by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

Chapter 5 - "Now I'm Breaking Free"

     The Logan McDaniel that flew to Denver the following Monday did not 
look *quite* like the one who had flown home the previous Friday.  For one
thing, he had a perpetual smile on his face.  It seemed that going without
panties (not to mention a bra) had had an interesting effect on Jayla's 
. . . sensibilities.  The realization that at virtually any time they 
could get up close and personal with each other had seemed too intriguing 
to ignore.  Or to pass up, when any opportunity presented itself.  
Somehow, since they had never lacked opportunities at home it was in 
public that they were suddenly aware of possibilities they had not noticed 
before.  And in the process, gained a whole new appreciation for each 
other's creativity.

     But that was not the only way in which he looked different.  Jayla
had indeed managed to work something out about his hair.  True to her 
nature and his needs, what she had done was subtle - no frizzy perms or 
tight ringlets.  In fact, with only two days in which to work, no perm at 
all.  But where Logan's hair had been flat and lifeless, uniform in length 
and string-straight, there was now an auburn crown of thick, rolling glory.  
Jayla had called on one of her stylist friends and soon Logan's hair had 
been trimmed a little for shape and looked even shorter due to the 
increased height and volume.  But the biggest change was a casually 
exuberant lock that fell across his forehead instead of being trapped 
tautly by the clasp that still controlled the main mass.  Jayla had been
ecstatic at the new look and even Logan had been more than merely 
accepting of it.  Some men with intrinsically wavy hair might look that
way 'naturally' which was all that he needed to justify his own pleasure
at the improvements.  

     Unfortunately, since he could not go to work with freshly-permed,
shocked-frizz hair, he needed to set it every day.  Included among his 
'equipment' for the trip was a new curling iron with a thick barrel for
setting gentle waves.   That, plus the practice he had performed over the 
weekend would have to do, along with getting up half an hour earlier every 
morning.

     Ecstatic would not have been the first word choice to characterize 
the reaction of his co-workers and clients at Harrison.  Oblivious would
be more accurate.  Which was surprisingly disappointing to McDaniel.  He
got a couple of, "New haircut?" questions, but the questioners had hardly 
waited for an answer before jumping into the problems at hand.  In truth,
that should not have been surprising.  When immersed in a project, most 
software geeks would have been oblivious to anything short of a nuclear 
strike, and noticed that only if they happened to be passing close to the
sparsely distributed windows at the time.  They had, for the most part, 
homes and families and real lives outside of work.  But they shared a 
profound ability to focus when at work which was why they and Harrison 
were so successful.  

     Even Tyler Andrews initially seemed not to notice McDaniel's new 
look despite the fact they worked almost shoulder-to-shoulder.  They 
did discuss it a little later in the day though, during a caffeine break 
(coffee for Andrews, Diet Coke for McDaniel).  Andrews initiated the 
discussion by taking the clasp from his own pony-tail for a moment.  

     "Your hair's looking good," the dark-blond man said.  "That's more
than just a new haircut, isn't it?"

     "Yes," admitted the redhead.  "My wife suggested I get it cut by a
real stylist instead of just hacking off the longest parts myself."

     "Is that what you used to do?"

     "Close enough.  The barber I went to made it clear that he didn't
like long hair on men.  But my wife likes it, which is all that really 
matters."  

     "Indeed," Andrews replied, a note of . . . something in his voice.  
Then he shrugged and said, "Not many men wear their hair long, even 
now."  

     "I just started letting it grow a few years ago," McDaniel said.  
"Have you always had long hair?"

     "Ever since I moved out of my parent's house," the shorter man 
shrugged.  "It was part of the, ah, incentive."  

     McDaniel nodded, not intending to pry.  He noticed that Andrews had 
made a change of his own, to small loop earrings in each ear.  However, 
discussing jewelry after discussing hairstyles just didn't seem to be 
appropriate for guys.  Maybe this wasn't really a change, anyway.  For 
all he knew, Tyler Andrews might wear loops in his ears regularly.  
McDaniel swallowed the rest of his coke and looked at Andrews to see if he 
were ready to go.  Andrews nodded and pulled his hair back behind his head 
as they stood.  Still, talking about hair was, in two minutes, more casual 
conversation than they had shared in a week.   

