Requiem for the Belle Epoque

Requiem for the Belle Epoque

By Cuirbouilli

I contently gazed at my wife while sipping a hot cup of coffee.  I wanted to permanently imprint the memory of how she looked in my brain.  We were sitting together, just the two of us, at a table in a Bob Evans Restaurant on a cold Sunday morning in February 2014.  It was about 9:30 AM and we had just rolled out of the hotel bed about thirty or forty minutes earlier.  Sleeping in until 8:45 and eating out for breakfast was quite a leisurely morning for parents with young children.

My black leather biker-style jacket hung on the back of my chair.  I was comfortable in a gray sweater and black trousers.  My wife, who is always cold, was chilled by the frigid winter air and kept herself buttoned up snug inside her black leather maxi coat the entire time we were there.  Her dark brown hair fell in voluminous, wavy curls to her shoulders, arranged presentably well by hand alone.  Her pretty eyes were remarkably bright for the little sleep she had gotten.  Somehow my wife never appears tired, even if she has gotten no rest at all.  My short, blonde hair was probably messier than usual and my eyes were undoubtedly fatigued with bags below them.

My wife clutched a mug of hot cocoa with her delicate ivory hands, savoring the warmth of it.  Her manicured nails were slick with red polish and she applied a fresh coat of red lipstick to her mouth before we left that morning to replace what I had worn off by kissing her.  If I happened to call the color “red” she laughed at my simplistic maleness and corrected me that it was actually “rose” or “raspberry”.  All I know is that her lips looked red to me and I love it when she vamps it up.

The waitress brought our food.  My wife and I consumed our eggs and bacon in the tranquil silence of each other’s company while chatting about the daily humdrum of life.  People occupying nearby tables observed an average-looking guy having breakfast with an extremely attractive woman in a long leather coat, and that was my appraisal of the situation as well.  

One lucky guy was with the woman of his dreams.

I continued to stare at her the entire time, hoping to capture every shining nuance of how resplendent she looked in her leather coat.  My wife had been doing aerobics consistently and vigorously for the past several months and succeeded at sculpting her typically good figure to voluptuous perfection.  Needless to say, she looked better than ever in her leather coat and I could not have been more proud to be her husband.  

Supple, fitted black lambskin gleamed smoothly over the prominent fullness of her bosom and scooped in breathtakingly about her sleek hourglass torso.  Rippling panels of leather parted around her knee as she crossed her legs and flowed to her ankles, almost brushing the floor.  Her calves were sheathed in silky nylons and the sparkling silver, open-toe stiletto heels on her feet hinted that we had been out somewhere the night before as a romantic couple; not as parents.

My wife's leather coat, the Belle Epoque

My wife’s lambskin maxi coat was called the Belle Epoque and was offered by Danier in their line of leather fashion from fall 2003 to winter 2004.  The garment was certainly appropriately named in my opinion as it represented a pinnacle of the “beautiful age” when leather coats flourished in women’s fashion.  Sadly, that era was in decline, and as much pleasure as my wife intentionally gave me by wearing her spectacular leather coat for our date, my gratification was tainted with bittersweet nostalgia.  When we got home she would unbutton her coat, slip it off, and hang it in the closet.  And I did not know if or when she might put it on again.

My wife could wear a leather coat every day and I don’t think I would ever get tired of seeing her in it.  She was well aware of my fetish and she had indulged it more graciously, completely, and patiently than any other woman I know would have ever considered, much less done.  But, nothing ever stays the same in the real world.  Fashion changes, careers progress, children are born, and people mature.  And still, this man’s fetish for ladies in leather coats remained the same.

I have never liked the word “fetish”.  I have always grappled with applying the label to myself because of the negative connotation associated with it.  

Ladies leather coats from the Spiegel catalog
1979

A fetish is defined as “something irrationally revered” and applies to individuals who experience sexual arousal from objects which are not typically regarded as erotic.  Fetishism has long been stigmatized as a paraphilia by psychiatry, and thus people with a fetish generally do not want to be identified with it.  More recently, paraphilias have been designated simply as “unusual sexual interests” that may not justify psychiatric diagnosis.  Simply being captivated or enthralled by an object such as leather is not considered a “disorder” unless it causes distress or impairment.  

I do not recall when I discovered the term fetish, but I have resisted the idea of having a mental abnormality.  I have always been a relatively high-functioning individual.  I am an American raised with a strong work ethic in a middle-class family.  I am an Eagle Scout.  I graduated Summa Cum Laude from a good college.  I earned a respected professional degree in my postgraduate education.  I generally ascribe to conservative values, and unless I am mistaken, most people regard me as an agreeable, upstanding gentleman.  I fervently ascribe to the belief that women should be treated with respect and courtesy.  I willingly admit I am a geek who grew up watching Star Wars, reading medieval fantasy, and going to renaissance festivals.  Some might consider my hobby of historical reenactment to be eccentric, but I do not consider myself to be socially deviant.  

Yet, for all this, I cannot deny having a fetish.  And that fetish has always, inexplicably, and inexorably been a woman’s long black leather coat.

One of the very first leather coat images 
I recall from the JCPenney catalog 1983

This fixation did not result from some premature sexual encounter with a leather-clad dominatrix when I was an impressionable teenager.  I was only eight or nine years old in the early 1980s when I discovered pictures of pretty models wearing long leather coats in the pages of JCPenney fall and winter catalogs.

That was it.

There was no further experience needed to convince my boyhood mind that a shiny black leather coat was the most beautiful garment a woman could ever wear.  The stimulation I felt while looking at those ladies sheathed in genuine, smooth-grain napa leather was completely innocent and involuntary, but absolutely erotic.  

My mother never wore a leather coat.  My father owned a weathered black leather trench coat from the 1950s that was as wrinkled as elephant skin and creaked distractingly loud against the vinyl car seat the handful of times I ever remember him wearing it.  I remember being curious about the purpose of the clear plastic button tabs inside the coat placket whenever I noticed it hanging in the closet, but otherwise it was just an old man’s garment.  

I recall seeing an attractive neighbor lady wearing a black leather blazer at school functions a few times, and one of my elementary teachers wore a long burgundy leather coat at recess when it was cold outside.  That was the extent of my personal familiarity with leather coats for most of my young life.  

From what I understand leather coats first appeared in women’s wardrobes in the late 1920s as motoring garments and remained mostly utilitarian trench coats from the 1930s to the 1950s.  By the 1960s leather began to emerge in ladies fashion as mod swing coats paired up with go go boots.  Leather clothing of every conceivable type exploded with popularity during the 1970s, and women still wore the fantastically detailed, long, belted leather coats of the late 1970s when I was a young boy.  Because of the longstanding cultural association of leather jackets with raunchy motorcycle gangs since the 1950s, black leather retained a tough, sexy edginess that made it exciting and powerful for women to wear.  Women in leather were stereotypically characterized on film and TV as elusive secret agents or domineering villains.   

Leather briefly, but effectively, went out of style for women from about 1985 until the late 1980s by my reckoning.  The garish red or blue, oversized, zipper-front leather jackets that intermittently appeared in catalogs during that time never took hold of mainstream fashion and also never caught my interest.

The black leather coat returned to the
JCPenney catalog in 1989

It was a page of the JCPenney Christmas catalog in 1989 that heralded the beginning of the Belle Epoque for me.  A smiling blonde sporting an iconic bobbed hairdo and a white sweater posed happily in a calf-length black leather coat with a three-button front, a notched collar, and broad padded shoulders.  The long, black leather coat had returned!  And, much to my gratified joy, it became a staple in women’s fashion for the better part of the next twenty years.  

