Memoir 10: Marie 51.0

Marie 51.0

31 October 1981

Halloween in Madison on a Saturday, it doesn't get better than that!

I'd had an exam on Friday, so I took the first bus from East Lansing on Saturday morning. Even so, with various stops along the way, and a transfer with a more than an hour layover in Chicago, I didn't get to Madison until afternoon. Marie met me at the bus station and we had a late lunch on already crowded State Street.

"I have our costumes all set," she told me. I already knew the plan. We and three other couples would go out together as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Marie had come up with the idea, so she would be Snow White. I was still pre-med back then, so I'd be Doc.

By the time we reached her dorm, people had already started heading out to the festivities. In her room, we found Marie's roommate Georgette — known universally as "George" — and her boyfriend Dave waiting for us.

"You go with Dave and get changed," Marie instructed as she handed me a set of green scrubs, a white lab coat, and a stethoscope that a nursing school student friend had "acquired" for me. "George and I will come get you when we've finished getting dressed."

Dave and I walked down to his room and found it empty.

"Did your roommate go out already?" I asked.

"Yep, and he's not coming back tonight, either. His girlfriend has a flat on Mifflin, and he's spending the night there. That means George can sleep down here and you'll be alone with Marie."

We smiled knowingly and gave each other "five." This pleased me greatly, as this would be Marie's and my first night together since I left for MSU six weeks before then.

"And I think it gets better than that," Dave continued. "The girls have been giddy about something, and George has dropped a few clues that we're going to really like their costumes."

"Marie's Snow White and George is a dwarf!" I snorted, picturing the classic Disney cartoon. "How sexy can that get?"

Dave just shrugged and we changed into our costumes. Dave had elected to go as Sneezy. His outfit consisted of blue jeans and a brown denim work shirt with handkerchiefs hanging out of every pocket. He also carried a box of Kleenex. As Doc, I wondered if I'd stay warm enough in just scrubs and a lab coat.

Once changed, Dave and I sat for a long while, commiserating about the Packers' two-and-six record under coach Bart Starr, debating the first nine months of the Reagan presidency, and discussing the future of space exploration now that the Space Shuttle had completed one mission in April and would be flying a second in the coming month.

Our conversation was interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

"By the way," I asked as Dave got up to answer. "Which dwarf is George going as?"

"Sleepy," he replied as he opened the door. I actually saw the jolt of surprise shake his body as he gasped. "Oh... Wow."

I got up so I could see past him. George stood there in a sheer black robe trimmed in black fur. It was so thin and translucent that I could clearly see the black leather chemise she wore underneath. It pushed up her already ample breasts, and hugged her hourglass figure down just low enough to cover her privates. Leather garter straps reached down to secure sheer black stockings. She wore high heeled black slippers, also trimmed in fur. To complete her "Sleepy" outfit, she carried a pure black teddy-bear.

"Yep," I agreed. "Wow."

We both stood there gaping until George spoke. "Don't you want to see Marie's costume?"

"Oh," I chuckled in guilt for momentarily forgetting her. "Yeah. Of course."

Dave stepped out of the way and George walked into the small dorm room, her robe billowing. I admit my gaze followed her as she passed me. Laces ran through silver grommets up the back of her chemise, and the rear garter straps aligned perfectly with the black seams running down her stockings.

When I turned back to the doorway, Marie stood there. I confess that after George's dramatic entrance I found her outfit a bit disappointing. I appreciated how her blue leather corset pushed up her breasts to make the most of their B-cup size, and how it accented her narrow waist, but below that she wore a plain yellow, floor length skirt. A short white cape covered her otherwise bare shoulders and arms. She had styled her hair like Snow white, complete with red ribbon and bow. She carried a large red apple.

Then I noticed her makeup. She wore it thick, making her face paler than her half-Italian heritage would generally allow. She'd painted her lips bright red. I also realized she added fake eyelashes.

