Couldnt Possibly Love You More

It had been a brutal year. No... I'm not using that figuratively. I'm not trying to gain empathy with hyperbole. It was, literally, a brutal year. (Can you tell I'm an English teacher?) Something was in the water and I'd stopped more fights (physical, verbal, you name it) than I cared to count, winding up with a food-throwing free-for-all on the last day (which wound up sending three kids to the ER: one with a nut allergy, one with a broken leg from slipping on spilled Jello, and one who was just freaked out from the mass hysteria).Literally brutal.

It had only been a little better on her, but she was left holding the bag with the kids and general household stuff, every time I came home from school late needing medical attention. Yes, we had a routine for what to do in these circumstances.

So, by the end of the year, we needed to cut loose in epic proportions. As teachers (she's elementary school, which means her students are cute and she doesn't mind that she has a cold all year long), we are supposed to be moral examples. As parents, every day is soccer practice, carpool, and homework. Don't get us wrong: our children are our greatest joy, but parenting doesn't leave much energy to focus on each other. To love, and lust, the way we did when we met.

So, that's why, when she said on the last day of school she had booked us a second honeymoon, my response was simple: "I couldn't love you more than I do right now."

Miranda's response: "Wanna bet?" She reached in her drawer and pulled out a string bikini, the kind she was too self-conscious to wear at 22. We were celebrating losing the last of the baby weight (mine as much as hers), and I worked hard to get my abs and chest back. While I always loved her body, her stomach was tighter, and her breasts higher, than they had been in years. Her ass, well, it looked like her 22 year old ass. We were in the best shape in years, feeling pretty good about it. The hotel, it turns out, had a Tiki Bar by the pool... and umbrella drinks and the bikini seemed like a winning combination. I had secret hopes of the nude beach, too, but didn't want to push my luck too far. Little did I know.

Down to the pool the first morning, I look at her, as she slips out of bed. We always sleep naked, and just being in proximity to her body has gotten me through many a dark morning. Her firm ass, breasts... her body, despite pregnancy, still rivals that of most 20-year-olds-- and, unlike those children, she knows how to work it. She adjusts the tiny bathing suit bottom: it just covers her waxed body. The top leaves less to the imagination.

"Honey, you look unbelievable..."

"I know, right?" she says admiring herself in the full length mirror. I grab the towels, and she grabs... her cover up.

"We're on Key West!" I try not to sound as disappointed as I feel... I failed.

"I don't know that this is for everyone..."

How do I tell her that is exactly what I was hoping for? Her showing off her incredible body... making other men eat their hearts out, making other women jealous. I can't without seeming to push. Down to the Tiki Bar and pool-- no pressure. On our third drink, she turns to me. "So, is this what you've been dreaming of?"

I smile. "Yeah. This is great."

"Is it? Or have you been waiting for this..." She stands up, and slowly pulls off the skimpy pool dress she was wearing. Time stops, the pool boy almost drops his tray, and I see three men around the pool stop what they are doing as the dress slips up, revealing her perfect ass and stomach.

I spend the next hour or so pretending to read my book, while watching all the eyes go over my wife's glorious body. The smile never leaves her face, so I know she is enjoying the attention also. The pool boy is especially enamored... his eyes rarely leaving her, except to point her out to a friend of his—two good-looking guys, and the lust for my wife is palpable. Yeah, I love it.

"I couldn't possibly love you more, than I do right now..."

"Wanna bet?"

We have massages booked for 4:30 PM. We go back to the room and I watch as the strings come undone and that suit that hints at it all, now falls to the ground and reveals it all. Over her shoulder, she glances back, her perfect ass leading the way to the small of her back. I can't help myself, my hard cock sticking straight out. Of course she catches me.

"Hmm... We're running late, maybe later?" I nod (like I'm going to say no). She grabs a pair of lacy red panties and begins to slip them on.

"Honey, we're going for a massage... what sense does it make to put those on when we are going to take them right off?" I don't even think before I say it. Because I'm so concerned about laundry? No. I just want to keep her as naked as possible.

She stops and thinks. "Yeah, guess not." She puts them back. Naturally, my intentions were completely practical. Ha. She slips her Daisy Duke cut offs over that tight, hot ass, and a loose gauzy top over her breasts.... The idea of her being nude under these clothes, tight and semi-transparent, makes me even harder, if that is possible.

