I'm not particularly a rabid sports fan, but I'm obsessed with the annual NCAA basketball tournament known as "March Madness." My friend Pierce and I are especially excited about this year's edition because each of our favorite teams received high seeds and have a great shot at making the Final Four. Little did I know how special this year's tournament would actually become.
My wife of 14 years, Barbara, doesn't understand why anyone would want to watch a sporting event in which none of their relatives or friends is participating. She can't fathom why someone would watch golf on TV for hours instead of actually playing golf. She gets it that there are some special events like the Super Bowl or the Olympics -- times when there is real drama or a social phenomenon. She is happy to tailgate with friends at a football game, but never wants to enter the stadium. Fortunately, I get a pass for March Madness with only a modicum of grumbling as I spend hours glued to the high quality images projected on the big screen in my theatre room (don't call it a man cave in front of Barbara).
Barbara's quirkiness about sports is not a big deal to me because she is a nearly perfect mate in every other respect. We are in our late thirties, childless by choice, and both of us have high-powered careers. We met in our mid-twenties - Barbara was already a rising star in client management at the largest ad agency in the region, and I was moving through the ranks of a national CPA firm. Barbara is now a VP and partner in her agency, while I eventually left the national firm to become a partner at a large regional accounting firm where I expect to soon become managing partner. We first met at a charity cocktail party hosted by a mutual acquaintance. She was not immediately impressed with me, but when I offered to help her with a tax issue, she was mine.
Neither of us would win any beauty contests, but we are both fit, intelligent, dress well and expensively and like-minded in many ways. Neither of us like it when someone tries to call us by anything other than our full first names (mine is Kendrick), and we shared an ambivalence over starting a family. We don't have any outstanding features, with the possible exception of my blue eyes and her legs, but we both have a "put together" look that is classy, stylish and garners respect from our peers. No one falls over themselves to stare at us, but I like to think that observers would admit that we are an attractive couple.
Eventually, our future as a couple was sealed when we discovered that we were wildly compatible and mutually adventuresome in the sack, and that hasn't changed throughout our married life. Early on, we began collecting expensive lingerie, and Barbara always dresses for bed, often parading around ahead of time in high heels to tease me. Sometimes, I act uninterested just to see how far she will go - exposing herself for my benefit really ignites her juices. Several years ago, I bought our first "outfit" to role play with. It was a sexy maid's uniform with fishnet stockings and ridiculously high heels. Barbara tried it on, played the role to the fullest, and we both were enormously turned on, leading to a night of hot rocking sex (not lovemaking). As with the lingerie, our collection of role playing clothes -- outfits, garter belts, wigs, stockings, shoes, boots - grew exponentially. Eventually, we turned a room off our bedroom (the one that would have been the nursery for the children we decided not to have) into a huge closet devoted to our fetish. At least twice a month, we spend an entire night devoted to our games.
As the role playing expanded, "Barbie" (remember, I mentioned that Barbara disliked any diminutive of her name?) emerged in our role plays. She surprised me by referring to herself as Barbie, and I quickly discovered that this was her way of taking the role play to a level that allowed her to be different, a person who would have to do what I told her and be taken however I pleased. This was the normal pattern, but, sometimes, Barbie also demanded, and got, what she wanted from me. Whatever the intent, it's always special when Barbie comes out to play.
Just as the role playing began to flourish, Barbara made two decisions -- since we had decided to not start a family, she wanted her tubes tied, and, while she was under from that procedure, she wanted breast enhancement -- not gigantic bolt-ons, just a modest insert to "pick up the slack." I was all for the tubal ligation, but I had reservations about the enhancement. Barbara convinced me it was about her own self-image and how she looked in clothes, and, like it or not, she had to face up to gravity taking a toll. As it turned out, the enhancement was barely noticeable (in her clothes that is) since she replaced all of the "miracle bras," "wonder bras" and other support systems that pushed her breasts up and made them appear as large as they now were totally on their own. It was fun shopping for the replacements and enjoying the new look. An added bonus was that her nipples now protruded a little more with a slight upward rise that looked awesome in the shelf and demi-cup bras I bought for her by the boatload. Barbie also loved her new look and our closet grew. We even added a "tool section" that housed an impressive collection of sex toys and devices (but no movies -- not our thing). Life was, and is, very good. We still engaged in our regular lovemaking, but dress-up days were for experimentation and sex at a more primal level. All of our games have taken place in private, and, as far as I know, neither of us had discussed with anyone what we did in the privacy of our own home. This was soon going to change.
