You would never know it to look at her, but Christine is a mother of three. Don't get me wrong, there's no way I would say she had a perfectly flat tummy or the body of a model. She's more like that woman down the block that all the guys pause to glance at on a Saturday morning while doing their lawns as she strolls along, generally with a kid or two in hand. She doesn't even think she's pretty, just "okay, for a mom." The guys, I have to guess to a man, kind of grin and wonder what it would be like to jump her bones. She doesn't "do" anything, it's just my wife out for a walk with the kids, but her hips naturally sway and almost call for eyes to follow.
She doesn't even dress to get attention, just mom shorts -- likely cut-off jeans at mid-thigh-- and a tee-shirt, and that's invariably loose. She "hates" tight clothes. Yeah, she always has a bra on, except around the house, but her wonderful 36 B's do draw attention. Her little muffin top is cute, almost sexy, though she hates it, and she thinks the ten pounds she has put on since our marriage is horrid. Probably eight of that went to her hips adding an amazing curve to her ass and hips,
not
saddlebags, and the other couple to her chest to make them very full.
She was a very pleasing full A when we got married, but her still firm and proud tits are now Bs. No one knows, but her areola are darker than when we first met, her nipples puffier. "What do expect after three kids?" she laments, but they are perfect and quite responsive still. I have never been focused on tit size, I'm much more interested in if a woman likes them touched, or sucked, and how she reacts. Chris's breasts are super responsive and she's anxious for my hands or mouth to enjoy them and bring her pleasure.
She doesn't work out, though as a nurse she's on her feet all day constantly moving in a very busy office, chasing three kids at home in the evening and on weekends seems to keep her weight steady and everything from being loose and wiggly. We're a fairly outdoorsy family, so there al lots of weekend trips to parks and nature hikes with the whole gaggle; me, three kids, a dog, and the sundry items that come along in bags and backpacks, and one off-road stroller. The baby -- yet another girl, God help me! -- is just four so she rides. The other two, almost nine and just turned seven, walk, stumble, and wander through our trips merrily.
"I hope the girls are being good," she says out of the blue. "What time is it at home? Can we call to see if everything's fine?" she asks in rapid succession.
I glanced at my watch, shading it from the bright sun as we had finally made it out to the beach. "Go ahead and call if you want to, it should be about eight. Remember, just add six hours to whatever time it is here."
Here is Maui, our first vacation alone in, well, since our honeymoon. That honeymoon had consisted of a two-day drive to an inn in New England in a second-hand piece of crap that used almost as much oil as gas. But we were young and crazy in love, and it was all we could afford. This trip was almost as inexpensive, though we were in much better straights financially, as Chris' airfare and the majority of our terrific hotel room was covered by her work, as was the cost of the week-long seminar. We only paid for my flight and the difference between a single rate and what our suite cost. Chris' mom was watching the girls, so no cost there.
Chris grabbed her phone from her beach bag and dialed, shading her eyes with one arm. I watched some woman walk past in a thong, which Chris noticed also and mouthed "Oh, my God" with a big eye roll before she shifted her attention half-way around the world with a happy "Hi, Mom!" and got into chatting about the flight and talking with her mom. Our minds were in different places.
Don't get me wrong, Chris could give that woman, pretty much any woman, a run for her money in a stroll up the beach, if I could ever get her out of her "mom" suit. Even in what she was wearing, she'd turn heads. It wasn't one of those dumpy things with the little skirts and "tummy control" that honestly never hide the tummy they were designed to hide, but it was a pretty plain one-piece with formed cups and fully lined. While shopping for the trip, I had tried to get her to look at bikinis to no avail, being told she couldn't wear something so little (these were not small by any stretch of the imagination), and was shot down just as quickly when I picked up a few unlined one-pieces that "would show everything!"
To be frank, Chris could wear a burlap sack and still turn me on. After almost twelve years together and three kids, I still get hard just spying her getting ready to shower or lying in bed in a tee shirt (her preferred outfit for sleeping). It takes nothing to get her "in the mood," she's very participative in our sex life and enjoys sex immensely and often, but that's "for home."