The massage gets me even more worked up and afterward, she suggests that we people-watch on Duvall Street. Even in our younger days, we rarely "partied" like that. We read more than we drank.

We've always had hot sex, but always together... safely. So, I was more than a little impressed with her easy ways in the college frat party that is Duvall. We walked up and down, sipping bad margaritas, listening to hack musicians. She got more than her share of attention, her relaxed nature-- and probably the nipples poking through her top.

"I couldn't possibly love you more, than I do right now..."

"Wanna bet?" She tosses her hair back over her shoulders and smiles at me.

I follow her gaze up to the sign hanging from the nearest bar. It says "clothing optional."

Play it cool....

"You'd be interested?" I ask, hoping she can't see the bulge already announcing my level of interest.

"Well, I'm not going to take anything off.... But we could take a look." She smiles slyly.

Ok... good enough.

The bar is completely dead as we walk in, old dusty palm trees and some plain wooden benches. Five, maybe six men, gathered at the bar. A bartender, fully dressed... thankfully. Two women... everyone entirely dressed. The DJ is playing wedding music. Has anyone EVER gotten naked to the electric slide? She says she wants to stay. I check to see if she's serious; she nods. Really? Ok.

We watch a steady stream of people come in ... and out. Mostly they come in for one drink, look around, and leave awkwardly. A few stick around, older couples, trying to be hot. Younger people come in to check the box of being naughty ("Bet they buy a t-shirt as proof," Miranda whispers to me). We begin to watch them carefully, assessing which ones are most likely to do the deed and get naked first.

There is the 55-year-old in a transparent black dress (we call her Look Don't Touch). The chubby 19-year-old in the skin-tight striped dress, eyes darting around eagerly, looking for permission (Miranda calls her Freshman 15; "Mean!" I tell her, but it sticks). A 60-year-old man, bald as an egg, dressed in a tank top and shorts becomes known as Christopher Lloyd. Five very gay men, ready to party (immediately named The Village People). Five not gay men, all interchangeable, all looking around, clearly undressing the prospects in their minds... especially my wife.

We place bets and let the games begin: who would be first? Miranda says woman, I say man. I put my money on one of The Village People; she puts hers on a woman spilling out of a sundress, already drunk and all over her husband (Just Married).

Just Married takes the lead when she yells to everyone "We just got married!" ("You owe me a drink," Miranda whispers to me) and then drags her husband onto the dance floor to grind to "Baby Got Back". Christopher Lloyd walks to the center... then sits back down. Miranda pokes me in the ribs.

"Here she goes!" Just Married stands up and takes off her sizable thong... but she just throws it at her husband.

Then, Christopher Lloyd starts to undress, almost as if he's in his bedroom: shirt, pants, shorts—voila. Stark naked, with a ketchup bottle hanging between his legs. Holy crap—who knows what we all have going on underneath. All of these other people just stand there, wanting to, none of them actually doing it. Everyone so concerned with whatever they'd been taught by their mothers, priests, whatever, that they can't make themselves take that leap.

"Look at them all," Miranda says, reading my mind.

"All of them so scared to just take it off." It is amazingly hot to hear these words coming from the lips of my usually-so-reserved, elementary school-teacher wife.

I kiss her, not caring who is watching (... or maybe because I know they are watching). "I couldn't possibly love you more than I do right now."

"Wanna bet?" She looks around the bar. As she does, a few more couples walk in. The men wear Cuban shirts and smoke 30 dollar cigars. The women look expensive, both their tropical print dresses and their boob jobs. They scream trophy wives. She shakes her head—not them. Then another group enters: a mix of guys and girls, all attractive, all buzzing with energy. I watch Miranda watch them. "Check out Felicity," she says. I know exactly who she means: one of the girls has a mass of wild, curly hair. Almost conservatively dressed, light blue sleeveless button down and khaki shorts. It could have been a school girl outfit, if not for the fact that the shorts let me assess her wax job. She dances to the music, sways and looks around the bar.

The guys take two seconds and are fully nude.

