I never expected this business to have developed at all, but it did. Strange word: business. It refers to so much more than the usual definition of commerce.
Marci and I were your typical newlyweds. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. We were like the joke we heard a standup comic tell. He asked if there were any newlyweds in the audience. No hands went up, and he looked at this watch. "Figures. Seven o'clock," he said. "It's past their bedtime."
Our first home was a one-bedroom apartment on the ground floor of a five-story building. The living room and the bedroom had sliding glass doors that opened to balconies. The building was one of four arranged around a central courtyard with a swimming pool. There were some great looking babes using the pool on the weekends. I didn't mention that to Marci, although I was certain she checked out the men. She was the hottest one out there. Between her hot body and her skimpy bikini, so man's dick could stay soft. I know she enjoyed the attention.
We had decided we would both work for a couple of years to save enough money to buy a house before having children. She got home a half hour before I did. She was always wearing something sexy, such as her bikini, a teddy, or sexy lingerie. She would greet me with a pouting smile I couldn't resist. Dinner was usually around eight or nine after dessert.
When we had lived there about three months, I came home on a Tuesday to find her still fully dressed in her pants suit. She dashed to me with a fearful expression and an envelope in her hand. "Read this," she said with panic in her voice.
The outside of the envelope was blank. Inside were a note and a dollar bill. "I love your silhouette on your drapes," the note said. "I would like to see a bit more. Perhaps a glimpse of your breasts. Seven o'clock okay? The dollar is for your time." The text was typed. There was no signature.
"It looks like you have a secret admirer," I said.
"Eric," she screamed, "he's a pervert! We have to call the police."
"First, we don't know who he is, assuming it's a he. We could be dealing with a lesbian. Second, what charge would we file? Poor tipping?"
"I don't understand the part about tipping."
"Customers at strip joints tip the dancers. I've been to strip joints and tipped the dancers. Am I a pervert?"
"Of course not." Her voice softened. "You're the sweetest man I know. That's why I married you. But what can we do?"
It was a fair question. We really didn't have any obligation to this guy. We never asked for his money or did anything to earn it. We could simply ignore him. Was it right to accept his dollar without giving anything in return? We had no way of knowing who he was, so we couldn't return it. "I guess you could flash your boobs at him. Take your shirt and bra off in front of the window, then close the drapes. It'll only take a few seconds."
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm no stripper, so I guess the dollar is probably the right tip amount. We have an hour to kill. What should we do with it?
"We could have dinner now. Change our routine a bit."
Marci smiled weakly, and we went to the kitchen. Dinner consisted of what we called our specialty of the house: leftovers. Neither of us had an appetite. We picked at our food. We were too nervous to eat. She was going to expose her breasts to a stranger, someone we didn't know, someone we couldn't identify, someone whose motives were unknown. Maybe he just had a thing for tits. He could be dangerous or harmless. We had no way of knowing how things would turn out, but we had made our decision. Turning back was now out of the question.
At seven I went into the bedroom. The lights were off, which made seeing into the room from the outside impossible. I stood in the corner and opened the drapes. Marci entered the room and casually flipped the light switch on. At least she made the action seem casual.
She took off her suit jacket and put it in the closet. As she reached for the buttons of her blouse, she glanced at the sliding glass door. Slowly she opened each button. Her eyes didn't leave the glass. Although she couldn't see past her reflection, she seemed to be searching for him. Her motions were deliberate when she pulled the shirttail from her pants to undo the last two buttons. Turning to face the window, she pulled the shirt wide open and let it slide down her arms onto the bed. Her expression changed. The pouting smile which always greeted me was directed outside to an unseen audience. I felt betrayed and aroused at the same time.
She turned her back to the glass. Looking over her shoulder toward the window, she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. She turned back to face her invisible admirer holding the bra in place with one hand. She slipped her free arm out of the shoulder strap, then switched arms holding the bra and took the other arm out of its strap. Was it bias on my part, or was she the greatest stripper I had ever seen? I certainly had the boner to confirm my opinion. With both arms free, she held both cups in her hands and leaned forward. She dropped her hands pulling the bra down completely exposing her large boobs. Her breasts weren't excessively huge by any means, around 36D, but they certainly weren't tiny. They were full and firm and really didn't need a bra. She cupped her bare breasts in her hands and pinched her half-inch nipples. She turned a quarter turn to the left, then to the right, as though admiring herself in the reflection on the glass. She kept her eyes on the window. The bulge in my pants kept growing.
She stopped and walked toward me. I reached for the drapery cords. "Don't," she said. "He'll know you are here, which you normally aren't when I get home." I let her close the curtains and turn out the light before moving. Even in the dim light from the hallway, I could clearly see her lovely torso. Her breathing was deep and slow. "I can't believe I did it," she said. "I exposed myself to a stranger."
"Probably more than one," I said. "There are probably seventy or eighty units that can see our window."
"You're right!" she gasped. "I never thought about that. I wonder how many people saw me."