I was excited to peruse every mail-order catalog that came to the house, anticipating images of gorgeous leather-coated ladies in the outerwear section.  I scoured every catalog, magazine, and newspaper ad in the fall and winter, secretly tearing out any page I found with a woman in a leather coat on it and kept them hidden in a private collection.  

The oversized styles of the early 1990s with raglan sleeves, printed shoulders, and collars plunging to the waist gradually transformed into updated versions of more classic designs reminiscent of the belted leather coats of the early 1980s.  Notched collars predominated, but there were coats with shawl collars, standing collars, and hoods as well.  Trench coats, swing coats, car coats, barn coats, cropped jackets, and blazers of every variety and color were sold by designer labels and department stores, tailored of everything from coarse pigskin to buttery lamb leather.  

JCPenney newspaper ad 1994

Fashion designers adopted black leather for everything in the 1990s and even the most conservative retailers offered leather dresses, leather skirts, leather pants, leather halter tops, and entire leather suits to layer inside leather coats and jackets without restraint.  From high-class executives in the boardroom to wholesome housewives at the craft show; black leather was now universally appropriate.  Women’s magazines from Vogue to Good Housekeeping recommended the best leather jackets each fall in a full page “Leather Report”.  

It was a tiny image in the bottom of a Macy’s newspaper ad in early September 1991 that introduced me to the outfit that would remain my favorite to this very day.  A sophisticated-looking model was dressed in a single-breasted black leather coat, gloves, and boots with a white shirt collar standing crisply from her notched lapels.  My feminine ideal was realized and she has not changed much since.

In 1999 Spiegel offered the ultimate evolution of leather fashion: the maxi coat.  It was fitted, buttoned high on the chest, and flared in a dramatic sweep to the ankles.  Tailored in sleek black lambskin, it flattered a woman’s figure as elegantly as a ballgown.  The “tough chic” of leather had been refined to the height of its cosmopolitan appeal.  

The leather maxi coat offered by Spiegel in 1999

I attended university and did my postgraduate training during the 1990s.  From college campuses to downtown sidewalks, offices, and malls, my eyes were tantalized by well-dressed ladies in leather coats.  The three-button, fingertip-length, black leather jacket became so ubiquitous that it was nearly impossible to go anywhere without seeing a woman wearing one; despite matronly journalists writing news columns advising young women that such jackets were impractical and not warm enough.

The ubiquitous leather jacket circa 1997

It was not unusual to see professional women cross winter streets with their suits protected from the elements by full-length leather coats that rippled in the wind.  In particular I recall a lovely young business woman waiting outside the door of the Statehouse buttoned up in a black leather maxi coat, white blouse collar at her throat, pacing back and forth impatiently in her high-heeled pumps.  I had the pleasure of working with an attractive blonde manager one winter who went to and from the office in a single-breasted, black leather coat that covered her from neck to ankles.

It was not uncommon to see women on city sidewalks dressed this way in the 1990s

I remember watching a man propose to a beaming blonde who was bundled against the cold in a long, belted black leather coat during the live broadcast of Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve on Time Square in 1993 or 1994.  Actresses wore leather every week on popular TV shows like Seinfeld, Friends, and Will and Grace.  Female FBI agents, detectives, and vampire slayers saved the day regularly in sexy leather jackets and tight leather pants.  Elisabeth Shue dashed away from the Russian mafia clad in a leather coat and tall leather boots in the 1997 film The Saint.  News anchors reported at the scene and celebrity women made public appearances in leather coats that gleamed in the spotlight.  

The look of a confident young woman in 1999

It truly was a golden age for leather lovers.  The lady in the leather coat was everywhere to be found; everywhere except where I was specifically, and I did not expect that situation to change.

I was a single guy living on my own in a big city.  I was inexperienced and utterly clueless about how to meet women.  I lacked the self confidence and aggressiveness to succeed at picking girls up in bars or clubs, and my hobby of historical reenactment was not terribly appealing to attractive young women.  I had an impeccable knack of pursuing beautiful girls who were totally out of my league or otherwise unavailable, but I was unwilling to settle for someone I was not attracted to.  As much difficulty as I had just trying to date, it seemed like the impossible dream that I might win the love of a woman who also dressed in leather.  I pretty much accepted that my relationship status and my fetish were doomed to remain mutually exclusive of one another.

Macy's newspaper ad 1997

There were only two girls who could have potentially fulfilled either criteria during this time.  One was a svelte, young student with long, auburn hair who rotated through our office for a couple weeks.  She attended a cold outdoor rally with our staff, shivering cutely in a knee-length black leather coat and boots.  I recall shaking her hand before she left and the supple cuff of her lambskin coat caught in my grasp with buttons that hooked in my fingers.  She was very sweet and, of course, already had a serious boyfriend.

The other girl was a cute blonde who buttoned up in a black leather jacket daily.  I actually tried asking her out and she informed me that the reason she turned me down was because I was “too nice”.  I had heard the cliché that “nice guys finish last”, but this snobby girl literally said it to me and empathized with me for having the problem!

And thus, I stayed nice and single for a few years more, trying not to become too resentful about the dating game in which I apparently was not a player.

Did he tell her she looked
amazing?

I have never been a jealous person.  But, whenever I saw another guy out with a good looking woman in a leather coat I wondered if he had any appreciation at all for how very lucky he was to be with such a spectacularly well-dressed lady.  Were other people thrilled by leather coats the same way I was?  I doubted it, but I did not know.  A woman’s long, black leather coat could never be “just a winter coat” to me.  I found it difficult to believe that women did not relish the look and feel of such a luxurious garment, but I understood it was very likely that women wore leather coats only because they were popular and in style.  I was also frustrated that most of my male peers probably could not care less if their wife or girlfriend wore a bulky, drab parka instead of the sleek leather coat that shined so amazingly on her.  

Regardless, the lady in the leather coat remained merely the stuff of pleasant daydreams for me.  I now searched the internet for her image, longing to meet someone like her perhaps, but having no realistic expectation that it could ever happen.  

One of the very first images of a lady in a
leather coat I discovered on the internet.

Exploring the internet itself was a profound experience.  Not only did I find countless photos of women in leather coats from all over the world, but I also discovered that I was definitely not alone in liking leather.  It was very therapeutic to learn I was not the only weirdo with my fetish.  Thousands of people lurked anonymously in dozens of groups dedicated to leather fashion.  If anything, my proclivity was far more conventional than most because I had no interest whatsoever in bondage or cross-dressing.  I scanned many of the images I had collected from catalogs and shared them in the Lady in the Leather Coat group, which, shockingly to me, attracted over one hundred members within the first week of founding it.  I began corresponding with like-minded individuals whose appreciation for women in leather was similar to mine.

My fantasy about the lady in the leather coat developed further, and was no doubt affected by my perception of women as mysterious, cold, and even cruel.  The leather coat itself was clearly a powerful symbol to my subconscious that kept the beautiful woman inside of it intimidating, untouchable, and even immortal.  As a kid I imagined a sorceress queen who was invincible buttoned inside of a leather coat.  I drew pictures of her based on clippings from catalogs and magazines.  By my twenties this childish fancy was developing into a more mature character who inhabited the present day world.  I began writing stories about an exquisite, supremely refined English Baroness named Agnes Charnock; an ageless lady of the manor who pursued her voluptuous lifestyle in lavish leather coats.  

And then, my position in life changed in 2003.

I wonder sometimes if any part of my fantasy would have ever become reality if I did not take a job offer in a different location.  The interview was catalyzed by a random phone call from a recruiter.  It was the next step in my career, but brought about a wonderful, unexpected outcome.  I moved to a small town, of all places, and met the girl who became my wife within two months of starting the new job.  

