Having Friends Over

"You don't think she's doing that on purpose?" my wife said, half-laughing but there was also some annoyance in her voice.

"It could be," I said. "But I don't think she even knows when it happens."

"Of course she knows." Evangeline's face expressed pure skepticism.

I shrugged. "I don't ask her to do it."

"Seems like the only time she ever has to bend over and just about let her boobs fall out of her shirt is when she's in front of you."

I shrugged again. "I'm just lucky, I guess," I said.

Laser eyes. But a laugh. "You better not be getting lucky, buster," she chided.

"I'm not doing anything. I don't know why that keeps happening, but what am I supposed to do -- not look?"

"She's a tease," Evangeline said. "At least with you, anyway."

"I'm sure she's not flirting with me. She's your friend, seems like she barely tolerates me."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Evangeline said, with that tone of knowing more than she's saying. "She says nice things about you when we're talking."

"And you have never teased Carla's husband, have you?"

She looked shocked. "Absolutely not." Pause. "Never on purpose."

"So, accidentally?"

"I don't know," she said. "I couldn't help it if that happened sometimes."

"You two are something else," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I didn't do anything," my wife said.

"If you think she's flashing me on purpose, why don't you ask her?" I said.

"I don't want to confront her," Evangeline said. "It's nothing. I guess it doesn't hurt anything."

"Well, like they say, 'if you got it, flaunt it.'"

"That's bullshit," Evangeline said. "I got it and I don't flaunt it."

"Never?"

"Of course not" A pause. "At least never on purpose."

She gave me a smile and I figured the topic was closed.

I might have fallen in love with Evangeline for her tits, to tell you the truth. When we first dated she always dressed conservatively so I was actually kind of shocked when I got her out of her clothes, man oh man, so much more than I had imagined. I love to get my face in there, chewing on them, poking myself in the eyes with her nipples, sucking them -- a few times she has had orgasms from that kind of stimulation, not often but it has happened. Oh, and fucking her tits, that's died-and-gone-to-heaven stuff. And she enjoys it too, she has always appreciated how I appreciate her body, and I appreciate it even more when those amazing breasts are splattered with puddles of my fresh semen.

The pandemic hit, and during the lockdown, like everybody else, neither of us gave much of a thought to what we wore; there was nobody there to see us and it didn't matter. Starting early in the pandemic, Evangeline stopped wearing a bra unless she was going somewhere, which was almost never. Her friends and, I think, most women found it was a relief to go without the straightjacket, since we were all social distancing anyway. You remember, during lockdown clothing sales dropped off except for stuff like sweat pants and tank tops. She found that my old wife-beater undershirts were nice and comfortable, even though they were kind of tight around the chest. Some of those old shirts should have been thrown away years ago, but she dug them out of my drawer and they became her normal uniform around the house, usually with shorts, sometimes sweat pants. She was comfortable, that's what mattered.

As people began to tentatively come out of hiding, sweat pants were just a little too funky, yoga pants seemed to have moved up to street clothes, and the sweat pants went back into the drawer, but since people didn't really "go out" like before, comfort continued to dominate propriety in clothing choices. So when her friends came to visit Evangeline, or vice versa, they were usually dressed in some version of the same outfit, tank top or, in her case, an old undershirt, and yoga pants or shorts, or sometimes one of them would be wearing what they call a "cute top," usually a colorful scrap of nothin' held on with spaghetti straps, if that; they would see these things on the Internet and order them, I guess it was a compromise between comfortable and feminine even if nobody was ever going to see it. Husbands hovering around in the background didn't matter, you didn't have to dress for them, your own or your friend's. I was "just Doc" and Carla's husband was "just Ray," when Evangeline visited their house. We were harmless, bordering on invisible. Which, you know, it was fine with me; I didn't mind her friends jiggling around the house braless in some tiny thing. I know this will surprise you, but I actually didn't even mind that her friend Carla accidentally gave me a view of her big, firm tits, just about every time I walked past her. Ray and I were pretty good friends and, call it men's intuition, I was pretty sure he also didn't mind when my wife would drop by in her casual outfits, even if she didn't go out of her way to tempt him. Or even if she did -- I wouldn't know, just like I was sure he didn't know how his wife teased me.