Until then, I would have insisted that I disliked heavy makeup and preferred the natural look. I still feel that way in general. That moment, however, I learned how sexy, on the right occasions, a whorishly painted face can be. In that instance the turn on came from the juxtaposition of the general innocence of the costume and the character she represented, and the sensual promise of those long lashes, red lips, and tight corset.

We met the other two couples at a bar called Joe Hart's, ideally located just a block from the craziness on State Street. They had secured two raised booths near the back. We all took a look at and shared appropriate compliments for each other's costumes, but for most of the men in our group, as well as many in the crowded bar, all eyes kept turning toward George. I, on the other hand, could not keep mine off Marie's made-up face.

I remember few details of the drunken rowdiness of that evening. Marie and I made the mandatory pilgrimage to State Street. It took us about an hour to cover less than two blocks, but it was worth it. Costumes ranged from mundane to outrageous, silly to obscene. Rubber chickens seemed a consistent theme, and I saw at least one reveler not just carrying one, but dressed as one. We ran into a guy from Marie's dorm who was pushing a shopping cart with a quarter-barrel of beer and a stack of cups in it. We stood with him for a while, drinking his beer and watching the crowd, our attention drawn to two cops trying to talk a drunk down from a light pole he'd climbed.

We'd become pretty worn out by the time we made it back to Joe Hart's, but took our turn holding the booth while George and Dave took their State Street tour. They came back after only twenty minutes, and I could see anger in Dave's face.

"He's mad because I kept getting groped," George explained.

"Is that why he's mad?" Marie asked. "Or was it because you probably kind of liked it?"

The girls laughed as if at some shared private joke. Dave had clearly lost any mood to party, and I knew if I had any more to drink, I might get too tired to take advantage of Marie and I having a room to ourselves tonight. I had to shout to be heard over the juke box music and crowd noise. "Let's head back to the dorm!"

We said goodnight to the rest and walked back. On the elevator ride to the fourth floor, where Dave's room was, I noticed the hem of Marie's skirt smeared with dirt and already frayed in places from our time on State Street. She saw my frown, followed my gaze, and chuckled. "Don't worry. I only made it for this costume. What would I do with a full length yellow skirt?"

The elevator stopped at Dave's floor. He seemed already in a better mood. I'm sure he now simply looked forward to getting to his room and having George in her sexy outfit.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Marie turned to me, reached up to wrap her arms behind my neck, and gave me a sweet rather than seductive kiss that lasted until the door opened again on the seventh floor. She looked up with sparkling blue eyes and a big smile. "I love you!"

"I love you, too," I replied. I slipped my arm around her corseted waist as we stepped off the elevator. "But what was that for?"

"Because I was watching you tonight. All the other guys couldn't stop looking at George, but you only had eyes for me."

"That's because I love you so much and, no matter how you're dressed, you're still prettier and sexier than George." I didn't go on to mention the prurient effect her makeup and false eyelashes had on me. We got to her room, went inside, and bolted the door behind us. She took off her cape, leaving her thin, smooth shoulders bare above the corset.

"I'm glad not to have lost this," I said as I pulled the stethoscope from my lab coat pocket and turned to set it on the dresser under the window. I took off the lab coat.

"Oh!" Marie cried in exaggerated disappointment. "I was hoping we'd 'play doctor.'"

Chuckling, I turned back to face her just as her long skirt slipped off her hips and fell in a bundle around her ankles. She stepped out of the pile of yellow cloth.

"Oh," I whispered huskily. "Wow!"

Her blue leather corset extended only halfway down her hips, leaving the soft brown hair of her pubes — she wore no panties — fully exposed. Blue satin garter straps supported sheer blue stockings. She wore blue sandals with stacked heels.

"Is this better than George's outfit?" She smiled knowingly. I nodded and swallowed. She took another step closer, and changed to a Betty Boop voice. "Oh, Doctor! I have a terrible itch, and it won't go away."

"Well, um..." I cleared my throat. "Sit down here on this bed and let me examine you."

I picked up the stethoscope and put it in my ears. She shivered visibly when I pressed its cold stainless steel disc on her left breast, bulging above the corset. I could hear her pulse starting to race. "So, young lady, tell me about this itch."

