A conference at a beach resort sounded great. Maybe I could not only knock out a few of the CME credits I was required to maintain for my licensure, but also get in some much need relaxation. The electronic brochure that was on my computer looked so inviting, and the price was very reasonable.
"When is it?" Tony asked when I called him at work.
"The third week of May, the 18
th
to the 21
st
," I repeated for him as he checked his calendar.
"Of this year? Babe, that's only like ten weeks away," he sounded exasperated. I hadn't seen the notice about this regional conference before, and I assumed that they were trying to garner more business as the prices were way less than the Annual National Dermatology meeting.
"Tony, I know it's short notice, but..." I hoped.
"Gulf Shores? Man, that would be nice. You could sun and I could head out all day on one of those fishing charters..." he said. "But, Ree, we're really swamped right now and Klukas just turned in his notice, so we're gonna be short-handed. Besides..." Tony seemed to always refer to his workers by just their last names, not that I really knew any of them.
"No, it's fine, " I tried to sound nonplussed. "I just thought we could have a nice long weekend together without busting the bank."
Tony could read me well. "Ree, you go. If I can get away, I can come up for the weekend, maybe. But you should go."
"I do need the credits, but I'd be bored without you. It's alright, I find something else for later in the year."
"Bored is good. You'll be in classes most of the time anyhow, then you can sit out by the pool and read, or just close your eyes and soak in the sea air and sunshine."
You'd think, living in Tampa, that would be an everyday experience but the truth was, we hardly ever went to the beach. We had a pool out back and it was such a hassle to load up the kids and the car, trek an hour to the beach to hunt for a parking spot, then haul everything out on to the sand, set up -- and then have to do all that in reverse.
"Seriously, Babe, you should go. Your mom or Kim can watch the girls. You need the credits, don't you?"
"Really, you'd be okay with..."
"Yeah, it'll be fine," he cut in. "Go, have fun," he said, waiting to hear my response.
"I'll think about it. I don't have to decide right now."
"'Kay, love ya. Gotta run, sexy."
"Love you too," I said and hung up.
It was just eight weeks later, not ten. I had hung up with Tony and sat looking at the computer for a few minutes. The beaches looked so inviting, the room luxurious, and the CME credits were ridiculous. The beauty of getting your credits at a conference were that they were so easy, you got them for basically just showing up. No end-of-course reviews, nothing to submit but a course evaluation that most everyone completed before the lecture started and signing in when you got to the lecture hall. I registered and booked a gulf view room before going back to see my afternoon patients. I had hoped Tony would agree to come up on the weekend, but that didn't work out.
The drive took about eight hours as I stopped for a lazy lunch and some window shopping in Tallahassee, not in any particular hurry to make it to the resort, the Perdido Beach Resort, early. The only thing planned for the evening was a reception on the pool deck and entertainment -- some comedian -- and picking up your registration package that had your name tag, the admission to all the next few days' courses.
I knew the names of a few of the people in attendance, but seemed to be the only person from Tampa, which was fine. Tony -- and the comedian -- both seemed to have the same idea of what the conference was about, and after a few glasses of wine my mind did wander as I assessed the others in attendance, mostly dressed in casual beach attire. Tony had purchased two new Malibu Strings bikinis for me: a Neon Palms with Triangle top and Malibu Micro bottom, and the Summer Rainbow, same top style but with a Tiny Open Triangle bottom. The comedian made lots of implications about the beach and all the skin folks would be examining "professionally, of course" and I had gotten enough exhortations from Tony to "have fun" that I knew that's really what he wanted me to do. My exhibitionist tendencies and his sheer pleasure in hearing about, if he could not actually experience my flauntings, had me tingling by the time I finally fell asleep completely nude with the shades and windows open, luxuriating in the sounds of the waves and the crisp breeze reaching into my third floor room.
Room service knocked at precisely seven forty-five as I had ordered. The lectures began at eight thirty, so I had time to sit and enjoy the gorgeous morning on the balcony. His name tag said "Roberto" and he showed no real reaction as I opened the door in just tiny semi-transparent tangerine thong panties.
"Hi," I said waving him in. "Can you set that on the balcony table please?"
"Yes, ma'am" he said. I did detect a smile as I let him pass. As he set the tray down and set the orange juice, coffee, and my fruit and yogurt out, I took a seat. He was glancing, very discreetly, at my breasts and the taut nipples reacting to the morning breeze. Maybe more than the breeze.
"Will that be all, ma'am?" not the slightest double entende' detectable in his voice.
