modest you would have to wear a heavy jacket to conceal your assets. Your dress does not conceal but accentuate. Furthermore, I noticed how proud you are of your boobs, and you should be. So go ahead and take off that dress. You are an exceptionally beautiful woman, let the rest of the world know."

I had to admit, the dress I had picked accentuated, and it did not hide my boobs. Well, didn't I subconsciously want to be admired? Whoa, I said to myself, it seems I discovered a new facet of myself. OK, he is right. A second later my dress was off. I looked Mr. Benson straight in the eye.

"You are absolutely right. The human body is beautiful and I am proud of mine. Look as much as you like."

I suddenly felt liberated and free; the way a woman should feel. And I felt sorry for my sisters who still had to play the game of 'look what I have' and 'no, I will not let you see'. There was a short pause and then I heard my own voice.

"I have made a decision. I would like to be your hostess if you want me."

Mr. Benson rose from his chair and walked around his desk. He took my hand and enfolded it in both of his.

"I am glad you accepted. But first some details. Number one, my name is Ben.

Number two, I suggest you wear your uniform as soon as your husband has left for work or office. Wear it until he returns. This allows you to feel comfortable wearing your hostess outfit. My secretary will drive you and buy your stuff after we have finished the paper formalities. You will not be charged for your uniform and you can keep it whenever you quit.

Since you are married I will give you the day shift from eleven to five. You will start on Monday, that's the slowest day. Sounds OK so fa?"

Ben's secretary was a most friendly and pleasant blonde of about twenty plus. She introduced herself as Fifi. Her mother was French she explained. We first stopped at a chic boutique and Fifi suggested a maroon cross between a robe and an evening dress. It had a hidden zipper on the side all the way to the hem.

We next stopped at Frederick's of Hollywood. I had heard about it and was wondering how I would react to all the sexy lingerie and dresses. I was glad I did not visit this place yesterday, I think I would have died of embarrassment. Now I told myself that I was a liberated woman. I walked around the store with my head held high. But inside me, there still was a lot of turmoil; the old mores didn't want to die peacefully.

But I became more and more determined as I saw other customers quite nonchalantly talking about dildos and other sex products laid out in the open. After a while I relaxed and even enjoyed looking and feeling the many sexy garments on display. Then I started fantasizing about how I would look in this or the other outfit.

I had told Fifi that this was my first visit and so she let me explore the store. When she felt that I had seen enough and was really relaxed she selected a maid's uniform for me. Next she bought a harem's girl outfit. I had goose bumps when I pictured myself wearing these outfits.

"These are not what you will be wearing when on duty. They are only for special occasions like parties. Let's get your shoes first." We selected two pair, a four inch heel, partly translucent, another pair for the harem outfit. Three pair of thigh high dark taupe stockings were added to the shoes.

Finally Fifi led me to the lingerie department and picked up several risqué outfits for me. I felt those butterflies again in my tummy. Was I supposed to wear those? No way would I ever dress myself in those.

And suddenly something in me snapped. I pictured my self in high heels, dark stockings and a black garter belt. As the picture came into focus I noticed a tingle and I knew I was getting aroused more than I really wanted at the moment. My knees turned mushy and I had to steady myself by holding tight onto a clothes rack. I was afraid I might be showing my arousal in the middle of the store.

When it had passed and I came back from my mental excursion and my eyes focused again, I saw Fifi staring at me with enlarged pupils. She opened her mouth and I heard her say in a low voice, mostly to herself "Hot damn."

She led me to a changing room and made me put on what she called my first uniform; a cute short thing that made me look like a cheer leader, except for the stockings and the heels. She stood back to admire me and again exclaimed, "Hot damn."

I was still so much in a daze, I think I would have followed her to the car through the store in nothing but my outfit. She went to get the robe/dress and put it on me.

While she paid for the purchases I stood next to her like a puppy, and then followed her out to the car like a zombie. Back at my car she repeated the instructions Ben had given me and told me that she would call me tomorrow morning.

Twenty minutes later I stood in my kitchen mixing myself a vodka martini and as I added two olives the realization of what I had done started settling in. I had taken the first step to becoming a slut, - or was I a slut already? I quickly removed my robe and looked down on myself. But I liked what I saw. This was the new me, a sexy, liberated woman.

The next few days were like a dream. By the end of the week I was ready. I felt comfortable walking around in my outfit and the heels. But the butterflies came back again on Monday. Fifi welcomed me at the club.

There were only three members present at that time. After introduction I was free to wander about and explore the various areas and rooms.

I went back on the floor and served coffee. Two more gentlemen had arrived and I presented myself to them as the new hostess. After they were seated I could almost physically feel their interest in me. They waved me over and the older one started the questions.

"I know it is impolite to ask a lady for her age, but maybe you are willing to give us a bracket; like from here to there."

"I don't mind revealing my age. I am thirty-two."

Both burst out laughing, "we had you pegged at twenty-four. But I am glad, I like more mature ladies. I think I read someplace that women reach their peak at thirty-five. If that is so, you will be at your peak soon."

The other spoke up. "I see a ring. Is that to keep the wolves away or are you really married. You see, I like married ladies better than singles."

