After a week stuck at a business conference for work, I was ready to head home. I was tired of being surrounded by people I worked with and I desperately wanted to sleep in my own bed. Most of all though, I just missed my wife. Our relationship usually did pretty well when work called us away for extended periods of time but for some reason this time had been rough. Partially because she'd been having a tough week at her own work but also because for some strange reason, whenever the two of us were apart, our sex drives went wild. Maybe it had something to do with the old "absence makes the heart grow fonder" thing, who knows. Whatever it was, it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on anything work related.
With a day left before my flight home, I'd resigned myself to suffering in quiet, horny silence when a lucky break came my way. With the conference winding down and our goals accomplished our boss had given us all the go-ahead to change flights and head home early.
To say I was excited would have been an understatement. This little stroke of luck could not have come at a better time. After confirming my new flight I was about to tell Simone the good news when an idea popped into my head. After such a shitty week at work, what if I was able to surprise her by being home a day early? I knew it wouldn't make up for anything in the long run, but it might serve as a temporary bump in her mood. It wasn't everyday I got the chance to surprise her with something like this without lying my ass off.
The next several hours were spent desperately trying to contain my excitement. It took an enormous amount of willpower not to confess to Simone when she said how much she missed me.
As far as travel went, it was about as smooth as could be expected. To my relief, all my flights were on time with little to no hassle. Soon enough I was in my car pulling away from the airport on the road home.
The entire ride home I couldn't shake the feeling that somehow she already knew I would be home early. That I'd walk in and find her giving me a dirty look but smiling all the same. With that expectation firmly cementing itself, I found myself oddly disappointed when I opened the door to our house to find no one waiting for me. It wasn't until I called her name and got no response that I began to wonder if she'd gone out despite it being her day off. Checking the garage, I confirmed her car was indeed parked there before heading back inside to search for my wife.
After confirming she wasn't in any room on the main floor where her home office was located, I headed upstairs. Climbing the stairs I began to wonder if she might have left the house after all. Perhaps she'd had a friend pick her up? It was all I could come up with that would explain how she hadn't heard me tromping through our house during my search. A suspicion that was all but confirmed upon stepping into our bedroom.
It appeared she'd been in search of a very specific item of clothing and had struggled to find it given the state I found the room in. After being married to her for more than a decade, I just shook my head at the mess and chuckled. Since it appeared I'd have to wait to surprise her, I decided a shower would be the next best thing.
Bright sunlight poured into the room, hinting at the fantastic weather that we were having. With that in mind, I began to consider if getting in our pool would be better. I'd yet to use it that year despite being the one who performed most of its maintenance. Debating between my choices, I walked to the window that overlooked out backyard thinking it might sway me one way or another. While confirming that it was indeed a perfect day to make use of the pool, I also discovered I hand't been the only one to think along those lines. Any intention of taking a shower came to an abrupt halt as the answer to my wife's whereabouts became clear. And as excited as I was to see her, I couldn't help but stare dumbly at the exact scene laid out below me.
Sitting propped up in a deck chair with a book in hand was Simone. Which really wasn't much of a unique or enthralling sight given the frequency she did that. What set this scene apart from the multitude of other times she'd read by the pool was the fact that she was wearing what had to have been the smallest, most revealing bikini I'd ever laid eyes on.
Over the years of our relationship, Simone had worn a wide breadth of outfits and styles. Some more risqué then others. Not a single one of those came close to what she wore now in terms of sheer titillation.
Thin strings ran around her body, straining against the press of her soft curves. Small scraps of fabric only just barely hiding her nipples from view. Given how woefully inadequate those tiny triangles of black fabric over her breasts were, it could only assume the same would hold true for the lower portion her outfit. Which, unfortunately, I couldn't quite make out due to a raised leg blocking my view.
As I continued to gawk I began to recall the times I'd tried to get her into something just like that suit. She'd always been adamant about not wanting to "look like a pornstar." An opinion born of a childhood spent within a deeply religious household. It was just one of the many aspects to our early life that we shared to one degree or another.
From an early age we'd been taught to deny our sexuality. To suppress any feelings and turn away from it at every opportunity for fear of supposed damnation. That guilt had carried through long into our adult lives, effecting our marriage in a way that still infuriated me. I hated how often our desires for each other got smothered by thoughts filled with that old shame despite our years of marriage. Even now, standing there and seeing her like that, I felt a familiar sense of guilt rising within me.
I began to worry that she be upset if she knew I was home and hadn't told her. Which led to how she would react if she saw me there, watching her from our bedroom window. Was it wrong to look at my wife of many years with these lustful, leacherous thoughts that filled my mind?
I could have retrieved my phone. It would be so simple just to send her a text explaining that I'd gotten home earlier in an attempt to surprise her. To allow her time to change and meet me without ever knowing what I'd seen her wearing.
The thing was...I didn't want her to know for fear that she would change out of that bikini. That I'd ruin such a wonderfully erotic scene of femininity all because of a misplaced sense of shame. As those thoughts wore away at me I began to grow irritated that they even existed in the first place. Why shouldn't I look at my wife like this? I loved her with all my heart and found her to be one of the most beautiful women in the world. What was so wrong as to cause such feelings of guilt in that?
No matter how hard that guilt hit me, I couldn't bring myself to step away from the window. I refused to out of an act of bitter defiance towards everything that it came from. I refused to shatter that moment and have it be lost forever. All I wanted was to look at her. To relax back into the deep love I felt for her. To gaze down at her body and let myself be filled with unadulterated lust for the woman I loved. I didn't want it to end, I wanted more.
When her hand began to slide down her body, I began to wonder if I'd managed to manifest this out of sheer lustful desire. I watched with wide eyed fascination as her thighs squeezed around her hand, leaving little doubt about what she was doing. My mind tried and failed to reconcile what I was witnessing. Seeing her touching herself so brazenly felt odd. Like it wasn't something I was supposed to see. At least not while she was blissfully unaware of my presence. Even as it chewed within me me, I found taking my eyes off her to be impossible.
Perhaps it wasn't. After a week of unfulfilled longing, followed by a long day of travel, had my mind conjured up some lust fueled fantasy? The sight of her performing such a lewd activity thrilled me despite an ever-present gnawing guilt in the back of my mind. I was determined not to let it take me as it had so often before. That guilt didn't belong in mine or our lives.