I worked from home, starting with the pandemic. Sometimes I'd have to put on a shirt and maybe even a tie for a Zoom meeting, but basically I don't think I'd worn a pair of underwear since March 2000, when they sent us home. I'd get up in the morning, shower, pull on a pair of cotton gym shorts, maybe a t-shirt or undershirt, slippers, and I was ready for the day. If I had to go somewhere I'd swap the shorts for some jeans or something. And half the time, unless we were going somewhere nice, I went out in my slippers. Who would know, and who would give a fuck?

When the pandemic slowed down and the vaccine started working, some people went back to the office but I didn't want to and I didn't have to. I spent most weekdays in my home office, down the hall from the kitchen, and when Carla would come visiting, which was four or five times a week, I would hide out, working or pretending to work while the girls chitchatted. But the coffee maker was in the kitchen, and civility being what it was, I would have to come out once or twice and pretend to be sociable. They would be sitting at the kitchen table, and it was not unusual for Carla to drop something, or need to pick up her purse for something, when I was in the room. I didn't say anything but also didn't pretend not to notice her deep cleavage and fine, ripe melons.

It was the week before Memorial Day, and as usual the Berbers -- Ray and Carla -- were coming over on Saturday for grilling and beer. This was going to be the first warm weekend of the year and the pool was still too cold to swim in, but I had horseshoes set up in the back yard; if we got bored we could toss some shoes but most years we forgot to do that. Ray was a good dude, and we would end up getting into some subject and chatting away the whole day while the girls were sitting in deck chairs yacking about their own stuff. We were stocked up on beer and meat, buns, it was another year, another chance to visit with good friends.

As you may have figured out, these were not people Evangeline and I dressed up for, and vice versa. If shorts and a tank top were good enough for the two of us in the house alone, or when Evangeline's friends dropped by, they were good enough for Evangeline's friend and her husband, who was my friend. Even so, I had to do a double-take when Evangeline came downstairs looking for her hairbrush or something, before our guests arrived. She was wearing a pair of light-blue shorts, sort of faded and old-looking, and very short. I mean, just covering her butt-cheeks short. I realized these were her regular shorts that she wore every day, but I had never actually noticed how they looked on her. And that was the least of it. She was wearing an old undershirt that was once mine, stretchy ribbed cotton, worn tissue-thin by years of wear and washing. It had a V neck, fairly loose at the top with quite a bit of cleavage showing, and when it came to her boobs it stretched like the peel on a grapefruit, clinging to the roundness of her breasts, nearly transparent and perked out at the nipples, tucked up tight underneath, and then snug around her firm tummy. It was basically like skin.

"Wow," I said. "Is that what you're wearing?"

She was distracted but looked up and said, "Yeah, I guess," and continued her search for whatever it was. I watched her bending and reaching and my shorts began to stand up. Evangeline turned around and glanced at me and laughed. "You like this, I take it."

"Well, yeah, of course."

"This is what I wear every day of the week, something like this."

"I guess I never noticed," I said, embarrassed. "I really do have a fine-looking wife."

"Well maybe you ought to notice more," she said. "Like you notice Ray's wife."

I might have paused for a second. "I don't pay any attention to her," I said.

And with that she went upstairs with whatever-it-was in her hand to finish doing whatever she was doing up there. "I hope that thing in your shorts goes down before Ray and Carla get here," she hollered from the top of the stairs. I heard her laugh.

Now that she'd gotten me thinking about Ray's wife, this thing in my shorts did not go down immediately.

I took out the trash and we got the place ready and yes, the thing in my shorts went down on its own. Ray and Carla didn't bother to knock, they showed up at three as planned and walked in. Ray's eyes lit up when he saw Evangeline, and she ran over to give him a kiss on the cheek and grab his hand. She gave Carla a little half-hug and led Ray into the house while Carla came over to kiss me on the cheek and pat my ass while nobody was looking. Was that new? I couldn't remember her doing that, but maybe I just hadn't noticed.