Reminds me of a girl I met

I shudder to think of the lonely, bitter, unhappy bachelor I might very well be right now if I had not chosen the path I did.

I started at the new facility that August.  One evening a pretty, slender brunette passed through the work station there.  I had never seen her before and I introduced myself to her without hesitation that very night.  We found ourselves working at the same counter several times over the next couple months afterwards.  I would always say hello to her and make faltering attempts at conversation to which she responded pleasantly.  Funny enough; while I distinctly recall meeting her that evening in October she does not remember speaking to me at all before Christmas Eve!

Apparently I made an impression on her that day because I complimented her on how nice she looked after she had a particularly bad morning.  If my memory serves, she was wearing a blue poplin blouse and a black pencil skirt.  She had a great figure, but it was not the way she dressed that caught my eye so much as her remarkably long, dark brown hair that cascaded in silky waves to the middle of her back.  Her makeup was always meticulously applied as well.  She clearly took some pride in her appearance which was an instant turn on to me.

I later learned that she was in the middle of a divorce.  She composed herself with such friendliness and grace I would have never guessed she was going through something so stressful.  To put it politely, her ex-husband did not appreciate the very things I found so charming about her.  It breaks my heart a little to imagine the sad, repressed person she might be today if she did not have the courage to get out of that unhappy marriage.  So much talent may have been wasted.  So much beauty would have never been revealed.

While she and I began talking more regularly she was striking out as a working, single mom with little to her name except for her brains, her winning personality, and an independent spirit to make it on her own.  Her divorce was finalized and it was March of 2004 before I asked her out on a date.  She hesitated at first, but thankfully gave me a chance.  Had I met her at another time, another place, or under different circumstances she probably would have never considered me, but I am glad she did.  

We dated casually for a few months.  I even took a couple other girls out to dinner in the meantime.  While I listened to these other women chatter about their insecurities I consistently found myself daydreaming about the same pretty brunette.  Her confidence, her poise, her honesty and kindness all resonated as very desirable and genuine to me.  I treated her with ladylike courtesy and she was not offended by it.  She was “all that and a bag of chips”.  I introduced her to my parents as my girlfriend that May and I had a feeling early on in our relationship; she was the one.

Would she ever dress this way?

I was a thirty year old, independent, self-sufficient man.  I had grown comfortable with who I was and what I liked.  I was no longer embarrassed to stop in Wilson’s Leather at the mall to admire the latest style of women’s coats and possibly rub a sleeve with my fingers to feel how soft the leather was.  For the first time ever I also had the means to afford a luxurious leather coat.  The only problem was that I did not want one for myself and the coat itself would just be a splendid object to admire on the hanger.  More than anything I wanted to be with a woman who was vivacious and elegant enough to bring the leather coat to life.

I think it was in March 2004 when I ordered the Belle Epoque maxi coat online from Danier Leather in the vague, fleeting hope that maybe someday, somehow, if my girlfriend and I stayed together I might convince her to wear it.  

She and I continued to see each other regularly through the summer.  She demonstrated some interest in my reenactment hobby.  We travelled on weekend trips together, went to fairs, and took her kids to parks and museums.  We made out like high school teenagers in the front seat of my car for thirty minutes after an Aerosmith concert.  In short, things were going very well with our relationship.

Sometime in August I decided to go for it.  I was determined to make an all or nothing attempt at happiness.  I decided to give her the Belle Epoque.  

I gift-wrapped the leather coat as a complete outfit ready to wear, including a white blouse, a long, black lambskin skirt from Danier, and a pair of black leather gloves.  I was infinitely aware that I might freak her out by revealing my fetish to her.  It was quite possible that I spent over nine hundred dollars just to have her refuse it and dump me.  

We were sitting in her living room one evening when I presented the red-wrapped box to her.  She was surprised and had no idea what to expect as she opened it.  I told her very explicitly what a powerful effect leather coats had on me, and how much I would like to see her wear the one I was giving her.

Luckily, my thing for leather coats did not bother her at all.  Being the amazing girl I suspected her to be, she never batted an eye about it.  In fact, she dashed into her bathroom and put the entire outfit on to model for me right on the spot!

I will never forget the first time she swished out in it, smiling with delight as she looked down at herself.  She was a dream come true!  

The Belle Epoque was by far the finest leather coat I had ever seen or touched.  Fifty-two inches of buttery, smooth grain lambskin flowed to her ankles.  The black satin acetate lining shimmered around the shiny leather skirt that rippled back and forth over her long legs.  Her white cotton shirt crinkled inside the notched collar of the coat and leather squeaked as she buttoned the single-breasted placket from her nipples to her wrists.  

Next thing I knew she was sitting on my lap!  I was numb with exhilaration, but vividly aware of her supple, creaking leather-clad beauty in my arms.  She kissed me thank you for several minutes.

Who wore it better?

While she instantly liked the leather coat, she was a bit overwhelmed by the luxury and expense of it all.  I had to argue with her gently to keep it.  For reasons I will never comprehend, her previous husband never adorned or complimented her in any way.  She sobbed in my arms, looking heart-achingly beautiful in the finery she felt unworthy of.  With some effort I convinced her that she was very much worth it.  

Her resistance was failing.  She expressed concern that she could not pay me back for such an expensive outfit.  I told her that the only repayment I wanted was for her to wear it.

And wear it she did.

Two weeks later she arrived at my house for dinner dressed in the same outfit accessorized with a feminine scarf around her slender neck.  Her dark, lustrous hair was brushed in a supermodel side part, her alluring eyes glittered, and her full, red lips parted in a dazzling smile that made me weak in the knees.  Truly, she was a goddess stepping through my door and I made her leather coat creak nonstop as I worshipped her with love for hours on end that night.  

We went shopping together a few days later.  I helped her pick out a pair of knee-high black leather boots with pointed toes and three inch heels at Macy’s.  She also bought a black, wide-brimmed hat with a black leather band that became affectionately known to us as the “snooty hat”.  She was investing in the look I had introduced her to, and I gladly supported her efforts with giddy anticipation.

The weather turned chill by early September that year.  The very first morning she wore her leather coat to work she stopped by my house so I could be the first person to see her “Outfit du Jour”.  The sight of her made my day for sure.  Her hair and makeup were immaculate as always.  Her leather coat was buttoned up over a peony silk blouse from Bloomingdales with a pearl necklace looped under her collar.  Her legs were encased by her lambskin skirt and tall leather boots.  She looked absolutely sophisticated, polished, and glamorous; and she knew it.  I saw her off with a kiss, or two, or three.

She worked in a corporate office.  She dressed nicely every day and the leather coat was the perfect finishing touch to her wardrobe.  She mentioned that she enjoyed wearing a short leather jacket long before I met her, so she was thrilled to have such a great coat to wear.  She slipped it on almost any time we went out that fall and winter.  The long leather coat was not just a fashion statement she experimented with a few times.  She wore it whether I was with her or not.

She owned it.

And people noticed.

She was astonished at how much attention she got everywhere she went.  People constantly complimented her on how good she looked in it.

“Apparently you’re not the only one who likes leather,” she told me soon afterwards.

She made little of people’s reactions, but I certainly noticed how she halted men in their tracks when we were out.  Their gaze would hang on her a moment longer than it might otherwise, taking in the sight of such a pretty woman in a fabulous leather coat.

I vividly recall two young men who flat out stared at her one time.  When she sat down across from me in a Chipotle restaurant she simply unbuttoned her leather coat and let it spread over the chair behind her, still sitting on it with the shimmering black satin interior exposed.  As we finished our meal and were getting ready to leave there was a song playing that excited her to dance playfully in her seat.  She was a lively woman.  She swayed alluringly as she slid her arms into her coat sleeves, wiggling into the shining folds of leather.  Two guys a couple tables over had been looking over at her as we ate.  She stood up and continued to dance as she buttoned her leather coat.  The guys continued to gape at her until they realized that I was watching them.  Then they quickly turned away.