     Despite his commitment to doing a good job for his clients and his
success at it, McDaniel was married to a model who loved him as much as 
he loved her.  As a result, a part of his mind was always thinking of 
her, thinking of ways to please her.  He found one partway through the
week while spending the now-required few minutes working on his newly-
complicated hairstyle while the television played across the hotel room.

     And so, when he reached his house that Friday, he had another 
surprise for his lovely bride, another private idea that could share 
even - sort of - in public.  

     Jayla had her own, though the significance of it was initially as 
subtle as the existence was obvious.  When Logan came through the door
to his home that Friday, he found his raven-haired bride wearing yet 
another fantasy outfit.  Sheer, billowing harem pants hinted at her
continuing commitment to her self-imposed prohibition on underwear.  A
matching top, carefully designed to uplift without actually concealing
anything, maximized her model-slim figure.  Huge hoop earrings, heavy 
slave bracelets, and darkly outlined eyes completed an image that had
spawned legends that transcended culture; legends that were as erotic 
as any that had made the transition into the modern culture they shared.  

     "Um, wow," Logan said softly, more praise than boisterous applause.

     Jayla swayed toward him, deliberately over-emphasizing a sinuous 
hip undulation, and wrapped her arms around his neck.  "Welcome home, 
my lover," she purred.  

     A moment's exploration by her waist against his pelvis, and she 
confirmed yet another sign of his appreciation.  "Happy to see me, are 
you?"  

     "Um, yeah," he replied, cursing his lack of eloquence, though a 
part of him realized, as did Jayla, that it was in fact a very clear 
message.  

     The heavy bracelets Jayla wore clinked behind Logan's head and that
sound seemed to release him from the thrall of sensuality she had woven
around him.  Not that it diminished it, but he was no longer frozen in 
wonder.  His own arms came up to surround the taut waist revealed between
the harem pants and abbreviated top she wore, while his lips drifted down
to capture those lifted to him.  

     Things would have proceeded to the obvious conclusion, perhaps in 
creative ways but nonetheless inevitable, but they were interrupted when
Jayla discovered Logan's own present.  The trail of his clothes reached
the point where his pants hit the floor, then stopped at her exclamation.

     "You shaved!"  

     He grinned, then deliberately misunderstood.  Logan rubbed his chin 
and said, "Sure.  Every day."  

     "No," Jayla said, eyes lighting with pleasure.  "You shaved your 
legs, and well, . . ."  

     "Actually, I didn't," he claimed, though in fact his body was 
essentially hairless below the auburn mass that capped it.  That 
'essentially' exemption dealt primarily with a rather carefully-shaped
accent that remained.  

     "I seem to remember something a bit less smooth, and I was definitely 
paying attention," she said.  

     "Now that part is true," he agreed.  "It's just that I didn't shave
the hair off."  

     "Oh, sure.  I understand," Jayla said, once again to find out she was
wrong.

     "I hope not," said Logan, wincing.  "I used that 'Nads' stuff, and it
hurt like hell.  I hope you don't really know what that's like."

     "Well, actually I do," she said sympathetically, "but not any more 
often than I really have to.  I think even waxing is easier than that 
stuff, though the difference is sort of academic."  

     "Now I know," Logan said, grimacing again at remembered yanks at 
deeply rooted hair.  

     Jayla ran her soft hands over his smooth contours and asked, "Why did 
you do that?" 

     "You said you didn't like hairy men," he replied simply, as though 
that were the only relevant point.

     "You were never particularly hairy," Jayla said, acting as though 
what he had done had not really been necessary.  And of course it hadn't 
been 'necessary', but her hands never stopped moving over his body and it
was clear that, necessary or not, it was highly appreciated.  In a little 
while, she was showing him just how much it was appreciated, even as he 
was confirming the value in her own fantasy-fulfilling creativity.  

*****

     Logan woke up first Saturday morning.  He was in the shower when his
wife slithered in to share the delicious hot pressure.  Her first motion 
was to once again put her arms around him, though this time it was a 
prelude to moving him so that she could be under the spray.

