It seemed a shame to cover herself with that old thing. For a stolen moment she allowed herself to look at her reflection. She did look younger than she was. The face smooth and unlined and youthful. Her skin was still flawless and creamy, the chestnut hair curling softly around her pretty face, the blue eyes wide and innocent, framed with thick lashes. Even after four children her body looked exactly the same as it had when Lester was courting her except that her breasts were even fuller. They almost spilled out of the pale, nude-colored brassiere but her waist was still very tiny and her hips trimly curved, her legs slender and shapely. She did look young and pretty and at her age she should be grateful, but looks had never brought her anything but lecherous glances, Lester's awful pawing and lusting and four children in almost as many years. She'd raised them and nursed them and now they were all gone except Gary. Damn it. It was time she had some peace, some time for herself, maybe even some night courses to keep her occupied.

She turned back to the closet and fingered the clothes. The habit of wearing slacks around the house had never appealed to her. Finally she settled on a pink flowered cotton blouse and skirt. At least it was permanent press so it could be washed if something spilled on it. If she was going to convince Lester of anything she'd have to look halfway presentable. Bette Jean cinched a wide pink leather belt around her tiny waist and went back to the kitchen.

As she bent to peer into the refrigerator to check the leftovers she felt the uncomfortable clamminess of her panties. She straightened and shivered delicately. Those awful examinations at the doctor's always left her feeling unclean. That terrible jelly they used when they had to examine a woman inside. Some of it always oozed out and dampened your panties. Bette Jean went back to the bedroom. Holding her skirt up she shed the dampened panty hose and underpants, washed herself thoroughly and slid on clean white panties.