One morning she was putting gas into her car.  She hates to pump gas and she no doubt looked quite flustered and posh in her leather coat.  She noticed a man on the other side of the pump was obviously trying to check her out.  As he gaped at her, he neglected what he was doing and knocked his coffee mug off the top of his car.  

A gas station attendant was so completely smitten by her once that he couldn’t remember how to operate his register.

Ladies noticed the coat as well.  The long lambskin coat was more of a luxury item for women than I thought.  I saw many admiring and envious glances directed at her from other women.  

“Look at her long leather coat!  It must be so luxurious to wear!” I heard a woman remark quietly to her husband as my girlfriend and I rose from a restaurant both one evening and donned our coats.  

Fashionable older women really seemed to approve of how classy she looked.  A couple women even went out of their way to compliment her.  One day while she was shopping in her leather coat and boots with a satin blouse and pearls lapped about her throat a woman tapped her on the shoulder.  

“Excuse me Miss,” the woman said.  

“You look wonderful!  So sophisticated!  I wish I could dress like that!”

A young girl working behind a counter at the grocery simply stammered, “Wow!  You look so cool!”

I was never surprised when she shared these experiences with me.  After all, I was more infatuated with her than anyone else.

I confess that I not ashamed to brag about this woman who became my wife.  She doesn’t know how beautiful she is to me no matter how many times I tell her and she deserves any praise I can give her.  

She stands five feet eight inches tall, with a slender hourglass figure, and a fair complexion.  She is pretty without makeup; the only difference being the light freckles visible on her cheeks in the summer.  Her eyelashes are long, her abdomen is washboard flat, and her lithe waist is tantalizingly narrow.  She is an incurable girly-girl who would wear a puffy pink dress every day if she could.  She can practically run in five inch heels and the feminine sway of her curvaceous hips when she sashays in a skirt turns me on in a heartbeat.  Audrey Hepburn is her style icon and she has been told many times that she resembles the actress Jennifer Love Hewitt.  

She was a homecoming queen and found out years after she graduated that she was known to her classmates as the “hot chick with brains”.  She was offered modeling jobs in the past.  She never frequented bars much, but she giggled to me with sincere modestly that she did not know girls ever payed for drinks because she never had to.  She earned a highly marketable degree in college and has always possessed a sharp business sense.  

Now, suddenly, she was the gorgeous lady in the leather coat on my arm!  Dating her those first couple years was the most fun I ever had in my life.  Anything we did together was magical to me.  We drove into the city on the weekends.  I showed her my favorite places and took her to the best restaurants in town.  We went to art galleries, theater productions, and to the symphony.  

She never asked me for anything, but I bought her a leather blazer, a double-breasted black leather coat, and a pair of lambskin leather pants that fall as well.  Incredibly, when I suggested that she dress-up in her leather outfits to model for pictures she was excited to do so!  I set up lights, turned on some music, opened a bottle of wine, and she strutted her stuff before my camera lens!  

It was a partly cloudy fall afternoon when she emerged onto my patio for me to photograph, her hair styled to maximum volume and her face exquisite as porcelain with luscious red lips.  She was dressed in the complete outfit: the black leather blazer and black leather skirt, an ivory silk blouse with a silk scarf puffing from her throat, leather gloves, and leather boots, all topped off with the Belle Epoque.

"Wow!  More women need to dress like you are right now!" I stammered in awe.

"More women would if they could afford to," she responded in her practical way.

Indeed, I had bought most of this outfit for her, but with absolutely no regret.  If I helped her present such a magnificent image to the world it was a privilege to do so.  Obviously, she looked like she stepped right out my fantasy, but very importantly, she was not a hired model in a costume.  She was a real woman in her own clothes.  The individual pieces of this suit became regular items in her wardrobe for the next several years, much to my gratification.

We took a weekend trip to New York City to see The Phantom of the Opera on Broadway.  I held her gloved hand as we explored the famous streets of Manhattan.  I had on a black leather bomber jacket and jeans.  She was sleek and metropolitan in her hat, leather coat, and boots.  As we embraced romantically and I kissed her tender lips on that sunny November morning in Bryant Park, I knew I was hopelessly in love.  

After the show we decided to forego a cab because we were only about ten blocks away from the hotel.  Her spaghetti strap heels were not very practical to walk in, so she took them off.  Clad in an ankle-length taffeta gown and clutching her long leather coat about her narrow shoulders with one hand like a cape, she charged up the city sidewalks in her stocking feet.  I trailed behind her, enjoying the facial expressions of people on Time Square as the elegant lady in silk and lambskin swished by like a contemporary manifestation of Holly Golightly.

She wore her leather coat everywhere; from the grocery store to ballroom dancing lessons to outdoor holiday festivals.  We walked several blocks in a trendy neighborhood one Valentine’s Day evening, searching for an available restaurant table without reservations.  It was bone-chilling cold and she was freezing by the time we found a place to eat because all she was wearing inside her leather coat was a red satin blouse, a leather skirt, and heels.  Her dark hair was piled high in a formal up-do and her red lips matched her blouse.  She looked phenomenal, and I was not the only one who thought so.  We sat at the bar in an upscale bistro.  She peeled out of her leather coat and simply let it drape around the stool beneath her shapely bottom.  As I ate roast duck and sipped a glass of wine I couldn’t help but notice a fellow at the other end of the bar who practically ignored his own wife as he stared at my girlfriend.  She was truly stunning in her satin, leather, and pearls.

Lustrous satin blouses were in vogue at the time and she owned several.  Personally, I thought a crisp white blouse looked just as posh buttoned up inside her leather coat, and she wore one frequently with the collar popped confidently around her neck.  Sometimes she layered the long leather coat over her black leather blazer and blouse, a magnificent combination I particularly liked.  Dressed in such outfits she commanded the attention as well as admiration of anyone around her for sure!  

The security guard at her office building called her "beautiful lady" whenever he opened the door for her in the morning.  She was so cold-natured she often kept her coat on most of the day at work.  I can only imagine how popular the hot brunette in black leather must have been with the male employees there.

I am not quite sure what made her so irresistible one sunny winter day as we strolled through the art district downtown, but she practically glowed in her leather outfit with the button-down collar of a white Oxford shirt standing stiff from her lapels.  Two women actually knocked from inside a shop window to exclaim how gorgeous she looked.  They complimented her wide-brimmed hat in particular.  Drivers honked at her approvingly as we walked down the sidewalk.  It was her day to shine in the sun in more ways than one.  However, the overwhelming attention made her a little self-conscious and for the very first time she voiced hesitation about being the “leather lady”.

The woman on my arm 

She usually left earlier than me in the morning.  I would see her off with a kiss and a hug, wearing nothing but my T-shirt and shorts, savoring the cool, buttery sensation of her leather-coated body pressed against my chest and bare arms, my fingers clutching her slick, shapely butt cheeks greedily.  The thrill of this embrace was amplified all the more if she had just come in from the cold and surface of her leather coat was so chilled that it felt wet.  She had no idea how electrifying it was for me to hold her slender hand enclosed in a soft leather glove.  I often reached over to pat or stroke her smooth, supple thigh while driving, my fingertips sometimes catching on buttons protruding from the ripples of lambskin on her lap.  

If her leather coat shimmered in the morning sunlight on the bedroom floor, the night before was certainly a good one.  