     "You forgot to take your bracelets off," Logan said.

     "No I didn't," she replied.  

     He chuckled and said, "It may be early, and you definitely fried my
mind last night, but, um, I think I can tell when you're banging metal 
bands on the back of my neck."

     "Um, hmmm," she said, leaning back to let the water stream down her 
face . . . and other interesting places.  

     If her intention was to distract him, it worked.  But not quite 
enough to derail his questions.  Instead, he moved his hands to institute 
a little teasing of his own.

     It wasn't long before Jayla was gasping, at which point he stopped.

     "Ohhhh," she moaned.  "Don't stop."

     "Why are you still wearing your bracelets?" he asked, resuming his 
tender ministrations at a level that would keep her interested but 
unsatisfied.

     "They don't come off," she answered with a self-satisfied smile.  
"So I didn't 'forget' to take them off, see?"  

     "What do you mean they don't come off?"

     "What part of that didn't you understand?" she asked, leaning up to 
bite lightly on his lower lip.  

     Then she giggled and leaned back.  "They're welded on, and too small 
to slip over my hands.  I know you don't want me hurting my wrists, but 
these are wider and rounded and don't hurt even if I lay on them."

     Her voice took on a more serious tone and she said, "Logan, darling, 
I do love you.  I want you to know that I am yours any time you want.  You
can lock my wrists together with anything from a heavy chain to a piece of
string, and I will trust you to take care of me.  This is, oh, like our 
wedding rings or something, a sign of commitment.  Only this is of a 
different commitment than being married.  Or, maybe I should say it's a 
commitment to a particular, um, flavor of being married.  Anyway, it's a 
permanent sign of my trust in you.  And if you don't ever want to tie them
together, well, they're just shiny jewelry."  

     With that, and before he had a chance to speak, she took the soap
and handed it to him, then turned her back to him.  "Now, wash me before 
we run out of hot water.  If we hurry, we'll have time to shave each 
other's legs."

     They didn't have time for that, though their legs didn't really need 
it anyway.  In fact, they had to finish their basic showers in cold water 
since hurry was not Logan's focus.  At least, not for a while. 

     When, some time later, Jayla walked from the bathroom she saw Logan
with the hotcomb in his hair.  "You don't have to do that for me," she
said.

     "I never 'have' to do this," he answered.  "But I've been practicing 
all week.  I'll be damned if I waste this chance to do it for you."  

     Jayla smiled and leaned over to give him a hug, stroking her fingers
down his smooth leg as she did so.  "You do so much for me."  

     "Not enough," he said with his own smile.  

     They discussed the day's agenda, delayed though it was, and decided 
they had enough time to spend it together anyway rather than running 
separate errands.  While they were talking, Jayla was getting dressed, 
pulling tan stockings up her sleek legs and attaching them to a garter 
belt.  That was enough to distract Logan, again, and he was even less able 
to take care of his own business when she pulled on a brief minidress as 
her only other covering.  As a result, he was still in his underwear when 
she was ready to go.

     "Come on, slowpoke," she said, jabbing him with a finger.

     "Um, sure, sorry."  

     "Say," Jayla said, an idea obviously forming in her mind.  "Try 
these."  
  
     She tossed him a package of pantyhose in a shade close to her own 
stockings.  "I don't wear those anywhere," she explained, smirking.  "So 
you might as well get some use out of them.  I just know your legs will 
look fabulous."

     Logan blushed at her teasing, but after a look to see that there was
indeed a look of real interest in her eyes, he reached for the package and
shook out a wad of crumpled nylon.  "Are these my size?"

     "Close enough," she claimed.  "I wear tall sizes and they should 
work."  

     Shrugging, he oriented them to his waist and looked at the length.  
They hung barely to his knees and a skeptical lift of an eyebrow asked
his question again of his wife.  She just nodded, so Logan sat down and 
tried to work his way into the snug leg coverings.  Jayla was practically
tapping her toe when he finally finished, but he had managed to get it 
done without ruining the pantyhose so he felt justified in taking his 
time.  

     Her toe tapping, or at least signs of frustration, stopped when he 
stood up.  

     "Oh, my," she said softly.  