Like me, Ray was in gym shorts. He wore a t-shirt and sandals. Carla was stunning. Sunglasses, a barrette, and a little tummy-baring "cute top," I don't know what they're called but it was a couple of strands of twine holding up a scrap of fabric that clung to her boobs and plunged between them. Also, cut-off shorts. Cut off short. With long, tan legs and lots of skin showing everywhere. Did she always look like this? I thought about it, and yes, she did, this was completely typical for both the women.

Glancing at my wife and Ray in the kitchen I could see that Ray's shorts were doing a poor job of hiding his feelings, as were mine. We were a couple of doofuses with hard-ons and sexy wives, including the ones that were not our own. For some reason, to my mind this seemed like a beautiful, happy thing, sexy wives. Ray and Evangeline came back in a minute with Modelos for all of us.

"Where can I set my purse?" Carla asked, as if she didn't know, and she stretched out over the back of the couch to set it there, baring nearly all of both breasts to me as she leaned. She caught me looking and gave me a big happy smile as she straightened up. I glanced at my wife, who I'm sure had noticed but now was looking at Ray and ignoring my situation.

"Shall we go out back?" Evangeline suggested. "You boys can get that grill warmed up and Carla and I can catch up." As if there would be anything to catch up on since yesterday. But still, they always did find something to talk about.

It was a beautiful warm day, and Ray and I must have lugged ten pounds of meat out. I started the gas grill at the edge of the grass and we stood over it talking while the women occupied the chairs in the shade near the house.

"Man," I said to Ray. "I was just thinking, we have a couple of beautiful wives." We high-fived each other.

"I can't believe my luck," he said. "And you, I mean, look at Evangeline. She gets better every year."

"She seemed like she was looking forward to seeing you today," I said, somewhat mischievously.

"Me?" Ray looked over at her. "I, uh, I guess that's nice."

"Well we haven't seen much of you lately."

"Yeah, I guess. I've been working a lot, I probably haven't been a good friend. Or a good husband, for that matter. As you know, married life can be a little boring. But I'm glad they have each other to talk to."

Ray had bought a new electric guitar, and wanted to tell me about it. It was an inexpensive one, a Square I think he said, but he was quite excited about it. "I played in high school," he said, "We even had a band. We weren't very good, but it's coming back to me."

"That's cool," I said. "I never could learn to play." I had a kinda-nice little waterproof outdoor sound system, with speakers on the deck and around the pool and in the pool-house, and while he told me about his new guitar I scrolled to a playlist that was upbeat but not wild or anything. Nice background music for a vacation weekend. It seemed to make the atmosphere friendlier, playing in the background, now and then we'd stop and listen to something but mostly it just worked with the beer and the great smell of food grilling to create a convivial and carefree ambience.

The girls got the buns and condiments, plates, more beer, and set it up on the picnic table. Ray and I brought over hamburgers, hot dogs, some chicken, and sausage from the grill, and we all sat around the table. There was an interesting moment when Ray asked for the ketchup and Evangeline brought it to him. She stood beside his chair, her irresistible breasts trembling just inches from his face, while he took the ketchup and spread it on his burger. I almost laughed out loud when he looked up from his task and had that oh-shit moment when those beautiful tits were right there, almost bopping him in the nose. That top did nothing to conceal anything. Her nipples were hard now, the areolas showing through the fabric, luscious heavy fruits hanging right there in front of his face. He quickly recovered from the shock and looked around the table at the rest of us. I glanced away and I don't think Carla had noticed, or at least she acted like she had not. I wondered if maybe both wives had been teasing us all along, but that I only noticed when it happened to me.

Speaking of his wife Carla, she was sitting to my right and as we ate it seemed that her chair kept moving closer to mine. She would chat with me between bites, looking into my eyes, touching her hand to my forearm to emphasize a point. Also leaning in such a way that her cleavage leaped out at my hungry eyeballs. She turned in her seat at one point and rested her feet comfortably on the rungs at the bottom of my chair, her extremely short shorts riding up in an extremely noticeable way, a tantalizing fraction of an inch of fabric stretched tight as a fiddle-string between her legs.

Across the table, I saw that my wife seemed to be fascinated by a story Ray was telling about his younger days in the band. She had turned in her seat with her chin resting on her palm and her tits literally resting on his arm, as if she didn't notice.