She's not one for PDA beyond a kiss -- but not a deep passionate type -- or holding hands. She hasn't dressed seductively outside of our bedroom since we got married, but she really can pull it off when she tries. I guess I should say she hasn't focused on lingerie and sexy outfits, but as all she wears to bed is a tee-shirt I certainly don't complain. If we're just hanging around the house, she'll stay in the tee-shirt most of the morning and I get plenty of glimpses of her lovely ass and her dark bush.
Some women who do attempt to put on sexy outfits to set a mood then move like drunk chimpanzees on a tilt-a-whirl completely undermining their objective; when Chris moves in a tee shirt, she was Venus come alive, sensual, hot, alluring, and nearly insatiable though she always left me wanting more. The next morning, however, it would be mom mode again, even if she's sitting at breakfast in her tee-shirt with her bare ass showing. "That stuff" was just for us, besides, "no one would be interested in seeing this old body naked" she'd tell me, though she was glad I still liked how she looked, - "after three kids" she'd always add.
In college, bras weren't always on her need-to-wear list, which I was happy with. And more skimpy and clingy clothes were part of her wardrobe, though I wouldn't say she was anything like an exhibitionist. She knew I wanted to show her off, but there was only one occasion that happened, after three years of dating. And I was told I could never bring that up again, not even in the heat of love making. No, she didn't put it out there for others, not even close, but she seemed more comfortable in her skin back then, and with much more of it showing.
I don't know if it was some hang-up with how married women are supposed to be, or how moms are supposed to be, or that she was concerned about how others in a professional setting might perceive her. But hell, the way she works a tee-shirt, who needs more? She'd had some escapades as a young woman and was no virgin when I married her, but there was a change to a less overt sexuality once we married. I guess she figured once we were married, she didn't need to do "sexy" anymore, for me or herself. She was right, of course, all she had to do was inhale and she'd have me ready for action -and she was, it still seemed, always ready to make love.
I have never wanted or felt deprived...well, never wanted for longer than it took to get home, and the girls to bed, the house locked up, and us to get to the bedroom. There, she was an uninhibited vixen, happy to explore and try things. She might raise an eyebrow and say "really?" but we have a wonderful sex life, fulfilling as I could have ever imagined.
I looked over at Chris still on the phone, now with one of our girls. She was smiling and happy, laying back on the lounger with her legs stretched out and resting her feet off the end of the chaise. As I heard her say "of course we'll be home for your birthday, my little angel," my mind drifted to four years earlier and the birth of our youngest.
We were living in central Arkansas at the time where I'd been transferred to supervise a big civil engineering project on a military base, a huge stepping-stone for my career. Chris had gotten a job in the local county hospital, a pretty small twenty-five bed facility that let her work a flexible schedule so she could get our two other daughters after school and be there with them everyday. It wasn't a super tough job, but let her build her resume too, and kept her busy far from family.
The third child came quicker than the other two had. The plan had been to have her OB and a nurse there, she didn't want "the whole hospital" involved as she had to work with these folks every day. "we need to keep this private. I don't need anyone seeing my hoo-ha other than my OB" is how she put it. We ended up in the ER at nine in the evening, two weeks prior to the due date. The older two girls were at home asleep already when I called and told the sitter we were heading to the hospital, she agreed to spend the night.
We got in and Chris told them she thought the baby was coming, but that it was early. The nurse checked her and said, "Yep, you're having this baby tonight. No time to set up the delivery room." The next thing we know Chris is on a bed in the ER, the OB has been called, and we're told anesthesia is on the way. In this whirlwind, Chris has been changed and is now robed in just a hospital gown. She's lying on a bed, a gurney, feet toward the hall, and gripping my hand as another contraction hits her. All I'm worried about at that second is that she and the baby are going to be alright, when in walks an older guy who says:
"Hi, Dr. Somebody, I hear we're going to have a baby."' That was the introduction, as he turned to the sink and quickly washed his hands. "Let's have a look," he said next as he pulled Chris' gown up to her knees, moved her legs apart and peered into her privates.
