It wasn't late but the kids were in bed and my wife, Dina, and I sat at the island in the kitchen, thumbing through the week's magazines. It was a pleasant end to the day, me holding a cold Sam Adams and Dina idly swirling a glass of Merlot. I was also enjoying the view. She looked great, just back from a meeting, wearing a sharp, black, executive-looking pantsuit, her thick, chin-length dark brown hair swept back stylishly from her face, which had traces of sweetness in it that she almost obscured with a constant expression of pent-up sarcasm. I was wondering how she would look wearing nothing but that new pair of tiny, black-framed reading glasses she had on, when she noticed my stare and spat, "What are you looking at," in way that might have intimidated me if I hadn't known her for so many years.
I was about to tell her what I was thinking when she broke the short silence saying, "I was at the school for a meeting today and was talking with Cheryl."
I figured I was about to get another dose of PTA gossip, but I tended to pay a little more attention when Cheryl was involved. I thought Cheryl was more than a little bit of a fox.
"Cheryl said she's planning a party at her house where people would take off their clothes, and she invited us."
My body froze as my brain switched to overdrive.
My first thought was plain disbelief, which morphed in a few nanoseconds to the second thought, surprise, even shock that my wife would bring this up in anything other than a condemning, disgusted way. She's always acted conservative and disdainful toward any reference to sex outside our own bedroom.
The third thought consisted of images of the times I'd seen Cheryl-lively and elegantly attractive-at countless receptions and dinner parties. But now my fantasy of seeing her well-tailored clothes peeled from her body took a step toward reality. My head felt lighter as blood rushed from my brain to my cock.
Finally, I ran through a series of computerlike calculations to figure out the surest tactic for making this impossibility come true. I decided my best bet was to keep my mouth shut as much as possible and let my wife take the lead.
I said, simply, "What?" trying to sound surprised and curious, but not at all anxious.
"Yeah. She said she thought it just sounded different and kind of exciting. She said it was something she's been thinking about for a while, and she just decided to try it. "
I tried to stay noncommittal: "I sure wouldn't have expected that from Cheryl. Or anyone we know for that matter."
My wife said, "What do you think? Should we go?"
I stuck to my strategy and dodged: "I'm surprised you'd be interested."
"Well I know it seems gross," she said, "but Cheryl's really nice, and I've always admired her, and she's not gross at all."
Cheryl was anything but. She had a sense of both sophistication and fun. Her charmingly dry sense of humor seemed to fit her physical traits of sharply defined facial features and a slight squint to her blue eyes. She was one of those women of medium height who looked taller because of a slim body that curved erotically from her hips to her small, finely proportioned breasts.
Deciding I might need to take a little risk to preserve credibility, I said, "Well, I have to admit, I'm a healthy male and the prospect of seeing a few women without clothes does sound pretty intriguing." I added, "especially with you as a chaperone." Turns out I said one thing too many.
"Oh my God," she said. "I never thought about me. I could never do that, looking like this."
Misplaced female vanity. Despite my leering thoughts of Cheryl, my wife still turns my head-and lots of others. She's not model-thin by any means, but at 35 she has a fine figure and a great-looking pair of size Cs. I reminded her that I often try to follow that body into the shower after the robe comes off. She fended off my attempted compliment, as usual. She said she'd have to think pretty hard about whether we would go to the party. Reluctant to let the decision out of my control, I decided it seemed the most effective course for now. Over the next few days I tried with no success to forget about it.
One evening nearly two weeks later my wife said, "I had lunch with Amy today and SHE brought up Cheryl's party. They got invited too. I told them we'd ride with them. I figured it's the only way I'd be brave enough to go. What do you think?"
"Wow," I reacted, then recovering a bit, added, "that's sure a different take from the last time we talked."
"Well I've been thinking about it a lot," she said. "And I guess, as Amy told me today, 'you only go around once'."
This was almost too much-I actually felt a little dizzy. It sounded like this fantastic thing would actually happen. And Amy would be there. Amy was another PTA mom I'd run into often, especially working together to set up booths at fundraising festivals. Amy taught drama at a high school across town and had an especially bubbly personality and always paid a flattering degree of attention to anyone she was talking to at the moment. I often zoned into fantasyland in the presence of her friendly, open face, shapely body, and innocent but still compelling flirtatiousness. The notion of seeing her undressed was more than I'd ever hoped for.
"So it's a date then," I said.
