Dear Reader, I hope you don't find this story a bit tame. I grew up in a pretty straitlaced community, so some things that might seem rather ho-hum to a lot of people are hugely exciting to me. This story documents an experience that I find so thrilling to remember that I'm constantly reliving it and can't stop thinking about it. So I'm setting it down in words in the hope that sharing these memories and feelings with others will help get them out of my system.
My husband and I were both virginal on our wedding day and I was happy to think I was his "first." But a few years later I felt rather hurt when he diffidently confided in me that in his late teens he had indulged in a bit of window peeping, with little success except that one lady in the neighborhood, pretending not to notice him, had treated him to his first good look at a real live woman's breasts. I felt quite jealous of her, and long wished I could "unintentionally" display my own female attributes to some young man.
After some years I was eventually to find an opportunity. I'm now a ripe old 83 with gray hair, but was a 41-year-old honey-blonde at the time of this experience. My figure was apparently still not too bad then, because my husband was still often saying appreciative things about my body and breasts, and what he variously called my "big rosy nipples" or "big glowing nipples" or sometimes even "big radiant nipples" (from which I gathered that the human male finds big nipples very exciting!).
We were billeting Paul and Denny, a couple of recent graduates from our son Jason's former High School, in connection with a school Homecoming event. (Jason himself was living interstate on a college campus.) They were nice polite boys -- actually young adults, but at my stage of life they certainly looked like boys to me. Paul was a big lad, a bit awkward at times but a decent young fellow of neat and pleasant appearance. Denny was definitely the good-looking one, quietly spoken, with light brown wavy hair, even features and a trim athletic build.
To help the boys feel at ease, we encouraged them to address us by our first names, Marie and Jon. Perhaps because we made them feel so much "at home," they apparently soon learned to assume that Jon and I would always use our ensuite, and not the main bathroom, for I noticed that when nature called they habitually just opened the bathroom door without knocking and charged in. Or perhaps they didn't realize that the door didn't have a lock. Either way, the practice provided the starting point for my naughty, naughty plan.
I was in the habit, after a shower, of removing my hair rollers topless in front of the ensuite mirror. One day during the boys' stay, Jon had an appointment to keep. Knowing this, I purposely got him to help out with a couple of odd jobs that left him a bit short of time to shower before his appointment -- and when he was almost ready to shower, I "forgetfully" took a shower myself, which put him even further behind. To make up for it, so that he could shower as quickly as possible, I made the "noble sacrifice" of leaving the ensuite entirely to him and went out to remove my rollers in the main bathroom -- topless as usual.
The bathroom vanity unit and mirror were on the left as one entered, obliging a person using the mirror to stand more or less side-on to the door. My plan was to wait until I heard the voice of Paul or, preferably, Denny exiting from the rumpus room and then, as whichever of them bounded up the stairs, I planned to half-turn toward the door with my hands raised as if removing a roller from my hair. This was to serve three purposes. First, being turned to the door meant that on opening it he would immediately see both my exposed breasts, full on. Second, raising my arms above my head would afford an unfettered view of them, ensuring that he would see my nipples. Third, my raised arms drew my breasts upward a little and would flatter their firm appearance.
So I stood topless at the mirror, started taking the rollers out of my hair (as slowly as possible), and waited.
