A blouse with a mind of its own:
"Don't check it out. Do not look down. Just let it do what it will," I silently repeated my new mantra for the evening.
I sat in the comfortable chair at the table while nervously waiting for my husband, Rick. He had been working late on some special project, so we agreed to meet at a little restaurant which we had come to enjoy. We liked the quiet ambiance, the low lighting, and the casual pace of the place.
It was very unusual for me to go to a restaurant alone unless I was traveling on business. Even just going in first to wait for him was quite different for me. As a result, I felt self-conscious sitting there at that four-top table in the center of the restaurant. Even in the low light with the candle flickering from a fixture in the table's center, I felt exposed.
Were people wondering why a woman in her early forties would be sitting there alone with a glass of wine and no one to share the evening with? Probably not, but I still felt like eyes were on me and questions were being raised.
I would soon be sharing a meal with my husband, but no one around me knew that. Normally Rick and I would both go home from our respective jobs then if the mood struck, we would change clothes and head out for dinner. Tonight, we were meeting midway, instead. This was good, it helped with my plans. My surprise.
"Don't look down," I had to keep telling myself as I waited for him to appear while nervously holding that glass of Merlot. "Don't check my blouse. Just let it be what it is," I repeated to myself.
As these thoughts went through my mind an older man walked by my table and I could see his eyes go first to my face and then dart down a bit. His eyes opened in pleasant surprise as he tried to not be obvious in his checking me out. Checking my face out. Checking my cleavage out.
Was there much cleavage for him to check out from where he was? Was there just a tame amount of bare skin between my breasts on display or, maybe, much more? How much of me was there for people walking by to see?
That sly blouse. That blouse could be open a little or a lot. I wasn't sure. I could only know by looking down or reaching to my chest to see if my top had gaped open and if much of me was showing. I had sworn to myself that I was not going to do this.
My intention was to just act as if everything was normal. So, if that top with a mind of its own had chosen to part open and show the world portions of my b-cup breasts, then that is what was to be.
Was I really okay with this? I wanted to give my husband a sensual treat when we met for dinner but was I going too far?
Dressing sensual and a bit sexy was one thing. Dressing like a slut was another thing entirely. Slutty was not something I wanted for me or for how my husband others would think of me.
This was the first time I had worn that dark blouse this way. No camisole. No bra. Just the very thin material and only my skin below it. This was the first time I had purposely dressed to thrill.
The top three of five buttons were undone, left to open if they chose to do so on their own. I had only undone those buttons after I sat at the table and felt as if no one was looking. I had taken a Uber to the restaurant and had held off undoing the three buttons until at the table.
I had a good idea of what would happen with that blouse once I sat down. At home, the night before, I had tested it out in front of a mirror. When simply standing there with a couple of buttons undone, things were fairly tame with only a little bit of cleavage showing. Nothing far out of the norm. Tame, that is, until I undid the third and then the fourth button.
With the third button undone, things started to get a bit more daring. Not horribly, but enough that I could easily see that I needed to be careful in how I moved about. A twist one way and it would gape open exposing most of one breast. Turning the other way, it would close the exposure... sort of.
Various ways of holding my shoulders gave differing levels of exposure or cover-up.
Nothing, however, hid the presence of my nipples poking against that barely-there material. Like that material, my nipples seemed to have a mind of their own as well. There was no controlling if they would or would not push against the fabric of that top. Secretly, I wanted those two buds to be happy and present for my guy to enjoy.
My husband had once explained that what he found the sexiest in how a woman dressed were little, sensual surprises. He did not get nearly as excited by a woman who dressed overtly sexy or slutty. No, it was when there was a surprising flash of cleavage or a skirt riding a bit high. That was the sexy part for him.
It was my mission to indulge him tonight. Mostly with the blouse but, should occasion arise, the knee-length, flared skirt I wore had little slits which could prove interesting to someone who was watching closely.
No one seemed to be looking my way as I sat there. I thought about how much I wanted to surprise Rick and how risky it would be if I undid that fourth button. He would be thrilled. Or at least I hoped he would be. Other than wearing skimpy bathing suits on the beach, I had never overtly exposed much skin despite several hints from him.