My wife narrowed her eyes and accused, "You seem pretty casual about all this,".
Fessing-up time. I said, still trying not to act overly enthusiastic, "I'm actually working pretty hard at acting casual. I wouldn't be honest if I didn't say I was looking forward to it. It sure sounds different."
"I'm still getting used to the idea," she said. "But I guess I'm looking forward to it, too. Cheryl's friends are bound to be nice. And it sure should be something to remember."
A week later Amy and Bill's SUV pulled into our driveway. I could see enough of Amy to tell she wore what they call "the little black dress" with a neckline scooping low enough to show a fetching amount of cleavage. Bill was thin, medium height, with a noticeably weak chin that made him kind of mousy looking, and an ever-present sense of humor. He wore light gray pants, a blue button-down shirt and a navy blazer. As for me, I'm a little on the tall side, regular bicycling showing the effects of a mostly successful fight against growing old in my 40-year old body, sharply defined features in my face, and flecks of gray in my otherwise light brown hair. This evening I had on a Cashmere sweater and a pair of black khakis. I mention everyone's clothes because I was working, not very successfully, to think of something other than those clothes coming off.
Amy didn't make my efforts easier. She twisted around in the passenger seat to face us as we settled in the back, looking alluring with her black hair cut into a medium-length shag and her eyes dancing as she virtually sang, "So, are you guys ready to get naked?" She almost growled that last word.
My stomach fluttered. My wife's face flushed and she said, "Amy, how did I let you talk me into this? This is a bad idea."
"Oh come on," Amy said. "Loosen up. Aren't you excited?"
"A nervous wreck is more like it," my wife said.
"Me too, a little bit" Amy said. "But it's giving me kind of a thrill, too, just thinking about showing ourselves and seeing what our friends really look like. How about you, Greg?" Amy asked. "Isn't this a fantasy coming to life?"
"I think it could be fun," I said, still fighting to hide my real reactions.
"Yeah, right, Mr. Cool" Amy chided. Then Bill, adopting an upper class English accent, mocked, "Yes indeed. I'm very much anticipating the opportunity to be present for unobstructed views of pulchritude."
Our laughter eased the nervousness. A little.
When we got out of the car I scanned my wife again. She wore a light, flower-print, backless sundress hemmed just above the knee, and held up by a single button at the back of the halter-top collar. We've been married nearly 20 years and I was still thinking about how by loosening just one button I could watch nearly all her clothes fall away.
Bill rang the bell of the large, new McMansion and Cheryl opened the door. She looked stunning and was dressed a lot more formally than the rest of us. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled back into an intricate-looking knot and she wore a simple, black, ankle-length gown that outlined the soft curves of her petite body. A strand of pearls just above the modest neckline of the dress added to the sophistication of the look. She greeted us warmly as her husband, Ted, appeared, acting, it seemed to me, a little nervous about the whole affair, showing a strained smile in his dark, vaguely Mediterranean features. He wore the uniform of khakis, navy blazer, and red tie. They told us to introduce ourselves, that most of the other guests had arrived, and to fix ourselves drinks.
On our way in I saw that my wife was right about Cheryl having nice friends, but not necessarily the way she meant. Either the invitation list was very carefully designed or only attractive people accepted. As we moved toward the drink table I was pleased to see a few people I knew-some who I'd imagined naked, and now I'd get to see the real thing.
My cock started to swell when I saw Hannah, who works down the hall from me in accounting. She's a little overweight, a flaw more than compensated for by her sweet, round face framed by a pageboy of brown hair that makes her look younger than her 25 years. She's quick to giggle and has wonderful, large breasts that stretched a pink pullover sweater she wore with a short tan skirt. Thinking only about Hanna's clothes coming off, I didn't wonder until later how invitations found their way to my office.
But I got rock hard as I looked up from pouring a scotch and saw Sally, who I knew in passing from, of all places, our church. She had a reasonably attractive face, partly hidden by long curls of dark brown hair. But her body was, to my thinking, as close to perfection as can exist. She's about medium height, with a narrow waist and a chest you wouldn't quite call enormous, but big enough to be a distraction through pretty much all of every church service.
"Hey, good to see a familiar face," she said, as she took a glass of beer from a man at her side. "This is Scott."
Scott was the kind of guy I'd expect Sally to be dating, although in my mind I'd turned her into such a goddess I don't know whether anyone could have measured up. He was blond, square-faced and sturdy-athletic and imposing looking.
