Privilege

No sex. A short one that like "My Ego is my Friend" is a kind of philosophical look at an element of relationships that is usually ignored. Some may find it too boring (why I kept it short LOL), but there were aspects that I wanted to cover. This story has not been read over or edited by any outside readers, so the mistakes it undoubtably has are mostly mine. Except when the spell-checker substitutes a word so unrelated to what I thought I was writing that I'm flabbergasted.

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I was sitting at the island in our kitchen, drinking a beer, cooling off after an almost complete day of yard work. Fortunately, I didn't have to do that often, but every now and then I stopped procrastinating and did the job. I was glad it was done and looking forward to what my wife of fifteen years might prep for dinner. Or maybe we would just go out. If that was the case, I would need to shower and change.

My wife, Rachel, had been out shopping with some friends. They all 'needed' new swimsuits for a neighborhood barbeque a week from today. Not that I was complaining, I enjoyed seeing the women in their swimwear, although in all fairness, my wife was the one who was most attractive both in face and figure. Not bad at all for a woman in her thirties with twin boys.

I heard her footsteps coming down the stairs, but then there was a hesitation.

"Don where are you?" she called.

"I'm here in the kitchen," I replied.

"Are you alone?" she asked. I had to wonder who she thought would be with me.

"Just me, stinky and sweaty from doing yardwork."

"Okay. Now, close your eyes until I tell you to open them."

Well, this was getting a little strange, but I did as instructed.

"Are you closing them?"

"Yes, dear."

There were more footsteps, and I could hear her bare feet on the kitchen floor.

"Okay, now open them."

She was posed when I looked, and I liked what I saw.

She was standing there clothed in a couple of small patches that barely covered her nipples and most of the areolas on top, and a small patch matching cloth that covered Miss Kitty. She had obviously shaved down there to wear it with no hair showing. Maybe she'd gotten it waxed.

As I leered at her almost naked body, she slowly turned around.

If what she was wearing wasn't covering much territory on the front of her body, it was even less on the back. Basically, a string that passed through her buns and connected back up to the string around her waist.

Being a man, I wanted to keep this moment enshrined, so I picked up my phone and started taking photos of her. Then I noticed something.

"Darling, where are the boys. I know that they will learn about women's anatomy eventually, but I think they're a little young, and I don't want their introduction to be seeing their mother's private parts." She didn't even contest the 'private parts' comment!

"Oh, Brenda from down the street took them to soccer practice today. They'll be back in an hour or so."

I asked her if she could get me another beer, to which she happily said yes. We have a beverage refrigerator under the cabinets that were behind her. As I suspected, as she turned around her legs, slightly apart, to bend over and reach down, her little rosebud was briefly exposed, with just that little string going up the middle. I took the opportunity to grab another quick photo or two.

She handed me beer number two, and I asked her, "As much as I love you modelling this outfit for me, what is it for? You have me all hot and bothered, but I don't think that we have time to mess around AND get dinner ready before the boys get home."

"Oh no, silly boy. This is the new bathing suit that I'm wearing for the barbecue next weekend. I just put it on for you to see."

I paused for a second, "Darling, that is a thong, and not my idea of a bathing suit to wear out of the house."

She looked startled as if she hadn't considered what my attitude might be.

"You knew that all of us girls on the block were shopping for new suits. We decided that we would all get the same bathing suits for the party. And this is what we bought."

I paused and considered before I spoke.

"You are not wearing that to a party where all of our creepy neighbor's husbands can perve on you."

"What? You're TELLING me that I can't wear what I want?"

"Pretty much. In fact, exactly."

Boy, for some reason, she was getting wound up.

"How dare you?" she exclaimed, "You don't own my body."

Why is it that as a husband I just knew that this response was going to be forthcoming? Reading too many stories online, I guess. At least she wasn't telling me she was going on a date with another man.

"That's true, just as you don't own MY body."

She eased a bit, thinking that she had won that argument and that I would come around to her point of view.

"But," I started.

"But what?" she injected.

"I may not have 'authority' to demand you not wear that indecent, skimpy thing in public, but I do have the 'privilege'."

"What are you talking about."

"Privilege. From the Latin, meaning 'private law'"

"Don't start lecturing me. I know what privilege means. But I don't know what YOU mean."

"Tell you what, why don't you put a robe on so that you don't shock the boys if they were to come home a little early, come back and I will explain my thinking to you."

She left, stomping off towards the bedroom, to put on a robe, which gave me time to put together my thoughts as well as to look at the photos I'd taken again. Damn, she is one hot mama.

When she returned, she sat down in the chair across from me.

"Okay, now give."

I admit I was kind of winging it, it was based on a thought that had just occurred to me.

"When we got married, of course we said our vows to each other, but that really only covered a portion of what we were giving each other. There were a lot of other, small things, not even considered special enough to be part of our vows, which after all only takes about thirty seconds to say.