"Would you mind?" I asked, handing him my camera, "I want to show my husband what he's missing."
Roberto took the camera and lined up the shot of the breakfast, and me smiling. Turning the camera, he took another which I noticed later was quite good, me and the table off to the left and a view of the wide beach and rolling waves in the background. I had to wonder how many other women asked for photos while undressed as he remained very professional and framed the photos expertly.
"Anything else, ma'am?" he asked, as he handed back my phone.
I glanced at the two pictures he had taken and smiled. "No, I think these will make him sorry he missed this weekend," a naughty look in my eyes.
Roberto just smiled, nodded, and headed out.
I laughed as I reached for my orange juice. "My god, Rita, you actually did that!" I congratulated myself, moving my glass to 'clink' my imaginary other self. Tony had said to 'have fun' and I knew what he was hoping would happen. He loved me showing myself to others, encouraged it, and had me tell him every detail of any experiences I had when he wasn't physically present to observe them himself. The whole KDE thing had been over for several years and, while it could have turned both of us off, it had allowed me to flourish in this side of myself. I was still as a rule very private and would not generally give in to Tony's desires -or my own- when near our home or pretty much anywhere in town. There were our professional lives to consider, and our family. Honestly, while it thrilled me, there was also always a sense of fear or anxiety. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush, the fear/excitement of the unknown, the risk. I adored the sexual tension it filled me with, the arousal, and Tony... Tony relished everything about my exhibitionism, the pride in his beautiful wife, the sensuality of my revealing myself, the having of that which other men wanted. It was a total aphrodisiac for him, for both of us, and our love life soared.
This time was the first time I had taken a picture of one of my exposures. He would know immediately from the angle that it was not a selfie, that someone was there, with my breasts bared, nipples firm and within reach - in the daylight!
"Good morning, my lover" I texted with the two photos and hit send.
"OMG" came back in seconds, followed by that emoticon with the wide eyes and tongue hanging out. I laughed.
"who?" followed in another second.
"roberto, with room service. perfect gentleman." I typed. I knew he had no worries, knew I was completely his, but I had to let him know that the pictures were all, that nothing else occurred.
"you just made both our days!!" Tony sent me in another few moments.
I snapped a selfie and sent it. The caption read "I think he probably liked these too" and showed me standing by the railing in my tangerine thong, my breasts hard above the rail and bathed in the sun.
"fuck! we'll both be beating off later" a small emoticon of an erection following.
I loved that Tony and I shared this, that he and I were both aroused and delightfully provoked by my showing myself.
"classes in 10 min, gotta go. Love you!" I typed and headed inside to dress.
As I have said, professionally I am rather conservative in my dress. I went for a long time in slacks and scrubs, thinking I was covering up. And I was, but not as much as I thought. Tony pointed out to me that I always liked my slacks fitting, as I did my scrubs and though they didn't reveal me like a short skirt might, once I was aware - with my Darling's help -, I could see that often my panties were clearly outlined, and my beautiful feminine flower showed as what is referred to as a camel toe. Now, as part of my exhibitionist tendency, if I do have on slacks I make sure they are fitting enough and lightweight enough to show a cameltoe so I can 'innocently' be revealing my body. The same goes for my bras. They had always been 'normal,' with those fiber/foam cups. Now, if I am even wearing a bra, it is unlined and pretty thin so that my breasts move about and my seemingly always excited nipples can show themselves. Tony loves it, and both of us seem to notice that lots of other folks like my attire as well, while I pretend to be oblivious.
Already excited by my daring encounter with Roberto earlier, my tangerine thong was sunk between my labia emphasizing my feminine cleft as I slipped on a lightweight pair of bone colored high waisted slacks that I particularly liked. While not skin-tight, the cut was such that through the crotch they fit in the most provocative way without being obscene. There was no doubt to anyone who looked, and after years of Tony helping me notice how many did look, that there was most assuredly a woman underneath them. I argued with myself about my top and whether or not to wear a bra. My breasts are not huge, firm Bs -- almost a C. They don't swing to and fro, but sway seductively if one is watching. My quarter sized areola are only slightly darker than my breasts, hardly drawing attention themselves, but my nipples, perfectly centered and almost half the diameter of the areola, are very reactive and when stimulated -- seemingly at times always! -- are about a half inch in length. I wanted to go without a bra, but knowing that invariably these conference centers were always cold and that some pretense of professionalism had to be maintained, I opted for flesh toned, lace demi-cup under a floral print, button up silk blouse. A thin navy-blue leather belt and matching two inch kitten heels completed my professional ensemble.