They are clowns: swinging their cocks around and patting their cute asses. The girls laugh at them, rolling their eyes and looking around to see if anyone is watching. Everyone is; that's the point. They grab hula-hoops and swing their distinctly average-looking stuff around. They are having a blast, but there is no sex involved. Felicity's eyes dart around the room. "She's undressing the prospects." Miranda says.

Sure enough, she is. One to another, Just Married gets a glance, Look Don't touch, Miranda, Freshman 15, Miranda, The Village people. Miranda. Her eyes certainly have found a favorite target, but as soon as she settles on one, she looks away in embarrassment. Clearly, not comfortable with her surroundings.... but also clearly a little hot at the prospect of seeing someone get naked, and wanting that someone to be my wife.

"She sure likes you... not the only one either," I say. Miranda stares down the bar. Freshman 15 has been at the bar checking her out. The interchangeable guys, struggle to be subtle. Look Don't Touch and Just Married have been on the dance floor, but keep looking to her in hopes she'll join. She settles on Felicity. She catches Felicity in a glance, their eyes meet for a minute. Felicity sips her beer, and pulls on her bra strap, crossing her legs. "Is she going to?" I mutter to Miranda, who is watching her intensely.

Miranda laughs.

"No... she keeps looking to her friend, who is pissed that no one is looking at her. Won't do it without her. She sure wants to though." Almost on cue, Felicity looks around the bar again. Looking to Freshman 15, Miranda, A hipster that has come in, Miranda. Her eyes fix on Miranda, again. Then she looks away. She plays with her hair, repeat. Same routine, over and over. She wants to see someone, she wants to be seen, and she wants my wife. She's afraid, but she wants to.

Miranda watches her, the way a cat watches a mouse.

"I couldn't possibly love you more than I do right now..." I press myself against my wife, letting her feel how turned on I am.

"Wanna bet? Tell the DJ to stop playing crap and put on something hot. If he does... I'll do it."

"Really?"

I have bribed the DJ in less than a minute. Then my wife takes a sip of beer. ... and climbs onto the railing of the platform we're sitting on.

Instantly, she has the attention of everyone in view. Eyes snap to her; I hear at least one glass hit the floor as she slides her top off. Her tight abs (thank you, pilates) and firm tight breast become the focus of everyone in the room. She begins to grind the palm tree growing out of a planter. Her beautiful body has everyone's attention as she stands atop her stage, commanding, powerful, uninhibited. Her hands explore her own body as the rhythmic beat of the dance music pounds in the background. We all watch as reaches up, runs her hands seductively through her hair, then slides her hands down to cup her breasts, and smiles coyly for no one in particular. She grabs the palm tree, and slides both hands down it, pushing that tight ass into the room, her Daisy Dukes both small enough and loose enough that she is just starting to tease out what's underneath.

She smiles at me, knowing that I'm just about to explode. Then the air in the room disappears into a collective gasp as my powerful, intelligent, sensitive, loving wife slides her hands down her glistening washboard of a stomach... and places her fingers on the buttons. She gives a coy, "Will she or won't she" look... then slowly undoes the button. The shorts slide off her tight, bare ass, painfully slowly... I am the only one getting the full frontal view, and watching her trimmed pussy become revealed. Behind her, a room full of worshippers. She can't see them, but can feel their gaze as they all adjust in their seats. I see her, her total nudity in front of me, the body I know so well by touch and sight... framed by the mass of sexual beasts that she has created. She smiles at me, the cat who ate the canary.

I can barely breathe. I'm not the only one. She is the dominant force in the universe-- and now I'm sure I could never love her more. She glances at the men, who are barely containing their lust for her, as she works the room from her pole. The men are simply putty in her hands. The women are inspired by her lack of restrictions. They begin to grasp at the freedom she has shown.

Just Married is now justified in going all the way, and regains her husband's attention by removing her dress. Half the men in the room take off their shirts. The hipster couple strips to their underwear. All of them keep their eyes on Miranda, as her beautiful bare breasts shine in the multi-colored light; her tight ass beckons to the room. Miranda sees me... and shakes her head. "Still dressed?" My shorts are off in seconds. I'm proud to say that this draws the attention of The Village People.

