I Love Lucy: How to Save Your Marriage!

Lucy McGillicuddy Ricardo sat at her vanity in her robe. She wrinkled her nose at the face in the mirror. She had been married for 11 years now; she was certain her age was showing. Why would her husband make it 12 years? After all, he was Ricky Ricardo, the band leader, and manager of the Tropicana Nightclub of the Big Apple, New York City. Celebrities went there. Young and beautiful women also performed there. And even younger ones worked for him. Her tall, dark and handsome Cuban was surrounded by women and girls more attractive and interesting than her.

“What’s the use,” she said to herself, turning away. But, there still in her reading chair, was the book that had put her in this mood: _How to Save Your Marriage! _Remembering its lessons, she frowned with renewed determination. She would hide that married face behind makeup!

She had recently used henna and her hair was as red as it ever was (perhaps redder). It was still short and permed with more on top than on the sides, a poodle cut. At least that was perfect. And her own; Ricky was unlikely to find any other woman with hair like hers.

She applied bluish blush to the lids of her eyes to bring out the dark blue of her eyes. After using an eyebrow pencil to make the arches darker and more dramatic, she concentrated on her eyes. First using an eyeliner, she used her eyelash curler and then her black mascara. False eyelashes were then on her upper lashes. That signature piece done, she brushed on concealer and setting powder. Lastly, she outlined her lips and put on a deep red lipstick. They brought out their distinctive hunter’s bow shape.

“There!” she said, almost able to smile. She was more like those in show business, celebrities like her Ricky.

She checked the clock. It was almost 2 AM. Ricky would be coming home soon. She had to be ready to greet him!

She hurried out of their living room and across the living room to the small, liquor cabinet. All this movement made her self-conscious of what was under her robe. But she did her best not to think about it as she prepared what the book said was the recipe for the perfect martini. Once done, she checked the clock out here.

“Okay, girl: You are woman enough to do this!” She loosened the sash and let the robe descend her body. She was now naked. (No: Nude. That word was more comforting. It is what the book called it.) She hadn’t had any children (another reason Ricky might want to replace her), but that also meant she still had a reasonably firm body, without the stretch marks and other ravages maternity could bring. She was only 124 lbs. And at 5 ft. 7 in., she had the height and figure of a model, 35-24-25. (And, unfortunately, a fashion model’s A cup. Ricky liked his women more top-heavy, didn’t he?!)

Lucy pinched her nipples, getting them, at least, to stand out more. They also made her clit feel like standing out. Her hand went to her pubes. Easily looking down past her breasts (Rats!), she saw the brown hair she had below and wished she had dyed that, too, but also wondered if should have trimmed her bush back. Wasn’t that becoming the fashion? (Ricky was in show business, where men and women wandered in and out of dressing rooms half-dressed or less. Ricky would know how pubic hair was worn today!)

“Calm down; calm down,” she told herself. She herself not to look at herself any more, or touch anything but the martini glass she held. She felt the draft in the old apartment. It did help keep her nipples hard and long.

She cocked her head and plastered a smile on her well made-up face. “Stand tall, Lucy!” And keep one knee sexily bent. She knew she had great legs, and ass, too.