Life has grown quite comfortable. My wife and I are old enough that it's time to start "enjoying" life a little more as we move closer to retirement. Our four kids are all grown and out of the house, allowing us more freedom to do what we want when we want. We've taken the opportunity to not have to worry about kid's schedules and activities and such to try and be more spontaneous in our activities. We can decide on Saturday morning that we want to go drive across the state to go see something, take a hike in a state park, go fishing, whatever we want. It's been enjoyable in that respect. Most days I come home from work and change, working on one of my many projects, or sit around and watch TV, until it's time to start cooking dinner, which I typically do because I'm home from work before my wife.
Yeah. That's right. I still play dad in the kitchen even though the kids are gone and we could choose to eat at whatever hour we want. Habit is a hard thing to change, and quite frankly my body likes to eat between five and six, which we usually do since I'm cooking, my wife rarely home from school before five-thirty or six.
Typically when she gets home she isn't in the best of moods either. Dealing with eighty plus middle schoolers tends to be tiring, and most dinner times are spent listening to her vent about what Johnny or Janey did to piss her off. After dinner, we sit on the sofa and watch TV until she falls asleep, usually after only a few minutes. This has generated the unfortunate consequence that spontaneity in our relationship has translated into most areas with the notable exception of sex. Yep, that's right. SEX!
Don't get me wrong. I LOVE my wife! I've loved her since I saw her the first time thirty-six years ago, and I still love her every bit as much now as I did then. Oh don't get me wrong. Our life has at times been very tumultuous, partly caused by difficult circumstances and unexpected health issues, and partly because, like many men, I am at times STUPID! Yes, I do mean that kind of stupid. Years ago I made the ultimate mistake and got involved with someone that my wife knew. It started accidently enough, helping her friend out on an ice cold winter night trying to thaw the pipes on her mobile home. The pipe burst and I was soaked before I could stem the flow.
As I said, it was innocent enough, having to get undressed and sit around in just a towel until my clothes dried enough to go home. After a little lighthearted joking about the situation, she undressed as well so that we were now both sitting in towels, which somehow turned into tugging at each other's towels until we were both naked. I'm sure you can guess what happened after that. Like I said, STUPID! After a very hard few months my wife forgave me, though she never quite forgot. She blamed me for allowing myself into such a compromising situation, and the marriage counselor did her best to try and impress on her that part of the reason it happened is because men need sex much more frequently than the once per month she was willing or interested in putting out. While sex improved for a while, she resented it, feeling like she was having sex just for my sake, and eventually I got angry and told her that if she didn't want to have sex with me, then don't. I don't think we had sex for almost four months after that. Eventually we got to where we've been for quite a few years now. Sex on Saturday or Sunday mornings every couple weeks. Not nearly as much as I NEED, but it's enough to keep our marriage intact, which is the goal, since it holds so much more for both of us than just sex.
Being a very giving and caring person, it's no surprise that my wife became a teacher. In addition to all the students she mentors and helps, it isn't unusual for her to volunteer to take one of the new teachers under her wing and teach her the ropes. She never ever mentors a male teacher, presumably to prevent anything close to what happened with me from happening with her. Her latest fledgling was Chris. A thirty-five year old teacher transferring in from another district. She mentored her all the previous school year, having her and occasionally her husband, over for dinner or barbeques and even on a couple occasions trips to the lake with our boat. I liked Chris. She was a very effervescent person, always ready with a smile or a joke. She was slightly shorter than me, though only half of my weight if I were to guess. She had a tight, petite body with a good looking chest, and if I were to guess from the size of the bikini she wore on the boat, had all her blond curls shaved off where it counts.
Her husband was about my size, maybe a bit more muscular and seeming to be in a perpetually bad mood. He drank way too much for my comfort and seemed more interested in my wife's chest than anything else, except maybe for the beer in his hand. Clearly my wife has big tits, her thirty-four double D's easily twice as large as Chris's tits. That's not to say hers are bad looking or small. Quite the contrary, from the view I got in her bikini, I'd guess they were nice full C cups and they wiggled almost the perfect amount every time she moved.
At school functions, I never saw Chris in anything but professional dress, skirts down almost to her knees or pantsuits of various styles. Away from school, I'd noticed that she wore much more revealing clothing, frequently tight short dresses or short shorts. I had no idea just how revealing those outfits really could be until she moved in with us. Yeah, you heard that right. She came home from work one day about six months ago and her husband had cleaned out their apartment, right down to the lease expiring that same day. All he left her was her personal items in the bathroom, her clothes hanging in the closet or piled on the floor and a box of trash bags. Everything else was gone. I'm sure you can imagine what happened next. Yep, that's right. She called my wife in a panic who immediately grabbed me to help pack and move her clothes and stuff into our guest room until she could sort things out. That was way back in September. Here it was, February and she was still living with us, in some ways like an adult child. He cleaned out all the money from their account and left her with a pile of bills and no cash, no car, nothing.
She's slowly getting her feet under her. She has her own cell phone now and she contributes to the food budget and is working on paying off enough bills and setting aside money to get an apartment, though she has a little ways to go yet. She's still borrowing one of our cars, fortunately we have three, though she most often rides to and from work with my wife.
Having her in the house has been quite an adjustment. Where I'd gotten comfortable walking around the house in my underwear or pj's, I had to be careful now that I was adequately covered. If I made a trip to the laundry room for a clean pair of pants, I needed to be sure she wasn't going to walk out on me or I had to wear enough that I wouldn't be embarrassed. After six months though, how much it took to not be embarrassed had gotten considerably less. A t-shirt and boxers were now "adequate", even in my wife's opinion. She hadn't even balked at one time sending me in nothing but a towel to the dryer for the load of underwear she'd washed the previous night, needing a clean bra. I was never very good at the tucked towel thing and ended up dashing the last little bit down the hall with my arms full of clothes and my towel laying in the hallway, much to her amusement.
The other thing that was difficult to adjust to was Chris's dress habits. The first thing she did when she got home from school was to change into something "comfortable". During the warm months, this typically consisted of either micro shorts or tiny skirts, each topped with a tank top, frequently without anything under it. Now that it'd gotten to be winter, her 'go to' was either form fitting yoga pants or the total opposite, floppy gym shorts and sweat shirts. True this shouldn't be a problem, but it seemed that virtually everything she wore was in some way designed or intended to showcase or flash body parts. And flash she did, frequently.
Since she had moved in I had learned just how sexy her tits could look, at least the parts that I'd seen. I'd learned that she was indeed shaved completely, and also just how much inner labia protruded when she chose not to wear panties, which were never anything except tiny thongs. Her breasts were indeed C cups, thirty-two C to be exact, and she kept a small assortment of vibrators and dildos in her room in a shoebox.
While these all seem pretty personal, all of these facts were learned quite by accident and innocently. What did surprise me, was that after the first few weeks I heard absolutely no complaints from my wife about her attire, which she frequently lamented was "awfully exposing" while we were getting ready for bed.
Yeah. Bed. I guess I need to say something about that too. For Chris, bed wear seems to consist of one of two things, panties and bra, or a nightshirt with nothing under it. Her choice of a nightshirt is barely long enough to cover her ass, and regardless of which color she chooses, pink, cream, white, all are mostly translucent enough for me to make out the dark circles of her areola. Oh yeah. She never wears panties with it, so it takes nothing in her motions to accidently, at least I presume accidently, to flash her bare pussy. As I said before, her choice of underwear is only thongs, so seeing her walk down the hall to the kitchen is always enticing, given her ass looks completely bare and sexy.