It was much to my gratification her leather coat did creak.  People who have no fetish for leather do not understand the appeal of the creaking sound it makes when it is rubbed, twisted, or stretched specifically on the figure of an attractive woman.  The creaking of real leather indicates the organic sensuality of it as a material, in contrast to the rubbery squeaking of vinyl or latex.

She sounded as good as she looked

The Belle Epoque was made of extremely supple lambskin that was so soft it did not make as much noise as less pliable cowhide leather coats.  Her coat had a more subtle rustle about it, but it certainly creaked very well when I held her tight.  It almost sounded like a saddle creaking when she buttoned it also.  Extremely frigid air stiffened the leather and her coat would creak incessantly as she huddled in the passenger seat beside me.

If she walked quickly, and particularly if she was wearing her long lambskin skirt, she produced a loud, rippling “swoosh” each time her long legs passed through the vast, satin-lined leather panels.  The full skirt of her coat accentuated the provocative sway to her hips when she walked.  I could watch her all day as she strutted along, high-heeled leather boots clicking, and her black leather coat shifting back and forth in shiny creases as it flowed around her.  Every once in a while she turned in such a way that the light would catch for a split second on her svelte leather figure and all five buttons, causing them to gleam simultaneously.  She was poetry in motion to this man’s eyes.

On a practical note, it was hazardous to be so sleek sometimes.  A leather skirt inside of a satin-lined leather coat provided little friction.  She slipped right off the edge of a leather-upholstered chair once as she tried to seat herself.  Laughing, she caught herself and remarked that she was “slicker than snot”.  She also was notorious for setting off the store alarm walking out of the media section of bookstores.  Apparently the rubbing of the satin lining inside of her leather coat generated lots of static electricity, a problem she later complained about herself.  

Such was life for about three years.  The number of wonderful experiences I could recount exceed the scope of this essay.  To be brief, I can honestly say that she lived in her leather coat as much as any woman ever did while conducting everyday life.  It was not unusual for her to still be wearing it while she relaxed on the couch hours after she got home from work, and I found her sitting at the computer in it many times.  It was a quiet, simple pleasure to hang out with her in the kitchen while she cooked dinner and sat down to eat buttoned up in her long leather coat the entire time.  

“I suppose I could take my coat off and stay a while!” she giggled when she realized she was still sealed inside of her luxurious second skin.

She could leave it on all evening long as far as I was concerned.

I have referred to her five-button Belle Epoque maxi coat almost exclusively so far.  It was my favorite and it probably always will be.  However, it was only one of several leather coats I bought for her.

As I mentioned earlier, I purchased a long, black double-breasted coat for her at sale price from Wilson’s Leather in the fall of 2004.  She wore this double-breasted coat on extremely cold days because it was well lined and rather warm.  It was made of glossy napa leather and creaked amazingly when she cinched the belt tightly around her tiny waist.

I bought her a fingertip-length, four-button leather jacket at the Lakeland shop in York, England.  It was tailored of fantastically soft lambskin and she was glad to wear it in the chilly weather when she traveled with me to Wales and England in 2005.

I couldn’t pass up a belted, knee-length, single-breasted coat that I noticed on the rack in Wilson's in the winter of 2005.  She liked the shorter, more casual length and the warm, quilted Thinsulate lining of maroon satin.  I liked the wet shine of the black leather on her and how much the constriction of the belt made it creak.

She was impressed at how warm a heavier grain napa leather coat was that I mail ordered for her in the fall of 2005.  She traversed the city sidewalks in it for a couple months going to and from her office building.  Unfortunately, the buttons of this coat kept pulling off from unraveling threads, forcing her to give it up for one of her other coats instead.  

Needless to say, it was quite ordinary for her to wear a leather coat, but I tried to remain mindful of how extraordinary it was as well.  She was simply being herself and she was precisely what I always wanted.  Life with the beautiful lady in the leather coat became normal for me.  

The impossible dream was fulfilled.  

I proposed to this woman, the love of my life, with a diamond ring in 2006 and we married in 2007.  

For anyone who may read this in the context of “how to meet a woman in leather”, be advised; there is far more to any lasting relationship than superficial appearance.  I focus on a singular aspect that gives me joy in this memoir, but the love my wife and I share is grounded in something much deeper.  As much as I like her posh and sleek she is also cute in a T-shirt and jeans when she gets down and dirty with me doing yard work and home improvement projects.  She is absolutely my best friend, and I would argue that an ideal lover should be.

The majority of life is spent dealing with mundane, difficult, unpleasant business that demands your attention.  You must be able to work together with your partner to get through it and you must be able to compromise.  You must be able to accept and help each other at your best and your worst.  

Furthermore, fantasy is just that; fantasy.  If both partners play along it adds a fun spark of excitement to a relationship, but it cannot be the foundation.  I was conscious that my perception of my wife while she was dressed in leather did not correspond to her own thoughts or feelings.  As much as she satisfied my fetish, she did not really comprehend it, nor did I expect her to.  I was very careful to let her know that I was attracted to her first and foremost; not just her outfit.  I have thanked her repeatedly through the years for bringing so many of my dreams to life.

We spent our honeymoon in Italy and I was excited at the prospect of buying her a leather coat in Florence, a city world famous for crafting fine leather garments.  We looked through several leather shops, strolled through the San Lorenzo leather market, and learned interesting things like well-tanned leather does not readily burn in the flame of a cigarette lighter.  I convinced her to try on some opulent leather coats in the Trench shop on Via dei Calzaiuoli, but ultimately she refused to let me buy her a coat in Florence.  She already had at least six leather coats hanging in the closet and she argued that we did not need to spend the money on another one.  She was being sensible of course, but I was still a bit disappointed.

We returned home newlyweds and immediately discovered that she was pregnant.  Luckily, her mode of outerwear did not change, partly because she did not gain much weight, and partly because I had inadvertently accounted for it.  When I bought the Belle Epoque for her originally I bought a size small.  Upon receiving the coat, I realized it would actually be too big for her and I quickly ordered a size petite.  It was the petite coat I gave to her and it fit her well.  I kept the size small coat, though, just in case she ever gained weight and still wanted to wear a leather coat.  She was actually able to wear the petite coat months into her pregnancy.  Once her baby bump began to show I introduced the larger leather coat to her, which she was quite humored with.  We called it the “stunt coat” and she buttoned it comfortably over her fashionable maternity clothes all winter and spring until the weather warmed up.

She delivered a healthy baby boy in the summer of 2008 and I became a proud father.  I was already accustomed to being stepfather.  Now I was starting the adventure of parenthood from the very beginning with a child of my own and an experienced mother as my partner.  

She swiftly returned to her pre-pregnancy self and her wardrobe remained fairly consistent.  She still buttoned up in lustrous silk blouses and crisp white shirts, popping her collar stylishly.  Long skirts, designer dresses, pearl necklaces, and high heels were typical for her, even as a busy, working mom constantly on the go.  I considered myself to be extremely blessed to have a wife who did not chop off her hair and settle into sweatpants and sneakers as her daily attire.  

I punctuate this sentiment by admitting that I am nowhere near as stylish as she is.  I have always been overly comfortable in a sweater and jeans.  She likes it when I wear a shirt and tie and she has tried to dress me up more often to no avail.  As hopelessly casual as I am she continues to take much pride in her appearance, and I am happy to support her in that endeavor.  

JCPenney catalog 1999

She still donned her leather coat regularly to go to work, but less frequently with each year that passed.  I could not disagree that a more practical wool coat kept her far warmer in the winter.  I was also aware that long leather coats were declining in fashion.  I think 1999 was the last year the JCPenney catalog offered a full-length leather coat for women, and Spiegel may have offered one as late as 2005.  Certain mail-order catalogs like Chadwicks of Boston continued to offer full length leather coats a couple years longer, but they were advertising to an older clientele of women than my wife belonged to.  