"In effect though, by marrying we granted each other privileges. Now I know what your thinking, you sex maniac," Rachel smiled a little at that. "Yes, we granted each other the right to be intimate in both sexual and non-sexual ways, but also to be best friends, to buy houses and cars together, to have children with each other. Also, sometimes to complain, correct, and argue with each other knowing that it was only for our mutual benefit. To make everyday decisions without having to consult with each other.

"These are all levels of privileges that aren't extended generally to other people. Okay, your parents and siblings a friends share some of the privileges with us, but there is a core set that are entirely reserved to the two of us. In fact, if either one of us began giving other people outside our marriage those privileges, having sex, for example, unless there was a prior agreement it would result in the breakup of our marriage.

"Now with regard to my asserting my privilege to tell you not to wear those couple tiny bits of cloth that you call a swimsuit in public; may I remind you that you have asserted the same privilege in the past without my becoming upset that 'you don't own my body'."

"Says you," she said challenging me, "When was this?"

"Do you remember your company awards dinner last May?"

She nodded in the affirmative.

"Do you remember what I was going to wear to it?"

She thought for a moment.

"Yes, you were going to wear that god-awful, loud, plaid sports jacket with some slacks. I told you that it was appropriate to wear to the golf club, but not to a serious business event."

"You remember correctly. What did I do? How did I respond? Do you remember that too?"

"Yes. You changed into your dark blue suit. You looked good and made me very proud to be your wife."

"In other words, I let YOU use your privilege to dictate how I would dress for your special event."

"That's not fair. It's not the same. Wearing a bathing suit to a barbecue/pool party is appropriate."

"It is, but that 'bathing suit' is too revealing. Just like my sports jacket was technically 'appropriate' to wear to your dinner. But you objected to it because you didn't like the style or the message it would send.

"Call me a neanderthal, or an insanely jealous husband, but I don't want every Tom, Dick, and Harry seeing you virtually naked!"

I could see Rachal wasn't entirely convinced, so I asked her to think on it while I showered. She told me that she would fix dinner while I showered because the boys would be back any minute.

After I finished in the shower and got dressed in some clean clothes, I didn't go back downstairs immediately, first I went to my home office and cranked up my computer. I downloaded some software that I didn't own, paying for the deluxe version, and installed it. It was simple to use and only took me about 30 minutes to do my work.

The boys were back by the time I came back down, and dinner was almost ready, so with an unspoken agreement we postponed talking again until after the boys were in bed.

We sat together on the sofa in the living room. Rachel had opened a bottle of wine and poured us each a glass, and then she decided to start the conversation. Well, she kissed me first to try and soften me up, but I'm onto her tricks after 15 years of marriage. I was not going to let a little cuddling and making out go to my head. At least not to my big head.

"You left off saying that you had a privilege that let you tell me not to wear my new bathing suit out to the barbeque. Now, I admit, on reflection that it is a bit on the revealing side, but that should still be my decision, a risk for me to take.

"And you asserting 'privilege' is a little out of the blue. We talked about love and trust in a marriage before, but this privilege thing is new. I think it is just an excuse to get your way."

"I admit that it IS a reason, but not an excuse.

"We have different levels of privilege for different people and different situation. For example, the clerk who is at the register, checking out your purchase, has a low level of privilege. They might be allowed to call you, 'Ma'am' or Mrs. Smith. If it is someone who has known you for years, they might be allowed to call you 'Betty' or whatever. Our neighbors, at least the ones I trust, I extend the privilege of borrowing my tools, or even one of our cars for a short time. Your parents have a higher level of privilege -- we trust them with the kids, and we will go to them for confidential advice, letting them know about things that we may not let any other outsiders know.

"To your point, though, love and trust ARE involved. The more that we love and trust someone, the more privilege we extend to them, and the love and trust AND privilege between two people in a marriage is or at least should be the highest level."

Rachel was listening closely, but not commenting, so I continued.

"It also seems to me that it is why a lot of times people will argue and treat family worse than they would strangers, because they believe that they have a level of privilege that entitles them. I think that is backwards and terrible, but I see how it happens. Just because they CAN rely on their privilege doesn't mean they should. We should always treat those close to us even better than other people."

Rachel did raise an issue.

"What about the kids? Do they have privilege, too?

"We have authority over them. Though as they grow, we give them more and more privilege, as well. To be completely honest, I think that seeing them at this stage, I don't think they'll have privilege to use the cars until they are twenty-five."

Rachel laughed at that.

"What if one of the partners abuses their privilege?" she asked.

"Fair question," I replied, "It may depend. If one partner has an affair, for example, the loss of trust, even if they ultimately stay together, may almost completely destroy their level of privilege. At least for some time, to be determined by the innocent party. Even lessor abuses could severely damage privilege along with trust."

"Like what are you thinking?"

"Well, for example, if one spouse discovers the other has set up secret bank accounts. They may have some sort of plausible excuse for doing it, you know, like saving for a surprise anniversary vacation. But I suspect the level of privilege might go down about the same amount as the trust declines.

Rachel didn't loudly object, but she was shaking her head.