Pierce's and my excitement about the basketball tournament resulted in an equal and opposite reaction in Barbara and in Pierce's wife, Mildred (as with Barbara and me, don't call her anything but her full name). They knew that they were to become basketball widows in a worse way than usual. Barbara enjoyed Mildred's company - they had become as good friends as Pierce and me, and she was glad they could talk to one another while Pierce and I obsessed over the games. The fact that they had given us a pass to watch the games could not prevent some resentment from bubbling up. The first round of games was on a Thursday, with winners moving on to games on Saturday. Pierce's favorite team, our local metro university, and my favorite team, the state university that is the local team's fiercest rival, were in different regions and could not play each other until the championship game, assuming both made it that far. By quirk of the draw, both of our teams played on the Thursday/Saturday schedule, making it easier to watch the games together, but also focusing our attention away from our wives. Starting late Thursday afternoon, we settled into my state-of-the-art theatre seats while our wives watched from a sofa that sat on a raised platform behind our seats. Barbara and Mildred tried to make small talk with us during the game and kept asking questions, but we gave short answers or ignored them. Then they tried making fun of our obsessive devotion by saying ridiculous things to see if we were paying any attention (we weren't) or trying to get a rise out of us by one telling the other something like "Pierce has a 4" penis" or "Kendrick can't get it up anymore" and then saying "Isn't that right darling?" They were like two-year olds acting out to get their parents' attention, so we ignored the banter, knowing that jumping in would only accomplish their purpose. I'm sure that they wanted our teams to lose, but that was not likely since our teams were playing low seeded teams that we easily beat, and both moved on to Saturday.
Saturday's games were again in the late afternoon, and, as it was now the weekend, Pierce and I expected to consume a large quantity of beer and buffalo wings as we watched. Thankfully, the girls let us watch the first game in peace, an easy victory for Pierce's team. Between games, we refreshed our food plates, grabbed a cold one and returned to watch the analyst's take on the keys to my team winning the next game. Our attention was jolted by shouts of "excusez-moi s'il vous plait," "excusez-moi s'il vous plait," as Barbara and Mildred entered in full French maid regalia. Mildred wore the original maid outfit that stared it all with Barbara and me -- a sleeveless, one piece, short black and lace dress with a deep V neck that was laced together to show generous cleavage, that was enhanced by a lacy demi-cup bra. The outfit included a lace choker, elbow length, fingerless gloves and a frilly maid's hat. Her black, thigh-high stockings were held up a black garter belt and featured lacy white bows at the top. The dress was short enough to show a healthy amount of her creamy thighs above the top of the stockings. Barbara had also outfitted her with a short, platinum blond wig with long bangs, and shiny pumps with 5" heels in which she tottered slightly. The picture was completed with false eyelashes, heavy make-up and cherry red lipstick drawn on to make her lips look more heart-shaped. She was a sight, and I almost didn't recognize her. Pierce's eyes bugged out of his head, and, unlike me, he had no clue where this was coming from. Barbara followed Mildred and was dressed in a more recent acquisition of a sexy maid outfit, a tight fitting halter dress with the mandatory lace apron that was almost backless. The tight bodice of the dress could barely contain her breasts and her nipples tented the filmy fabric within an inch of the top. Her long hair was piled on top of her head, with just a few wispy curls framing the side of her face. From behind, I really liked the combination of her bare graceful neck melding with her exposed back. Barbara's skirt was a little shorter than Mildred's, exhibiting nicely her back-seamed fishnet panty hose that led down to her own stiletto pumps. From behind, it appeared that she was wearing only a short skirt sandwiched by a toned back and beautiful long legs. The combination of the big hair and high heels made her appear 8-9 inches taller than her normal 5-8.
The girls flitted around randomly brushing objects with their feather duster, occasionally leaning over at the waist to give us a better view of their assets as our eyes roamed from one to the other. I saw that Pierce was about to say something and gave him the "hush" signal and mouthed the word "wait." Soon the girls grabbed some of our empties and wiggled out of the room giggling.