Previous experiments with that fourth button be damned! I let my right-hand drift down my blouse to the topmost closed button. With a quick maneuver, I undid it. Now only the bottom button of that blouse was done. Now, I really had to be careful. Or did I want to be careful?
Why was I doing this? Blame it on a different blouse and a different button situation.
Three weeks before, Rick and I had been out for dinner and there was a slight wardrobe malfunction. Nothing major but with one button gone missing from a top with an already low neckline, I ended up showing a fair amount of cleavage and some of the middle and tops of my bra. Again, nothing major but this little incident seemed to really excite Rick.
Put another way, we screwed like rabbits when we returned home that night. So, well, if that little show there in a semi-public place excited him so much, I could only wonder what it would be like if I took things several steps further.
No, not steps. Buttons. It was several undone buttons further tonight. That and the absence of a bra.
He was coming! I was anxious, scared, excited, curious about what his response might be.
- - - - - -
Dinner with a view:
"Hey there, I hope you haven't been waiting long," Rick said as he came up to the table and then stopped short next to me. "Uh, Rachael, I like how you look tonight."
"Yes, I had my hair done," I teased. Actually, my shoulder-length auburn hair was way overdue for an appointment, but it was the best I could come up with just then.
"Uh, sure, your hair. That, and, well, other changes." He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek prior to taking his seat.
Sitting across from me, Rick continued. "You look ravishing. Which, by the way, with your assistance, I might just want to partake in that activity when we get home."
"We were hoping so," I teased again.
"We?"
"Of course. Me and my happy twins," I chuckled, using a term for my breasts which Rick had come up with a while back.
"They are definitely happy!" He played along. "The left one is just about to poke out to say hi and your right one is pushing mightily against your top. I am guessing she is wanting to come out and play too."
His comment about my left breast being ready to poke out was concerning. Just how much of me was showing? Again, I resolved to not check it out.
Still, there was such a thing as overdoing it. Should I adjust the material or just let events unfold? I choose a third option. By moving my shoulders ever so slightly, a bit of that escapee boob should go back into hiding. Or at least I thought it would.
Rick was practically drooling. Cool! For a wife to get her husband to act like that over her after fifteen years of marriage, was an enjoyable accomplishment.
He started to say something, but we were interrupted by the waiter coming over to take our order. We did, with each of us selecting our own meals. When the waiter left, Rick gave a broad smile. "You know, my love... from where he was standing, I would guess that he got a perfect downblouse of your left breast. Nipple and all."
Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised but having him put that into words took me aback. What the hell was I doing? Flashing perfect strangers wasn't me. Like most women, I wanted to look attractive, but I didn't have goals to be an exhibitionist either.
Or did I? I could have closed that gaping blouse right then but chose to do nothing. My husband's excitement. Yes, my own excitement overrode common sense.
"Are you okay with that?" I finally asked him in reference to the waiter being able to see inside my top. His reaction to me just then was of utmost importance.
"I am fricking ecstatic!"
Okay, so that answered that question. My husband liked for other men to see my body. Interesting, very interesting.
After a while, things turned almost normal. My husband forced himself to take his eyes off my chest and I kept directing him to talk about work, our upcoming vacation, anything except for my tits.
Twice, our waiter came by the table. It wasn't hard to see where his eyes drifted to. This guy, like most men, had a hard time being subtle. Still, I did nothing. A man was repeatedly and overtly ogling my left tit and I continued to just let him. This is definitely not a normal thing for me.
As if this wasn't enough, Rick leaned across the table and took my hands in his. That act of reaching out to hold hands probably caused the devilish top to open further and provide greater exposure but, well, in a way that was the goal.
"Since you seem to be a bit adventurous tonight, how about if I give you a little project?"
"Project?"
"A euphemism for me asking you to also remove those panties?"
Holy mother of whatever! I started to respond, not knowing what to say but we were interrupted.
"Rick!" A low male voice stated causing both my husband and me to turn from this interesting turn of events to the source of the voice.
"George, good to see you." My husband acted nonchalant while I pulled my arms in from the center of the table, did a quick tug to make my blouse become more modest, and turned to face the newcomer.
My husband stood up and shook George's hands while then turning to face me.