With my eyes, I tell her "I couldn't possibly love you more than I do right now..." She smiles again, winks her response: "Wanna bet?" She glances behind her, sees Felicity staring at her unabashedly. The shy little good girl is tugging at her buttons, and her inhibitions. She sees how sexy my wife is, how powerful, how free. She wants any piece of that, and possibly some of my wife. Felicity loses herself for a minute, starts to unbutton her shirt. I can see the swell of her breasts peeking out over a lacy bra... then she hesitates and stops herself.

This annoys Miranda. She pulls me next to her; she's upping the ante. "Let's see if we can get Felicity so hot, she can't help herself," she murmurs in my ear. She slides her hot, sweaty body against mine. I can feel her nipples press against my back as she moves downward. The music is still playing, but no one is paying attention to that. Clothes have come off: the men are mostly naked now... and clearly aroused. Most of the women have gone topless or more. Some are still in thongs, others have taken it all off. Three or four women have been inspired even further, mounting whatever resembles a pole and pretending to be Miranda.

The room remains hers... and now, by extension, ours. The bodies we've worked so hard to reclaim, now on display for the bar. I feel like a Greek god, simply for the proximity to her fire. The lust in the room is almost overwhelming. If not for the restraints of the laws against public sex, there is no doubt in my mind that this would already be an orgy. "Look," Miranda says, nudging me with her hip. Felicity has found one of her naked boyfriends and is pressed against him, her hands exploring his legs, and her own... and his chest, then rubbing her own nipples. Straining against her clothes. Not sure how much of this heat existed for each other before Miranda, but now Felicity needs to get off and he's available.

Their eyes never leave us.

"Enough is enough... the poor thing needs to be freed." Miranda smiles at Felicity and blows her a kiss. That seems to be the final encouragement needed. I can see her hands shaking as she slowly unbuttons her shirt, ravenous to be part of this. Her boyfriend is tugging at her shorts; his naked body, originally meant for clowning, is now a raw sexual nerve, desperately wanting to release her heat. But it is all a show for Miranda: her eyes never break contact as she slowly, painfully slowly unbuttons her blouse each one revealing more of her soft tanned breasts, cupped in lace. Miranda turns attention to her, smiling as her subject saunters over to her... shirt now falling behind her, then the lacy bra.

She reaches a hand out for Felicity who, timidly, takes her hand. Miranda leads her to the dance floor as the DJ finally gets it and a seductive, resolve-melting song comes on. I sit down, next to Felicity's boyfriend and three drinks appear in my hand. His eyes, my eyes, hell-- everyone's eyes (including those of the Village People) glued to our girls... dancing closely together. My goddess wife, my sexual powerhouse, now turning the full intensity of her energy toward this innocent, repressed girl-woman. Miranda reaches up, and unbuttons her tight shorts. They slide off her ass, revealing that Felicity didn't wear any panties either. She must have had some intention when she arrived.

Felicity is immediately relieved. She puts her hands in the air and turns, showing the bar her free perky breasts, tanned stomach... her tightly waxed pussy. She loves the attention of the bar, and of Miranda. Felicity, freed from her silly good girl bondage, explores my wife's goddess body with her hands... over her hips, legs, ass. Miranda likewise explores her, this young sexpot, who seems entirely comfortable with the exploration. She controls this nubile woman, whose lust is simply spilling over for Miranda. The song changes, the lights dim further (I hear Felicity's boyfriend's disappointment). Miranda grabs her ass, presses her lips against Felicity's and we all watch as the two kiss, tongues moving sensuously over each other. Bodies enmeshed in each other, passion spilling in the room. I think the show is no longer about the room for Miranda... it is about her own pleasure.

The lack of clothing prohibits hiding male excitement, our bodies no longer controlled by our minds. Every male in the room is now obviously fully aroused. Couples are lost in each other, a mass of arms and asses. All looking to see what she would do next, following the lead. Men begin to touch anything they legally can, eyes still not leaving her body. What will she do next? She could have anyone or everyone in the bar... probably even the Village People: they are all hers for the taking.

Miranda walks over to me, hand in hand with Felicity, proud of her prey. The bar attempts to regain its collective breath as she says to me,

"Sure there isn't a little more you could love me?"

"I couldn't love you anymore than I do right now..."

"Wanna bet?" She runs her hand down Felicity's back and smiles at her. "We're ready to leave," Miranda says. "Coming with us?" Felicity smiles back.

My god, I love this woman.