So... I'm an old married guy. I've been married since I was nineteen and now I'm fifty-three. We, my wife and I, I mean, have something that's pretty, rare now days. We've been married for the entire time, thirty-four years. I'm sure most of you would think it was because we're so wonderfully in love and we share everything and are so open and honest with each other. Bullshit! I'm here to tell you, right now, marriage is all about understanding what to say to your spouse and what not to say. If your wife asks if she looks pretty, I don't care what you think, you had better smile and tell her that she looks as beautiful now as when you married. Your life might depend on it and I'm convinced your marriage definitely does.
And it's compromise, too, that's what it is! If she wants to have a candle lit meal at a French restaurant and you want a steak and a beer, you need to let her have her way. If she wants to watch some chick-flick on Lifetime and you're watching a ball game you better have a little TV in the basement. It's because I believe in compromise in our marriage that I go shopping at the mall with her once a month.
She just kind of goes nuts at the mall. She has to look in every dress shop there and she always buys something and swears to me that it was on sale and was some fantastic deal. I let her shop where she wants and buy what she wants. I make enough that it isn't a problem as long as she doesn't go overboard. I follow her for a while, but then I can usually tell her I'm tired of walking and I find a seat on the husband bench until she's finished and we can go home.
It's better now that the mall has Wi-Fi. I take the laptop and watch a digital feed game, or do my weekly expense reports. It's a little hard to concentrate, though, because I like to do what I call 'window-shopping.' It never fails that the women in the mall dress pretty nice. They don't usually want the other women to see them looking shabby, so they wear the tight jeans or the short skirts and get their hair fixed nice. I like to watch the women in the mall. Alright, I'm married, I know I can't touch. I'm window-shopping.
Last month there wasn't a game on and the wife had just kissed me and was heading for the shoe store, so I took a seat on the bench and started shopping. My wife wasn't even out of sight and I was already checking out this college girl. She was walking past in a little cotton pleated mini-skirt and cut-off tee, with one of those pink hoody things. The hoody was too short to cover her waist, but the sleeves were so long that they flopped past her wrists to her palms and the hood too small to actually wear. Besides her legs, which were really nice, what caught my attention was her hair. I'm a hair man. She had this fantastic, too-blond, long hair that was way past her shoulders and just all over spilling down her back.
I sat on the bench a little bit watching the girls go by and she came back up the other side. We were on the second floor, and there was an open area between my side and her side where you could look down at the first floor through the handrail. She strolled up and sat down right on the other side across from me, right on the bench on the far side. I can't help but check out her legs. She had the greatest skinny college girl legs with smooth, round knees and a little pair of topsiders, canvas, tennis shoes.
She was just sitting there and she took out a spiral notebook and started reading. I figured she must be doing her homework or something. She sat there the longest time. I filled up my eyes checking out her legs and her heart-shaped, pretty face and wishing she would shift enough so that I could see up her skirt a little. Ok, so I'm a pervert. Life is short, at my age I get all the thrills I can. Eventually a girl walked by that caught my attention and I watched her until she was out of sight, then I looked back.
She must have turned a page while I was looking away, because her spiral notebook page had something written on the back, the page facing me, in big magic-marker letters that said, "Hi, I'm Brittney." I thought it was sort of funny. She must have been writing a note to some guy and it was still in her notebook. I probably smiled about it and thought how lucky the guy was. I didn't know who she was flirting with, but I hope somebody somewhere was getting something off of that tiny, little, college-girl body of hers.
But then she turned another page and there was another note written on it in magic-marker that said, "I like to show off." I was thinking, "what does that mean." Was that note for me, or was it still something she wrote to some guy at school? She was just sitting there, smiling, and still reading her notebook. I thought that she must know what was written on the back of the notebook, since it was probably what she had been looking at before she turned the page, unless she was turning a few pages at a time. Was that what she was doing?
She was still smiling when she turned the page. Now the back of the notebook said, "if you like me, scratch your chin." I was scratching my chin instantly without even thinking. It was sort of automatic.
She had barely glanced up, but she was still smiling. She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs and I watched every microsecond. She was sitting pretty proper and I didn't see anything except the back of a little of her thigh. It was good, though. Smooth California tanned legs as far as the eye could see.
She just sat like that for a while, but I didn't take my eyes off of her. I don't think a fire alarm would have made me take my eyes off of her. I had pretty much decided that she had been flirting with some college guy and I was just imagining that she was sending me messages but I was seeing what she had written to him. But I was still watching. I was just hoping she would move a little more when she turned a page again.
She did this one a little different. She put the notebook on her lap so that I couldn't see the back of it and grabbed a divider on a page and turned it. I could see it had magic-marker on it when she turned it, but I didn't see what it said until a minute later when she lifted it just enough so that I could read it. Now it said, "if you want to see my breast." That was all there was room for on the page. She laid it back on her lap after she let me see. I couldn't wait for the rest of the message. I was sitting there nodding my head up and down like an idiot.
She turned the page, still smiling, but never really looking at me, as if she was just a girl sitting on a bench in the mall and reading. The new page said, "tug your ear." I tugged my ear right away. I didn't know if she ever saw. She was pretty cool about it. She just sat there and smiled and let the notebook back down on her lap. In a few seconds she slipped her hand to the bottom of her tee shirt, just inside her open hoody and it seemed like she was absent-mindedly scratching an itch on her ribs. Instead her hand raised the tee shirt just far enough that I caught a quick glimpse of the bottom lobe of her breast and a quick shot of tiny, brown nipple.
It seemed like it was getting a little hot in the mall, all of the sudden. I was pretty excited, I'm not kidding. She was just sitting there smiling. I think it occurred to me about this time that there might be someone else watching, so I looked around me and in the store behind, but there wasn't anyone there. When I looked back she had already turned a page and the new page said, "want to see again?" I pulled my ear, again.
Very slowly she ran her hand to the bottom of her shirt and lifted it slightly. I saw a pierced belly button and she moved like she was scratching again, only the shirt came up far enough that I saw a perfect nineteen-year-old, B-cup breast with a small innocent looking nipple and an untanned triangular bikini line running across it.
If I close my eyes I can still imagine it. It was perfect and perky, with smooth skin. I'm not a big breast guy. I love the small ones. I love thinking about how it would feel and taste and how the tiny little nipples would react when sucked on and nibbled.
I only saw it for less than a second, but it was great, etched forever indelibly on my brain. She let the tee shirt back down and just sat there, smiling. In a few minutes she turned a page again. The back page said, "want to see the other one?" Ear tug.
She shifted a little, smiling the entire time, eyes down...she was reading a notebook, after all. She shifted the notebook to her left hand and the right one slid along her tiny waist and flipped the bottom of her tee shirt to expose her left breast to me for a heartbeat or two, and by now my heartbeat was a little fast. Her smile broadened a little and she shifted again. By now I was a little uncomfortable myself. I had a tent going that was a little painful. Here was this gorgeous, young girl toying with me and I was having a day I would remember for a long time. I was hoping my wife would take her time shopping.
The girl turned another page. "Both?" it said. I tugged an ear and she turned a page and it said, "wait." I was waiting. For the first time she was openly looking around. She looked up the mall one way and the other, and even looked down to the first floor. Some people were passing by behind me, then some more, but in a few minutes she leaned up a little and looked down and she raised her shirt up completely, giving me an unobstructed view of her firm, beautiful breasts. They weren't big, but they were so nicely shaped like firm nectarines, the smooth skin crossed by tan lines. Before the next bunch of shoppers passed she had let her shirt back down. For the first time she looked directly at me and smiled a broad smile.