It was sometime in 2008 when she first voiced reluctance to wear leather.  Granted, I elicited this response when I asked her to put her leather coat on just to model.  She dragged the coat by the collar behind her, buttons scraping over the hardwood floor of the foyer, to the mirror where she slipped it on.  As she begrudgingly posed for some pictures she informed me that long leather coats were really not in style anymore.  She further explained that wearing her leather skirt, or boots, or even her leather gloves along with her leather coat, as she had done so often previously, was really “too much”.

My heart sank to hear her say this, although I was not entirely surprised.  My wife is a fashionista who keeps up with modern trends far better than I do.  She was probably quoting fashion advice she read in Vogue or Glamour magazine.  I also suspect that comments from her coworkers about her leather outfits made her self conscious, even if they were mostly flattering.  

It was about this same time that I happened to read an article in a local periodical that warned women to “avoid head-to-toe leather”.  Similar postings began appearing on internet blogs as well.  Women could no longer layer on leather apparel with the carefree aplomb of the 1990s.  The leather coat had reached its fullest length and was now beginning to recede.  

One could argue that this was just the predictable ebb and flow of fashion.  Leather coats had enjoyed tremendous popularity for almost twenty years.  However, I have contended that pop culture associations were also partly responsible for their decline.

Shiny black maxi coats became synonymous with film characters such as Trinity in The Matrix, who, incidentally, swirled through the air in latex, not leather.  Beautiful Kate Beckinsale slew vampires and werewolves in a black leather coat in Underworld.  Iconic images like these caused leather coats to explode on the market more than ever between 2000 and 2003, but it was the grand finale.  Long leather coats virtually turned into costume pieces in the eyes of many, and women increasingly struggled to wear them as “normal” pieces of clothing.  Young ladies were no longer certain if making a dramatic entrance in a leather maxi coat was sleek and sexy, or overdone and campy.

Thankfully, my wife was self-possessed enough about the way she dressed that she did not abruptly abandon leather.  She continued to rock her leather coat, blazer, skirt, and boots often enough; but never together anymore.  During the fall of 2009 she sported a knee-length lambskin coat from Danier with a big notched collar and lots of buttons on the cuffs, belt-loops, and pockets.  She did, however, seem to develop an aversion to the several pairs of leather gloves she owned, only resorting to a pair of insulated black lambskin mittens when she had to drive in really cold weather.  

The Belle Epoque saw its climax that November.  My wife flourished it as elegantly as any model ever did in a white shirt, a black cardigan, tan riding pants, and tall, nylon boots.  I expressed my overflowing approval to her that afternoon, but sadly it would be years before she put that coat on again.  

Poof!  She's gone!

There were a couple reasons for this change; the most preeminent being the discovery that she was pregnant later that month.  

Coincidentally, Wilson’s advertised a fifty inch, belted maxi coat that I hoped might be warm and practical enough for her.  I ordered it and was pleasantly surprised with the buttery, ultra-smooth lambskin it was made of.  It was single-breasted with five large buttons down the front, a broad notched collar, and three buttons on each cuff.  It was lined in liquid crimson satin.  Of note, this was literally the last maxi length leather coat Wilson’s offered to date and I must say it was quite lovely.  I gave this new coat to my wife for Christmas in 2009.  She could not deny how luxurious it was and she wore it while she could for a month or two.

She gave birth to our adorable baby girl in the summer of 2010 and life suddenly became busier than before.  We now had five children altogether.  Like most good women, she embraced the role of mother first and foremost.  I tried to be as supportive to her as possible and I failed occasionally as all men do.  Likewise, I would be lying if I said I was not frustrated sometimes that we rarely got to do things simply as husband and wife anymore, but I also understood that we were progressing through the natural course of being married with children.  

We were both developing professionally as well.  My job was relatively steady and well-defined, but I grew in experience and seniority.  My wife shrewdly changed jobs a couple times through the years.  Her talent and hard work were recognized, and she began to climb the corporate ladder.  She matured into a successful career woman in addition to being a devoted mother and a caring wife.  

As I have proudly said many times; my wife is the total package.  She is the real deal.

My view while she shopped

The Wilson’s maxi became her preferred leather coat through the fall of 2010 and winter of 2011.  She wore it to work and to run errands.  She really stood out at a high school football game one night when she accessorized her leather coat with a faux fur neck wrap.  She tended to hook her purse on her elbow while she shopped, and I enjoyed listening to the leather strap squeaking loudly against her leather coat sleeve as she moved her arm.  

She had some misadventures in this leather coat as well.  Her heel caught in the flowing, ankle-length hem while she was getting into her car one winter’s day and she toppled over backwards into a snowbank!  Her pumps flew off of her feet from the force of the jolt, and apparently she had difficulty getting up because her smooth lambskin coat was so slippery she could not get hold of anything.  I assured her that, had I been there, I would have gallantly helped her up... after I stopped laughing.

She closed the car door on her long coat tail and drove to work with it flapping outside more often than we will ever know.  

One day as she extended a leg to stand from her car seat her coat snagged somehow and she popped the fifth button completely off!  No threads broke.  Demonstrating just how soft the lambskin of this coat truly was; the button tab itself pulled through the placket like a hot knife through butter and ripped a one inch gash in the leather on the front.  

She was ready to proclaim the coat ruined, but I was determined to salvage the garment that was otherwise in fine condition.  I have some skill in basic leather-working.  Much to my wife’s amazement, I reinserted the button tab, glued the torn edge of the leather down, and reinforced it all with stitching.  The damage was near-imperceptible once I was done repairing it and the button has held in place to this very day.

Her leather coat was ready to wear again, but I was struggling against the inevitable.  

The autumn season had forever been my favorite time of year because of the anticipation of women buttoning up leather coats to ward off the crisp, cool air.  Fall was the best “leather weather”, as I called it, for all of my young adult life.  My wife reinforced my excitement in this regard for several years, as I have recounted.  But, not so much anymore.

She increasingly turned away from her leather coat for a variety of reasons.  The full length was too outdated or too cumbersome for her to function in now.  It was persistently too warm or too cold to wear leather; the ideal climate being some ill-defined, nigh legendary condition I could no longer predict by the weather alone.  She complained that a satin-lined leather coat generated too much static electricity which, in turn, made her meticulously-styled hair go frizzy.  

I hung her leather coat on the foyer closet door, keeping it clean and polished of dirt or smudges, hoping that the power of suggestion would entice her to wear it; but mostly to no avail.  She now preferred a short wool peacoat and puffy, quilted jackets.  She baffled me most by charging out to her car defiantly on cold mornings with no coat on at all!   

She always dressed well, but her style changed according to the modern trends.  Business dress code became more casual.  Her collared satin blouses vanished, and she decreed that classic button-up white shirts were just “too plain” or too much hassle to keep ironed.  A skirt suit over a silk shell was now her preferred office wear, alternating with pullover sweaters piled with bulky scarves.  At home we both lived in jeans and fleece while constantly on the go as parents changing diapers and toting baby carriers.   

When the mail-order women’s clothing retailer Newport News sent out their “Leather Look Book” in the fall of 2010 my wife tossed it onto my desk with the remark, “Here.  This is addressed to me, but I think it came for you.”

The decline of the long leather coat

Inside that thin flier was the actively shriveling remains of leather fashion.  The only actual coat was knee length and rendered impractical with frilly elbow-length sleeves.  Blazers still existed, but skirts and pants of real leather were no longer offered.  Tiny, cut off, asymmetrically zippered jackets that barely qualified as outerwear had taken over and still predominate leather fashion today.