"You will like me, I am married."

"Does your hubby know that you work as a hostess at a men's club?" questioned Fred, the older one.

"Not yet," I answered. "But he will. He will hear it from me in about a week, after I get to know some of you gentlemen."

"You seem to look forward to meeting us," Carl, the younger one added.

I smiled at them and we left it at that. But Fred had a parting shot. "I am certain we will spend some time together and we will get to know each other well. And that's a promise and a compliment, Jennifer."

It turned out that I told Dan the details of my job much sooner than planned. Coming home after work on Friday evening I was in such a euphoric state that I did not notice Dan's car parked across the street. He had rushed home to grab some papers he wanted to give his assistant who was leaving for a meeting the next morning.

I had danced into the kitchen and fixed myself a vodka martini when I heard a gasp coming from the living room, just as I slipped off my robe. The next noise was a question from Dan. His voice sounded rather strange, as if he had run out of air.

"What the hell, Jennifer. Where did you come from dressed like that?"

"Hi Dan," I replied cheerily, still in my euphoric state. "Just came home from work."

He was quiet for three or four seconds, just staring at me.

"You surely didn't wear that for work?" This was a rhetorical question, more like a statement. It did not need an answer, but I supplied one anyway,

"Naturally I did, this is my uniform when I work as a hostess."

He gingerly stepped into the kitchen as if expecting the floor to open under him. I enjoyed his confusion, mixed with disbelief and denial. I raised my glass and asked if he wanted me to mix him one also. He silently nodded his head. He stood at the kitchen entrance and continued to stare at me, at a loss of words.

When I handed him his drink I noticed his hand was shaking slightly. I also noticed something else, a reaction to me that I had not seen on Dan for a long time.

I took his hand and led him into the dimly lit living room where I sat him down on the couch.

"Don't talk," I commanded him.

Dan gave me a long look, then put his glass on the floor and changed into the man I wanted him to be tonight. He jumped up, grabbed my hands and forcefully pulled me up. Then he turned the light to high.

"Stand there, I want to look at you, you sluttish, gorgeous, irresistible wife" he ordered. He kept staring at me with a queer look on his face, as if he saw me for the first time. And in a way he was right, this was the new me, the liberated woman.

"Jennie, you adorable woman, you are so beautiful, you look so sexy." He stepped up to me, embraced me and kissed me hungrily. I could feel the need he had built up, the many times he had chosen the dollar bill over his wife. I could feel his turmoil, his sorrow over missed love, the unclaimed ecstasies, the embraces and kisses and cuddlings that were forever lost. But I also felt his resolve to be worthy of his new woman.

We tried to catch up on what we had missed and finally dozed off, because when I woke it was already nine, way past our normal dinner time. Suddenly Dan sat up and looked around him. The poor guy appeared utterly confused. Then he saw me next to him and he seemed to remember.

He hugged me and kissed me. It was the kind of kiss I had missed for so long. When we broke he stretched. His grin was that of a little boy finally finding his favorite toy again that he thought he had lost.

"I am starved," he announced, "and I will make something for dinner. You stay in your uniform so I can look at you and enjoy the sexy show. I am entitled to ogling as much flesh as your customers.

But I do have a question that has been bugging me about your job."

He gave me a long look before he spoke again, this time in a small, hesitating voice.

"So the gentlemen...."

"Dan," I interrupted him. "I think I heard some major disapproval in your last question, which really was more of a statement, And there is something else you should know. I love what I am doing, and so do the gentlemen. Anything wrong with letting men look at feminine beauty?"

Dan was suddenly very busy preparing dinner. But every once in a while he would shake his head as in disbelief.

The next day at the club I received many compliments. There were also many remarks that I looked happier than ever. When Fred arrived with his brother, he looked at me and nodded his head in approval.

"Jenny dear, will you sit with me for a moment, please," Fred pleaded. "Now that you are sitting next to me I wonder if I really should say what I wanted to say." There came a long pause. After he had gathered up enough courage he continued.

"Jenny, if I asked you to join me for dinner and a dance on my birthday. And if I promise to bring you home afterwards, your home, not mine. Is there a chance you might say yes?"

I was stunned. I never expected to be asked for some friendly time away from the club. My two voices in my head screamed at me, so loud it almost hurt.

"Don't you dare do it, that is most unprofessional."
"But it is such a sweet, wonderful compliment."

"Well, how about your husband, think of him."
"He would let me have an evening with a friend."

"Fred is a customer, not a friend."
"I trust him not to overstep the bounds."

"Do you want to stay a professional or not?"
"OK. I got the point. I made my choice."

"You are such a wonderful, sweet and loving man that it breaks my heart to have to say 'no' as long as I work here as a hostess. But I sincerely hope that you will ask me again once I quit my job here."

"You are right, I should not have asked. I apologize." He looked both dejected and contrite.

When Dan came home from work that night he asked me about my day.

"It was a good day," I answered. "I didn't make dinner tonight. Instead, we will enjoy dinner at Pepito"s Italian restaurant. It's my treat. One of the gentlemen today asked me a question he should not have asked. Later he sadded another hundred dollars to the standard tip."