"It started right after my boyfriend left for school in Michigan, and it's gotten worse every day since."

"I see." I had deepened my voice to a tone of medical professionalism. I let the end of the stethoscope dangle and cool, anticipating its next use. "And where exactly is this itch?"

Marie opened her legs wide and pointed to her womanhood.

"Not an uncommon symptom in these cases," I remarked. "Please lay back so I can make a full examination."

She complied, spreading her legs wide. I pulled over a desk chair and sat down. Leaning over, I pressed the cold steel disc of the stethoscope firmly against her clitoris. She arched her back and groaned in masochistic appreciation.

"Ah-ha," I mumbled as I rubbed the stethoscope in circles upon her clit. "Mm-hmm... Just one more probe and I'll make my diagnosis."

She gasped as I slipped my middle finger into her already sodden vagina. I moved it around as if palpating it fully. She growled in disappointment when I withdrew.

"I'm afraid it's serious," I said, suppressing a smile. "You have a severe case of orgasmus interruptus. It's a condition from which many young women suffer if they have become accustomed to regular lovemaking, and then go a long period without it."

"Oh, dear!" Marie likewise tried to look worried, in keeping with our spontaneous game. "Is it fatal?"

"It can be."

"Is there a cure?"

"There is no cure, but there is a treatment to temporarily relieve the symptoms. With it, sufferers of orgasmus interruptus can live normal, productive lives."

Marie spread her legs even wider, and her voice became hoarse. "Can I get a treatment?"

"It's a form of physical therapy," I explained, surprising her by making no move to get up from my chair. "Fortunately, once it's learned, it can be done at home. I can teach it to you now if you like."

Apparently confused, Marie nodded all the same. I moved my hand back between her legs and this time slipped my index finger into her, using it to spread her juices up to her clitoris. When it had become wet and slippery, I began rubbing it vigorously.

I watched Marie closely, already familiar with how her body and face reacted to various stages of sex. When she reached the verge of orgasm, I stopped. She gasped and looked at me pleadingly.

"That is how this physical therapy is performed," I told her, maintaining my professional demeanor. "As I said, it can be done at home. Now let's see if you're able to perform your therapy without assistance."

Her eyes widened with shock. I knew from previous conversations that Marie didn't masturbate. I could see her about to object.

"Doctor's orders," I insisted, taking her hand and placing it on her soaking pubes.

Caught by the game she had initiated, Marie gave in. I watched in fascination as she tentatively slipped her index finger into her vagina several times, then moved it to her clitoris. She moaned at that first touch.

Despite her obvious horniness, it took her a while to really get into it. She experimented with her index then her middle fingers, then with both. Finally, as her desperation grew, she had all her fingers extended, tight together, and was rubbing herself vigorously with them all.

All this time, I had the sublime view of my beloved girlfriend, dressed in only corset, garters, stockings, and sandals, spread on her bed touching herself with ever increasing enthusiasm. For most of the time, she had her eyes closed and her face turned slightly away from me. Then, as she again neared orgasm, her head snapped around, her eyes opened, and she gazed at me with manifest love. I could read in her face her amazed appreciation for what I had just taught her.

"I love you," I whispered.

Orgasm seized her before she could respond. When she'd recovered her wits, she sighed. "Oh my God, that was wonderful. It's was such a turn on knowing you were watching me."

Marie had expressed exhibitionist desires ever since the night we'd made love in the cul-de-sac near her house. Having me watch her masturbate intensified those. For my part, the evening had made heavy makeup on her a turn on, and exacerbated my fetish for sexy lingerie. We made love several times that night as I relieved her of her outfit piecemeal.

While Marie was in the shower the next morning, I found some paper and prepared a little note. When she took me to the bus station that night for my return to Michigan, I gave it to her.

℞ — MEDICAL PRESCRIPTION

For orgasmus interruptus:

Masturbation - prn

In case of difficulty, call physician.

She has kept it and uses it to this day.