By 2012 my wife suffered her leather coat only as a gift to me on holidays, or if absolutely no other jacket went with her outfit.  She wore her leather coat a total of three times in 2013, and only begrudgingly then because I asked her to on special occasions.  She no longer cooperated very well having her photograph taken, although I was desperate to capture these fleeting glimpses of how wonderful she looked for posterity.  

She made the concession of wearing a cropped, zipper-front jacket of black faux-leather; the updated sort I mentioned above with panels of stretch-knit on the sides.  It was a sweet gesture on her part and she looked great in it, as usual.  But, that artificial little jacket could never come close to replacing her full-length, genuine leather coat for me.

I became downright despondent about her abandoning leather, although I tried not show it.  I realized that my wife had flaunted a long leather coat far longer and better than any other woman I knew, and mostly for my sake those last couple years.  But, man, did I miss it!  No amount of joking or delicate prodding from me could induce her to slip it on any more often than she did.  If I teased her about wearing some leather she taunted me back in a dulcet tone.

“No.”

The last of the long leather coats.
From Metrostyle 2010

Granted, I did not hound her about it.  I rarely brought it up.  But, every chilly day she went out the door not wearing her leather coat panged me with wistful yearning for all the times she did so with such carefree elegance.  

My withdrawal from leather coats, if you will, was compounded by their virtual disappearance from society as a whole.  To spot a woman in a long leather coat on a city sidewalk was damn near miraculous now.  The internet went almost completely devoid of retailers offering leather coats except for a few isolated shops in England, France, and Germany.  Old standbys like Danier and Wilson’s scrambled to survive by marketing more outerwear made of polyester and wool than leather.

Those thick paper catalogs from JCPenney that I loved so much as a kid went extinct.  Even if they were still in print there were no models in leather coats to grace the pages anymore.  The magic of holiday newspaper ads was dead for me, and I pitched my wife’s mail-order catalogs and fashion magazines into the trash without a single glance.  

The Belle Epoque had passed into a bygone age.

I had actively posted pictures, stories, and links about ladies in leather coats on the original blog page called Leather Coat Daydreams since 2008.  In January 2013 I deleted the contents of this blog.  There was essentially nothing new to share and my inspiration was obviously lacking.  Likewise, I deleted my other blog devoted to the character Agnes Charnock called Lady Out of Time.  Both sites seemed dormant, and I felt like I was waving the banner for a cause with no supporters.  Ironically, my resignation post on Leather Coat Daydreams prompted many responses from previously silent members.  There was a fan base out there after all, but the flurry of activity was too little too late and I let the site expire.

I was not alone in my apathy.  Other websites dedicated to women’s leather fashion also passed into oblivion as well, but not all of them.  Some fans of leather simply rolled with the times and continued to showcase the shiny pleather stretch pants and short jackets worn by young starlets.  Others posted and reposted the same old pictures of women in leather that had been circulating on the internet for the past fifteen years.  

Some might argue that leather fashion is still prevalent, but I do not see it.  Perhaps I am close-minded and my fetish is too specific.  Clothing designers like Valentino offer one or two long black leather coats per year on the fall-winter runway, but they are far too haute couture to take hold in mainstream fashion.  

I am well aware that it is pointless to dwell on the past, but I often find myself fervently wishing that women still dressed the way they did in 1999.  I have read that many adults do not like modern music because their taste is firmly set, according to studies, by about age thirty-five.  I could apply this same theory to my taste in ladies’ fashion.  Women’s clothing was at its sexy best in my opinion when I was in my twenties and early thirties.  I turned thirty-five in 2008 and it has went downhill for me ever since.

People say that everything comes back into style eventually.  This is a happy sentiment, and I sincerely hope it comes true for leather coats, but I remain skeptical.  I worry that the cultural shift toward synthetic, more “humane”, “eco-friendly” alternatives to real cowhide and lambskin may curb any significant revival in leather fashion, except, perhaps, a trend for vintage garments.  

Of course, I could be completely wrong.  Maybe long, sleek black leather coats will make a triumphant comeback in 2019 just like they did in 1989.  We can only dream.

Meanwhile, life went on in my busy household.  Our kids grew out of diapers and bottles, and we were constantly busy with school functions, sports, and family events.  My office successfully merged with a larger corporation and my wife continued to advance in her career.  

She and I ascribe to the same values and are frequently “on the same wavelength”.  We generally agree on major decisions and we don’t bicker about petty things.  We are openly affectionate to each other; something I think is a good example to our kids.  We are well matched in our strengths and weaknesses.  I am a passive romantic, constantly seeking a free moment to pursue my hobbies.  I am more materialistic than she is; as evidenced by this lengthy dialogue about a particular garment.  She is a classy, take-charge Alpha female, both at home and at work.  I have always believed that smart is sexy, and she is smart; smarter than me in many ways.  I don’t mind admitting it, nor am I intimidated by it.  

Many sleep-deprived nights with crying babies and long hours at the office aged me some, but exerted little effect on my wife.  She possesses just the right amount of healthy vanity to maintain her youthful beauty as long as she can.  She persevered through a self-imposed personal fitness program for several months that chiseled her body into toned, shapely perfection.  Several people compared her to Amal Clooney and I joked that I could not fault George’s taste in women.

Date nights were still few and far in-between and required finding a babysitter for us to escape for even just a few hours.  Grandma and Grandpa usually volunteered for the job, but we did not want to take advantage of their generosity too often.  I never missed the chance to take my wife out to a swanky restaurant for our anniversary or for Valentine's Day.  Starting in 2011 my wife and her coworkers decided to meet for dinner and drinks as a couple’s date downtown during the Christmas season.  Her friends were married with kids just like us.  We stayed out late and enjoyed a rare night as adults away from the children.  We had so much fun we did it again in 2012.

   

Conflicting schedules prevented us from going out on this couple’s date in December 2013.  My wife and her friends rescheduled it to a Saturday night in February 2014 so that there was something to look forward to during the cold, mid-winter gloom.  

She would never admit it, but I knew that my wife was anxious for an opportunity to show off her fabulous figure after sweating through those months of intense aerobics.  Her outfit that evening proved it.  She squeezed into a form-fitting, sapphire blue crop top; cut out to reveal a tasteful glimpse of her spectacular cleavage, and just short enough to expose a peek of her washboard abs.  A black pencil skirt clung to her curvaceous thighs, and five-inch, silver stiletto heels boosted her to the statuesque height of a model.  She teased her long, dark brown hair into voluminous wavy curls, applied black mascara to her long lashes, painted her full lips the same color red as her manicured nails.  

Then she had to decide on what coat to wear.  It was below freezing outside and snow had laid on the ground for weeks.

Three months earlier she complained vehemently about wearing her Wilson’s maxi coat to a charity gala, although the long leather coat was the obvious choice to cover her black dress.  Happily, her hair survived the peril of static electricity unscathed.  

She had actually started wearing her fingertip-length, black lambskin jacket from Lakeland again that winter.  She looked great buttoned up snug in it, but it was too short for her outfit that February evening.  On a side note, this same three-quarter length jacket was stolen from the coat rack of a salon while my wife was getting her hair styled a month later!  We will never know who took it, but I suspect that some young lady could not resist the temptation of the expensive leather jacket that she could not afford to buy on her own.

Anyhow, after a few minutes of deliberation with a variety of jackets in front of the foyer mirror that February evening my wife ultimately chose her original leather coat; the Belle Epoque!  She buttoned the supple, fitted lambskin about her svelte figure and gleamed as resplendently as a goddess before my bedazzled eyes!  She looked better in it than ever!