"I still don't think that I've entirely bought into this 'privilege' concept."

I guess it was time to bring out the big guns to quash this disagreement. I reached over and picked up an 8'X11' envelope that I'd brought down with me.

"Okay -- you may not want to accept my opinion about your thong bathing suit, but why don't you take a look at these."

I handed her the envelope, and she took out the half-dozen pictures I had put in there.

"Oh my god! Don, where did you get these naked photos of me? They are disgusting, and you are a pervert. The front shots are bad enough, but the shots from behind are...well, I'm getting unbelievably angry at you. I think that you've exceeded your 'privilege' sneaking these photos of me without my permission!"

I had to laugh.

"No, my darling. If you look at the photos, you'll see that I took them earlier, right here in the kitchen."

"You did not. I had my bathing suit on. These are," she snorted, "completely nude."

"This is my warning to you, if you didn't want to take my advice that I offered you, I'm showing you the practical reason I was telling you to find a more modest bathing suit.

"Earlier, after I showered but before I came back downstairs, I bought a piece of software online. It was surprisingly inexpensive. It was pretty intuitive to use. It is the software that boys and men are using to create deep fake nudies of women. Actually, since your thong covered so little it didn't take long to tell it to remove the pieces of cloth. To top that off, I know what your secret parts look like so I could tell it to make small changes until it was close to what you look like. Don't you think I got the color of your nipples right? And the size of your aureoles? I think they're almost perfect."

"I think it is disgusting. Don how could you do this to me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Look at the ones from the back. Remove that little string and your little rose bud back there is perfection. You know how I love to kiss and lick your tight little ass."

"Stop THAT RIGHT NOW."

I stopped laughing to myself. It was time to make her understand.

"If you wear that outfit to the barbeque, I will almost guarantee that nudies like these will be online in a couple of days.

"I've explained to you before: men are dogs. We are perverts. And if you are wearing that thong, men, other than myself, will take pictures. Then they'll take the photos home and using software, like I did, they will strip off your thong and they will be sharing or selling them online.

"That is why I want you to wear something less revealing. If it was even just a couple of our friends over, I'd still object to your wearing it in front of the boys."

Rachel was still fixed on looking at my enhanced (is that the proper word?) pictures.

"I guess I can see your point," she admitted.

We didn't talk about the issue again, but when the time for the barbeque arrived, her suit was MUCH more modest (even more than I would have asked her to wear) and she wore a sarong that went from above her breasts to slightly below her knees, except when she was in the pool.

I looked at her when she appeared, ready to get in the car to leave for the barbeque. She smiled at me, but I didn't even tease her about it.

At the barbeque there were several women who had gone shopping with the group, who, like my wife were NOT wearing the thongs.

"Bob told me absolutely NOT! That if I tried to wear it, we just wouldn't come here at all," declared one of her friends.

Still, there were three of the women who DID show up in the skimpy suits.

Oddly, they were not the gals with the best bods. They were the ones with sagging tits and larger asses. Not that I looked at them, of course. I told you; men are dogs.

It was a couple of days later when my predictions panned out.

"Don? Come here, I've got something to show you."

I came over and she held her iPad up so I could see. It was photos posted on some site. Photos of the women who had worn the thongs, except there were no thongs to be seen.

"Just don't say 'I told you so,' but there are manipulated pictures of the women who did wear thongs online."

"Hmmm... how did you find them?

"I didn't, but Brenda from down the street told me where to go."

Brenda had big tits and her derriere was ample, dare I say "Rubenesque"?

"What did Brenda and the other gals think?"

"Most of them were shocked and appalled. They had no idea that they would end up online, for all intents and purposes naked. I think a couple of them are going to the police to see if they can find out who did it and have them charged with some sort of crime."

"Boy, good luck with that. Unless the FBI or the NSA get involved, local police aren't going to have the expertise to figure that out. Although maybe the person didn't cover their tracks well."

"It was funny, though. Brenda was kind of excited about her's."

"She some sort of exhibitionist?"

"Maybe. I don't know. But whoever manipulated her photo gave her tits a lift -- the girls were sticking out like torpedoes, and her ass turned into a booty. Frank loved the look so much; they're thinking about plastic surgery to make her look like the photo."

Rachel laughed just thinking about Brenda getting off on having her 'improved' photo online. Then she grabbed me and hugged me tight.

"Thanks for asserting your 'privilege' to warn me about wearing that suit out in public. You know, I took the boys over to my parents for the day if you might like to see my wearing it again here in private, just for you and me."

"That sounds like an idea, as long as you don't mind my pulling it off with my teeth."

We raced each other to the bedroom.

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I have to thank Randi for inviting me to write for this event, because I don't feel as if I truly belong. There are excellent writers contributing to this event, Randi's last, who are serious writers. I am something of a dilettante. I write when I have an idea with something to say, but I am not the craftsmen that other are. Nevertheless, I am always please and flattered to be included in this group. Thanks to all of you who read my little stories!

Best,

PS