My wife and I were vacationing in south Florida a few summers ago with her sister and her sister's husband. Our hotel was several blocks from the beach, so we had a 3 or 4 block walk to the shore during the day, or to the strip of restaurants at night.
One afternoon, we had enough sun, and decided to get an early start on an evening out. Having stayed close to our hotel each of the first 3 nights, we decided to drive around a bit, looking for a change of scenery. We stumbled upon what looked like an inviting beach grill, and had a fulfilling round of select seafood, with first-rate seating on a patio overlooking the ocean.
Since it was still fairly early, we thought we'd have a nightcap at a bar next door, which we noticed on the way in to the grill. It was another breezy, straw-hut style establishment, with a DJ playing pop rock songs, and spacious seating at and around the bar. The crowd seemed somewhat young, basically a room-full of twenty-somethings.
Just as we were about finished with our drinks, the DJ announced that they would be looking for volunteers for their weekly t-shirt contest. My brother-in-law and I glanced at each other and then at our wives, as they rolled their eyes and sarcastically snickered. When my brother-in-law suggested we order another round of drinks, the girls didn't immediately protest, so he promptly headed to the bar for refills.
Moments later, the DJ began his campaign around the bar room, gathering contestants. Some were quite willing, others a bit reluctant. When he came upon our section of the bar, our wives quickly declined the invitation to participate. After convincing about 5 or 6 ladies, he huddled with them back near his station, which was situated on a small stage. I saw him reach behind his setup and pull out a handful of white t-shirts .......... short white t-shirts at that. He distributed the tops and the girls disappeared behind the stage, presumably to a room in which to change. When the current song ended, the DJ announced that he would start calling the volunteers out, one by one, to display their new found fashion. It was at this point that another lady, possibly one of the waitresses, was introduced as his assistant. She came to the stage area carrying a couple of spray bottles with her. My wife and I caught each others eye with a stirring look.
The DJ announced the first competitor, who came out wearing the skimpy little sleeveless white t-shirt, the material of which must have been considerably thin, since a faint protrusion was already noticeable through the dry garment. The assistant proceeded to spray the girl's shirt until it was rather soaked. It was then that I concluded that the material was even flimsier than I originally thought, since her average-sized breasts became very visible through the transparency of the covering. Out came the other contestants, one by one, to the cheers of the crowd.
My sister-in-law turned and asked, "You boys enjoying yourselves?"
Our response was another glance of cautious gratitude, thankful that we were even able to remain there relishing the experience.
It was about during the second-to-last entrant's turn that the DJ started petitioning for more candidates. He was pointing across the room, attempting to shame a few more women into participation. By now, we each had about 3 drinks, and even our wives were clapping and playing along with the crowd, expressing approval to these brave enthusiasts. I gazed over at them and noticed they had leaned in close to one another and were giggling and whispering something.
I thought, "What do they find amusing? Am I and my brother-in-law that predictably male? Are we drooling, for goodness sake?"
Then, without warning, my wife and her sister stood up and walked over to the DJ table. A few others did the same. It is hard to describe the sensation that swept over me at that point. With racing heart and racing mind, I started to piece together the facts that were unfolding before me - that not only was I about to witness my wife in a wet t-shirt in a public forum, in a bar full of 60 attentive people (a prospect that by its very self was incredibly tantalizing), but that I was also going to get a glimpse of my sister-in-law's generous assets as well.
The girls from Round 2 went behind stage after brief instructions from the DJ. He finished with the last hopeful from Round 1, and a new song ushered in the next set of women. My wife was the second to be announced, and my heart skipped a beat and began racing a little faster still. She looked a little reluctant walking up the back steps of the stage, and was more or less doing her best to cover up as she moved toward the front of the platform. Whatever possessed these two markedly shy girls to agree to this expose, I couldn't help wondering, but the courage they mustered moments ago at our table was apparently waning, at least with my wife. Scratching this shoulder with that hand, flipping the right side of her hair back with her left hand - she was seemingly searching for excuses to keep her hands crossed in front of her chest. The assistant made a comment to her when she reached the stage's front, which brought a smile to my wife's face, but nevertheless more hesitation. The DJ intervened over the microphone, encouraging her to cooperate with his counterpart. At this, my wife offered a shy expression again, placing her forehead into her hand, looking down at the floor. With one deep breath and a brief pause, she finally acquiesced, lifting her head and dropping her arms, to the crowd's delight, in one smooth motion. She raised her hands and then dropped them back by her sides, as if to indicate, "I did it!"