     "What?" he asked, thinking something was wrong.

     "You DO look fabulous," she purred as she walked closer.  "You've 
got great looking legs, at least when they're smoothed a bit by the 
stockings.  And shiny."  

     "Yeah, right," he said disdainfully.

     "I'm serious," she insisted.  "Listen to me.  I'm an expert."

     "Ah, yeah, okay," Logan replied, not convinced but not willing to 
argue.  

     "It seems like a shame to cover up those gorgeous legs all day," 
Jayla observed as he pulled on his jeans.  

     Logan paused and looked at her.  "Are you serious?"

     She recognized the offer inherent in his question, but she heard a 
tone of resignation in it, too.  Certainly not a tone of anticipation or
eagerness.  So she nodded, but turned down his implied offer.  "Yes, but
I don't think you should wear shorts today.  Maybe some other time."

     "Okay," Logan agreed, quickly.  Realizing how fast he had been to 
accept her declining his offer, he blushed again and smiled as he reached
for his shirt.  "Sorry, beautiful.  You know I'd do whatever you really 
want, but I'm just as glad not to go around showing off shaved legs and 
pantyhose.  That would be as bad as wearing obvious makeup."  

     "Speaking of which . . . " Jayla said, arching an eyebrow.  Logan's 
sigh of resignation needed no particular sensitivity to notice, but before
he could even begin to move toward the pots of potions, she stopped him.

     "Just kidding, you big idiot," she said, laughing as she wrapped her 
arms around him.  "I don't want you to do anything that makes you 
uncomfortable in public.  I hope the things we do in private aren't too 
bad, though."

     "No," Logan claimed.  "We've been having a lot of fun together, 
especially lately.  I don't mind doing things to, um, interest you.  
For your eyes only.  You've certainly made it worth my while."  

     "I'm glad you think so," Jayla said, but before he could prove his 
words she danced away and gathered up the rest of her things.  

     Logan did end up in shorts, though.  And wearing what Jayla was 
calling his 'evening' look in makeup.  But that was only after they got
home late that afternoon.  In a sort of 'not really necessary but it 
somehow seems appropriate anyway' compensation, he did the 'manly thing' 
of grilling steaks on the barbecue.  They ate on their back patio, 
watching the sun go down while they sipped fine wine and ate rare beef.  

     "You really are very, ah, attractive, you know," Jayla said.  

     "You were going to say 'pretty' weren't you?" he challenged her.

     "Well, maybe, but you know what I mean.  You do look good, and the
word we use for that sort of look is indeed pretty.  But it's not a 
bad thing, at least not in my mind."  

     "It would be to a lot of people."

     "To you?"

     Logan shrugged.  "I honestly don't know.  I know I look 'good', as 
you said.  The way I look triggers lots of automatic feelings of 'pretty' 
which are associated with desirable in my mind.  But it also triggers, I 
don't know.  Guilt, I guess.  Men are not supposed to like looking like 
this.  It makes me uncomfortable sometimes."

     "Sometimes?"

     "I'm not ready to go public like this, but I can feel your approval,
and that's a pretty powerful incentive," he said, smiling at her.  

     "Good enough," she said, idly turning one of the bracelets on her 
wrists.  

     "Are you serious about those?" Logan asked.

     "100%"

     "Would you go out in public, with them locked together?"

     Jayla blushed and ducked her head.  "Would I?  If you asked.  Would 
I enjoy it?  I don't really think so.  It's a . . . personal thing that 
we share."  

     "I guess that's the way that I feel about wearing makeup for you, or
whatever."  

     "I understand," she replied, nodding.  "I don't want anyone else to 
know when I don't wear panties, either.  That's only for you.  But I do 
find it exciting."  

     "You and me both," Logan said with a laugh, defusing the intensity of
their conversation.  

     Their love that night was gentler than the frantic couplings they had
shared the night before, softer and slower and unhurried.  For a while, 
Jayla had raised her hands above her head and held them still, as though 
bound, but Logan didn't do anything about her hint.  If it was a hint.  
And when she climbed her personal mountain, she was only too happy to wrap 
herself - arms, legs, and inner core - about her loving husband.