After dropping the kids off at the grandparent’s house we drove into the city and met six other couples at a nightclub restaurant.  My wife sat at the head of the group table for dinner.  She was the team leader at the office and it seemed to me that she was the toast of the party as well.    

After dinner we congregated beside the bar.  The club was not as crowded as usual for some reason, but that hardly discouraged us.  The ladies took turns selecting mixed drinks to try, frolicked with each other, and burned off some energy on the open dance floor.  The other guys and I mostly hung out, drank beer, and made small talk.  We were acquaintances from different walks of life with little in common aside from being husbands and fathers.  But, I didn’t mind just relaxing while my wonderful wife enjoyed herself.

It was her night.

She laughed vivaciously with her friends.  She raised her arms to sway with the music, flashing her lithe, bare midriff below her crop top.  I wrapped a hand around her curvaceous hips and she leaned on my shoulder as we chatted with the others.  I got her drinks at the bar and she thanked me with a smooch.  Her glittering eyes assured me that she was having a blast.  

A lady easing past her in the aisle from behind remarked, “Wow!  You are hot!”

My wife did not hear the woman’s complement amid the music and loud voices, nor did she need to.  She knew she was hot that night.  She was easily the hottest woman in the club.  When it was time to leave she strutted past everyone at the bar, clinging to my arm; her long, buttoned, black, leather coat swishing about her in a sleek silhouette and her high heels clicking.  And I was bursting proud to be the lucky guy leaving with her.    

It was about 1:00 AM.  We both had consumed enough alcohol to have the munchies.  We stopped at a McDonald’s drive-through to get some food and her leather coat crackled on her as she shivered in the passenger seat beside me.  Inside the hotel room we devoured a burger and fries.  She snuggled against me on the couch for warmth, still buttoned in her creaking leather coat, giggling girlishly about the time we had that evening.  We had been married for seven years, but the magical feeling from when we were first dating was still there.

Once we finished eating I caught her up in a tight embrace, kissing her voraciously, my hands caressing the supple, heavenly softness of her lambskin-encased bosom and groping at her smooth backside while she struggled to peel out of her coat.  She separated herself from me at last and we hurriedly undressed.

A goddess met me in bed that night.  Her voluptuous, alabaster figure seemed to glow as she lured me into the sheets with parted lips and sultry eyes.  Her thick hair spilled in a dark, silken cascade over her pillow.  Surely this woman was the sorceress of my boyhood fantasy.  She was more beautiful, more desirable, than the day she first appeared to me a decade before.  She was the lady inside the leather coat I always dreamed of.  I loved her to the very core of my manhood, and I always will.

***

And that brings me back to the beginning of this memoir, where my wife and I were having breakfast in a Bob Evans Restaurant the following morning.  Somehow, neither one of us woke up with any hangover to speak of despite the amount of alcohol we consumed.  The previous night’s events were fondly remembered, and for my part, will probably never be forgotten.   

We finished breakfast and she actually pulled on the pair of black lambskin gloves I had stashed in her coat pocket as we drove home, squeezing my right hand with her leather fingers as I stroked her thigh.  To this day she has no idea how much she fueled my soul that night.  I mused over many of the experiences detailed in this narrative during the hour-long journey, reassured that the Belle Epoque was not completely forsaken.  

We picked up our beloved children and thanked the grandparents for the eighteen hours of freedom they provided us.  Upon arriving at home again my wife predictably pulled off her gloves, unbuttoned her leather coat, and hung it back in the foyer closet.  

My goddess reverted back to Mommy.  

Daily life picked up where it left off the night before.  I had no clue if or when she might appear in her leather coat again, but I did not despair over it as much as before.  

As it turned out, she did wear it again.  She wrapped up in the Belle Epoque for a formal gala the following November.  It was the only coat long enough to enclose her ankle-length, sparkling black evening gown and she looked stunning, as usual.  A month later she might have been mistaken for a Bond girl buttoned and belted in her Wilson’s leather maxi coat for a Christmas party held at a prestigious country club.  She attracted admiring glances from men and women alike as we entered the main room.  Ladies twenty years younger paled in comparison to her resplendent radiance.  

She wore the same coat to this event again in December 2015.  As we prepared to leave one of the chief administrators of my corporation took our tickets at the coat check.  He simply handed my leather jacket to me, but courteously held my wife’s satin-lined coat open for her to slide her arms into.

“You arrived in a long, black leather coat, madam, and now it is transformed into a luxurious mink coat!” he teased her jovially.  

We chuckled along with his jest as we bid him goodnight, but in my opinion her lambskin coat was luxurious enough already.

We waited on the landing outside of the country club entrance for the valet to bring our car to us.  I descended the stairs to get a better view of the driveway, and as I glanced back at my wife I beheld a vision that imprinted itself in my brain.  She stood there with a placid expression on her pretty face, gazing out into the darkness with her gloved hands in her coat pockets.  A spotlight above struck golden highlights in her hair.  Pearls glimmered at her throat, buttons glistened down the front of her, and leather gleamed on her in elegant splendor from head to toe as if she posed for a portrait.  I instantly lamented that I did not have a camera at the ready to capture her candid magnificence.

She was just being herself and she embodied the poised, sophisticated, gorgeous lady I had idolized since I was eight years old.  I spent most of my young life convinced that such a woman was completely out of my league, and yet, there she was smiling back at me now; my wife.

She wore her Wilson’s maxi coat more than usual throughout the rest of December.  Near the end of the month she asked if I noticed.  I did, of course, and I expressed my gratitude and encouraged her to do so more often.  

She could not dress more beautifully to me

It has become our tradition to go out with another couple on New Year’s Eve.  This past year we booked rooms in a high-rise downtown hotel that hosted an all-inclusive party with food, drinks, and live music.  Hundreds of people attended and the evening promised to be a good time.

My wife buttoned her long leather coat over a crimson dress that night.  Our friends rode with us to the hotel.  A receptionist greeted us with a glass of champagne as we checked in.  Taking the elevators, we split up from the other couple to drop our luggage off in our rooms.  

I brushed my hand along my wife’s sleek lambskin back as she swooshed down the hallway beside me in her red stiletto heels.  There was nobody else in the world I would rather be with than her.  In the privacy of our room we kissed deeply as I wrapped my arms around her, pressing her supple, creaking, leather-coated curves against me for a precious few moments.  Then she slipped out of that magical garment, shedding it in a pool of liquid red satin that spilled down the side of the bed to the floor.  

She fluffed her hair in the mirror and plucked any wrinkles due to static cling out of her dress.  Then I took her hand and we joined with our friends again in the lobby downstairs.  The party that night was arguably the best New Year’s Eve celebration I have ever been to.  The food was delicious, drinks flowed in abundance, the bands rocked, and the company was great.

At midnight I welcomed 2016 with this beautiful woman who gave me hope that, perhaps, the Belle Epoque may flourish again.

Following my muse into the future

***

And thus I conclude this rambling exposition.  It is the backstory to why I revived the Leather Coat Daydreams blog in March of 2016. My intention is to give sincere insight into what it means to have a leather fetish from one man’s perspective.  I feel fortunate that I was an adult during the era of leather’s greatest popularity since the 1970s.  And obviously I consider myself blessed beyond measure to be with a woman who has worn leather with such aplomb while I have known her.  Old fans of women’s leather fashion can probably relate to many of the tantalizing observations and pleasant experiences I have recounted here.  If you have a woman in your life who still buttons up in a long leather coat: long may she continue to do so.  If this posting reaches any young readers who have only recently discovered an affinity for women in leather, I hope it has provided some appreciation of a time, not so long ago as it seems, when sophisticated ladies shined in head-to-toe leather everyday.  And if you are someone anxiously waiting for ladies leather coats to come back in style, I am right there with you.