"Honey, could you grab us another round of beers?" Carla called to her husband. "I'm empty and I bet everybody else is, too." He nodded and stood reluctantly, and I could see why. In fact all three of us were more or less staring at the quivering pipe stretching out the front of his shorts as he stood. Like mine, they were light cotton running shorts, and not made to contain the explosive pressure of a raging erection -- I wasn't wearing underwear and it looked like he wasn't, either. I laughed inwardly and turned back to my food but both the women's eyes followed him as he trekked to the ice chest and back. I was just glad I wasn't the one who had to stand up.

Thinking back, maybe that moment set the stage, or at least changed the tone for the evening. The sensuality of the two wives had had us simmering, and this was the moment, I think, when it started to boil over. A few minutes after Ray had passed around the beers, Carla was talking to me about something that had happened in traffic yesterday and, as she gestured to indicate a sudden turn, her hand bumped against the Washington monument standing up in my lap. She stopped talking for a tenth of a second and looked into my eyes and then moved on as if nothing had happened. But nothing had not happened. She had me hard as a piece of pipe and I was not ashamed by it.

Just as the sun was about to set I got called on to bring the next round, and I could feel all eyes on me as I stood up and walked. My cock was bustin' at the seams, pushing the front of my shorts out. I probably had a damp spot but I didn't look. By this time, it seemed that a mist of eroticism had become an undeniable part of our evening. We gentlemen were wound up, and seemed to be settling into conversation pairs with each other's wives, who were stoking the fires skillfully. No one said anything. After all these years of socializing and partying together we had never anticipated such a turn of events, but, without speaking a word, everybody knew that everybody knew. None of us had an idea how to behave in such a situation, what you are supposed to say or do. Nobody wanted to pull back from the brink; there was a tacit feeling in the air that we all wanted to jump off the cliff together. It might not happen. But maybe it would. Usually in married life there is a routine or norm or something that pulls you back from leaping, but not always.

As the evening grew darker, Ray and my wife were exchanging stories about their high school days. He had his band to talk about, but Evangeline had some stories, too. She had been pretty popular, had some good friends, was active in school events. Carla and I were chatting when Evangeline called over to us. "Hey, you two, we're going to look at my high school yearbooks. Do you want to join us?"

Carla responded immediately. "I've seem them already, thanks," and I said, "Me too, thanks though. Have fun going through them." Evangeline was holding Ray's hand as they stood up, his cock like a horizontal telephone pole, and paraded into the dark house.

Carla and I continued our conversation but the emotion was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Over her shoulder I saw a light come on in the house, the living room, I figured. We sat and listened to the music for a minute. A soul ballad came on, a classic by the Softglows, and Carla said, "I love that song. Would you dance with me?"

We stood up and walked closer to the sound system. The night was dark, stars emerging, a few last calls from the neighborhood songbirds, as I opened my arms and Carla stepped into them. I pulled her close. She laughed knowingly as she cuddled against me, my rock-hard cock pressing against her body through the nothingness of my cotton shorts.

"It seems like you like me," she said.

"You are incredibly sexy," I said, and we swayed slowly to the music, our hips pressed together.

"So what are we going to do about it?" she finally asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I know what we should do, which is nothing. But we're grown-ups, and I don't think a little excitement in our lives would kill us."

"Yeah, I don't know either," she said. I bent my head down and kissed her while we danced.

The song ended and some rocker came on. "Let's go see what they're doing," she said.

I led her by the hand into the house. We went in through the kitchen door. The house was quiet, that same light was still on at the front of the house. We walked toward it without speaking. I think we knew what we were going to find.

When we got to the living room we stopped. There were our spouses, on the couch, three unopened yearbooks stacked beside them. My wife's shirt was pushed up around her neck, her big tits heaving as his hand squeezed them tenderly. His shorts were around his knees with her hand pumping his cock while they engaged in a heavy make-out session that left them unaware that they were being observed.

I realized at the moment that I could have felt betrayed and heartbroken, but actually the scene was fucking hot. The two of them were so wrapped up in the intensity of the moment that the external world had ceased to exist for them. I wanted to stand there and watch them, I especially loved watching my wife indulging the fire of her own passion. Carla stepped up behind me, her hard breasts pushing against my ribs as her arm came around my waist and we watched in awe.